Fool for Love (Montana Romance) (2 page)

It took all of her effort to put one foot in front of the other.  Her whole body shook as she walked through the crowded ballroom, the last vestige of what her life had been.  The musicians had stopped playing, the dancers had stopped dancing.  Her heart had stopped beating.  She couldn’t lift her head or raise her eyes to meet any of them.  With all the awkward humiliation of her fall, she shuffled toward the door.

“Of course you’d expect that from Sophia deLaurent’s daughter,” someone murmured to her left.

“She always did give herself airs,” another voice chased her, “but ones true nature always shows through the gloss, doesn’t it.”

“Such a pity,” a male voice chuckled to her right.  “I wonder how much she’ll charge once she’s taken her place on the market.”

Amelia burst into a sob, clapping a hand to her mouth.  It was over.  She didn’t care who she crashed into or whose toes she stepped on as she fled the room at a run.

She passed Mr. Quinlan, who was red with fury, at the door.  His fury was no more than she deserved.  She was furious with herself for the folly that had cast her out of the life she’d tried to resurrect for herself.  But there was no hiding from the truth of who one really was at heart.

Chapter Two

In the faint light of morning, a chill rain beat against Amelia’s roof.  She paced by the window of her cold attic room, the letter that had come at dawn clutched in her hand.  She hadn’t slept a wink all night.  The horrible scene in the ballroom had played over and over in her mind, each of its players looming larger in her imagination.  She’d cried herself out while packing her meager belongings in the dark, knowing what the morning would bring.  When the lowest footman in the house knocked on her door to hand her the letter at first light, her tears had started anew.

She paced from the window to the burnt-out fireplace, the letter in one hand and her sodden handkerchief in the other.  It had been raining her whole life.  She should be used to it, willing to accept her fate by now.

She stared at the impossible paper in her hand, every blurred word already memorized.  She read it again, hoping this time it would say something different.

Miss Elphick,

I am well aware of the understanding that previously existed between our families, but as I have informed you many times already, in light of the gross reversal of fortune that your family has undergone, I feel no compunction to maintain this understanding.  That you persisted in your attachment to the point of seduction is not my fault, nor is the state that you now find yourself
in because of said seduction.

Your gross misconduct of last night – at a public function hosted by a family willing to hire you in spite of your father’s scandal, no less – casts far more aspersions on your character than mine.  I would have been content to keep you and your forthcoming child in an alternative arrangement more suitable to your current station in life had you not attempted to call me out in front of society.

Frankly, Miss Elphick, I would have thought it was obvious that a gentleman of my standing could never attach himself to a lowly governess, with or without the other matter.  Your bold and wicked behavior has put my reputation and that of your kind employer in jeopardy.  It’s about time you learn that women of your ilk must keep their mouths shut until you are paid to open them.  You are only good for one thing, and the sooner you learn that the more prosperous you will be in what will surely become your future profession.

The pain of Nick’s dismissal rose from Amelia’s heart into her throat.  He had even been so callous as to sign the letter “Mr. Hayworth” instead of Nick.  No humiliation had cut so deep, and since her father’s demise that was saying something.

She set the letter on the thin mantel over the fireplace.  It should have been tossed into the fire with the rest of her hopes and dreams, but she couldn’t do it.  Not yet.  She was as much at odd angles and uncomfortable planes as the slopes of her ceiling.  Instead she moved to fetch another handkerchief from the top of her faded bureau. With noisy carelessness she blew her nose.

There was a knock at the door.  She jumped, dropping her handkerchief.

“Who is it?”

“’s me, Miss Amelia,” the voice of Betsy, the scullery maid, came through the door.  “I been sent to fetch you.”

Amelia swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut.  So much for dignity.  They’d sent the lowest servant in the house to get her.  There was no escaping the worst of it now.

“Just a minute.”  She hurried to pick up her handkerchief and stuff it in her pocket.  With a last heavy sigh she snatched Nick’s letter from the mantle and threw it into the fire.  Her life was well and truly over now.

Betsy was leaning against the doorframe when Amelia opened the door.  She snapped to attention, watching with wide, silent eyes as Amelia did her best to keep her back straight.  She marched into the hall, carpetbag in hand.

“He’s in the drawing room,” Betsy whispered in awe.  The drawing room was only opened on special occasions, joyous or somber.

Amelia sucked in a deep breath and forced herself onward.  As horrid as he had been in his letter, Nick was right about one thing.  After all Mr. Hamilton’s kindness, she had damaged his reputation.  She had repaid the help he hadn’t needed to give her two years ago by causing a scene in his house when important guests were present: the Kennisons from Buckingham and the McAllastairs from Glasgow.  And Mr. Quinlan, of cours
e.  What must he think of her?

“Miss Amelia!  Miss Amelia!”

The Hamilton girls jumped up from their spot at the top of the grand staircase leading into the main hall as she rounded the final corner.  They rushed to her, eyes filled with awe and fear.  Amelia dropped her carpetbag, crouching to hug them both at once as they crushed against her.

“Darlings!” she choked.

“Where are you going?” six-year-old Elizabeth asked, her lower lip quivering.

“Mama says you are dismissed and we are not to speak to you,” eight-year-old Felicity added, “but we snuck out of the nursery to find you.”

“Your mama is right, dear ones,” Amelia told them.

She swallowed a sob.  She would miss them too much.  With a kiss on each of their foreheads she forced herself to stand and step away from them.

“We won’t let you go!” Felicity declared, throwing her arms around Amelia’s waist.

Amelia’s heart caught in her throat as her dear young charge squeezed the growing mound of her stomach, the very reason she was being sent on her way.  Heart breaking, she pried the girl’s arms away.

“I must go,” she told them.  “I have done something very bad and must be punished.”

“Oh dear,” Elizabeth wept.

“But I shall always hold you in my heart.”  Amelia snatched up her carpetbag and kissed each of the girls again before fleeing down the stairs.

She paused to swallow a sob and wipe the tears from her eyes with her soggy handkerchief when she reached the door to the drawing room at the end of the long.  She wished she had time to compose herself before facing Mr. Hamilton’s fury, but in truth she was beyond worrying about looking like a disgrace.  She was a disgrace.

She set her carpetbag on the floor against the wall and pressed a hand to the bump of her stomach.  With a wince she raised her hand to her pounding heart.  The last thing she wanted to be reminded of at that moment was the reason for her disgrace.  She took in one last deep breath and entered the drawing room.

Right away she was caught off-guard by the presence of not only Mr. Hamilton, but his rugged guest, Mr. Quinlan.  Mr. Quinlan stood near the window looking handsome, masculine, and uncomfortable against the French drapes, spinning his ever-present hat in his hands.  His sandy-brown hair was disheveled, but his simple suit was immaculate.  Her eyes met his when he glanced up.  Amelia instinctively clasped her hands in front of her and snapped her eyes from Mr. Quinlan to Mr. Hamilton.

Mr. Hamilton could barely contain his disgust.  “Miss Elphick,” he began in clipped tones.  “You know why you’re here.”

Amelia bowed her head.  “I do.”

“You are dismissed without references,” he said to drive the point home.

She said nothing, didn’t move.

“I won’t waste my breath telling you how disappointed I am,” Mr. Hamilton went on when she failed to react.  “It was foolish of me to think you would choose a different path than that of your mother and sisters.”

Amelia’s eyes darted up to Mr. Quinlan and her heart sank.  Mr. Quinlan stared at his hat.  She couldn’t tell from his expression if he knew what his host meant.

“Mr. Hamilton, sir,” she made one last attempt at dignity, “please allow me to apologize,
humbly
, for the shame I have brought to your good name.  You have been beyond kind to me these last two years.  You must believe me when I say that I am not like my mother at all.  Nick, that is, Mr. Hayworth, and I were intended for each other since childhood.  He promised me-”

Mr. Hamilton held up his hand, cutting her off as her passion and tears buil
t.  “We’ll say no more of it.”

He glanced sideways to Mr. Quinlan, who returned the expression wi
th a poker-player’s closeness.

“I’ll leave you to it then, Eric,” Mr. Hamilton clipped, “although you kn
ow my feelings on the matter.”

He bowed slightly to Mr. Quinlan, and with one final sigh and shake of his head for her, he turned and left the room.

Amelia watched him retreat, keeping her expression blank.  Her heart raced and her eyes skipped up to Mr. Quinlan.  He was still twirling his hat, his weight resting on one hip.  Only Americans stood that way, with a carelessness that was so out of place in the gravity of London society.  Everything about Mr. Quinlan was out of place, from his broad shoulders to his large hands and sparkling brown eyes.  Even though he had been a captive of the London winter rain for months Mr. Quinlan’s skin was still the warm shade of a man who spent his time outdoors in the Western sun, most likely astride a horse.  He was as far from Nick’s distinguished, pale grace as could be.

“Miss Elphick,” Mr. Quinlan began.  He stopped twirling his hat wit
h a long, drawled, “Yeeeaaah.”

Amelia could do nothing but stand there, her brain foggy from
shock and tears and betrayal.

Mr. Quinlan cleared his throat, pulling her attention back to him.  He shifted his weight to his other leg, let his arm drop, hat in one hand, and looked her in the eyes.  She had never seen a man so anxious, as if he was the one in utter disgrace.

“Look, I’m really sorry about everything that happened last night.”

Amelia lowered her head.  “I … I am so sorry you had to wit
ness that, Mr. Quinlan.”

“Yeah, well so am I,” he mumbled.  “That Mr. what’s-his-name was a total ass, treating a lady like that.”

She looked up, her stomach twisting.  “Oh no, sir,” she corrected him.  “I’m afraid I was the one in the wrong.”  It was all she could do not to choke on the words.  “Mr. Hayworth was perfectly within his rights to react as he did.  I … I am not a lady, I-”

“If he had tried that where I come from,” Mr. Quinlan interrupted, striding across the room to her, “he woulda had about a dozen men all over him.  It’s pitiful to dismiss a lady such as yourself like that.”

An ironic smile twitched at the corners of Amelia’s mouth.  “I’m afraid you misunderstand, Mr. Quinlan.  I … I am a fallen woman now.  My disgrace is complete.  It was not my place to cause a scene.”

He puffed an annoyed sigh and threw his hands out, narrowly missing a vase of hothouse flowers with his hat.  “You know, I never understood you English people and your ‘places’.  A lady’s a lady as far as I’m concerned.”

“But my family,” she fumbled, no desire to explain the past.

“Your father did something bad, I dunno,” he finished for her, his tone not caring.  He paced a few steps to a small table and fingered the edge of it, picking at an invisible spot.  He flicked his hair out of his face and darted a glance out the window at a passing carriage.  Amelia bit her lip as she watched his antics.

Finally, he shook his head and turned away from the pouring rain outside the window.  “Well, this isn’t how I wanted to start things.”

Amelia fidgeted with her skirt.  “Start what, Mr. Quinlan?”

He ran a hand through his hair and paced back to where Amelia stood.  When he reached her, swaying too close for a moment then backing off a step, he screwed up his mouth as if something were trying to escape from it and he wasn’t sure if he should let it out or keep it in.  His back and shoulders were stiff as he glanced to Amelia, then at the floor, out the window, and back to Amelia again.  It struck her that his awkward ways were uncommonly charming.

As soon as the dangerous thought entered her mind, she pushed it away.

Finally Mr. Quinlan sighed and let his tension drop.  “It’s like this.”

Amelia rai
sed her wary eyes to meet his.

“I suppose a fine lady like you is mighty attached to a fancy place like this, but I understand that you’re in a heap of trouble after last night and got no place to go.  Now, I know it’s short notice, but I’m leaving London to head back to Montana tomorrow and I was wondering if, well, if you might want to come with me.”