Love Inspired Historical April 2014 Bundle: The Husband Campaign\The Preacher's Bride Claim\The Soldier's Secrets\Wyoming Promises (19 page)

He wished he could believe that. “So you ask me to compromise my principles for my wife's happiness.”

“Marriage is compromise, sir,” he returned. “Believe no one who says otherwise.”

He wanted to argue, to stand his ground. But he could not deny that Amelia seemed lonely. Would having more friends help? If his horses were truly safe, why shouldn't he sell to a military man, especially if it brought her comfort?

“I will take your advice under consideration,” he promised Amelia's father, who graciously inclined his head as if knowing he'd won.

Yet how seriously should he take the fellow? John couldn't help thinking about the matter as they rode back to the stables. From what he'd seen of Lord and Lady Wesworth, their marriage was not a happy one, so taking their advice on how to improve his seemed rather foolhardy.

On the other hand, Lord Wesworth counseled compromise, and John could not deny that compromise was inherent in any human endeavor. If he wished for more hay than his fields would produce, he must come to an agreement with another farm in the dale willing to sell its surplus. The greater the need, the more he might be willing to pay.

What was he willing to do to secure Amelia's happiness?

Reams, who now served as valet, was waiting to help him with his boots.

“My black coat tonight,” John told him. “And a fancier waistcoat.”

“My lord?” Reams ogled him as if John had asked to wear Magnum's bridle down to dinner.

“I own suitable evening clothes, do I not?” John demanded.

“Yes, my lord,” Reams assured him. “I'm sure I can find something appropriate. Just give me a moment.” He almost ran for the dressing room.

When John went down to dinner a short time later, he fancied he would do credit to his wife. His uncooperative hair was pomaded in place. His black evening coat and trousers were set off by the emerald-striped satin waistcoat Reams had found in his closet. At least he hoped the fellow hadn't borrowed it from the major's trunk. His footman had even tied John's cravat in some fanciful formation dubbed the
Trone d'Amour,
and John found it more than a little difficult to turn his head.

Compromise, indeed.

He heard his guests before he reached the withdrawing room. Someone was laughing, a joyous sound that leaped about the air like one of his foals at play. He didn't think it was Caro. Did they have another guest?

He paused in the doorway, none too sure he wanted to find out. He spotted Caro right away, hanging on the major's arm as if he was everything to her. Yet the look on her face when she gazed up at the officer was nothing short of dismay.

John could see why. The major was entirely absorbed with the woman standing by the hearth. Platinum hair swung in curls beside her face; sapphires glittered in the lace-edged neck of the satin gown, which matched the color of her eyes. He'd always known Amelia was a beauty. Tonight, she outshone the stars.

“Ah, there you are, my lord,” she called out. She held out her gloved hand, graceful, polished. “Do lead me in to dinner. I'm positively famished.”

Bemused, John came to do as he was bid.

It was like dining with a fountain. Amelia was all movement and joy, sharing stories, encouraging conversation. He couldn't remember taking a bite of the first course before the second was brought in. Major Kensington was clearly enthralled, and even her own father was watching her with that twitch of his lips that suggested approval. John didn't remember Caro's presence until she spoke up as they all walked to the withdrawing room after the meal.

“Allow me to offer some entertainment this evening,” she said, moving to the front of the room. “After all, we wouldn't want poor Amelia to have to resort to whist again.”

Amelia might have taken offense at the implied slight to her skills as a hostess. Instead, she laughed. “Particularly when I am so very good at losing.”

Major Kensington eyed Lord Wesworth. “I wouldn't mind a hand or two, but we are odd numbers for cards.”

“That's why I suggest charades,” Caro said, taking up a dramatic pose as if prepared to act out her part.

Lord Wesworth raised a brow. “I abhor mindless parlor games.”

Caro stilled, one hand raised. Even Amelia dimmed, as if she had been about to suggest such a game, as well.

“I used to sing for my parents,” John heard himself say.

They all stared at him. Caro's eyes were wide, as if she thought he'd gone quite mad. Major Kensington was grinning, as if he thought it a fine joke. But Amelia's look of glowing gratitude propelled John forward.

“It's been a few years,” he admitted, taking his place at the front of the room as Caro retired to a chair nearby. “But let's see if I remember.” He coughed into his hand to clear his throat.

Major Kensington leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. The set of his mouth told John he was ready to critique the piece, and the major fully expected to have a great deal to complain about. There was nothing for it but to dive in.

“Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay,” John sang, the words coming back to him. His voice had always been deep. Now the notes rolled from inside him and echoed in the otherwise silent room.

“Nor quit for me the trembling spray.

A hapless lover courts thy lay,

Thy soothing, fond complaining.

Again, again that tender part,

That I may catch thy melting art;

For certain that would touch her heart

Who kills me with distaining.”

All gazes had turned to his, but the only one he sought was Amelia's. Her lips were parted in wonder, her eyes soft. Did she know he was singing to her?

“Thou tells of never-ending care;

Of speechless grief, and dark despair.

For pity's sake, sweet bird, no more,

Or my poor heart is broken.”

He finished and bowed, afraid to see how Amelia had taken it. But when he straightened, he saw an answering smile on her lovely face.

“Well done!” Caro proclaimed, applauding. The others joined in. Even Major Kensington looked impressed.

“Perhaps a duet next,” John said, and Caro popped to her feet. John held out his hand to his wife. “Amelia, will you join me? Surely you know ‘Return My Heart.'”

She rose slowly, gaze on his. “Yes, I know it. Will you take melody or harmony, my lord?”

John chuckled. “Melody will be difficult enough, I fear.”

“Then you lead,” she said with a smile, “and I'll follow.”

He thought for a moment, hearing the appropriate note in his head. Then he started.

“I prithee send me back my heart,

Since I cannot have thine;

For if from yours you will not part,

Why then should you have mine?”

Amelia joined on the second verse, their voices blending.

“Why should two hearts in one breast lie

And yet not lodge together?

O love! Where is thy sympathy,

If thus our hearts you sever?”

All he could see was her, her blue eyes meeting his, her clear voice sweeping away any other thought but the story of lovers parted and then united. Did she know she'd captured his heart? Destroyed the last of his defenses?

They finished together.

“Then farewell care and farewell woe;

I will no longer pine;

For I'll believe I have her heart,

As much as she hath mine.”

The song faded, and John caught his breath. Amelia's lips trembled, and she leaned closer. He met her halfway, touching his lips to hers. And breath and thought became impossible.

Applause reminded him of their audience. John pulled back to find Lord Wesworth on his feet.

“As fine an entertainment as I've ever heard,” he pronounced. “You make me proud, daughter.”

Amelia burst into tears and ran from the room.

Chapter Nineteen

W
ell, she'd done it. She'd succeeded in capturing her father's attentions after more than twenty years of striving. And for what? Dressing better than usual and flirting shamelessly.

And John, dear John, had noticed her, as well. Each word of his song echoed in her heart. And when they had sung together, she'd felt perfect for the first time in her life.

She couldn't bear it.

This wasn't her. She wasn't someone to put herself on display, to manipulate people into liking her. Her head was throbbing, her breath was hitching and she just wanted to go upstairs and crawl beneath the covers. What was wrong with her?

John caught her at the foot of the stairs. In truth, she wasn't even sure where she had been going. All she'd known was that she had to escape before she said or did something further to disgrace herself.

“Easy,” he said, laying a hand on her arm. His shoulders were down, his breath coming slowly, controlled. She'd seen the response before and knew its purpose.

“Oh, John,” she returned, “I'm not one of your horses to be calmed at a word and a deep breath.”

He ran his hand up her arm and down again, as if needing to reassure her as much as himself. “I know you aren't a horse, Amelia. But I'm coming to realize that people act a great deal like them.”

She didn't want his touch to be so soothing, yet it was. She could feel her own muscles loosening. “Your horses do not dress up and make a spectacle of themselves,” she protested.

He shrugged. “I'll leave you to argue that with Magnum. He is inordinately pleased with the purple blanket I gave him last year. But I was actually thinking of the way your father responded to our duet.”

“If you tell me a stallion is proud when his colt leads the hunting field, I will not believe you,” she warned.

He chuckled. “I think a stallion is more likely to attempt to race his offspring across the hunting field rather than cheer them on. But the same might be said for your father. His behavior reminds me of the way Magnum treats a strange horse in the pasture, baring his teeth and shaking his head.”

“The thought that my father might somehow find me a threat would not survive its birth,” Amelia insisted. “He is always the one in control. He sent a man to spy on us, John!”

“Apparently to ensure I treated you well,” John replied. “But make no mistake, Amelia. You are a threat to Magnum and to him. I should have realized it before. If you ask me, they are both jealous.”

Amelia stiffened. “Jealous? Why?”

“Magnum sees you as a rival for my attentions. Horses view all relationships as linear—you are either above or below the horse. I am above Magnum, but only by one notch in his opinion. He thinks you are trying to come between us.”

She shook her head. “As if that was possible.”

“And your father?” John continued, as if excited to have understood the dynamics at last. “Power and prestige are everything to him. You said so yourself.” He touched her chin, drawing her gaze to his. “When you sing, Amelia,” he said solemnly, “you are the most important person in the room. That surprised him.”

It was rather heady to think that she might have discomposed her ruthless father. But she did not want to be the kind of person who took pleasure from discomforting others.

“Perhaps,” she allowed. “But it was not my intention, I assure you.”

He lowered his hand, cocking his head. “What was your intention tonight? I will admit you surprised me, as well.”

She sucked in a breath and only succeeded in feeling her tears fall faster. “I wanted your attention, sir, but not for being someone else!” She wiped at her eyes, her gloves dampening with each touch. “Oh, forgive me, John. I'm a mess!”

“You could never be a mess,” he replied. “Although I have seen you look better.”

Amelia felt a smile coming. “Always frank, my lord. I may not have told you before, but I appreciate it. There is no dissembling in you.”

He raised his head. “But there is, Amelia. I've done everything to keep you from seeing inside me, but you, your kindness, your dedication, you cracked open my shell. I fear you won't like what you see.”

Amelia stared at him. “John, how could I not like what I see? You are a fine man.”

His mouth worked, as if he could not decide upon the words. “I could be,” he said. “With you beside me.”

“Oh, John.” She wanted to touch him, but she didn't trust herself. Instead, she motioned down the sapphire-blue gown. “I wanted to be special tonight, to shine for once, to have you want me beside you. But this? This isn't me! I'd rather be wearing my plum riding habit!”

He grinned. Her sober, solemn husband looked as if he'd just won the prize for best horse at the annual show. He reached up his fingers to his throat and tugged down on his cravat, ruining the fold.

“And this isn't me. I will never be perfect, Amelia. But I was willing to dress up like a jackanapes, if it would please you.”

Amelia felt her own smile forming. “You did all this for me?”

Down the corridor, Caro poked her head from the withdrawing room. “John?” she called. “Are you returning? We could use a fourth for a hand of whist.”

“It appears cards are not quite so boring when
she
suggests them,” Amelia said with an exasperated sigh. She waved down the corridor at Caro. “We'll be with you shortly.” Lowering her hand and her voice at the same time, she leaned closer to John. “I had another idea for the evening's entertainment. May I ask you to follow my lead?”

“To the battle and beyond, madam,” he promised, his usual intensity igniting. Together, they returned to the withdrawing room.

Caro had convinced Amelia's father and the major to take their places around the parquet table for whist.

“How kind of you to see to our guests while I was unavailable,” Amelia told her, approaching the table. “But allow me to propose a new game, twenty questions.”

Her father shoved back from the table. “I told you—I disdain parlor games.”

“I think you will enjoy this one,” Amelia said, steeling herself to continue despite his disapproval. “For I propose a prize to the winner—your choice of mount tomorrow, any horse in John's stable.” She glanced at John, and he inclined his head in agreement, dark eyes watchful.

Caro leaned forward, eyes lighting.
“Any
horse? Even the famed Firenza?”

“Even Firenza,” Amelia promised. “Though I reserve the right to try to dissuade you should you choose her.”

“I'm in,” Major Kensington said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his hands together before his gold-braid-covered uniform. “I can't wait to ride that black brute, Magnum.”

“I also reserve the right to try to dissuade you,” John put in. “Though I fear I'll be wasting my breath.”

Major Kensington grinned.

They relocated to the sofa and chairs by the fire. All her guests regarded her eagerly now as Amelia took up her place before the hearth. Even her father had a look on his face she'd never seen before. It was as if the fire behind her danced in his eyes.

“Twenty questions,” Amelia repeated, catching each gaze in turn. She could feel John watching her as if expecting her to recite the entire New Testament or the Tattersalls breeding book from memory or do something equally marvelous. His faith in her made her breath come easier.

“I am thinking of something,” she told her guests. “It is your task to ferret out the answer. You may ask me yes or no questions only, in turn, and no more than twenty in all. Whoever guesses first wins. Caro, please begin.”

Caro preened, patting the curls beside her feathered bandeau. “Is it a man?” She fluttered her lashes at John, but he kept his gaze fixed on Amelia.

“No,” Amelia replied, turning to the next guest. “Major Kensington?”

“Is it a woman?” he asked, watching her.

Amelia smiled. “No.”

“Is it a horse?” her father asked before she could turn his way.

John stiffened, but when Amelia answered, “No,” he relaxed again. She would not have dared to attempt to do justice to one of his darlings.

Caro leaned forward, her gown rustling, to take her turn. “It is an object, then,” she surmised. “Is it larger than a teapot?”

“Yes,” Amelia agreed.

“Larger than a horse?” Major Kensington asked.

Once again, John perked up. What was it with these gentlemen and horses! But she must answer, regardless.

Amelia thought a moment. “Forgive me, but I cannot respond with a yes or no. It would depend on the horse.”

Both John and Major Kensington looked thoughtful.

Her father was regarding her with narrowed eyes, as if he had a glimmer of an idea of what went on in her head. That alone would be amazing!

“Is it something a woman would use?” he asked.

“Yes,” Amelia admitted, “though men have been known to use it, too.”

Caro straightened, eyes brightening. “Is it a hairbrush?” she cried.

“A hairbrush?” Major Kensington stared at her. “It's as big as some horses!” He snorted. “A hairbrush, she asks.”

Caro glared at him.

“No, it is not a hairbrush,” Amelia said, far more kindly, she hoped. John nodded his encouragement for her to continue.

“Is it a carriage?” Major Kensington asked with a thoughtful frown. “Perhaps a small one, like a gig?”

“A carriage?” Caro sneered. “You think a carriage is the size of a horse? Why does it take a team to pull one?”

Now Major Kensington glared at her.

This was not going the way Amelia had hoped. “Not a carriage,” she emphasized. “Allow me to offer a hint. It is something you would find indoors.”

Caro and the major glanced about the room as if seeking inspiration. John had narrowed his eyes now, as if he, too, was centering in on an answer, even though he was not one of the players in this game.

“Is it currently in this house?” Amelia's father asked quietly.

“No,” Amelia admitted.

Caro and Major Kensington's gazes collided, and they both frowned.

“What color is it?” Caro asked, voice tinged with suspicion. Did she think Amelia had colluded with her father in this?

Major Kensington, however, rolled his eyes. “You have to ask yes or no questions. That's part of the rules.”

Caro threw up her hands. “Oh, and you always play by the rules, don't you,
Major?
”

He stiffened. “My battlefield promotion was well gazetted, I'll have you know. You can ask Wellington to his face.”

“I shall, the next time I'm in London,” Caro threatened.

Amelia raised her brows, trying to think of a way to intervene.

“I believe,” John said in the angry silence, “it is Caro's turn for a question.”

Caro tossed her head at the major, then turned her attention to Amelia. “Is it pink?”

“Pink?” Major Kensington all but choked.

“No,” Amelia hurried to answer. “At least, not that I've ever seen. And you are halfway through your questions.”

She could see Major Kensington's lips moving as if he was reviewing the facts so far before asking his question next. Then his face brightened.

“Is it a stove?” he guessed. “One of those great black models the prince insisted on for Brighton?”

Caro looked impressed that he would know about such things.

“No,” Amelia replied.

He deflated.

“Nice try,” Caro whispered in encouragement.

“Is it a pianoforte?” her father asked.

Amelia couldn't help smiling at him. “Yes, Father, it is. You win.”

A smile curved her father's lips. “It wasn't tremendously difficult to guess. You've ever been fond of music.”

Although he always spoke with authority, his voice held a timbre she hadn't heard before, as if the memory pleased him. Had he known more about her activities than she'd thought? She felt as if something inside her was warming, melting.

Caro and Major Kensington were less delighted with the result. They both sank back in their seats, and Major Kensington crossed his arms over his braid-draped chest, but neither was willing to gainsay Lord Wesworth.

“As a consolation prize,” Amelia said, “perhaps John could choose the perfect mount for each of you.”

Everyone brightened at that, and conversation turned to where they might ride the next day and what time everyone could be ready. As if particularly eager, they all agreed on an early night.

“Well done,” John murmured as Amelia passed him for the stairs.

“Thank you, my lord.” A shiver of anticipation ran through her. All that had happened tonight had almost made her abandon her original plan for the evening. But the next part was the most important.

“Would you be so kind as to follow my lead one more time?” she asked her husband. “Meet me in the library in a quarter hour. There's something I must discuss with you.”

He frowned as if he wasn't sure what she was about, but nodded. “As you wish.”

Amelia nodded her thanks as well, and watched him head in that direction. She felt as if she and John had reached an understanding tonight, but if the next hour went as she hoped, her marriage would be on much sounder footing by morning.

* * *

John smiled to himself as he sat on an armchair by the fire. Then he paused to settle himself more firmly in the seat. This worn gold-threaded armchair, which had once been exiled to the attics, was far more comfortable than the leather-bound seats that had squatted here before Amelia had redecorated. He would have to compliment her on her choice.

He could find any number of things for which to praise her tonight, most of all her courage. She was no more comfortable in groups than he was, yet she'd found a way to brighten the evening, entertain their guests. And even he looked forward to the morrow.