Love Inspired Historical April 2014 Bundle: The Husband Campaign\The Preacher's Bride Claim\The Soldier's Secrets\Wyoming Promises (16 page)

John paused in the doorway and realized the tableau was everything he hated about Society. Major Kensington sat so stiffly he might have been posing for his portrait. Caro refused to look at him, and the swing of her skirts as she sat on one of the chairs told John that her toe was tapping, most likely in vexation, against the carpet.

Amelia was as serene as always, dispensing the brew, commenting consolingly on the weather, offering cakes and delicate biscuits.

“I imagine today has been too staid for you,” John said, coming into the room. “But, take heart. The skies should clear by evening.”

Caro brightened, and she patted the seat of the chair beside her. “John, darling! Come sit by me and have a cup.”

John went to Amelia, who hurriedly poured for him. He could see the tremor in the cinnamon-colored liquid as she handed him the cup. He put his hand on her shoulder and remained standing beside her as he took a sip.

“I've been wanting to speak with you,” Amelia said.

He would have thought she'd fired a pistol for how quickly Caro and the major reacted.

“Yes, Hascot, so have I,” Kensington said, setting aside his cup. “I see you have a very fine chessboard here. What about a game?”

“Don't be silly,” Caro said, rising in a rush of silk. “John would much prefer a ride. Allow me to accompany you, my lord. It will only take me a few moments to change.”

How had he become so popular? “Amelia?” he asked, glancing down at her.

To his surprise, there was a decided twinkle in her blue eyes. “You see how your guests have missed you, sir? You know what people can get up to when left to their own devices.”

Kensington's laugh reminded John of a frightened neigh. “Indeed. If not chess, old man, what about giving me a look at your breeding book? I imagine it's a fascinating read.”

John wasn't about to fuel that fire. “In my experience,” he returned, “such books are fascinating only to the breeder.”

Major Kensington held up a hand. “Say no more. I'll simply have to console myself with your wife's company.”

Amelia's blush appeared, a deeper red this time, and the twinkle in her eyes vanished.

“You do that,” Caro all but purred, strolling toward John and bringing the scent of roses with her. “I'm sure John and I can find some other way to pass the time.”

“I would never be so rude as to abandon my own wife,” John returned. He purposely reached for Amelia's hand and clasped it in his own. Her fingers were stiff.

“Certainly not,” Major Kensington agreed. “Why, if I had such a treasure, I'd never let her out of my sight.”

“What gallant gentlemen,” Caro proclaimed, an edge to her voice. “But I'm afraid I simply cannot sit around like a hothouse palm. Who's for a ride in the rain?”

John shook his head. “I prefer to remain indoors. Kensington?”

The major stretched his legs across the carpet. “Give me a warm hearth and a kind hostess any day.”

John had never seen Caro's face so tight. “Very well. I'm sure I can find a groom to attend me. Excuse me while I change into my riding habit.” She swept from the room.

“Do you play chess, Amelia?” Major Kensington asked.

“Not well enough,” Amelia admitted, busying herself with putting away the tea things. “I'm sure John would give you a better game.” Her glance up to him all but begged him to trounce the fellow.

“I'll take white,” John said, going to the table where the pieces had been laid out. But as Kensington moved to join him on the dark side of the board, John couldn't help wondering what game Caro and the major were really playing and how they had managed to involve Amelia.

Chapter Sixteen

S
omething was very wrong. Amelia sat quietly in the withdrawing room, her embroidery frame before her and a needle and floss in her hand. She was very glad John and Major Kensington were absorbed in their chess game, or they would surely have noticed that she hadn't taken a single stitch. Instead, her mind was busy determining how she might manage a private word with her husband.

When she'd ventured from her room to serve her guests tea, she had hoped to learn that the major and Caro had an innocent reason for their conversation in the corridor earlier. Unfortunately, their subsequent actions seemed to prove otherwise. They had gone out of their way to be pleasant to her, Caro even offering to share a set of gloves that would perfectly complement Amelia's gown. Amelia could not help thinking it was a bribe to ensure her silence. They did not know how much Turner had heard in the corridor, and they could not be certain the maid had not gone carrying tales to her mistress.

Their behavior with John had only confirmed the fact. Neither wanted her to speak with him, which only made her more determined to do just that.

She waited until the clock on the mantel chimed the hour, then rose. “I suppose we should change for dinner.”

John frowned at her. He hadn't done more than swap his boots for evening pumps the previous afternoon. Major Kensington looked just as surprised, even though he had effected an entire change in clothing the other nights.

“I think I'll remain in civilian clothes,” he said. “Hollyoak Farm has spoiled me that way.”

Of course he found an excuse! “My lord,” Amelia tried again, “a word about the menu.”

John's frown deepened. “Whatever you prefer is fine.”

“Indeed it is,” Major Kensington assured him. “Your wife is an uncommonly fine hostess.”

And an entirely frustrated one. Was there nothing she could do for a moment alone with her husband?

Father, how can I attract his attention without swishing my tail like a horse!

Inspiration struck. “John,” she said, “I'm worried about Firenza. She seems off her feed.”

John rose. “Why didn't you tell me sooner? Where's Fletcher?” He started from the table.

“Check!” Major Kensington proclaimed, leaning back in his chair as if from triumph. He was too much the soldier to show his panic, but Amelia thought his face had paled. “I have you now, my lord.”

John, dear John, waved a hand. “I'll finish the game another time. Come with me, Amelia, and tell Fletcher exactly what behavior you've seen. I won't lose that horse.”

“Of course, my lord,” Amelia said, hiding her smile.

Major Kensington jumped to his feet. “I'd be happy to be of assistance.”

“No,” John flung back over his shoulder as he moved to the doorway. “Firenza won't abide strangers. We'll see you at dinner.”

The major slumped back into his seat as Amelia followed her husband.

John's stride ate up the corridor to the back of the house, and Amelia could barely keep pace. But she waited until they had reached the stable yard before calling his name. He jerked to a stop and stood until she had reached his side.

Amelia put a hand on his arm. “I've already spoken with Dr. Fletcher. He feels she is merely expressing her displeasure at our recent training.”

“I'd prefer to check on her all the same,” John said.

Amelia glanced back at the house in time to see a curtain twitch in the library. Was a servant cleaning, or were she and John being watched? She took her husband's arm. “What a very good idea, my lord. I'll join you.”

The stable was its usual busy place, with grooms preparing the horses for evening. Firenza stood in her box, head already buried in her feed trough. John watched her from the side, his face still, as if every sense was tuned to look for problems. Amelia knew she shouldn't interrupt, but she was finding patience more difficult by the moment.

Finally, he stepped back to Amelia's side. “She's fine, but it's best to be watchful.”

“I quite agree,” Amelia said. “And the same might be said for our guests.”

Now he turned that intent gaze on her. “Why? Surely they can see to their own needs.”

Amelia took his arm and drew him back a little ways from the grooms. “That is entirely the problem, my lord. I'm concerned they are seeing to their own needs, to the detriment of yours.” She took a deep breath and plunged in. “I overheard Caro and Major Kensington talking about finances.”

He cocked his head. “Was he pressuring her?”

“No,” Amelia replied with a frown. “At least, not about money. Why would you assume him to be at fault?”

He straightened. “Forgive me. I should not make assumptions about people's behavior. I have a history of misunderstanding. But it seemed to me that Kensington was short of funds and hopes Caro will make up the difference.”

His theory aligned with what she'd heard. “You may be right, my lord. However, it seemed to me that Caro is also short of funds and hopes
you
will make up the difference.”

He shrugged. “I'm willing to listen to reason.”

Perhaps too willing, where Caro was concerned. “I'm not sure she intends to use words to persuade you.”

Now John frowned as if he didn't understand. Would he make her say it aloud? “She is pretty, John.”

“She is lovely,” John agreed, and she wanted to yank a horseshoe off the mare that was passing and throw the iron at him. “That isn't the point. Either she has a reason for her request, or she doesn't. Neither a pretty face nor winsome words will sway me.”

“Of course,” Amelia murmured, dropping her hold on him.

Still, she could feel him watching her. “What troubles you, Amelia?”

This was the perfect time to do as he had encouraged and state her opinion. “I cannot understand why she is here at all,” she admitted. “She complains we have no Society, lives by town hours and doesn't care a jot about the horses.”

He stepped aside to allow a groom past with another of the mares, drawing Amelia with him. “She is here because she has nowhere else to go at the moment. She's rented the town house, and the Hascot seat isn't habitable.”

Amelia threw up her hands. “And doesn't that strike you as convenient?”

“No,” John said. “It strikes me as remarkably inconvenient, for us.”

Amelia sighed. “I wish I could believe it merely inconvenient, John. I feel as if we're being manipulated.”

The familiar glower settled over his features. “That I will not countenance. I'll keep a closer eye on them, Amelia. Together, we will manage.”

Amelia could only hope he was right.

Dinner was a quieter affair, as if both Caro and Major Kensington expected to be evicted at any moment. When they all adjourned to the withdrawing room with no pronouncement from John, the two relaxed sufficiently to play another game of whist. But both found reasons to make it an early night. Amelia was almost loath to see them go, for more time alone meant more time for them to plot further ways to hurt John or her.

* * *

She was relieved to find the next day bright. At least now she could move her guests out of the house. She felt a little guilty for hoping John's prediction would prove true, and their scheduled visit to Bellweather Hall that day would convince Caro and the major that they much preferred London Society.

The distance down the dale was far enough and the occasion formal enough that they took John's carriage. Caro attempted to seat herself next to him, but he shifted across to Amelia's side. How could Amelia doubt him when he went out of his way to show her his preference?

Yet the more John drew away, the more Caro seemed intent on capturing his attentions. She fluttered her lashes, nudged his boot with her slipper. Amelia had to fight the urge to stomp on her instep.

Even worse, with John seated beside her, Amelia was left looking at Major Kensington, who smirked and winked his way through the trip. He claimed she looked like a ray of sunlight in her butter-yellow spencer and told her he had rarely seen a woman sit so serenely through every bump in the country road. She refused to acknowledge him with more than an indifferent smile.

But smiling at all became much more difficult when they reached Bellweather Hall. Amelia had seen the magnificent country house at a distance when she'd visited the Earl of Danning's fishing lodge nearby. Up close, the hall was even more splendid, with a fountain shooting as high as the white marble colonnaded portico in front of the sweeping wings.

Her mother had assured her the hall boasted more than two hundred rooms, each lavishly appointed. Certainly the entry hall, floored in marble inlaid with gold, lived up to Amelia's expectations. However, while her father's London house was as well decorated, Bellweather Hall was more welcoming, with bright clusters of arranged flowers and portraits of smiling ancestors.

A footman in a powdered wig and gold braid across his shoulders led them down a long corridor lined with alabaster statues and suits of armor to a withdrawing room laid out in shades of jade. The duchess and her daughter were seated on gilded chairs next to a hearth carved from serpentine marble. Each wore frilly muslin gowns that dripped lace, and Lady Prudence had confined her mousy curls inside a white satin turban with a pearl-studded band that seemed too ornate for an afternoon visit.

Both ladies smiled as John introduced his guests, but the duchess positively beamed as she met Caro.

“Ah, the Dowager Lady Hascot,” she declared. “I warrant you have some interesting tales to tell. Come, sit by me.”

“Yes, do,” Lady Prudence insisted with a sniff. “I seem to have come down with distemperate anemia, but I don't believe it's contagious.” She blinked rapidly, and Amelia realized she was attempting to flutter her lashes at the major. Though his smile remained charming, he adjusted the stock at his neck as if feeling the noose tightening. Already she could feel a similar tension in John. Surely she could think of some better way to pass the time than sitting around being uncomfortable with each other.

“I wonder,” Amelia said before anyone could position for seating. “It is a lovely day today, and I understand you have beautiful gardens, Your Grace. The turning paths might be quite conducive to conversation.”

Lady Bellington and Major Kensington both looked intrigued by the idea, and soon everyone had followed the duchess out the double doors at the end of the room. Caro linked arms with John and made sure to walk beside him. Amelia shook her head. Would the woman never leave off?

Her frustration made it hard to pay attention to the blooms along the graveled path. Unlike the boxed-in formal garden at her father's estate in London, the gardens at Bellweather Hall were a riot of colors and shapes, with curving paths wandering past flowering shrubs and into grottos with pools of water.

Amelia was more concerned about their guests. Lady Bellington commandeered Caro, and their heads were soon close together as if they whispered secrets. Major Kensington anchored himself beside John as if requiring reinforcements. Amelia found herself walking beside Lady Prudence and resigned herself to commiserate on a host of complaints.

“You cannot allow her to win,” Lady Prudence said, dabbing at her nose with a lace-edged handkerchief.

Amelia blinked. “Forgive me, but I'm not sure what you mean.”

Lady Prudence nodded toward the front of the column where Caro's laughter floated on the breeze. “Lady Hascot. She is far too bold.”

Amelia managed a smile. “I'm sure she seems so to many.”

“You will think me quite forward,” Lady Prudence confessed, pausing to blow her nose, “but you have been kind to me, and I would not see you ill used. That woman is attempting to eclipse you.”

Amelia stared at her. “Do you sense the competition, as well?”

“It is not obvious,” Lady Prudence assured her. “You are far too gentle natured and far too well-bred to let your frustration show. But I have been in your position, you know. My brother Bell is widely sought after, and not always with the best of intentions.”

Amelia glanced at her. Though the lady's face remained pale under the parasol she had brought with her, there was nothing infirm in her step. Indeed, she marched down the path as if intending to claim it for her own.

“And how does your brother deal with such difficulties?” Amelia asked her.

Lady Prudence tucked away her handkerchief. “Bell is generally good about seeing intentions. But he tends to give the ladies the benefit of the doubt. I'm afraid I'm much more cynical. I refuse to smile while danger creeps up on family.”

Amelia stared at Caro, who had paused to admire a rose climbing up the lacework of a trellis. “Do you think Lady Hascot to be dangerous?”

“To you physically? Perhaps not. But to your marriage, definitely. You must use all your wiles to protect your husband. You must show her that
you
are Lady Hascot.”

Her wiles. Over her two Seasons, she'd only resorted to such measures twice, batting her lashes and murmuring sweet words to convince a gentleman to see things her way. The first time had been to sway a Parliamentarian to support something her father wanted, earning her a rare compliment from him. The second time had been to help Ruby Hollingsford in her campaign to win the earl. Both times Amelia had felt dirty, deceitful afterward. It was one thing to be her best self in a situation. It was another to use her beauty to influence a man's actions.

“I fear that isn't in my nature,” she confessed.

Lady Prudence sighed. “A shame. I fear it would be entirely too much in my nature, only I haven't the arsenal you do.” She sniffed. “Perhaps that was the Lord's plan. He knew I would be too controlling to be a beauty.”

“I did not consider you controlling,” Amelia assured her.