Awakening Amelia (10 page)

“I will have to leave in a few days.” Betty’s lip trembled again. “But I promise that if things aren’t as I would wish, then I will come back and beg for your kindness once more.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. You have been such a blessing.” Betty patted her hand. “I
suppose
it is all right.”

“Thank you.” Amelia bent to kiss Betty’s fragrant cheek. “I have enjoyed living with you so much.” Her voice quivered. It was true; after Matthew’s death, the cottage and Aunt Betty’s gentle presence had saved her sanity. “I will never forget you.”

She went back up the stairs and focused her attention on deciding which of her belongings she couldn’t bear to leave behind. At least after her years following the drum, she was used to packing lightly. The rest she would have to ask Betty to keep for her until she was able to collect them. There wasn’t much to hold her to Dove Cottage. Only memories…

With that thought, she imagined Marcus lying against her sheets, his long, lean body naked to her gaze as she settled herself over him. She needed to write and tell him that she was not carrying his child. Would he be relieved? She had to assume so, although she suspected if things had been different, he would’ve insisted on doing his duty by her regardless of her feelings in the matter.

A reluctant smile curved her lips as she considered her stubborn guest. His wartime experiences had made him a hard man to fight against—frightening even—but she had lived with soldiers for years, and he didn’t scare her. Except on a personal level, where she feared he had the ability to stir up her emotions far too easily. Sitting at her desk, she wrote him a short note and then replied to Matilda, stating her intended date of arrival.

In the morning, she’d walk down to the inn and ask Jem to post her letter to Matilda and deliver the other one when he was next in London to Marcus, care of Mr. Stultz. Then she could begin her new life without fear of the past.

A sudden wave of longing made her close her eyes and fight tears. As a teacher in a girls’ school, she would probably never know the touch of a man again. She would never wake up to a man’s urgent desire or see his face as he pushed himself deep within her. Even worse, it wasn’t Matthew’s well-loved face that she pictured now, but the harsher planes of Marcus’s.

Such a betrayal surely meant she deserved not to know a man again? She smoothed an unsteady hand down over her wet cheek. Perhaps this was her penance for selfishly taking a man to her bed who was never hers to begin with. She had to carry on and live alone.

Marcus walked into the solicitor’s office and waited unsmiling for the clerk to close the door behind him. There was a snap of thunder in the air and such weather seemed to make his head ache abominably. He’d been made to wait for almost two hours already, and his temper was simmering.

“Major Stortford?”

“Yes,” he snapped. “You are Mr. Richards? You are too young.”

The man visibly quailed. “Too young for what, sir?”

“To remember me. I wish to speak to Mr.
Thomas
Richards.”

“Perhaps you should take a seat.”

Marcus remained standing. “I repeat. Let’s not waste any more of our time. Fetch your father, or grandfather or uncle, someone who might stand a damned chance of
recognizing
me!”

The stripling shrank back in his chair and gulped in a breath of air. “Who exactly do you think you are, Major?”

Marcus advanced and planted his hands on the corners of the desk and leaned in. “Fetch one of the senior partners
right now,
or I will not be responsible for my actions
.”

Mr. Richards scuttled out of the door, and Marcus finally took a seat, aware of the rising voices outside the door and an air of suppressed panic. Eventually, someone came in and Marcus turned to look at him.

“Now, what is all this about, sir and how dare you—” There was a gasp. “Good Lord! Marcus Stortford!”

Marcus eyed Mr. Thomas Richards. “Well, thank God for that.
Finally
, someone with some sense.”

The older man took a seat behind the desk, his hand on his heart and his gaze scanning Marcus. “Your family presumed you were dead.”

“So I understand. I was held captive for several years and only recently escaped back to England.” Marcus sat forward. “Have I been officially declared dead?”

“Not yet, my lord, but I do believe proceedings have been considered. It is several years since you disappeared.”

“How do I prove who I am?” Marcus said impatiently.

“I would need sworn affidavits from your old regiment and any close friends you have who can vouch for you.”

“Most of my friends are dead, Mr. Richards.”

“But perhaps your regimental commander could—”

“I’ll start with him.” Marcus nodded. “Are any members of my family currently in London?”

“No, my lord. I believe they are all in the countryside at Stortford Hall.”

“Then I’ll go there as soon as I’ve established my identity.”

“Do you wish me to write to your brother or your grandmother?” Mr. Richards asked.

“No.” Marcus assumed his smile wasn’t pleasant as Mr. Richards went pale. “I’d rather they were…unprepared for my visit. How is my father?”

Mr. Richards swallowed hard. “I’m sorry to have to inform you that he died two years ago.”

“He’s dead?” Marcus briefly closed his eyes against that unexpected blow. “He wasn’t that old.”

“He never fully recovered from news of your loss, Major.”

Marcus let out a painful breath. “Then I assume Charlie thinks he will inherit everything?”

Mr. Richards moved some papers around on his desk. “I… believe he has been investigating the legalities of that, my lord, but he certainly hasn’t made any official claims.”

“Nice of him.” Marcus snapped.

“There is one other issue that does concern you both. It is rather a delicate matter.” Mr. Richards wiped his brow with his handkerchief. “Your fiancée is still living at Stortford Hall.”

“My second cousin, Felicity?” Marcus frowned. “I can’t marry her.”

“Then we will need to dismantle the very complex betrothal agreement your father arranged with hers. Are you quite certain you don’t wish to marry her?”

A vision of Amelia Smith’s face flashed in Marcus’s mind. “I can’t.”

“But—”

He stood up and bowed. “I will get the necessary proof of my identity you require and bring it to you. In the meantime, I need a loan against the Stortford estate.” He held up his hand and Mr. Richard’s mouth opened. “Not a substantial sum. Just enough to see me through the next week or so before I go down to Stortford Hall.”

He left the solicitors office with a bag of gold sovereigns feeling even more off kilter than he had before. His father was dead… That in itself was a blow he hadn’t anticipated. Now when he went home he’d be landing in a struggle for the succession, a fiancée who should have had the decency to marry someone else, and a mountain of trouble.

Knowing the way the military operated, he suspected any information he requested would take a while to emerge. In the meantime, having thought about Mrs. Smith, he would go and see if Jem had left a message from her with Mr. Stultz. He’d been in London for almost three weeks living quietly and regaining his bearings. She should know now whether she carried his child.

He paused to allow a carriage to pass in front of him and then crossed the road. Would she tell him? He wasn’t convinced that she would, but he needed to know the truth before he left for Stortford Hall. In some perverse part of him, he wished she would need him… Having her support would be invaluable.

The church bells sounded ten times, and he considered whether he should attempt to meet with the Duke of Diable Delamere before he met with Mr. Stultz. A brief shower of rain and the appearance of a hackney cab for hire made his decision for him and he directed the driver to Clifford Street.

To his surprise, when he alighted from the cab, he recognized the back end of Jem’s cart sticking out around the corner from the shop. Had it really been a month since he’d rediscovered his identity? It felt like seconds.

Ignoring the front door of the shop, he walked around to the back and discovered Jem readying his horses to depart.

“Good morning, Jem.” Marcus called out.

“Morning, Marco.” Jem’s gaze drifted over Marcus’s new clothes. “You look much less like a scarecrow than when I first saw you.”

Marcus grinned. “Thank you. Did you have a letter for me from Mrs. Smith?”

“Aye, that I did, sir.” Jem scratched his ear. “I left it at the door with Mr. Brown.”

Marcus hesitated as he drew alongside Jem’s cart. “Is everyone well in the village?”

“Oh, aye. Mr Jonathan has moved in now with his aunt, and she is enjoying the children.”

“Mr. Jonathan Smith is residing at Dove Cottage?” Marcus frowned. “How the devil are they all fitting in there?”

“It’s a bit of a squeeze, but the old lady doesn’t take up much space, and Mrs. Jonathan is probably glad of the help with another babe on the way.”

“What of Mrs. Amelia Smith?”

“She’s gone, sir.”

Marcus felt as though someone had punched him hard in the stomach. “
Gone
? Where?”

“I’m not sure.” Jem put his hat on and clucked to his horses. “Maybe she tells you in her letter.”

“The letter.” Marcus headed toward the back door of the shop. “Jem will you do me a great favor and wait a moment longer until I read the letter?”

Jem sighed. “I can’t leave my horses standing here. How about I meet you at the coaching inn down the street for a pint of beer?”

“I would appreciate that very much. And I’ll pay for your ale and your dinner.”

Jem touched his hat and backed his horses around the corner. Marcus banged on the door for a second time and was eventually admitted. The letter was placed in his hands and he ripped open the seal to read the few words. There was nothing about her leaving Dove Cottage…

“Damnation.” Marcus muttered as he thanked Mr. Brown and started off down the street toward the George and Dragon. “Where the devil has she gone?” Her letter had stated that she wasn’t pregnant, but he wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

Jem proved happy to chat after Marcus paid for his beer and a hot mutton pie.

“Cheers, sir and good luck to you.”

“Thank you, Jem.” Marcus took a deep swallow of his own ale and tried to frame a question. “Mrs. Smith didn’t give me her forwarding address in the letter. Do you have it?”

“Why would I need it?” Jem’s eyebrows rose. “She’s far too fancy for me, not that I didn’t try my luck once at the Harvest Supper, but I knew she wouldn’t look at a humble man like myself.”

“Did someone come and fetch her from Dove Cottage or did she get on the mail coach?”

Jem looked at him as though he was crazed. “Didn’t she tell you that, either?” I dropped her off at the Magpie Inn on the Strand this morning. She had booked her passage on the mail coach.”

Marcus shot to his feet. “She’s in London?”

“She’s just passing through.”

“It would’ve been nice if you had told me this earlier.” Marcus found a gold sovereign and flung it on the table. “What time was she departing?”

“Around noon, I think, sir.”

“Then I’d better be off.”

Jem’s grin was slow in coming as he picked up the coin. “You do that, sir. I’m sure she’ll be right glad to see you.”

Marcus doubted that, but he was determined to see her, even if it meant he only had time to wring her neck.

The Magpie Inn was crowded with passengers alighting and departing from a variety of mail coaches, private carriages and farm carts. It had taken Marcus almost half an hour to walk there through the busy streets. The clock in the stable yard boomed out eleven times and then for the half hour. He caught hold of one of the stable lads.

“Do the passengers wait in the inn?”

“Aye, sir. Turn left when you go through the door here and you’ll see the room. You can get a hot dinner and everything there, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Marcus made his way inside, which was almost as crowded and noisy as the yard outside. He paused at the doorway and spotted Mrs. Smith sitting in the far corner of the room. She wore a serviceable dark blue bonnet and matching pelisse. Her gloved hands were clasped firmly around a large hatbox, and her reticule was looped over her arm. It amused him that she’d chosen to sit with her back against the wall and a view of the whole room. London pickpockets were notorious, and she had obviously decided she was not going to take any chances.

He reminded himself that her practicality and caution had been hard won on the battlefields of Europe. God, he could do with some of her sense in his life now. Even as he thought it, he went toward her, aware when she noticed him and the start of surprise and a hint of wariness in her fine eyes.

“Major.”

He slid into the seat opposite her at the bench table. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving Dove Cottage?”

“I wasn’t aware that it was any of your business.”

“Or that I might wish to know that you are well and safe and
cared
for?”

She sighed. “Marcus, why are you here?”

He reached across the table and took her hand. “You first. Where are you going?”

“I have been offered a teaching job at a girls’ school in Tunbridge Wells.”

“I think you would make a very good teacher.” Marcus drew an unsteady breath. “I would prefer it, however, if you considered another offer. I am in need of a wife.”

Shock flashed across her even features but she quickly recovered. “Why?”

“Because I need to be…armed before I approach my family.”

“A wife is a weapon?”

“In this case, a wife is a necessity.”

“And you think I would accept such a position?” She tried to pull her fingers free, but he wouldn’t release her. “Let me go, Marcus.”

He swallowed hard, swallowed his pride. He had to tell her the truth. She deserved nothing less.

“At sixteen, I was betrothed to a distant female cousin to whom my father was appointed guardian. Neither of us was offered any choice in the matter. I was fond of her, but as she lived with us, she seemed more like another sister than a prospective wife. I’ve been informed that the betrothal contract still stands.”