Love Inspired Historical April 2014 Bundle: The Husband Campaign\The Preacher's Bride Claim\The Soldier's Secrets\Wyoming Promises (15 page)

“Amelia, Lady Hascot,” he said, “do you remember the vows we made each other?”

She nodded, blue eyes centered on him as if he was everything to her.

“For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer,” John reminded her.

“To love, cherish and obey,” she agreed. “Till death us do part.”

John spread his hands. “Before this company, I vow that I have lived up to these promises, and I always will.”

Her mouth twitched. “This company, my lord? I see only the two of us and our horses.”

“Of course.” He climbed to his feet. “Do you think I would lie to Magnum?”

Another woman would likely have laughed at him, but she shook her head. “In front of your trusted friend? Never. But you will recall he doesn't think much of me. What if he should counsel restraint?”

“I would argue him down,” John vowed. He caught the saddle and swung himself back into it. “Horses can learn, people can change. I am living proof of that, Amelia.”

She smiled as they set off toward the stables.

John thought his gesture had reassured her, for instead of retreating to the house, she stayed at his side while he took Major Kensington and Caro on a walking tour of the stables. He'd already gone over the finer points with Kensington earlier. Now he completed the tour by directing Caro's attention to the foals, which she cooed over.

“You know, old man,” Kensington said, leading John aside as Amelia attempted to introduce Caro to Royal Filigree, a fine strawberry roan, “I am acquainted with a few officers who'd love to take these mares off your hands when the foals are weaned. I could even find a fellow interested in breaking your Firenza. What do you say?”

He could not know the insult he'd offered. Did he think John incapable of taking care of his own horses?

“I don't sell to the cavalry,” John replied, keeping his gaze on Amelia, who was feeding a foal an apple. “When your friends retire, I'd be happy to hear from them.”

Kensington's face darkened, as if he meant to argue, but John turned his back on the man and went to rejoin the women. When the foals had exhausted their appeal for Caro, she excused herself to change for dinner. Kensington also made his excuses and followed, leaving John and Amelia to bring up the rear.

“Day one nearly over,” John said as the footman opened the rear door to the house for them.

“Cause for celebration,” Amelia agreed with a smile to him. She reached up and swept his hair off his forehead.

The touch was intimate, but it also spoke of expectations. Did his hair trouble her? He'd never been able to keep it in place. Neither had the footman, and it wasn't easy finding another barber out in the wilds of Derby.

“Would you mind terribly changing for dinner?” she asked as they started down the corridor.

Apparently he was deficient in that area, as well. Something inside him balked, like a horse led to a wall for the first time. “I'll change my boots,” he said, then strode ahead of her before she could ask for more.

But Amelia wasn't the only one wanting something from him. Caro was loitering in the corridor just beyond his bedchamber when he left a while later, evening pumps on his feet.

“There you are,” she said, leaving no doubt in his mind that she had been waiting for him. She threaded her arm through his. “Let's have a chat. We've so much to discuss.”

John removed her arm from his. “I'll wait for Amelia.”

She made a face. “Can't I have you to myself just once?”

“No,” John said.

She started laughing. Years ago he'd found it the most charming sound on the planet. Now it annoyed him.

“You really are the most predictable fellow, John,” she complained. “I wasn't intent on an assignation. I'm trying for once to be circumspect.” She lowered her voice and gazed up at him, brown eyes troubled. “I must speak to you about my portion. I think I may be in a pickle.”

John sighed. Caro's financial situation was the one topic he had no right to share with Amelia. “Very well,” he said and motioned her to follow him.

He led her down the stairs to the library but left the door open. Drawing her to the hearth, he nodded. “What happened? And why can't your solicitor deal with it?”

She rubbed her hands over each other as if stirring the emotions inside her. “To tell the truth, I'm not sure what happened. James told me that I would be provided for should anything happen to him. You told me nothing had changed. My solicitor, Mr. Carstairs, said I could go on as I always had. So I did. Now he advises me to economize.”

She stilled, regarding him. “I do not economize well, John.”

He imagined she did not. “What James left you should be adequate.”

She made a face. “Well, there is adequate and there is adequate. I had to rent the town house for the summer to make ends meet.”

John shook his head. “Is that why you decided to move in? You'd be better off at the Hascot country house in Devon.”

“I understand repairs are needed,” she said, dropping her gaze. “I didn't want to trouble you.”

John sighed. “It is the family seat, for all I prefer Hollyoak. I'll write to the solicitor and see what can be done.”

She sagged. “Oh, thank you, John! I knew I could count on you.” Tears glimmered in her eyes as she put a hand on his arm as if to steady herself. “You have always stood by me. I want you to know how grateful I am.”

She tilted up her face as if to offer him her lips. John took a step back, forcing her to release him.

“Think nothing of it,” he said. “It is all part of the responsibilities of the title.”

“Oh, but I think a great deal of it,” she protested. “In fact, I think about you all the time. I'm so, so sorry for the misunderstanding between us. You see, I loved you from the first.”

John reared back, feeling as if the world had tilted again. “What?”

She closed the distance between them, face once more tilted up. “It's true. I've always loved you, but when you took so long to propose, I thought you didn't love me. Naturally, I accepted your brother's offer. I'm so sorry. I thought you'd want to know.”

Two years ago, before she'd wed his brother, he'd have given anything to know, for then he might have fought for her. A year ago, when his brother had died, he might have wanted to know, at least as a salve to his consequence.

Now? Now he wanted nothing to do with the matter, for he was married, and his heart was already turning toward Amelia.

But hearing Caro's confession could only make him wonder. If he had lost the first woman he'd loved through his inability to express himself, what made him think he'd have any better luck with Amelia?

Chapter Fifteen

A
melia went to bed that night quite satisfied with herself. She'd not only survived a full day with her unwanted guests, but John had gone out of his way that evening to stay by her side. He'd partnered her in whist, and even though they'd lost the rubber, a small grimace was the most he'd shown of any disappointment. And he'd held her hand a moment, in full view of the others, when she bid him good-night. After his gesture in the pasture, kneeling before her and reciting their wedding vows again, she could not help feeling encouraged.

Perhaps this visit would prove a blessing after all.

But what she felt that night she very much doubted by the afternoon of the next day. They woke to misty rain she was beginning to realize was all too common in the peaks even in summer. Riding would be unthinkable for anyone but John, and even if they had been willing to travel by carriage, there was no one else to visit. Neither the Rotherfords nor Lord and Lady Danning were in residence. Lady Bellington had appointed the following day for their time at Bellweather Hall. Amelia knew she would have her work cut out for her to keep the major and Caro entertained indoors.

She dressed in one of her favorite morning gowns striped in sunny yellow with lace at the throat and cuffs, and marshaled her forces outside the dining room.

“Her ladyship won't rise until noon, most likely,” Turner explained.

“Whatever time,” Mr. Shanter promised with a twirl of his mustache, “I'll have sustenance ready.” He nodded in respect to Amelia, and she smiled her appreciation.

“I'll lay out the ebony and ivory chess set, your ladyship,” Mr. Hennessy offered. “That might amuse the major.”

“And there's paper and pencil for silhouettes,” Amelia remembered. “Reams, set up a station in the library, just in case.”

“Right away, your ladyship,” the footman agreed.

Armed with her plans, Amelia retreated only to her secretary in the corner of the withdrawing room, thinking perhaps she should attempt a letter to her mother while she waited for Caro to wake. Yet the words refused to come. She knew what her mother expected of her—to write that all was well even if it was not and to ask after family and friends she hadn't seen in years. But that life seemed very far away, and she could not muster sufficient regret. She still hadn't managed more than a sentence before Major Kensington found her, Turner having gone upstairs to finish airing Amelia's bedchamber.

“I wonder, dear Amelia,” the cavalry officer said, coming to her side and offering her a bow in his navy coat, “if I might impose on you for some writing paper and a fresh quill. I have correspondence I must complete.”

She would not have taken him for an avid correspondent. “Certainly, sir,” she said, pulling together the materials in front of her.

“You needn't look so surprised,” he said with a chuckle as Amelia handed him a sheaf of vellum. “Even we military types write on occasion.”

Amelia blushed. “Forgive me, sir. Of course you must write, orders and battle plans and such.”

“Yes, I'm learning even civilian life requires a battle plan from time to time,” he replied with a smile. “For the moment I thought to write to an old friend who needs cheering.” He patted his thigh. “Lost a leg at Talavera.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” Amelia handed him the quill, as well. “Please thank him for his valiant sacrifice.”

He brightened. “Why don't you help me compose the letter? I vow it would do the old fellow a world of good to know someone else cared.”

“I'd be honored,” Amelia said.

He went to fetch one of the wood-wrapped armchairs and positioned it next to her. “Perhaps you should start,” he suggested, nodding to the paper on her desk.

Amelia picked up a quill and dipped it in ink. Major Kensington leaned closer, stretching his arm to rest along the back of her chair.

“What is his name?” Amelia asked, intent on the letter before her.

“Hmm?” Major Kensington seemed to be having trouble concentrating. “Oh, his name is Thomas.”

“Baptismal name or surname?” Amelia asked, glancing up.

The major seemed even closer than he had been a moment ago. She had the distinct impression he was trying to gauge the scent of her hair. And his arm behind her was entirely too much like an embrace. Amelia attempted to edge away from him, but the desk hampered her efforts.

“Both,” he said with a charming smile. “Thomas Thomas. We used to call him old Tom Tom for short.”

She wasn't about to address a gentleman so familiarly. “And his rank?” she asked, forcing herself to focus on the letter.

“He isn't titled.” He shifted closer, and his trouser pressed against her skirts.

Amelia hitched her chair to the side until she bumped against the silk-papered wall. “I meant his military rank,” she said, repositioning the paper. “I believe it is customary to address an officer by his rank even when he is retired.”

“Oh, assuredly. I believe he made captain before his unfortunate accident.” He edged his chair up against hers. His smile was far too knowing. “Are you running away from me, Lady Hascot?”

She did not wish to give him the impression that his actions concerned her; that gave him too much power. “Merely seeking the light,” she said, motioning with her quill to the nearby window. “Now, then, let us begin. ‘Dear Captain Thomas, I am writing for your friend, Major Kensington.'”

“Davy,” he said.

She looked up to find his face mere inches from her own. “He always called me Davy,” he murmured. “You could, too, you know. I'd like to think we've become good friends.”

“You are too kind, Major,” Amelia said. She handed him the quill and pushed back her chair, forcing his arm to fall away from her. “Perhaps you should write this letter after all, if he is such a dear friend. Excuse me while I see what's keeping my husband.”

She hurried from the room before he could protest.

In the corridor, she paused and took a deep breath. What behavior! No doubt he was simply so used to flirting that he forgot himself around a married woman, but she refused to allow him such familiarities. From now on, she'd make certain she was never alone with the fellow. That ought to keep his attentions on the proper plane.

She instructed a footman to wait upon the major's needs and retired to the lap desk in her room to write to her mother. But even in the quiet that was broken only by the whisper of Turner's skirts as she put away some clothes in the wardrobe, Amelia could not decide how to continue. Her mother had always overseen all of Amelia's activities. Which part of their situation could Amelia relate without expecting a scold in return?

Turner had headed for the corridor with a bundle of soiled linens, but as soon as she opened the door, she slid it part of the way shut again. She shifted this way and that, peering through the gap.

“What are you doing?” Amelia couldn't help asking, putting away her unused quill.

“Shh,” the maid cautioned.

Amelia shook her head as she rose. “Turner, there's no need to spy on the other servants. I'm persuaded we have a good group in place now.”

The maid glanced at Amelia over her shoulder. “It's not the servants that worry me, your ladyship. It's the other Lady Hascot.”

“Turner,” Amelia scolded, coming to the door. “She is our guest.”

“Mighty funny guest if you ask me,” Turner said. “You look out there and tell me what you see.”

Something in her manner warned Amelia she would not like the picture in the corridor. Dread gathered at her throat. Could she have been wrong about John? Was he even now telling the other Lady Hascot how much he still admired her? She could not keep herself from peering out the crack.

But instead of her husband beside Caro, Major Kensington stood close and familiar, one hand on the shoulder of Caro's lavender evening dress.

“You're taking your sweet time,” he said to her.

Amelia thought he must be talking about the lady's habit of sleeping late, but Caro waved a hand. “I told you he would not be rushed. John is nothing if not methodical. If you wish his cooperation, you must earn his trust.”

John's cooperation? Why did the major require his cooperation? Amelia knew she should close the door to avoid overhearing a private conversation, but she couldn't seem to move.

“And how am I to earn his trust when he spends all his time with his cattle?” Major Kensington complained. He pulled back his hand to adjust his stock. “I prefer to expend my efforts on the wife. She might be useful, and she's far more entertaining.”

Amelia stiffened, but Caro rapped him on the arm. “Stop that! She has no influence on him. If she had, she'd have convinced him to consummate the marriage by now.”

If Amelia had ever considered a friendship with the woman, the hope died right then. How could Caro tell another person, especially a gentleman, about the secret she only suspected? It was as if she had tossed Amelia's shame into the air for all to see.

“I wouldn't blame that on her,” Major Kensington answered. “Any man who could resist such a beauty is obviously touched in the head, which doesn't bode well for our chances of success.”

Caro patted her golden curls. “Doesn't bode well for your chances. If you give me time, I'll bring him around.”

Amelia felt cold all over, but Major Kensington bent his head. “I'd estimate that you have at most two days before our mutual acquaintance loses patience and comes to Hollyoak Farm himself. Is that what you want?”

She jerked back. “I'm not afraid of him.”

“Indeed. Then why are you doing his bidding?”

She shrugged, but Amelia thought the gesture too contrived. “I've already spent his money, and there will be no more unless I make good on my promises.”

His money? Was Caro short on funds? Had John taken money from the estate to support the changes Amelia had requested at Hollyoak Farm? If so, the woman's need to find alternative funding was at least partly Amelia's fault.

“Hascot seems to think you were left well-off,” the major informed her.

As Amelia frowned, Caro put a hand on his cheek. “Well-off for one is insufficient for two, my sweet. I would prefer to be able to keep you in style.”

He bent his head then, and Amelia started to close her door.

Caro jerked. “Is someone there?”

Major Kensington whirled, and for a moment the charming smile slipped to be replaced by a fury that made Amelia suck in a breath.

Turner pushed past her. “Pardon me, ma'am. Just going out with the dirty linen. Didn't wish to disturb you.” She bent to tuck up some of the hanging pieces. Only Amelia could see her face. “Carry on as usual,” she advised in a whisper. “I'll fetch the master. I warrant he'll have something to say about the two of them being thick as thieves.”

Amelia allowed her to shut the door, then leaned against the panel. It was clear Major Kensington and Caro wanted something from John, and it sounded like money. For some reason they felt they had to trick it out of him. And who was this other acquaintance, the one Major Kensington seemed to think Caro should fear?

She could only hope Turner could prevail upon John to join them, for she wasn't sure even her highly trained hostess skills were up to this sort of thing, and she couldn't hide in her room for long.

* * *

“You're hiding,” Fletcher said.

John drew himself up from where he'd been examining Magnum's right fore pastern at the back of the stable. It seemed to him the black had favored the leg on their ride through the rain, but he'd found no sign of a stone in the shoe.

“I have work to do,” he told his veterinarian, reaching for the cloth he used to rub down the stallion.

“Your staff has work to do,” Fletcher countered. “And by your leave, they are very good at doing it. You are likely needed inside.”

John grimaced as he rubbed Magnum's coat, and the stallion's muscles relaxed. He knew he was avoiding his guests. He doubted his refusal to sell his horses to the military had gone over well with Major Kensington. He wasn't about to change his mind, but he didn't think Amelia would be pleased if he started an argument in her lovely new withdrawing room.

Then there was Caro's confession the previous evening that she still loved him. Why had she bothered to tell him? Surely she knew him well enough to realize he would never be unfaithful to Amelia. Why stir things up now?

“Is Amelia having trouble?” he asked the veterinarian, hanging the cloth on the stall to dry.

“Your bride is a lady through and through,” Fletcher assured him. “She would never complain. But I'm certain your aid would be greatly appreciated.”

John puffed out a sigh. “I cannot like it, Fletcher. I feel like one of my foals in training, forced to go this way or that simply to please another.”

Fletcher shrugged. “And yet we both know that training improves the horse, fits it for its intended duty.”

“And we both know some horses fight to the bitter end,” John countered with a nod down the stable to where Firenza had kicked over the box of grooming implements about to be used on her.

“By your leave,” Fletcher said, “you are not a horse, my lord.”

John chuckled. “Don't tell Magnum.”

Just then, John spotted Turner coming along the center aisle of the stable. Standing on her toes to see over the boxes, the maid glanced this way and that, and John knew by the way her face hardened when she'd spotted him.

“Begging your pardon, your lordship, Dr. Fletcher,” she said as she hurried up, “but her ladyship requires your assistance inside.”

The veterinarian raised a brow at John as if to say
I told you so.
“I'll be right in,” John promised her.

He took the time to push his hair off his forehead, then ventured indoors. The footman directed him to the withdrawing room, where Amelia, Caro and Major Kensington were taking tea.