The Wedding Escape (25 page)

Alex looked at Amelia. “Is he yer husband?”

“No.”

“Then who is?”

“I'm not married.”

“Then why are ye wearin' that ring?”

Amelia glanced at the thin gold band Annabelle had given her to wear to complete her costume as Mrs. Marshall Chamberlain.

“I'm a widow.” She felt unaccountably guilty at having to lie. “My husband died recently and I left America and came here to make a new life for myself.”

Alex regarded her skeptically. Living on the streets had given her a keen perceptiveness, and she sensed Amelia was lying. “How do ye come to be livin' here?”

“Actually, I'm not staying here,” Amelia admitted. “But I was staying here until a week ago, and that is why it was fine to come back and have a nice visit with Oliver, Eunice, and Doreen.”

Alex rolled her eyes, as if she thought the visit had been anything but nice. “So who's Jack?” She buried her spoon into the steaming bowl of pudding Eunice had placed before her.

“Mr. Kent is Mrs. Chamberlain's cousin,” Oliver interjected, deciding that Amelia had probably done as much lying as she could for one day.

Alex began to shovel pudding into her mouth, momentarily arresting her questions. When she was finished she opened her mouth to belch, then thought better of it and snapped it shut.

“There now, did ye enjoy that?” asked Eunice, removing the bowl.

“Is there more?”

“Aye, but I think ye should give yer belly a wee rest. We dinna want ye to be sick—”

“Can I take it with me?”

“Of course ye can,” Eunice assured her. “I'll just pack it up with the rest.”

Alex pushed her chair from the table and stood. “Guess I'll be goin', then.”

Dark shadows pressed gloomily against the kitchen windows. Although Alex had managed to avoid revealing her age, Amelia did not think she could be more than ten years old. How could she possibly survive living on the streets with no one to care for her but herself? Amelia wondered. That day Alex had avoided being arrested and put in prison because neither Amelia nor Oliver would ever do such a thing to a young child. But what would happen tomorrow, when Alex was forced to steal again? Would her next victim forgive her and invite her home for supper? Or would they insist that she be sent to prison, where she would undoubtedly suffer the most appalling abuse before she was finally released, unskilled and unwanted, back to the streets again?

“Alex,” she began slowly, “what would you think of—”

Before she could finish, Alex grabbed the back of her chair and doubled over, moaning in pain.

“What's wrong?” Amelia sprang to her side. “Are you ill?”

“My belly,” Alex gasped, her eyes shut tight.

“Take her into the drawing room,” instructed Doreen, “so we can lay her on the sofa.”

“Put your arm around my neck, Alex,” directed Amelia.

Groaning in agony, Alex threw a thin arm around Amelia and staggered weakly down the hallway, while Oliver and Doreen went into the drawing room to light the lamps. Amelia helped Alex onto the sofa, and Eunice covered her with a soft plaid.

“She ate too much,” Oliver reflected. “Stuffed herself fatter than a Christmas goose, and her belly is nae used to it.”

“The date pudding and sauce was too rich for her, most like,” agreed Doreen.

“I'll give her a teaspoonful of my stomach cordial,” Eunice decided. “The opium is sure to dull the pain and make her sleep.”

Alex's eyes flew open.

“What she needs is a good, strong laxative from syrup of violets,” suggested Doreen. “Purge her bowels. Of course it causes a fair bit of bloatin' and cramping, and then there's the mess, but afterward ye feel as if ye've been scoured from the inside out.”

Miraculously, Alex sat up. “I'm feelin' much better—”

Eunice, Doreen, and Oliver exchanged knowing glances.

“Now Alex, you must lie back,” Amelia said soothingly.

“I'm nae takin' any laxative.” Alex stubbornly folded her arms across her chest. “Ye canna force me.”

“No, of course not.” Amelia was surprised by how well the girl suddenly looked. Understanding began to dawn on her. “But even though you're starting to feel better, I think it would be best if you slept here tonight, just so we can be sure there is nothing seriously wrong.”

Alex snorted. “Sleep here?” She made it sound as if Amelia had suggested she curl up in the coal bin.

Amelia turned to the three elders. She knew what she was suggesting was an imposition, but she didn't know what else to do. Amelia didn't want Alex to spend the night on the streets, and if Alex's feigned stomach attack was any indication, neither did she. But Amelia couldn't just show up at Annabelle's home with this reeking, insolent urchin in tow, insisting that she was going to spend the night. Although Annabelle might have understood, there was a possibility she might not, given the fact that she had her own children to consider. In Amelia's mind, Jack's home was really the only option.

She was fairly certain that when he returned she would be able to make him see that.

“She can sleep in the spare room we set up for Jack when you were stayin' here,” suggested Oliver.

“ 'Tis nae fancy, but it's clean and warm and dry, which is more than ye could say about wherever ye planned to sleep tonight,” Eunice told Alex.

“That will be fine,” Amelia said. “Won't it, Alex?”

Alex shrugged her shoulders.

“All right then, up the stairs with ye.” Doreen shepherded Alex toward the staircase. “Let's fix ye a nice bath and find some decent clothes for ye—”

Alex stopped. “I'm nae takin' a bath,” she informed Doreen adamantly.

“Aye, ye are.” Doreen fisted her thin hands on her bony hips. “Ye're nae sleepin' on my clean, pressed sheets with all yer filth and yer greasy hair crawlin' with vermin. Ye'll be havin' a hot bath with soap and lavender water, and scrubbin' yer teeth with tooth wash, and filin' yer nails 'til they're neat, and puttin' on a clean, decent nightgown for sleepin', and gettin' on yer knees to say yer prayers. If any part of that doesna agree with ye, then Oliver will take ye back to wherever he found ye, where ye can be as dirty and foul-mannered as ye wish.”

Alex cursed and marched toward the front door.

“But then you'll miss breakfast,” blurted out Amelia.

The girl stopped and regarded her sullenly. “What's for breakfast?”

“The usual things,” Eunice replied. “Oatmeal, eggs, toast and ham, grilled kippers, tongue, hot rolls, marmalade, coffee, tea and chocolate.”

“Makes me hungry just thinkin' about it,” said Oliver. “How about it, lass?”

Alex was silent a moment. “Nae lavender water. It stinks.”

“Fine, then.” Doreen understood it was important that the lass feel she had won at least one small victory. “Nae lavender water.”

Looking as if she were marching to her execution, Alex turned and stalked reluctantly up the stairs.

 

N
IGHT HAD RIPENED TO BLACK BY THE TIME JACK
mounted the steps to his home. He had told Oliver to fetch him from his office sometime after midnight, but hunger had forced him from the decrepit old building by nine o'clock. He had gone to a tavern in search of a meal and a drink, only to find that one drink quickly turned into two, then three. After four drinks he had lost count. Didn't matter, he told himself. With Amelia gone, he was again accountable to no one except himself.

He fumbled through his pockets for his key, and with some effort managed to open the front door. He lurched through it and clumsily slammed it shut. Assuring himself that everyone was asleep, he shrugged out of his coat and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor. The only person he was in danger of bumping into in his current state was Oliver, who would be annoyed, but at least lacked the means to force Jack to walk home, given that he was already there. Smugly pleased with himself for having managed to outwit the old man on that point, Jack staggered toward the stairs.

“What in the name of Saint Columba are ye doin' home when I was just about to fetch ye?” demanded Oliver, appearing suddenly from the passage leading to the kitchen. He sounded as if he had been inconvenienced by not having to go out.

“I finished early and hired a carriage on the street. Thought I'd save you the trouble of goin' out again tonight.”

Oliver's eyes narrowed. “Did ye, now? And how many drinks did ye have afore ye decided to grace us with yer presence?”

He shrugged. “One or two.”

“Smells more like five or six.”

“What if it was? I'm a grown man, Oliver, not a lad. It's no one's business but my own if I want to get completely guttered.”

“Is this what ye do as ye sail to all yer fancy, far-off places like Egypt and Greece?” demanded the old man in disgust. “Drink every night 'til ye can barely stand? 'Tis nae wonder ye canna manage to come home and make a decent life for yerself. If Miss Genevieve could see the way ye've been carryin' on, she'd box yer ears and tell ye to start actin' like the grown man ye claim to be.”

“Genevieve has never hit me,” Jack countered.

“Well, maybe she should have,” Oliver shot back. “ 'Tis clear all her patience and gentle ways have nae helped ye learn some wee measure of controllin' yerself.”

Jack regarded him warily. Did Oliver know about how he had ruined Amelia the night before she left? Or was the old man talking about the fact that Jack had been drunk every night since, as he tried to come to terms with the fact that he had stolen her virginity and irrevocably destroyed his relationship with her?

“I wish ye'd managed to keep yerself from the bottle tonight, what with Miss Amelia waitin' to speak with ye.” Oliver knew there was no use chastising Jack when he was already drunk.

Jack's eyes widened. “Amelia is here?”

“Aye, and she's wantin' to speak with ye, but—”

“Where is she?”

“Upstairs, in the spare bedroom, but ye canna—”

Jack tore past Oliver up the stairs. Amelia was back. After an agonizing week of believing he would never see her radiant smile again, or inhale her summery fragrance, or feel the softness of her palm as she tenderly laid it against his scarred cheek, she had returned. Feeling as if a brilliant wash of sunlight was pouring over him, he charged into the spare bedroom.

And stared in confusion at the strange young girl sleeping on the small cot.

“Shhh.” Amelia laid her forefinger against her lips as she rose from a chair in the corner.

She adjusted the plaid she had draped over Alex, then motioned for Jack to follow her into the hallway. Silently closing the bedroom door, she slowly turned to him.

His face was harshly cut against the soft amber light. She searched the silvery depths of his eyes, but found only wariness and brittle anticipation. Given the way she had quit his house without so much as a farewell, it was understandable that he be guarded in his reaction to her. Nevertheless, she was wounded by his coolness. How was it, she wondered, that two people could experience such incredible passion, sharing the deepest intimacies of their bodies and their emotions, and then find themselves staring at one another in such awkward, circumspect silence?

“I'm sorry,” she finally murmured, realizing she was going to have to be the one to break the tension between them. “I didn't mean to impose upon you by bringing Alex here, but Oliver didn't think you would object.”

Jack nodded, searching his whiskey-drenched mind for some memory of a girl named Alex. He found nothing. In that tautly strained moment, it scarcely seemed to matter. Somehow the girl lying in what Eunice now laughingly referred to as “the guest chamber” had brought Amelia back to him. That much he understood.

“I met Alex today after she tried to steal my reticule,” Amelia continued. “Oliver very cleverly managed to catch her, and when I saw how filthy and hungry and desperate she was, I knew I couldn't just drive away and leave her. So I invited her to join me for dinner, thinking that she would enjoy a proper meal, but forgetting that I am merely a guest in Annabelle's home. While I don't think Annabelle would oppose my inviting someone to dinner, it seemed doubtful she would be overly pleased with my bringing home someone like Alex, even though I understand that Annabelle and the rest of you came from rather simple beginnings as well.”

She made it sound as if they had all come from some tidy, charming little cottage in the country, where they had spent their days fishing in the lochs and playing with wooden toys.
Yes,
Jack thought, suddenly concerned about how much his family had told her,
I come from rather simple beginnings.

“There was also the issue of Annabelle's children to be considered.” Amelia desperately wished Jack would say something. “Alex's understanding of appropriate behavior is limited, and I was worried that Annabelle might not want her children exposed to that. So bringing her here was really the only option. Oliver said you have been working late these last few days and he didn't think you would mind. I did so fully intending that we would eat and then Oliver and I would take Alex to wherever it was that she usually spends the night, and not inconvenience you at all. But Alex doesn't have any place where she normally stays—although she is most adamant that she can take care of herself. She's very strong-willed and independent.”

Of course she is
. The wounds of Jack's past began to open.
She has to be or she won't survive
.

“Well, even though I knew I had no right to, I was going to invite her to spend the night here, so she would be warm and safe.” Amelia regarded Jack uncertainly. “Before I could she collapsed with stomach pains. So Eunice and Doreen said they would give her a laxative, but then Alex insisted she felt better, which suggested she had feigned being ill so she wouldn't have to leave. So I asked her to stay the night and she agreed—and that's how she came to be sleeping here.