Edward and Amelia Page 3

  “It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the wind.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice as she edged away. If she could only distract him long enough for someone to come along and . . . what? Save her? Being found in this state would not be ideal either.

  “Is that not what the strings are for? To keep bonnets safe from . . . wind?” He cocked his head, surveying the air about them, which was incredibly still and hadn’t an ounce of a breeze.

  Abandoning subtlety, she lifted her skirts and started climbing the bank. Her foot slipped once again, but she maintained her balance still.

  “You do not wish to leave your bonnet, do you?” He grabbed the sodden accessory, brandishing it toward her.

  Forget the bonnet. She needed to get away from this stranger who had already taken far too many liberties.

  “Oh, come now, I was trying to help. The water is only a foot deep. Plus, you likely would have fallen in on your own with the way you were reaching. You can hardly blame me.”

  Of all the impolite things to say. “Oh, you are a pleasant man, aren’t you? While I am incredibly grateful to have met you, you’ll excuse me if I take my leave.” She bobbed half a hurried curtsy and scrambled as quickly up the hill as she could manage with water pouring from her skirt with each step.

  But he did not let her leave. She heard his long stride moments before he caught up to her.

  “It is hardly my fault you startle so easily. I could not have known.”

  She reached the top of the hill and took a long breath before turning to face him again. Home was still far, and apparently fleeing was not an option. She needed to make it clear he was to leave her be. “You are correct,” she said.

  A smug look began to cross his face.

  She put an end to that with a haughty glare, mimicking the ones she’d seen Edith bestow. “You do not know me and therefore should never have approached me in the first place. You are entirely out of line, sir, and I would appreciate it if you would leave me alone. I’ve somewhere to be.” Home. Away from you.

  Suddenly, the man blinked, some sort of something registering to him.

  “Why do you not have a maid with you?” he hissed.

  She threw her hands in the air. “Again, with overstepping! I concede. Good day, sir.”

  “Lord Norwich.” He supplied his name, taking hold of her arm.

  Amelia stared at his hand on her wrist, her eyebrows raised. Her heart bounded dangerously in her chest. This was why a lady did not leave her home without a maid. She was an imbecile for thinking she could behave in London as she had in the country. And she was an imbecile for letting her fear and anger overcome her instead of simply hurrying away the moment that man essentially dumped her in the lake.

  She tried to pull her hand free, but either he did not notice or he did not care. She swallowed. His name registered somewhere in her mind; she was certain she had heard of him before. Perhaps she ought to have paid closer attention to her sister’s recitations of their fellow lords and ladies. Or opened her copy of Debrett’s as she was meant to.

  “Unhand me at once.” She spoke with faltering confidence.

  “I am afraid I cannot do that just yet.”

  Amelia resisted the urge to kick him. Though as her fear mounted, she began to think that was the only thing she could do.

  “For one thing, you left this.” With his free hand, he lifted her ruined bonnet into the air and set it atop her head. Water leaked in warm droplets down her neck. She gasped and prepared to wrench her hand from his with every ounce of strength she possessed.

  “And for another, I do not yet know your name, and I would very much like to.” He gave her a lopsided smile, likely meant to charm her into submission. He seemed to be a man used to charming his way through many things; every part of his person reeked of wealth and privilege, from his chiseled features and golden hair to his Hessians. Wet Hessians. His pants and shirt front were wet as well, though not anywhere near the state Amelia’s clothing was in. This brought her frustrations back full force.

  She pulled against his arm, only serving to pull herself closer to him. He must finally have seen his error, for he abruptly let go of her.

  Amelia rushed to put space between them but slipped on the muddy, uneven ground.

  And, charming man that he was, he grabbed her wrist again, pulling her close to steady her. She pushed against him, feet attempting to make purchase on some bit of dry earth, but instead of gaining her balance, they both went down to the ground.

  “Good heavens!” A shrill voice broke the air.

  Amelia scrambled to her feet, a difficult feat with how sodden her skirts were, and groaned. A woman and her maid stood on the path not ten paces away, staring at them incredulously. She heard her captor—Lord Norwich—swear in an undertone. Amelia rather wished she could utter the same unsavory word.

  “Lady Amelia, can that be you? Whatever are you doing with Lord Norwich . . . and . . . good heavens, what has happened to you?”

  Belatedly, Amelia recognized Mrs. Wadham, a wealthy merchant’s wife who lived near her father’s country estate.

  A wealthy merchant’s wife with a tongue that wagged faster than an excited dog’s tail.

  The sound of hooves preceded the arrival of yet another individual, and Amelia grit her teeth. Who else would enjoy the opportunity to witness her humiliation?

  The horse and rider turned the bend. It was a man this time—a member of the ton from the looks of his highly starched shirt and glistening knee boots. He took in the scene with narrowed eyes before dismounting and crossing to them. Amelia wondered how far she could run with the weight of her ruined dress. Or perhaps she could simply slink back to the lake and submerge herself.

  “Norwich.” The man’s voice carried an accusatory edge. He exchanged heated stares with Lord Norwich before turning his furrowed brow and unhappy gaze onto Amelia and then Mrs. Wadham. “Mrs. Wadham, just what is going on here?”

  The heavyset woman fanned herself. “Oh, Mr. Weston, I haven’t a clue! I only just arrived on this—this scene! Lord Norwich, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! And with Lady Amelia—this is too far indeed!”

  Amelia inched away from the group, ready to make a break for it should the need arise. Something bubbling up uneasily within her said nothing good would come from this. Somehow, she felt far more in danger now than when she had been detained by Lord Norwich alone.

  “I see.” This Mr. Weston, shorter and appearing far more serious than Lord Norwich, glared again at the latter before settling his gaze on Amelia once again. “Well. It is not the thing, but I find myself in need of a formal introduction. Mrs. Wadham, if you would?”

  “Oh, yes, yes! Mr. Weston, you are in the presence of Lady Amelia, youngest daughter of the Duke of Stafford. Lady Amelia, Mr. Weston.”

  Mr. Weston bowed far too formally for someone addressing a half-drowned slip of a girl. In another situation, the man may have been seen as a knight in shining armor, rather than the seal on a letter holding the worst of news. But he seemed to have forgotten his armor, and Amelia was left awaiting the bad news. “Yes, I am acquainted with your father and sisters. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Amelia nodded regally—as regally as she could manage while she was a walking puddle. The bonnet still weighed heavily atop her head, and she could feel water dripping between her shoulder blades. Her half boots sloshed embarrassingly when she shifted. She’d only been trying to help a child in trouble when she’d heard that crying. A pit formed in her stomach—she’d only been trying to help the last time as well. And she’d been left with lifelong scars. What would she be left with this time?

  She dipped into a curtsy. Despite her current condition, she outranked every person here, and now they all knew it. She could bluff her way out of this situation. Certainly, she could.

  Her chin lifted an inch. “A pleasure, Mr. Weston. Though it would seem we meet under unhappy circumstances. I managed to fall into the lake, and Lord Norwich rescued me.” It pained her to say the words, but she desperately needed to excuse her current situation. Her head swung about, looking at each person in turn, willing them to understand that this was in no way her fault.

  She watched as Mrs. Wadham exchanged raised eyebrows with her maid, and Amelia twisted her hands together behind her back. Drat drat drat. As she watched, another party turned the bend ahead of their group.

  Time to leave.

  “If you will excuse me—”

  “Mrs. Wadham.” The man, Mr. Weston, spoke across her. She scowled. A part of her could see he only meant to provide assistance, but she could not help thinking the park was full of heavy-handed gentlemen that evening. “Do you have a carriage nearby to escort Lady Amelia home?”

  “I am perfectly able to escort Lady Amelia home.” Lord Norwich stepped up beside her, all traces of mirth or challenge gone. Heavy-handed indeed. How did this party know she did not have her own carriage to take her home?

  She didn’t, of course. But she could have.

  “Oh no, you don’t, Lord Norwich. You have done quite enough.” Mrs. Wadham wagged her finger at Lord Norwich “Your nerve is incredible. Why, I never—well, never mind that. I will escort her. Come, child.” With a huff of superiority, she held out her arm to Amelia, shying away only slightly as she approached Amelia’s sodden clothing. Though aggravated at being called a child, she nodded to Mrs. Wadham but did not take her elbow. She strode past the gentlemen, wishing to put the whole ordeal far, far behind her.

  Mrs. Wadham clucked as they strode away, barely suppressed glee coloring her voice when she spoke. “Oh, this is not going to end wel
l for him, Lady Amelia. There is no chance your father will allow him to walk free without some sort of reprobation. Serves the vile man right, abandoning so many ruined women.”

  Amelia hardly heard her, entwining her hands tightly against the wet fabric of her dress. Her chest felt jittery with relief at having escaped Lord Norwich, but her mind somehow knew this was not the end of her predicament. Escaping him was not so sweet a victory when she could not escape the gossip that would follow such an encounter. Nor the censure that would come once she returned home.

  Mrs. Wadham said something that made her own self laugh as she alighted into her carriage. With far slower steps, Amelia followed, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder. For what, she hadn’t a clue. Perhaps to look back on the disaster she had just avoided. Or perhaps to prolong the inevitable disaster to come.

  Chapter Four

  She ought to have broken her fast in her chamber.

  Simultaneously, Amelia and Henrietta looked up from their respective plates, caught the other looking, and quickly looked back down. They were the only two in the room, and after only five minutes of silence, Amelia was ready to forgo her meal and escape back upstairs.

  Yet she was being presented an opportunity, and she ought to take it.

  With care, Amelia set her fork down. “Henrietta?”

  She did not look up.

  “I wondered if you might tell me something.”

  She glanced quickly up then back at her plate. “Edith was greatly upset that you missed the ball last night.”

  Ah. Which was to say that Edith would be greatly upset if she learned Henrietta had not given Amelia the censure she deserved.

  Amelia bit her lip. “I am terribly sorry, Henrietta. I was not feeling well.” She repeated the falsehood her maid had apparently concocted when Amelia had not returned until well into the evening.

  Henrietta turned to the closed door, watched it a moment, then her expression softened. “I am sorry you were unwell.”

  And now Amelia felt horrible for the falsehood. “I am fine now. Only . . . I wondered what you might be able to tell me about Lord Norwich.”

  Her sister’s eyebrows flew up. “Whyever would you wish to know a thing about him?”

  Amelia could not quite meet her eyes. “Edith has been encouraging me to become more aware of the eligible gentlemen out this Season.”

  Henrietta stifled a giggle. “I would not consider Lord Norwich eligible.”

  “Oh?” Could he be married? Not truly a lord? Something else entirely?

  Leaning across the table, Henrietta whispered, “A gentleman who ruins several women without remorse is certainly not eligible.”

  “Oh.” The word was crestfallen, but Henrietta did not notice. She spared another glance for the closed door before continuing with vigor.

  “The man has been embroiled in many a scandal since I came to London. Just last year he attempted to purchase a bride from Viscount Harcourt. Thankfully, the lady in question had already been engaged to the new Earl of Bowcott in some secret affair, but otherwise she would have joined the throes of women who retreated to the country in shame at his hand. Oh—there was even a brother once, of one of the women he jilted, you see, who challenged Lord Norwich for a duel. And do you know what Lord Norwich did?”

  Amelia shook her head, sitting back. She was no longer interested in her food.

  “He laughed in the man’s face.” Her eagerness to impart this gossip was clear. But then she smiled, the action softening her face in a way the nearly identical visage of Edith was never softened. “So, you need not learn about him. However attentive and charming and devilishly handsome he may be, Papa would never allow the likes of him to court you.”

  Well, that was some amount of comfort. Hopefully, she would not have to see the man ever again.

  “Now, is there any other man you wish to learn about? The favorite this Season is certainly Lord Berkeley, but Edith has her eyes set on him so—”

  The door opened, and a footman entered with a note. He presented it to Amelia.

  Her heart sank as she read it. Evidently, her father wished to see her in his study at one o’clock. And Amelia could guess what for.

  ***

  Edward bounded up the steps to the Duke of Stafford’s home and banged upon the door, confidence infusing each movement. The summons to the man’s presence was no surprise; certainly that saint, Weston, had tattled. Him or Mrs. Wadham. His Grace would be unhappy, but Edward had met numerous unhappy fathers—brothers too—in the past and had been perfectly able to deal with them. Besides, there had been no untoward intent in his encounter with the duke’s daughter.

  The duke’s daughter. Edward chuckled as he handed his hat to the butler, an elderly man with jowls extending past his pristinely tied neckcloth. Edward had certainly not expected her to hold that title when he had come upon her on the banks of the Serpentine attempting to capture a bonnet she never would have reached. She had seemed so carefree and unassuming, entirely different from other loftily titled women of his acquaintance. That is until she fell into the water. Then she became a spitting cat. Quite the transformation—she ought to be commended.

  His thoughts must have conjured her, for at that moment, she appeared in the doorway to his left. He knew the second she recognized he was there, for she pulled up so abruptly he half-expected her to fall back through the doorway from which she’d just come. Her eyes narrowed.

  Edward’s grin widened. She was even more beautiful not soaking wet. “Lady Amelia.” He bowed.

  She offered a slight curtsy but did not say anything.

  He stepped toward her. She stepped back.

  A chuckle escaped him as he inclined his head. “I can see I have not made the best impression on you.”

  “Do you usually appear in better form than that?”

  “Better than startling my new acquaintance into a large body of water? Yes, I do. I would be happy to exhibit it for you.”

  As expected, she ignored his latter comment. “Ah, so you admit to having startled me?” She still stood only halfway into the entrance hall, but he saw her eyes flash. Eyes that were decidedly green, which was odd as the day before, he would have sworn they were blue.

  He inclined his head yet again, taking the hit. “I suppose I can admit to that small part in our incident.”

  Her lips pursed slightly, but instead of turning and leaving, or simpering her understanding, she cocked an eyebrow. “Why am I not surprised to learn you will only accept a small amount of blame?”

  My, but she was intriguing. She had fire in abundance, like no woman he’d met before. He cocked a brow of his own. “Because that is the only amount of blame I deserve.”

  She opened her mouth to respond—bitingly, if he had to guess—but the butler returned at that moment.

  The stiff man glared disapprovingly at the both of them.

  The both of them? Why would this servant look so severely at a lady of the house? Edward looked questioningly at Lady Amelia, but the flashing eyes were gone, focused now on the floor with her hands clasped in front of her.

  “His Grace will see you now.” The butler turned so stiffly Edward thought he heard the man’s hips creak.

  Edward fell into step behind the aged man and was surprised when Lady Amelia followed both of them.

  Some, but not all, of his humor gone, he listened as the butler announced him at the door of His Grace’s study.

  “Your Grace.” Edward bowed crisply after stepping into the wood-paneled room, sobering to fit the picture of repentance.

  The duke had a commanding presence with a large, muscular frame and intelligent, steely eyes. A lesser man might have cowered at the look he shot Edward.

  Luckily, Edward was no lesser man.

  “Lord Norwich, I assume you remember my daughter?” The duke gestured behind Edward with one arm.

  “Yes, of course. Lady Amelia.” He bowed again, perhaps even lower this time.

  “Have a seat, Amelia,” His Grace said.

  She swept past Edward and settled stiffly in a chair near the window.