Love Inspired Historical April 2014 Bundle: The Husband Campaign\The Preacher's Bride Claim\The Soldier's Secrets\Wyoming Promises (22 page)

“You wouldn't dare blacken my name,” he sneered. “You know it would reflect on Amelia.”

“Amelia no longer shares your name,” John pointed out. “And I am convinced she would feel less pain should Society shun her than she does now at your callous treatment.” He stepped away from the carriage, satisfied that he had made his point.

“So you will refuse me,” the marquess said, and something in his tone spoke of surprise and respect. “I would not have thought you had it in you.”

“Your daughter has made a new man of me,” John told him. “Now collect your lapdog of a major, return to London and carry my regrets to your friends. As for me, I have a great deal to do if I am to show my wife how very much she is loved and admired.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

A
melia paced about the library carpet, Turner hovering by the fire and Reams standing by the door as if ready to repel all boarders. She had peered out the window, but the bulky carriages blocked her view of the stable yard. She would have given her household budget to know what was happening outside.

John obviously suspected who had put the major up to his attempt to link her name to scandal. Could it have been Caro? The woman was set on clutching all attention to herself and even to swaying John's opinion on selling his horses, but surely she would not see another woman ruined. And the idea that her father was the instigator hurt too much to consider.

Oh, but she had to take her mind off the matter or she'd go mad! She wandered to the desk, thinking to organize the few papers lying there. But John was an experienced manager, and the staff was competent, so there was little for her to tidy. Then she saw the folded parchment with her name on it. The hand was definitely John's. She'd seen it on their marriage certificate. Why was her husband writing to her?

She picked it up and opened it. He'd written:

My dearest Amelia,

Sometimes I grow so frustrated not knowing how to express what is in my heart. Magnum can tell by the way my shoulders move whether I am happy, sad or angry. But I have not had such luck with the people around me. That is why I wanted to write to you.

I have come to love and deeply admire you. I have never met anyone who can take something wrong and make it right with only a pleasant smile and a kind word. Yet you do this every day, in countless ways. You are like sunlight piercing the gloom of my life. I can never thank you enough for what you've given me.

Hope.

Dear Amelia, you are the world to me. Please never leave me.

John

Tears fell, smearing the ink, and she quickly folded the precious words away. Turner must have noticed her actions, for she ventured closer to the desk.

“Madam?” she asked, head cocked. “Is everything all right?”

Reams was regarding her, too, as if he suspected she'd found something dangerous on the desk. Amelia smiled at them both.

“I'm fine,” she assured them. “Everything is fine. I know that now.”

And thank You, Lord, for that!

She hugged the note to her heart, smile growing. She would keep these words for the rest of her life to be read and reread, memorized and pressed upon her heart like summer flowers tucked away in a book. She had made a difference in his life. She was loved. What more could she want?

Someone tapped at the door just then, and everyone stiffened. Reams returned to the portal to unlock it and crack it open, then swung it wider to admit Dr. Fletcher. The veterinarian's curls were in greater disarray than usual, as if he'd run all the way from the cellar to tell them his news.

“It's done,” he said with a reassuring smile. “Major Kensington and Lady Hascot are on their way back to London, and so is your father, your ladyship. I took the liberty of requesting that the staff move your things back to your room.”

Turner darted forward. “They'll only make a hash of it. Excuse me.” She hurried from the library.

“And my husband?” Amelia asked, taking a step closer to the doctor.

“Wishes me to convey a message. He will be busy for the rest of the day, but he plans to dine with you this evening if you will accept his invitation.” He held out a folded sheet of vellum.

What could he possibly say that he hadn't already said? But of course, he wouldn't know she'd found his beautifully written love letter.

“I believe he's trying to make amends,” Dr. Fletcher said as if he'd wondered at her hesitation.

“There's truly no need,” Amelia said, but she accepted the note and opened it.

“My dearest Amelia,” her husband had written.

All matters are settled, and I am convinced that Kensington's master, whoever he might be, will trouble us no further. I can see, however, that I failed in a greater duty than to discover our foe. I did not support you in your efforts to entertain our guests; I did not protect you when you needed it. Worst of all, I have not honored you as I should. That ends now. I am planning a special evening for the two of us. I hope you will forgive me and consider joining me.

Your devoted husband.

“What shall I tell him?” Dr. Fletcher asked.

Amelia carefully folded the note, knowing that it, too, would find a safe place among her treasures. “Tell him I am delighted to accept his invitation, Doctor, and that I live in anticipation.”

With a smile, Dr. Fletcher inclined his head and left her.

It was an impossibly long afternoon. She directed Turner and the footman on how to rearrange her things, then left them to the matter. She had no wish to treat her staff as if they were incompetent. But if not moving her things, how else was she to fill the time? She was quite caught up on correspondence, except for that letter to her mother that would likely not be written yet for some time, given the current state of affairs. For once, her beloved books held no interest. With no guests to entertain, time seemed to slow. And all she kept thinking about was John.

What would he do? What had he planned?
Oh, please, Lord, show me how to love him, whatever he does!

She was on her way to her room to change for dinner when Turner met her at the top of the stairs.

“There was a bit of a mess, your ladyship,” she said, “as I predicted. Things aren't quite settled. I have everything you need for this evening in the other room.”

Well, that was odd. Perhaps she
should
supervise her staff more closely!

“Very well,” Amelia agreed.

In the small room, one of her favorite evening gowns lay spread on the covers. It was simple, with white lace at the curved neck and puffed sleeves and a fall of sky-blue satin. She smiled as Turner settled the folds around her.

“I have in mind a different style tonight,” the maid confessed. “I think you'll like it, and so will his lordship.”

She set about taking down Amelia's pins and combing out the tresses until they shone. Then she pulled them back from Amelia's face to allow them to flow down her back.

“Daring,” Amelia said, turning her head to regard the coiffure in the hand mirror. “I like it. I feel daring tonight. But the drape of this gown demands a necklace.”

Turner made a face. “The jewel case is still locked up, your ladyship. But I wouldn't worry. You sparkle better than any diamond.”

Amelia thought she was right. She felt light as a bubble as she came down the stairs to the dining room. Inside, candlelight glowed on the gilt-edged plates, the crystal goblets. A man stood by the hearth with his back to her, black tailcoat emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders, hair pomaded in place. Disappointment shot through her.

Father, please not another Amble By!

“Forgive me, sir,” she said, venturing into the room. “I didn't realize we had company.”

“Company?” There was no mistaking that deep, rough voice. John turned and scowled at her. “I specifically said we were not to be disturbed.”

Amelia's hand flew to her mouth. His waistcoat was of finest Marcella silk, patterned in blue diamonds on white, but it was open at the neck, showing the skin of his throat. He had refused to wear a cravat.

“Oh, John, please forgive me,” Amelia said, going to join him near the fire. “I still find it hard to recognize you when you dress for dinner.”

He grimaced. “My fault entirely. A lady has a right to see her husband decked out on occasion.” He took her hand and bowed over it. “It is only your due, Amelia. You are the mistress of this house, my wife, and it is long past time I started treating you with the honor you deserve.”

Amelia blushed as he led her to her seat. “Thank you, John. You would do justice to any London event.”

His mouth lifted. “I'm only thankful we are not there now.” He nodded toward her place.

An oblong velvet box sat in the center of her plate. “What's this?”

“Open it,” John said, waiting.

She willed her fingers not to shake as she worked the clasp.

Inside lay a perfect set of pearls, each iridescent bead exactly the same size as the others. She knew where she had seen such a set before.

“Oh, John,” Amelia breathed.

“Do you like them?” He reached around her and removed them from the box. They brightened in the candlelight. “They were my mother's, and she left them for my wife. It seems she had more faith in me than I did. I wanted you to have them.”

Tears were coming, but she blinked them back. She didn't want tears, even ones of joy, tonight. “They're beautiful. But you didn't have to go to such trouble. I found your note.”

He had been lifting the pearls from the box. Now he stilled. “It was an early draft. I will do better in the future.”

She caught his hand. “You have no need to do better, sir. What you wrote was perfection. Thank you.”

His gaze met hers, warmed, even as the planes of his face softened. “May I put the pearls on you?”

She nodded, releasing his hand to sweep up her hair so he could clasp them behind her neck. His fingers brushed the tender skin, and she shivered as he stepped back.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and she knew he didn't mean the necklace.

He went to sit beside her at the head of the table and tapped his glass with a silver fork. At the sound of the chime, Reams brought in a porcelain tureen and proceeded to ladle them each a bowl of mulligatawny soup. Amelia caught sight of Mr. Shanter, Turner and Mr. Hennessy grinning at the door before they respectfully withdrew.

She had taken three spoonsful of the spicy soup when she realized John was merely watching her. She lowered her spoon. “Don't you like it?”

“I'm sure it's delicious,” he replied. “I consulted the cook this afternoon, and he assured me it was one of your favorites. I simply find myself less hungry than I expected.”

Amelia swallowed, though she hadn't taken another spoonful. “What else did you have planned for the evening, my lord?”

He rested both hands on the pristine linen. “I think we should reach a new agreement, on a number of issues. For one, from now on we are partners, in every sense of the word. I want your opinions on how to manage the stables, what to do with the horses.”

Amelia nodded. “You honor me, my lord. We will make all decisions together, then, whether inside this house or out. And neither of us will avoid difficult situations.”

“Agreed.” He toyed with his spoon but still did not take a bite. “Along that line, I will confess to making a decision without you. I had your things moved to my room. I know some couples do not share, but I'd like us to be that close. I can have a builder cut a door through to the room on the other side so you have your own sitting room and dressing room. What do you think?” He glanced up as if to gauge her response.

He truly was giving her every part of himself. How could she refuse?

Still, he must have read refusal in her hesitation, for he sagged. “I feared I was precipitous. Forgive me, Amelia. It's just that I realize how much I love you, how I have come to depend on you. You are the very air I breathe.”

Amelia smiled at him. “Beautifully put, my love. I feel the same. But being here with you, seeing the pains you've taken to honor me, I suddenly find myself at a loss for words, as well. Perhaps there are only three that matter. I love you.”

“Amelia.” Her name was a prayer on his lips. He leaned toward her, and she met him. The kiss seemed to reach her very soul. This was love, shared heartache, shared joy, a commitment to the future. This was the gift of her heavenly Father. He loved her just as she was, and so did John. She had won her campaign for her husband's heart and given him hers, and she knew her gift would be treasured, always.

* * *

That Sunday afternoon, there was cause for much rejoicing at the Conclave. The servants gathered around the large oak table gracing the center of the room and lifted their glasses.

“To Lord and Lady Rotherford,” Mrs. Jennings, the Grange cook, declared, her round face beaming. “They are returned from their honeymoon and happy as turtledoves. And I hear that perhaps little Alice will have a brother or sister within the year.”

“To their happiness,” the other servants chorused.

Next a little maid from the duke's household rose. “My master has returned as well, and with an excellent candidate for bride.”

“Can he keep this one?” someone called out.

She blushed. “I believe he can, sir. For he brought back a suitor for his sister, as well!”

Cheers rang out, and more toasts were called.

Not to be outdone, Peter Quimby, the valet to the Earl of Danning lifted his glass, as well. “And here's to having my first holiday in fifteen years so the earl and his bride could have some time alone. And not fishing for a change!”

The others laughed at that.

Dorcus Turner stood up, hand on one hip. “I have you all beat!” she declared. “My lord and lady decided to get married, at last!”

More cheers erupted, glasses clinked and congratulations passed all around. For when the good Lord is involved, all it takes is a little help from the master matchmakers to bring about a happily ever after.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from THE PREACHER'S BRIDE CLAIM by Laurie Kingery.