A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection (14 page)

Humiliation colored Amelia’s face, but utter panic made her tremble. She searched the front pew for Stuart and was further dismayed to see him running down the aisle after her husband. Amelia looked about for another exit and noticed a forlorn figure on the front bench, kicking her legs in and out, sucking her thumb and twisting in her seat, looking toward the back of the church.

There was no mistaking her cousin’s child. A riot of blonde curls adorned her head, and her large brown eyes looked just like Mary’s.
Abandoned as I am.

Amelia lifted the veil from her face as she walked to the bench. She knelt before the child. “Lizbeth?”

The little girl looked at her curiously, and for a moment, Amelia feared that whatever flaw in her features had sent Ethan Moorleigh running would also frighten his child.

“Mama?”

Amelia smiled with relief. “Yes. I’m to be your new mother.”

The little girl threw her arms around Amelia’s neck, nearly sending them both sprawling backward. Only just managing to keep her balance while holding the child, Amelia stood, Lizbeth’s hands still clasped firmly around her.

“Papa’s gone.” Lizbeth’s tone was so forlorn that Amelia was reminded of the day her own father had disappeared. The terrifying feeling of being left behind wasn’t something she’d wish on any child.

“We shall go too.” She followed Lizbeth’s gaze toward the chapel doors— so far away now from this end of the aisle. There was no help for it; she’d have to walk past all the staring people again. She could only imagine what the gossips would whisper this time.

She hoisted Lizbeth to a more comfortable position and squared her shoulders. Head held high once more, she retraced her steps down the aisle, doing her best to ignore the stares and comments.

They were nearly to the doors when Lizbeth began to squirm. She arched her head back, looking up toward the ceiling. “Papa said the bells would play when we left.”

They already did.
Amelia would not soon forget that burning moment of humiliation and panic, but she pushed her misery aside and thought of the little girl. She knew from experience how a father’s broken promise could hurt.

“Excuse me,” she said, addressing the priest standing near the doors. Apparently, he, too, had started after her husband. “Might you ring the bells once more? This little girl was promised they would ring upon her exit, and she shall be greatly disappointed if they do not.”

The solemn-looking priest paused a moment, likely taken aback by her forwardness, but finally nodded his acquiescence. Without a word, he turned away, disappearing through a side door.

“Now we’ve only to wait a minute,” Amelia said, hugging Lizbeth to her. A warm smile was her reward, and it seemed filled with such love and trust that for a fleeting second, Amelia felt true happiness.

Then she remembered the man who came along with the gift of this little girl. Perhaps Amelia’s first wish was being granted already— that he intended to leave her alone. Though she wouldn’t have wished him to leave her quite so fast.

He might have escorted me from the chapel, at least.

“Mistress Lizbeth!” An elderly woman with a severe bun and a reprimanding voice descended upon them. “You’ll be the death of me yet, you naughty girl, leaving your seat like that.”

“She is with me,” Amelia stated, offering no apology. By right of her vows, the child was hers.

“I am her governess,” the woman said, seeming not the least cowed by Amelia’s statement.

“Would you be so kind as to fetch Lizbeth’s cloak?” Amelia asked. “I’d hate for her to catch a chill before the festivities.” She had no idea what, if any, festivities were planned. She couldn’t imagine that a man marrying for the fourth time could be expected to celebrate the occasion.

The governess’s mouth opened and closed like a fish— wanting desperately to protest, Amelia guessed. At last the woman nodded curtly and turned away.

Governess, indeed.
Those Amelia had growing up had been kind and gentle, characteristics she could already see lacking in that woman. No matter. Lizbeth no longer required a nanny. Henceforth, Amelia would see to her care. It was the least she could do to honor her cousin.

And to fill my lonely heart.

The bells rang once more. Amelia wrapped her arms tightly around Lizbeth and exited the church. Delighted by the sound, Lizbeth lifted her face to the gray skies and giggled.

Amelia looked around desperately. Neither Stuart nor Lord Moorleigh were anywhere to be seen, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to be away from this place and the people spilling out behind her, looking forward— no doubt— to a continuation of the drama.

With brisk steps, she descended the stairs and marched down the walk toward a line of waiting carriages. She focused on the largest, sleekest, shiniest of the lot, guessing it must belong to her husband. When she was still a few paces away, the footman opened the door and put down the step. 

Relief swept through her, but she worked hard to keep her face free of any emotion other than a commanding authority she didn’t quite feel.

“Thank you,” Amelia said as she marched past the footman and deposited Lizbeth inside the carriage. She followed quickly, seating herself and settling the child upon her lap before the door had fully closed.

“Will Lord Moorleigh be joining us?” the footman asked, staring at her in a manner that bordered on rudeness.

“He’ll be coming later,” Amelia said, wondering yet again what was so terribly wrong with her appearance. Truly, she’d felt most satisfied upon seeing her reflection this morning. But perhaps in the five years she’d spent in the abbey, fashion had changed. Perhaps the stain on her lips or the curls at the side of her face were dreadfully outdated and made her look a horrid old spinster.

 She did her best to brush aside her insecurities. “Lord Moorleigh and my brother have some business to attend to,” she said, hoping the footman might find her words both believable and convincing.

“Very well.” He nodded and at last pried his gaze from her face. “Home, then?”

Amelia was struck with sudden inspiration. “There has been a change of plans.” She straightened her back and did her best to look authoritative. “We’ll be going to Lord Moorleigh’s estate in Bamburgh.”

Home. Five long years since I’ve been there.

“But milady—” The footman faltered, clearly struggling to keep his place. “It’s midday now. It would be well after nightfall before we arrived. His Lordship said—”

Amelia nodded. “I am aware of the distance. All the more reason not to dally. His Lordship will follow shortly.” She wasn’t exactly certain of this but guessed it was probable, as she was taking his daughter with her.

The footman hesitated a second more and then nodded. “Very well. We’ll be off at once.”

A
melia dismissed him with a nod. As she reached for a blanket folded on the seat opposite, she glanced out the window and spotted Lizbeth’s distraught governess on the top step of the church, scanning the crowd for her charge. Amelia slid to the far side of the carriage and pressed back into the seat.

Lizbeth squirmed, protesting her lost view of the bells.

The footman secured the door and mounted his perch, muttering, “Like seeing a ghost, his bride is.”

 Amelia brought a hand to her cheek. Had the ordeal in the chapel caused her to look overly pale? She glanced at her hands, certain that fair skin hadn’t gone out of fashion. If anything, she had more color than most women, from her days spent laboring in the abbey gardens.

“Miss Lizbeth!” The governess’s screeching voice carried through the window at the same moment the carriage lurched forward.  

Not a second too soon.
Amelia dismissed her worries over her appearance and tucked the blanket around Lizbeth as the wheels turned, carrying them away toward her childhood home and her new life.

Chapter Five

 Ethan walked briskly, placing a good amount of distance between himself and the church
and the woman inside.
Just thinking of her sent a jolt through him again, forcing him to stop. He placed a hand on one of the large oaks growing behind the church and leaned forward, breathing deeply, trying to steady himself as the second set of bells continued to ring and Stuart came up behind him.

“The devil take you,” Ethan said.

“Devil take
me
?” Stuart asked, his breathing labored from running to catch up. “You just walked out on my sister!”

Ethan turned to face him. “You might have mentioned beforehand that Amelia is the exact image of Mary.”

“She is?” Stuart’s brows drew together in consternation. “I hadn’t noticed. At the abbey she looked like all the other nuns, and it was dark when we traveled. I haven’t seen her the past few days, and this morning, her face was veiled.”

“Humph.” Ethan waved a hand dismissively. What did it matter now? Their vows were spoken. What was done was done. He had two choices: avoid his new wife completely or steel himself against the painful reminder of what he’d lost every time he looked at her. He was leaning toward the former. Amelia was his fourth wife; what expectations of their marriage could she possibly have, after all? He certainly had none. 

 
His chest hurt when he recalled lifting her veil. Like Mary, she was so young— so innocent. Then she’d looked up at him with something between hope and promise in her big, brown eyes. It paralyzed him just thinking about it. Almost four years earlier, her cousin had looked at him in almost the same way.

Perhaps Amelia did have expectations.

“She’s not Mary,” Stuart said. “She’s nothing like Mary. Amelia’s practically been raised in a convent, for heaven’s sake.”

“Heaven’s sake, indeed,” Ethan muttered. She’d about sent him to heaven with the way she’d practically made his heart stop today, first squeezing his hand boldly, something so like his Mary. And then looking so much like her.

“What I meant,” Stuart said, “is that Amelia won’t behave at all like Mary. She’s been sheltered. She knows nothing of men. She’ll be neither bold nor forthcoming.”

“Really?” After two minutes of marriage, Ethan could tell that he knew more about Amelia than Stuart did after years as her brother.

“She’s timid,” Stuart said. “Right now she’s probably huddled on some bench inside the church, distraught and sobbing.” He turned back toward the building and was nearly bowled over by Lizbeth’s governess running toward them, waving her hands and trying to speak.

“Gone,” she finally wheezed. Unbound from her bonnet, her gray hair was blown askew. “She took her.”

Ethan grabbed her arms as if to hold her up. “Lizbeth is missing?”

“With your new wife— in the carriage.”

“Oh.” Ethan relaxed his grip a little. “They’ll have gone home then.” He sighed with relief. Though he was not surprised to learn that Amelia was
not
withering away, making a scene on some bench in the chapel.

“Impossible,” Stuart said, seeming genuinely shocked that his sister had managed to get into a carriage of her own accord.

“Aye,” the governess said. “Impossible they’ve gone home. The carriage took a sharp turn at the fork, headed toward the north road.”

Ethan released her so suddenly she stumbled backwards. He glared accusingly at Stuart. “Timid, you say? It would appear your family breeds only women who are the
complete
opposite.”

Chapter Six

“Which one do you like?” Hands behind her back, Amelia strode up and down the stable, pausing every so often to admire the fine horses. Lizbeth trailed behind her, mimicking a similar stance and expression each time they stopped.

 According to the servants, Lord Moorleigh rarely visited Bamburgh anymore. He’d frequented it during his marriage to Mary— her childhood home was here as well— but since his wife’s death three years ago, he’d come only a handful of times.

Amelia was pleased to see that, in spite of his infrequent visits, he still kept many fine animals. “This one, I think,” she said, stopping before a horse with a white patch on its nose. The animal bent to nuzzle her outstretched hand. “She looks gentle.”

The stable boy, who’d been frowning at her since she’d entered the building, stepped forward between her and the stall. “I can’t saddle her for you.”

“Can’t? Or
won’t
?” Amelia asked, half expecting more trouble; she’d been meeting it at every turn since her arrival last night.

 Lizbeth wasn’t to feed herself— she might choke. She wasn’t to play in the gardens— some of the flowers were poisonous. And they both were
absolutely
not to go anywhere near the beach.

As if collecting seashells involves great peril.

The stable boy cleared his throat. “Lord Moorleigh won’t let his daughter or any of his wives ride.”

Amelia arched her brow. “Wife. He has one. And I am she.” It rankled her to be reminded of those who’d come before. Especially when Ethan Moorleigh had filled her dreams the whole night through. “Very well,” Amelia conceded. Arguing had proved pointless several times already. As it was, she’d had to sneak Lizbeth out the conservatory window. “Come along, Lizbeth.” Amelia took the little girl’s hand and walked briskly out of the stable and toward the gardens.

She’d spotted a gardener’s shed there earlier, and where there was a shed, there would likely be a cart. One of the many skills she’d mastered at the abbey was pushing a cart full of vegetables. Lizbeth couldn’t weigh much more.

“I want to ride a pony,” Lizbeth said, dragging her feet.

“I know, darling.” Amelia turned and knelt in front of the child. “I promise we’ll ride a pony today, but first, you get to ride in a cart.”

Lizbeth’s face brightened. “Will it be fast?”

“Terribly fast,” Amelia said, thinking of the sloping hill separating the Moorleigh estate from her brother’s. She wondered if Stuart was home yet and which
of his homes Ethan Moorleigh was at. While he was away, she had more freedom, but remembering the feel of his hand upon hers, Amelia wasn’t entirely certain that freedom was what she wanted.