A Christmas Affair (20 page)

Chapter Eleven

Amanda took Amelia directly to her rooms, dismissing the hovering maid as she assisted her sister into bed. “Would you like some tea, darling?” she asked solicitously, alarmed by Amelia’s pallor. The poor dear was prone to migraines, and once she contracted one, she could be ill for days.

“No.” Amelia’s head moved resdessly on the pillow. “I would just like to be alone now, if you please.”

“Very well, if that is your wish,” Amanda said quietly, rising to her feet and turning toward the door. She and Amelia had always been so close, and she could not help but be hurt by her sister’s withdrawal. “I’ll just—”

“No, wait!” Amelia sat up in the bed, tears sparkling in her eyes as she held out a hand to Amanda. “Don’t go!”

Amanda glanced over her shoulder at the panic in the other girl’s voice. “Yes, love?” she asked, wondering if she ought to ring for some of Mrs. Hatcher’s laudanum.

“Do . . . do you think you might do something for me?” Amelia stammered, nervously pleating the bedsheet with her fingers.

“Certainly,” Amanda said, resuming her chair beside Amelia’s bed. “What is it you wish done?”

“Would you write a letter to Charles for me?”

Amanda blinked at the whispered request. “I thought you’d already written him,” she replied, recalling Amelia had
said, something about it shortly after accepting Justin’s proposal.

“I didn’t know what to say!” she cried, wiping ineffectually at her tears. “I couldn’t tell him the truth, that I am marrying Justin for money. Nor could I bring myself to let him think I had fallen in love. That would have been too cruel.”

“Well, what would you have me do?” Amanda demanded, eyeing her in frustration. “If I can’t tell him the honest truth, then what is there left to say? I refuse to lie for you.”

Amelia’s chin came up at that. “I wouldn’t expect you to,” she said in a surprisingly regal tone. “I . . . I just want you to see him, to explain that I am only doing what I think best. He has always admired you; I am sure you could make him listen.”

Amanda hesitated, torn between her desire to help her sister and a reluctance to interfere any more than she already had. “I don’t know Amelia,” she said, nibbling thoughtfully on her bottom lip. “This is really between you and Charles. Perhaps it might be better if you —”

“No! No, I could not!” she cried in genuine anguish. “I love him so much; I think it would destroy me if I were to see that look of contempt in his eyes again. Please Amanda. . . .”

In the light of her sister’s distress, there was no way Amanda could refuse her. “All right, dearest,” she said, laying a restraining hand on Amelia’s shoulder and easing her back against the pillows. “I promise I shall write him at once. Now, I want you to close your eyes and sleep. You’ll feel better once you have rested.”

Amanda sat by the bed until she was certain Amelia was asleep, and then she quietly left the room. She closed the door behind her and turned around, a soft gasp escaping from her when she collided with a broad, male chest. Strong arms closed about her at once, anchoring her struggling form to him.

“Justin! For heaven’s sake, what are you doing here?” she
demanded, pushing ineffectually against his chest. “You scared me out of my wits!”

“I wanted to see how Amelia was doing,” he said, amused by her attempts to free herself. “How is she?”

“She is asleep,” Amanda snapped, glaring up into his dark face. She knew it was useless to struggle as he was much stronger than she, and she refused to humble herself by begging him to let her go.

“What was wrong with her?” he asked, feeling in no particular rush to release his fiesty captive. He was surprised by how tiny she was. She was such a tyrant that he had somehow formed the impression that she was physically formidable as well, and yet the top of her head barely brushed his nose. All it would take to kiss her would be to tilt his head just so. . . . He released her at once, his arms dropping to his sides as he stepped back from her.

“A migraine,” she replied, grateful for her release but annoyed by the feeling of breathlessness she was experiencing at his nearness. She tried telling herself it was guilt for the shabby way she had treated him, but she knew that was only part of the truth. She refused to dwell on what the rest of the truth might be.

“You’re sure that’s all it is?” he asked, frowning as he fell into step beside her. He was also experiencing some disquieting emotions, although he was man enough to know what they meant.

“Well, the scene with Charles certainly didn’t help matters,” Amanda continued, wishing he would just go away. Not that he would, of course. Given Justin’s heavy sense of responsibility, she knew he wouldn’t leave until he received satisfactory answers to his questions. If she wanted to be shed of him, she would have to find some way of telling him just enough to placate him, but stopping short of the actual truth.

“I know you said she was upset because of Maxfield’s friendship with Daniel,” he said, his hand cupping her elbow
as he guided her down the staircase. “But I sense there is much more to the story than that. Is the puppy in love with her?”

Amanda missed her step and would have fallen had it not been for Justin’s firm grip on her. She recovered immediately and shot a look of burning resentment. “Sir,” she began, acutely aware of the danger of the conversation, “I know Amelia is your fiancée, but that doesn’t give you the right to—”

“Yes,” he interrupted, dragging her into the parlor and closing the door behind her. “It does. If another man is enamored of my fiancée then I most assuredly have the right to know. Now, I am asking you, is Maxfield in love with Amelia?”

Oh, Lord, was there ever such a tangle as this? Amanda wondered glumly, crossing the room to stand before the fireplace. She couldn’t tell Justin the truth without breaking her word to Amelia, and the idea of lying to him was strangely distasteful. There had to be some way, she thought, frowning at her reflection in the gilded mirror.

“I am not privy to Charles’ feelings,” she said slowly, picking each word with painstaking care, “but I think I can safely tell you that he has always had something of a crush on her. We all grew up together, and he was forever following her about.”

“And how does she feel about him?” Justin asked, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the door. He accepted Amanda’s story so far, although he could not help but think there was something she wasn’t telling him. “Does she return his regard?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she admitted hesitantly. “But there was never a formal declaration between them. She is fond of him, certainly, but she is not engaged to him.”

“That isn’t what I asked, Amanda,” he chided softly, studying her averted face with soft eyes. “I asked if her emotions were engaged. Are they?”

“Only in that she is deeply fond of Charles and that she cares very much what happens to him.” Amanda mentally threw up her hands in surrender and turned to face him. “She is aware of his feelings for her, and it distresses her that your engagement has caused him pain; but that is all I am prepared to say. If you want to know anything else, you must ask Amelia.”

Justin digested her reply in silence before slowly nodding his head. “All right,” he said, his eyes steady as they met hers. “I will accept your explanation . . . for now. But if Maxfield causes Amelia any more
distress,”
he emphasized the word mockingly, “then he will have to deal with me. I will not have her plagued by the fellow.”

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Amanda said, almost melting with relief. “As he is in the army, we seldom see him these days. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and have a word with Mrs. Hatcher. The children should be arriving home soon, and they are certain to be famished.” And with that she scuttled past him, fleeing toward the relative safety of the kitchens.

The twins and the others returned from their skating party shortly before dinner, and the sound of their excited laughter drew Amelia from her sickroom. Following dinner the whole family retired to the parlor to spend a quiet evening before the fire. They had been enjoying one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s tamer offerings, but in light of her earlier conversation with Justin, Amanda decided on a change in the evening’s entertainment.

“Shakespeare!” Stephen exclaimed, wrinkling his nose in obvious disgust. “Oh Amanda, must we? I am on holiday!”

“Yes, we must, you shameless philistine,” she retorted, lovingly mussing his blond hair. “A strong knowledge of our country’s greatest writer is an estimable trait in a young man, and one I think you would do well to acquire. Be
sides “—her eyes flicked in Justin’s direction — “he happens to be the colonel’s favorite author.”

Three pairs of horrified blue eyes were clapped on Justin. “You like Shakespeare?” Jeremey demanded, distressed that his hero should have such feet of clay.

“Very much so. In fact, I consider him to be the greatest writer who ever lived,” Justin said, delighting in the conversation. The twins were a source of increasing pleasure for him, and he was looking forward to guiding them into manhood. If they managed to escape the gallows, he thought they would do rather well.

“But he wrote poetry
and
love stories,” Joss added his protests to those of his brother. “You can not like all that romantic nonsense . . . can you?” He studied Justin with decided suspicion, his sulky pout leaving no doubt as to his opinion of that particular form of literature.

“I not only can, Joss I do,” Justin said firmly. “But if it relieves your mind, Shakespeare wrote more than poetry and love stories. Have you never heard of
Macbeth or Julius Caesar?”

“I can assure you, sir, I have done my best to expose these ruffians to the classics, but as you can see, it was all for naught. They hold that anything even remotely of cultural interest is something to be avoided at all costs,” Amanda replied, defending herself with a rueful shake of her head. She knew he was enjoying the exchange with the boys, and it relieved her to see he was not offended by the uninhibited way they joined in the conversation. She would not have their bright, inquisitive natures smothered by the conventions of society.

“Then, perhaps ’tis time we remedied that,” Justin said, rising to his feet and exiting the room. He returned a few minutes later, a worn, leather book cradled in his big hands. “I think you will like this,” he told the boys, setlling back in his chair. “It’s about one of England’s greatest warrior-kings, Henry the Fifth.” He flipped open the book and began read
ing, his deep, resonant voice washing over his listeners.

     
“O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention: A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, and monachs to behold the swelling scene . . .”

Amanda sat quietly, her head bent over her needlework as she listened to the play unfolding. What a domestic picture they must make, she thought, her lips curving in a gentle smile. Justin, looking every inch the country squire in his jacket of green kerseymere and buff pantaloons, and Amelia sitting tranquilly at his side in a simple gown of dark blue wool. The boys were spread out before the fire, their chins cupped in their hands as they hung on to Justin’s every word. Belinda had already gone to bed, but she found it easy to imagine the little girl curled on Justin’s lap, her thumb in her mouth as she cuddled against his chest. . . .

Where did she fit in with this charming scene, she wondered, an unexpected pain jabbing at her heart. Certainly she would make her home with them, at least until the children were safely raised, but what about afterward? Once Justin and Amelia were married and their own children began arriving, what would become of her?

Unbidden, the image of Aunt Elizabeth rose to taunt her. Was that to be her fate? Was she destined to spend her young years caring for everyone else, only to end her life alone and embittered? The realization was strangely disquieting, especially because she knew it could well happen. Her family needed her now, but when that need was gone, where was she to go?

“Amanda?” Amelia laid a gentle hand on Amanda’s arm, frowning at the frozen look on her sister’s face. “Is everything all right, dearest?”

“What?” Amanda gave a sudden start, a dark flush stealing across her cheeks when she realized everyone was staring at her.

“Is everything all right?” Amelia repeated. “You’ve been sitting there gazing off into space for the past five minutes.”

“I was merely picturing Henry’s court” Amanda replied quickly, feeling a slight twinge of guilt for having lied. “What a very interesting place it must have been, although I can not imagine why he was so foolish as to listen to those advisers of his. Imagine going to war over something as silly as tennis balls! How very like a man,” and she cast Justin a challenging look.

“If you expect me to protest your specious reasoning, ma’am, I fear I must disappoint you,” he drawled, tilting his head back against the chair as he regarded her. He knew she hadn’t been giving Shakespeare a single thought, but as he didn’t know what had brought that look of pain to her face, there was nothing he could do but play her game.

“Meaning?” She arched her eyebrows at him.

“Meaning, ma’am, that ultimately all reasons for going to war are declared foolish by succeeding generations. Posterity is seldom kind to warriors.”

His answer shocked Amanda, as she had been expecting a lighthearted reply to her sally. She gazed at him for a long moment and then glanced uncomfortably away. “An interesting observation, Colonel, and one I should be happy to debate with you at another time. As for now, the hour is late, and ’tis time the boys were asleep. Joss, Jeremey, go to your rooms.”

As expected they sent up a loud chorus of protests, which she sternly ignored. When they realized she was not to be moved, they turned to Justin.

“You won’t read any more tonight, will you, Justin?” Joss asked, pausing by his chair.

“No,” Justin promised, including both boys in his warm smile. “In fact, I shall mark the place where we stopped so that we might start again tomorrow evening. How’s that?”