The Heiress of Winterwood (25 page)

To intensify his discomfort, he could not shake the memory of William’s words. Had his brother and Amelia shared an intimate moment?

Before the carriage carrying him, Miss Barrett, and Mr. Carrington even pulled to a complete stop, Graham thrust open the carriage door and jumped down. He cast a warning glance at the footman, daring him to step closer, then extended his hand to Amelia.

Miss Barrett hesitated, then took his hand and stepped down. The moment her skirt was clear of the door, she tried to pull her hand away, but Graham squeezed it.

Her eyes widened when he wouldn’t let go. Graham slammed the carriage door closed with his other hand, just in case Carrington entertained a notion to join them.

“I need to talk about what you heard.”

She shook her head. “You owe me no explanation.”

“Then I need to talk to you about what
I
heard.”

Amelia diverted her eyes. “I had no business listening to a private conversation.”

The flurries falling around them increased. Silver flakes danced about her, landing on her eyelashes and melting when they kissed her cheeks. He took her by the arm and directed her closer to the house, away from the footman and driver. “We are to be married in two days, Amelia. I hardly think it wise to begin our union with secrets or doubt between us.”

She pursed her lips and yanked her hand from his. “Very well.” She jutted her chin out. “What are you buying from Edward?”

The honesty in her upturned face unnerved him. “Before you broke the engagement with Edward, he bought Eastmore’s west fields from my brother. The west fields are the pastures that join with Winterwood’s northwest corner. I asked Carrington to purchase them back anonymously.”

She frowned. “Why would he do such a thing?”

“Why would that man do a great many of the things he does? All I know is I am not comfortable with him owning property next to you and Lucy while I am gone. He’s a rogue, and the farther away he is from you, the better.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“I thought not to burden you with such a detail when Carrington could handle it quickly and discreetly.”

She lifted her fur-lined cape hood and draped it over her head. Only the tip of her nose and chin remained visible. “I am quite capable of managing any and all issues related to Winterwood Manor, and I wish to be notified of such things, little or great.”

“I shall keep that in mind.”

“Good.” She pivoted toward the door.

He reached out his hand and wrapped his fingers loosely around her arm, stopping her. He could not get William’s words out of his mind. He had to hear her response. “While we are asking questions, I have one of my own.”

Even through the heavy fabric of her cloak he could feel her muscles tighten. “Very well.”

He hesitated, realizing full well the indelicacy of his question. “William says that you shared a kiss with him. Is this true?”

In a sudden burst of motion, she jerked her arm free and removed the hood’s cloak. She looked him square in the eye. He had angered her—or embarrassed her. The tight line of her lips indicated nothing less. He did not regret his question. He wanted to know—needed to know—but he had not anticipated the fire in her response.

“I did not kiss your brother, sir. He forced himself upon me during one of his all-too-frequent drunken episodes. I managed to escape with my dignity intact. Until now, that is.”

The instant she said it, he regretted his words. The coldness in her treatment of his brother the afternoon they’d visited Lucy suddenly made sense. He felt like an inconsiderate fool. “I apologize. I should have known otherwise.” He softened his tone. “Why did you not tell me?”

She cut her eyes toward the footman, no doubt making sure the man could not hear. “Do you really think I would admit such an indiscretion to anyone if I could help it? Your brother humiliated me, and you ask why I never spoke of it?”

The words were out of his mouth before he could consider the ramifications. “I do not wish to appear indelicate, but we are to be married. I have a right to know of such things.”

“A right? What exactly are you insinuating, Captain?”

“I insinuate nothing. But keep in mind that I have known you for less than a month. How am I to know your, well, your—”

“Is
reputation
the word you seek?” She did not wait for him to respond. “I assure you, sir, that you’ll find no finer reputation in all of England.” She pinned him with her stare. “Keep in mind that I could ask similar questions of you.”

Graham shrugged. “Go ahead. I’ve nothing to hide.”

“Your private life, such as it is, is your business. As I told you the day you arrived at Winterwood, ours is a business agreement. I will care for Lucy, and you are free to do as you have been doing.”

He raised his hands as if to declare innocence. “What exactly is it that you think I do?”

She ignored his question. “I have no expectations of you in regard to a romantic relationship. I assure you, I have done nothing to tarnish my reputation with your brother, but in light of our arrangement, I hardly feel the need to defend myself.”

“Our arrangement, hmm? Is that what we are calling this?” Graham did not know whether he should be angry, defensive, or offended. He stepped away from her. Perhaps he had misinterpreted her intentions while they were in the corridor. He could attribute her anger to embarrassment or exhaustion. Or perhaps he had imagined she had been warming to him because he wanted it to be true. After all, had she not made it very clear from the start that her priority was Lucy?

He straightened his shoulders. He needed to keep Lucy his priority as well and not get distracted by those lovely blue eyes. “Very well, Miss Barrett. Thank you for clarifying your expectations.”

She lifted a hand to brush her hair from her face, and her lashes fanned against her cheek as she looked to the ground. “Will we see you tomorrow, Captain Sterling?”

“Yes, I’ll be by to visit Lucy.”

“Very well. Thank you for sharing your carriage.”

She stepped toward the door, and he followed her. She stopped and looked back at him. “What are you doing?”

What did she think he was doing? “I’m coming in.”

“Why?”

Why?
Had she forgotten that just a few hours earlier Edward Littleton had paced these very halls? He wasn’t about to take the chance that he was inside, waiting for her to return. “I need to make sure Littleton’s gone.”

She looked toward the window. “Everything appears to be dark, and the hour is late. Surely he has departed.”

“But I don’t think—”

She raised her hand to silence him. “Allow me to be perfectly clear, Captain Sterling. I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, but I can handle myself.”

He had no idea how to answer that. So he just said, “Very well, Miss Barrett.”

She turned, her face impassive, and disappeared inside. James closed the door behind her.

Graham stared at the empty space where she had been.

What just happened?

He turned to the carriage, unlatched the door, and climbed inside. He yanked the door closed behind him and dropped against the tufted leather seat.

He didn’t look at Carrington nor did he wish to talk about it. But the weight of the older man’s eyes bored into him. He glanced up.

A smirk crept across Carrington’s withered face. “Don’t worry, she’ll come around.”

Amelia brushed the snow from her cape and leaned her back against the closed door. She squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled in a slow, steady stream. She had not meant to speak so harshly. And if she’d had any hope at all of a romantic future with her husband,
no doubt her words, spoken in the heat of embarrassment, had squelched that hope.

She opened her eyes to see James standing next to her with a lit candlestick. “Shall I send up Elizabeth, miss?”

“Yes, please.” Amelia handed him her cape and took the candle. “But tell her to take her time. I am going to go see Miss Lucy for a few moments.”

“Very well, Miss Barrett.”

Amelia followed the aging man with her eyes as he withdrew down the corridor. When he was gone, eerie silence settled over the house. To her left was the window. Craning her neck, she watched the carriage disappear into the darkness. Her chin shook, and as hard as she tried to steady her hand, the candle trembled in her grip. Her arrangement with Captain Sterling had seemed so simple when first conceived. Now nothing was simple about it.

As she turned, light seeping under the closed door to her uncle’s study caught her eye. Was Uncle George still awake? Was Edward in there too? A bolt of anxiety surged through her. Perhaps she’d been unwise to send the captain away so quickly. Holding her breath, she listened. Nothing.

She gathered her skirt in her hand and hurried toward the stairs. Muted moonlight slid in through the windows that lined the main stairwell, and wind seeped in around the window casings. Shivers coursed through her. She shouldn’t have given her cape to James. Her slippers, still damp from the gathering snow, made no sound as she climbed the curving staircase to the third floor and made her way to the west wing, where the nursery was.

How many sleepless nights had she trod up these stairs for a visit with Lucy? Even just watching the child slumber brought her peace. Now she was so close—to Lucy and to a myriad of other things.

Once at the nursery door, Amelia paused. The light from her
candle danced on the brass knob. She grabbed it and turned. Her eyes adjusted to the dying fire’s soft glow. Other than the crackle of coals settling, all was still.

She moved from the main nursery to Lucy’s sleeping chamber. Even in the shadows, Amelia knew the small room’s layout by heart. A chest of drawers next to the door. A small chair in the corner. The crib opposite the window. She lifted her candle in the air to light the way.

She leaned over the crib’s edge, expecting to see Lucy’s dimpled, round face. But Lucy was not there. Amelia frowned and stared. Where could the baby be? She snatched the blanket and shook it as if the child would magically appear from beneath.

Dumbstruck, she turned a complete circle, searching every corner of the room. Her heartbeat quickened. She stepped from Lucy’s sleeping chamber and tiptoed toward the six-paneled door to Mrs. Dunne’s room. It creaked open a little when she knocked.

“Mrs. Dunne?”

She waited for a response. None came.

She called again, louder this time. “Mrs. Dunne?”

Amelia pushed the door open the rest of the way and hurried to the bed. Empty. With her free hand she grabbed the bedsheets and yanked them around. Panic crept up from her soul, but she quickly pushed it down.

There’s a logical explanation.

She placed the candlestick on the small table next to Mrs. Dunne’s bed, propped her hands on her hips, and looked around the darkened room. Everything seemed to be in place. Mrs. Dunne’s shawl draped over her chair, and the door to her wardrobe chest gaped open.

Where could they be? The kitchen?

Without a second thought she grabbed the candle, gathered her skirt, and hurried from the room.

Everything will be fine.
Amelia repeated the words to push out the mounting anxiety tightening her chest. The tiny flame from her candle flickered and sputtered in the drafty hall. In her haste, her shoulder clipped the corner as she turned from the hall to the servants’ stairs. She winced as hot candle wax splashed her hand.

She flew down the narrow, steep stairs as fast as she dared. But her foot slipped on the first landing, and her candle slipped from her hand. The flame sizzled when it hit the stone floor. Pitch blackness surrounded her. She searched for and snatched up the broken candle and candlestick and felt her way down the remaining flight of stairs.

When she reached the bottom, she fully expected to be met with the warm glow from the kitchen, but cold darkness assaulted her at the threshold. She ran past the cellar door and the pantry and peered into the kitchen, just to make sure she hadn’t missed them.

Fear crept into the place in her heart where anxiety had been. Her blood roared in her ears. She couldn’t swallow.

Where could they be?