Becoming Lady Lockwood (18 page)

Amelia spent the remainder of
the morning in the library, alternating between looking out the window at the foggy, cold city and moving back to sit near the fire. So far, London had completely fallen short of her expectations. It was damp and dreary, and even though she had not expected her father to run to her with open arms, she had at least imagined he might have a few words to say to her or at least give his staff warning of her arrival.

Cook brought a meal at midday, and Amelia found that she did not have much of an appetite, so instead of eating, she set out to find the housekeeper or someone who could direct her to a dressmaker’s store. If she was going to remain in this frozen city, she would need to purchase some warmer clothing.

Carrying a candelabra, she ventured up the dark staircase to the upper story of the house. The wooden railing was carved with ornate patterns, and the carpet was rich and thick. She realized it was really quite a beautiful residence, if only the dark drapes had been opened and there wasn’t such a sense of foreboding covering the entirety. It was as if everyone held their breath. And it didn’t take much imagination to discern what—or who—kept such a sense of apprehension nigh.

Hearing noises at the end of the hall, she followed them and came upon a girl—the maid who had taken her cloak. She was putting linens on a bed in the farthest bedroom. Amelia’s open trunk sat upon the floor near the uncovered window, and her dresses hung in the closet.

When her presence was noticed, the young girl curtsied.

“Apologies, miss. I was just preparin’ ya room. ’Is ’ere’s the brightest room in the ’owse, and I thought ya’d like the view.”

It took Amelia a moment to understand the girl’s accent.

She must have taken Amelia’s silence for displeasure, for she began to wring her hands. She curtsied. “If ya please, I’m Frye.”

“How do you do, Miss Frye.”

“Just Frye, miss. I’ve nearly set this place t’rights and shall be outta yer hair quick as a wink.” She picked up a rag and began dusting the windowsill.

“Actually, if you don’t mind, Frye, I was hoping for some assistance. I do not know my way around London and am in desperate need of some warm clothing.”

“’S true, I’ve unpacked yer clothing, and ye’d need to wear all them delicate things on top o’ each other just to keep off the chill.”

“I was hoping you might spend a few hours with me this afternoon. Is there a dry goods store nearby?”

“Aw, ye’ll not want ta be goin’ to no dry goods, miss. Ye’ll be needin’ a proper dressmaker or modiste, and a shoemaker—those slippers ye’ve got won’t keep yer feet warm. Then a glover, a haberdasher for ribbons and woolen stockings, a milliner for bonnets. ’Twill be an entire day, and ye’ll need a footman just to carry all yer purchases.”

Amelia was taken aback. In Jamaica, everything she needed would have been purchased in one store or from traveling merchants. She felt intimidated by the prospect of visiting so many shops just to buy some new clothing.

“And would you accompany me, Frye?” Amelia pulled her blanket closer around her shoulders, trying to stop her teeth from chattering.

“I’m no lady’s maid, miss, but I’ll help ye as I can.” Frye’s lips pursed, her nose creased, and her eyes squinted slightly, giving her a worried look, “But the master don’ like it when we leave wi’out ’is ’pproval.” She glanced past Amelia and out the door, as if the admiral might somehow overhear her.

Amelia was not surprised, although it did sadden her a bit when she thought of how cruelly her father must treat his staff for Frye to act in such a way. “Perhaps, Frye, I shall speak to my father when he returns home and ask for his permission—and for the use of a carriage?”

Frye’s face slackened with relief. “Thank ye, miss.”

Frye finished making up the room and left Amelia to herself. She sat upon the bed, grateful for the blankets and quilts that Frye had left, and examined her surroundings. The drapes had been pulled back from the window, leaving only a sheer covering. When she looked out, she saw that she did have a beautiful view of the street below, and it continued down the tree-lined road to some gardens that would likely be lovely to walk in during nice weather. It still amazed her to see trees with no leaves.

Next to the closet was a desk, and Amelia saw that her ribbon-tied parcel with the captain’s letter, her midshipman’s patch, and Tobias’s gift sat upon it next to the oilskin pouch she had promised to deliver to Anna. Amelia resolved to do so tomorrow, when she hoped to have use of a carriage.

She wandered around the house a bit more that afternoon, exploring the dimly lit rooms by candlelight. After she returned to her room, she noticed it was becoming darker outside.

The clopping of hooves pulling a rattling carriage was becoming a familiar sound, but unlike the others she had heard throughout the day, this noise stopped in front of the house. She hurried to her bedroom window, certain that William and perhaps Sidney were coming to pay a visit. But as she looked down to the walkway below, she saw instead her father. The admiral was leaning heavily upon his footman, who was assisting the admiral from the carriage and up the steps to the front door.

Amelia took a deep breath, wincing at the pain it caused in her side, then walked down the hall, descended the stairs, and met Admiral Becket in the entryway.

“Father.” She stood awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, not knowing exactly how to greet him.

He stopped, leaning on the footman and studying her with bleary eyes. “Still the spittin’ image of your mother, aren’t ya?”

She noticed that his words were slurred but didn’t let it deter her. He was the only family she had, and even though their relationship had never been close, she found herself nearly desperate for his approval.

“Welcome home, sir. I trust you had a good day?” she said, doing her best to smile.

He shrugged out of his cape, practically throwing it at the butler and, teetering, plodded into the library to sit heavily in one of the chairs.

Amelia stood uncertainly in the doorway until he looked up and motioned with a quick flick of his wrist for her to join him. She sat upon the chair next to his.

“I got word last night that the
Venture
would be in port early this morning, but the magistrate could not be persuaded upon to hear our case for another four days. The sooner the matter is settled, the better.”

Amelia felt her stomach grow heavy. Her father had known she’d arrived in London earlier that morning but had not come to greet her until now—nor directed that a room be prepared for her. She still managed to find a smile somewhere deep inside.

“It will be nice to spend some time with you, sir, before I return home.”

The admiral snorted and motioned to the butler, who quickly filled a glass with some sort of liquor and handed it to her father. “If only you weren’t so much like your mother,” he said. His eyes glazed over as if he was no longer aware that she was in the room. “Women destroy everything I attempt to create.” He took a deep drink and wiped his lips on his sleeve, glancing at her. “It seems you couldn’t even manage to maintain an arrangement when nothing was actually required of you aside from your signature.”

“I hardly think I can be blamed for Lawrence Lockwood’s untimely death, sir. Or the fact that his heir doesn’t appreciate that a stranger has laid a jointure claim to his estate.”

The admiral turned his entire attention on Amelia, and his expression was terrifying. His fists clenched, and for a moment she thought he would strike her. “You must do everything in your power to get that settlement. The papers are signed. It is all legal, and I have invested an excessive amount of time and effort. If you fail at this . . .”

He left the words hanging in the air, and Amelia felt cold waves of dread flow down her scalp and over her skin. Any hope she’d had of a nice evening meal with her father suddenly seemed like an absurd fantasy.

She stood. “I am quite tired from my journey, sir. I shall bid you good night.”

The admiral dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

Amelia stopped at the door. “Sir, tomorrow I should like to have use of a carriage to purchase some clothing more suited to the colder climate. If—”

“Fine, whatever you need. You must not embarrass me in court dressed like a colonist. You have money to spend?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of course—the plantation. Very well. Do not bother me again.”

Amelia walked through the door, pausing at the bottom of the stairs and leaning her hand upon the rail as she struggled to get her emotions under control.

She heard her father’s voice from the library and took a small step back to where she could partially see him through the doorway. He sat facing away from her, staring into the fire and muttering. Amelia could scarcely make out his words.

“. . . should have learned my lesson . . . not acted rashly again . . . certain death would leave no room for dispute . . . won’t be swindled like before . . . rightfully belongs to me.”

For some reason, his words chilled her. What was he talking about,
before
? She began to feel sick at the implications in his ramblings, and she hurried up the stairs, determined to put as much space between her and her father as was possible. When she arrived at her room, Frye was just setting a tray of warm rolls and soup on her desk. Amelia realized that aside from a ship’s biscuit this morning, she’d not eaten all day and wasn’t sure she had the stomach for it now.

Wrapping up in her blanket, she picked apart some rolls, ate a bit of soup, and finally gave up on the hope that William would visit.

After she changed into her nightclothes, she watched the gaslights illuminate down the street, amazed at such a thing. Perhaps William had too much to occupy his day. There would be matters of his estate requiring his attention. And of course he would need to report to his commanding officers on the particulars of the voyage. Yes, that must be it. His day was filled with duties.

Amelia forced away the doubts that had plagued her. If she did not have the hope of seeing William, of him returning the love that she had for him, there was nothing to tie her to this cold, foggy island, and she would leave as soon as she could.

She piled some quilts on top of her traveling chest and, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders, sat upon it, leaning her forehead against the window. In the dark, she could just imagine that she was in the captain’s sitting room on her window bench, with the sound of the timbers creaking and the waves lapping against the hull. She could almost envision William on the other side of the room, calculating his charts or entering information in his logs. If only he were here. He would know how to banish her nightmares. He would make everything right. She hoped with all her heart that he would visit tomorrow.

The sleepless nights were beginning to catch up with her, and though she hadn’t intended to, she closed her eyes. Again, her dreams were filled with horrors and death and fighting, and now her father was added into her world of terrible nightly visions. What had he meant when he’d said he would not act rashly again? Her imagination became her enemy as it magnified every horrible thing she had witnessed.

She awoke to Frye shaking her. “Miss, yer wakin’ the ’ousehold with yer screamin’.”

Amelia sat up, realizing she was drenched in sweat and trembling. “I’m sorry, Frye.”

“Come, miss. You wash up an’ change yer nightclothes, and I’ll fetch ye some tea.”

Amelia pulled off her soaked clothing and dressed in a dry chemise and nightgown. The tea settled her nerves, and once she had convinced Frye that she was indeed feeling better, Amelia was left alone. But she did not sleep. How could she when she might again awaken the entire household with her nightmares?

One notion had entered her mind, and she could not shake it. Had her father been talking about the plantation, claiming it was rightfully his? And when he spoke about
before
, he couldn’t have possibly been referring to her mother’s death, could he? Even
he
was not so wicked as to—But the thought would not leave her mind. Her father had arranged a marriage, and a few months later, her husband had died. Then Amelia had found herself, on his orders, in enemy waters, where she had been lucky to survive herself. She banished the idea. Her father was rude, calculating, and typically inebriated, but unpleasantness did not make one a murderer.

The next morning dawned cold
and cheerless. Amelia had managed to keep herself awake through the remainder of the night and now set about getting herself ready for the day. Her injury was healing, and she found it didn’t hurt as badly to lift her arm to arrange her hair. She took extra care, ensuring that curls flowed over her forehead and down her temples and neck. She wanted to look perfect when she saw William.

After she was certain her father had left for the day, she had breakfast downstairs in the dining room and waited, wishing it was not improper for a lady to call upon a gentleman.

Just as she determined that he would certainly call upon her that day, the bell rang. Amelia’s heart leapt in her chest. She straightened her skirts and sat up tall as Hastings entered the room. But instead of announcing a caller, he held out a silver platter that contained only an envelope upon it.

She recognized William’s script, and after thanking Hastings and waiting as patiently as she could for him to leave her alone, she opened the envelope and removed the folded paper inside.

Miss Becket,

I am very sorry to tell you that I shall not be able to see you until the legal affairs existing between us are settled.

William Drake, Lord Lockwood

Amelia swallowed at the lump that was expanding in her throat. What could William possibly mean by such a note? Did he truly not want to see her? If such was the case, it would have been better if he had sent no note at all. She blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes, and the doubts that had begun aboard the ship grew.

William had not told her good-bye when he’d left the
Venture
. He had not promised to call upon her or given her any indication that he would—but the image of his face appeared in her mind. Memories of their time together: the way he had held her as they waltzed, their closeness as they had watched the whales, and the feel of his kiss. Had the entire experience been one-sided? Had she merely been a diversion, and he had intended to end any sort of association once they were in London?

Amelia put the letter away. If that was what William wanted, she would see him in four days at the trial and then would waste no time putting both him and England behind her. She gathered her cloak, gloves, bonnet, and the pouch for Anna then asked Hastings if he would be able to obtain the address of a Miss Regina Foster.

Hastings lifted his eyebrow slightly. “The carriage driver will deliver you to Miss Foster’s residence, miss. No directions will be necessary.”

“Thank you, Hastings. I shall return soon, and I have asked Frye to accompany me upon my outing.”

“Very good, miss.”

After a short drive, the carriage stopped in front of the largest residence Amelia had ever seen. Even the Colonial Offices in Spanish Town were miniscule compared to this monstrosity that towered over every other building on the square.

The footman held her hand as she stepped out, still unable to take her eyes off the structure. “Are you certain this is Regina Foster’s home?” she asked.

“Not likely to mistake it for another, miss.” He tipped his hat, and Amelia pulled her cloak closer around her shoulders.

“Ne’er thought I’d see the day I’d be walkin’ up the front steps to the Fosters’ ’ouse,” Frye muttered under her breath.

Amelia rang the bell, and the door was answered by a man with ridiculously straight posture. He looked down his nose at her, apparently unable to bend his neck to make eye contact. “Miss Foster is not at home at present.” He began to close the door, but Amelia stopped him.

“Excuse me, sir. I have come to call upon one of her servants. A chambermaid named Anna Wheeler.”

The stiff butler looked at her for a moment, and then his eyes moved to Frye. “It is not usual for domestics to receive callers.” He began to close the door again.

It was all Amelia could do not to shove the door open. “I have come bearing news of her grandfather’s death. Surely with the mistress from home, Anna might be spared for a moment to receive condolences?”

The butler blinked slowly then finally stepped back, opening the door completely, and Amelia and Frye stepped into the grand entryway.

Amelia had to employ all of her self-control to keep from staring about the hall with her mouth agape. She was surrounded by opulence that she could have only imagined, from the shining chandelier in the center of the elaborately carved ceiling down to the marble floors. The space in between was equally stunning, with a golden-framed mirror, vases full of flowers adorning nearly each flat surface, and luxurious pieces of furniture.

Frye had no such reservations. “Dash my wig, an’ if this place didn’t cost a lumpin’ pile o’ spankers!”

The butler’s face remained haughtily irritated. “May I take your wrap?”

“Thank you.” Amelia handed him her cloak, and Frye removed her own coat, which the butler took, his nose wrinkling in a clear indication of disgust.

“And who shall I tell Anna is calling?”

Amelia was tempted to introduce herself as Lady Lockwood. It would certainly wipe a bit of the smugness off Mr. Ramrod-Straight-Back’s face, but the last thing she wanted to do was complicate matters and stir up questions about her legal suit, so she said, “Amelia Becket, daughter of Admiral Becket.”

“Perhaps your . . . lady’s maid would like to wait in the kitchen?” The butler waved to a servant Amelia hadn’t noticed, who led Frye away.

Amelia was shown into a sitting room that was every bit as grand as the great hall, and she took a seat upon the sofa. It was not long before a young, slight-looking girl with pale skin and hair entered the room, looking anxious.

“Anna?” Amelia’s eyes burned. The girl was no doubt related to Tobias. Same kind eyes, same mild manner.

Seeing the girl’s nod, Amelia continued. “My name is Amelia Becket. I just arrived in London yesterday, and . . . I was on the same ship as your grandfather.”

Amelia berated herself for not putting more thought into what she would say once she arrived. “Would you like to sit down?” she asked, patting the seat next to her.

Anna sat on the far side of the sofa, barely resting on the edge.

Amelia pulled Tobias’s pouch from the pocket in her skirts and held the small parcel in her hands. Her throat was constricting. She hadn’t realized how difficult this would be. Anna looked so vulnerable and gentle. “I do not know whether you have been informed that your grandfather was killed in a battle?”

Anna finally spoke. Her chin trembled, and her eyes began to fill with tears. “Yes, I received a letter from Captain Drake this morning.”

Despite the circumstances, Amelia still felt the flutter in her chest when William’s name was mentioned. A feeling of warmth grew inside her when she realized that he had attended to the matter of notifying the families of the death of their kin as soon as he had gotten into port.

“I was with Tobias as he died, and I do not think he suffered.” She handed Anna the pouch. “It was his final wish that you should have this.”

Anna took the pouch and held it for a long moment before untying the leather strings and peeking inside. She poured out a handful of gold coins and unfolded a beautiful picture embroidered upon a piece of sail. An island scene with palm trees and flowers. Anna spread the cloth upon her legs, tracing the stitches with her fingers.

“I am truly sorry for your loss, Anna. I considered your grandfather a dear friend of mine. He spoke to me of you often and loved you very much.”

Anna’s face crumpled, and she began to sob.

Amelia scooted across to the other side of the sofa and pulled the younger girl into her arms, stroking her hair and allowing a few tears of her own to fall.

“What is this?” A shrieking voice shattered the tender moment.

Anna jumped to her feet, and Amelia looked to the doorway of the sitting room, where a very beautiful, very elegant, and very angry woman stood. The woman was Amelia’s own age, Amelia guessed, with honey-colored curls and a scarlet dress that was more lavish than any Amelia had ever seen. Even in the young woman’s fury, she posed in a way that showcased her gown and figure to its fullest potential.

“Who are you? And what are you doing in my house?” she demanded. She continued without waiting for an answer. “And, Anna, what in the world gave you the idea that you were permitted to sit upon the furniture?”

Anna struggled to speak through her sobs. “I am sorry, miss.” She hurriedly pushed everything back into the pouch.

“You take too many liberties. I am to attend a dinner party this evening, and instead of preparing my gown, you are—”

“It won’t happen again, miss.”

Amelia was furious. “I assume you are Regina Foster,” she said, fully aware that she had no right to speak in that tone to a woman so clearly her superior. “I apologize for occupying Anna’s time, but I merely came to convey my condolences upon her grandfather’s death.”

Regina turned her full attention to Amelia. Regina’s lip curled as she looked Amelia up and down, perusing her colonial dress.

“How dare you speak to me?” She glared at Amelia.

Anna took a step closer to Regina. “Please, miss, she—”

But Anna was cut short by a slap across the face from her employer. “Prepare my attire for this evening immediately or you can consider yourself terminated.”

Amelia was overwhelmed by rage. “Anna,” she said to the retreating girl, who held her hands over her cheek. “I cannot imagine any reason for you to continue to be treated in such a manner by this woman, who, by her very actions, has shown that she does not possess the slightest bit of refinement. I should very much like for you to come with me, as I have need of a lady’s maid and would never behave toward you in such a vulgar manner.”

“What makes you think you can presume to rob me of my servant, you . . . peasant?” Regina’s voice was a screech.

Amelia spoke calmly, though in order to do so, she could feel herself trembling. “I am merely extending Anna an offer of employ that she can either accept or refuse with her own discernment.”

As Amelia began to walk out of the sitting room door, she started to speak again. Her voice was not quiet and demure and she held her gloved hands clenched at her sides, but she prided herself on the fact that she had not yet lost her temper. “And might I add that I have never been treated in such a discourteous manner by anyone—and I was recently held prisoner on a French warship.” She paused and turned to Anna. “If you should decide to accept my offer, I am willing pay you double your present wages. I shall wait outside in my carriage for your decision, as I have no intention of spending another second in this vile woman’s presence.”

“I do not think that is an option for you, as you are not welcome in my house. I will not associate myself with a person of low breeding such as yourself!” Regina yelled, and her voice rang through the main hall.

Sweeping past Regina Foster, Amelia strode down the wide hall, intending to demand her cloak and her maid, but she stopped short in the entryway, where the butler stood next to a tall, handsome gentleman.

The man was frozen in the act of handing his walking stick and hat to the butler, and both men stared toward the women, their eyes wide in astonishment.

Miss Foster had followed Amelia out of the sitting room, and upon seeing the men, Regina’s demeanor instantly transformed into one of a proper young lady. “Your Grace,” she said with a sweet smile and a deep curtsy. “How lovely to see you. My dear friend and I were just having one of our silly arguments. I insisted that her tan skin and freckles are so much more appealing than my own milky white complexion, but she of course does not agree.”

Amelia tilted her head and looked at Regina with half-lidded eyes. The duke did not appear to be a simpleton; surely he had heard the insults the lady of the house had screamed at Amelia.

“Ah, I will indeed never understand the ways of the gentler sex,” he said finally, breaking the awkward silence. “And, Miss Foster, would you do me the honor of introducing me to your friend?”

Regina froze, caught at the height of rudeness. She had not even asked her guest’s name, and Amelia certainly was not going to offer assistance.

Miss Foster was rescued by her butler. “M’lady, shall I have Cook serve the tea for you and Miss Becket in the conservatory?”

“Thank you, Lucas.”

Regina turned back to the duke and batted her eyes. Amelia was amazed by the difference the handsome gentleman affected in the woman. “Miss Becket, allow me to introduce His Grace Charles Bramwell, Duke of Southampton.”

Amelia dipped in a low curtsy, and the duke took her hand. “Do I have the honor of addressing Miss
Amelia
Becket?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“What providence! I had intended to call upon you today as one of my morning visits.” He must have seen Amelia’s puzzled expression because he continued. “Miss, I owe you a great debt of gratitude, as you are the reason for the safe return of a favorite nephew, Corporal Jonathan Ashworth. Since yesterday, I have heard of little else and would like to invite you to a gathering tomorrow night, a ball.”

The duke turned to Regina, whose lovely features, Amelia was delighted to see, were marred by a scowl. “And of course, I have come to invite my dear friend Miss Foster as well.”

As if by magic, Regina’s brow smoothed, and her demure smile returned. “Of course I shall attend, Your Grace. There is nothing I should like better.”

“And Miss Becket, I am sure you would disappoint my nephew and myself immensely should you not be there.”

“I thank you for your invitation, sir, but I do not think such a thing will be possible. As you know, I arrived in London only yesterday and have no suitable clothing, nor a chaperone.”

A charming smile lit up the duke’s face. “I shall remedy the dilemma with the aid of my very grateful older sister—Corporal Ashworth’s mother, Lady Vernon—who should love nothing more than to spend the day assisting you in your wardrobe and the evening serving as your chaperone.”

“I—”