The Wedding Escape (21 page)

Walter sighed with relief, feeling as if he had won a battle.

“—to start.”

 

J
ACK SLOWLY SCANNED THE WRITING ON THE CON-
tract before him, deciphering the words with effort. Reading had always been a challenge for him, and although Genevieve had worked long hours with him he had never mastered it to a degree that made it easy or pleasurable. There had been times when the infuriating words before him had mocked him with their arrogant superiority, enraging him, until he had been reduced to hurling his books against the wall, and once, into the flames of the fireplace. That had been one of the few times Genevieve had ever been genuinely upset with him. Books were too valuable to be abused or destroyed, she had told him firmly. It was better to channel his frustration into something constructive, like punching Eunice's bread dough or chopping firewood. Jack had marched outside and chopped enough firewood to keep the twenty fireplaces of Haydon's estate burning for two days.

He had never enjoyed working in the kitchen.

“Jack! Jack! Where are you?” Annabelle's voice was bright with excitement. “We're back!”

An unfamiliar swell of anticipation rose within him. He stood and awkwardly straightened his rumpled shirt and waistcoat. He had not seen Amelia since making his unforgivably stupid comment about her abilities the previous day in the kitchen. Although Charlotte had told him he should apologize to her, somehow he had not found an opportunity to do so. Amelia had remained closeted in her chamber that night, and an early meeting had forced him to leave first thing that morning for his Inverness office to discuss his increasingly faltering business. That meant he had missed seeing Amelia before Oliver and his sisters overhauled her appearance and dragged her off to her interview at the Royal Hotel. Feeling strangely uncertain, he went into the corridor, anxious to fix whatever damage he had done and see Amelia smile at him once more.

Annabelle, Charlotte, and Grace stood in the corridor, beaming with satisfaction.

“Where's Amelia?”

“You'll never guess,” Annabelle told him teasingly.

“I don't want to guess.” Had they just left her somewhere, not realizing how dangerous that could be? “Where is she?”

“She's fine, Jack,” Charlotte assured him. “She is still at the Royal Hotel. We've sent Oliver back to collect her once she has finished.”

“Finished what?” Eunice appeared through the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Did the lass get a position?” Doreen shuffled out behind her.

“Really, Jack, you must let me purchase some decent furniture for you,” Annabelle chided as she sailed into his drawing room. “These old, dark pieces are horribly ugly.”

“Why did you leave Amelia at the hotel?” he demanded.

“We left her there because she was working. At the very least you should have this old sofa of Genevieve's reupholstered, Jack,” Grace suggested, looking at where the fabric had split on the armrest. “It looks positively shabby.”

“For God's sake, forget the damn furniture! What have you done with Amelia?”

“We got her a job.” Annabelle smiled. “Just like we said we would.”

“Actually, Amelia got the job on her own,” Charlotte amended. “She didn't really need much help from us.”

“Except when it came to the question of her salary.” Grace giggled. “She was so stunned when Mr. Sweeney offered her a hundred pounds a year, she nearly refused him!”

Doreen's narrow brow wrinkled in bafflement. “That's more than a fair wage for a young, single lass.”

“I'm afraid Amelia is somewhat unfamiliar with what most people earn,” explained Charlotte. “Given the luxury she is accustomed to, she thought Mr. Sweeney's offer was most unreasonable.”

“But ultimately that worked in her favor—Mr. Sweeney was so afraid of losing her that ultimately he agreed to pay her two hundred pounds instead!” Grace finished triumphantly.

Eunice clapped her hands together with delight. “Sweet saints!”

“What is the lass goin' to be doin' for two hundred pounds?” Doreen demanded, suspicious.

“Oh, Doreen, it's positively brilliant,” said Annabelle. “She is going to help the hotel organize its special affairs, from the decoration of the rooms to the setting of the tables and the planning of the menus.”

“She's even going to introduce themes to these functions, so that the events will always be different and entertaining and terribly stylish,” Charlotte added.

“It's perfect for her,” reflected Grace. “No one knows more about what's fashionable and fun at these affairs than Amelia does!”

“She cannot do it.” Jack's tone was final.

“Of course she can.” Annabelle regarded him with impatience. “Amelia is far more talented than you realize, Jack.”

“I don't mean that she is not qualified.” In truth, Jack was surprised that Amelia had managed to find employment in something so appropriate to her background. “I meant that it's too dangerous.”

“Really, Jack, you must get past this idea that Amelia should simply be shut up in a room and never face the world again,” said Grace.

“There is an enormous reward on her head and her family is looking for her.” Jack was amazed his family couldn't understand the danger. “She cannot be working at a hotel where she is exposed to dozens of people every day, any one of whom might suddenly recognize her and turn her over to the police.”

“No one is going to recognize her,” Charlotte assured him gently. “You needn't worry.”

“You didn't see her before she left the house today.” Grace smiled. “I don't think even you would have known her.”

“Certainly no one who is looking for a beautiful young heiress who has turned the heads of noblemen from Paris to London is going to connect her with the plain, sober-looking widow who is now toiling at a hotel in Scotland to support herself,” pointed out Annabelle.

“And it isn't as if Mrs. Chamberlain just suddenly appeared out of nowhere on her own,” Charlotte added. “By introducing her as a relative, we have given her a background and a connection to Inverness that is credible.”

“Besides, most people wouldn't think to find a privileged American heiress working at a hotel,” argued Grace. “They think like you do, Jack, that she is spoiled and utterly incapable of doing anything worthwhile.”

“I never said that.”

“Not in those words, perhaps, but you insinuated it just the same. Amelia was terribly hurt, and I don't blame her.”

Charlotte regarded him enquiringly. “You did apologize, Jack, didn't you?”

He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. “I will.”

“Well, you'd better do so as soon as she comes home,” Annabelle advised, “because after that you may not have the chance for a while.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have invited Amelia to stay with me, and she has agreed.”

Jack regarded his sister incredulously. “You what?”

“Really, it's the most sensible thing for everyone, Jack. Having Amelia around has kept you from your next voyage, and I know you must be terribly anxious to leave. You hate to stay put anywhere for more than a few days.”

“Amelia will stay with Annabelle, and that will enable you to get on with your affairs, and let poor Oliver, Eunice, and Doreen finally go home,” finished Grace.

“An' who said anythin' about us wanting to go home?” Eunice made it sound as if the idea was ridiculous.

“We like lookin' after Jack and the lass,” Doreen added emphatically. “ 'Tis nae bother.”

“You're both very sweet, but I'm sure you must find all the hard work you have to do here very tiring,” Annabelle insisted. “At home you don't have to do anything. You can just sit and rest.”

“I dinna need to sit and rest,” Eunice huffed, planting her sturdy hands on her formidable hips. “I've the strength and the energy of a woman half my age, and the good Lord intended for me to use it.”

“An' the same goes for me.” Doreen snorted with irritation. “The day I canna scrub a floor or push a rag over the furniture will be the day ye can toss me in my coffin and bang down the lid.”

“There, you see?” said Jack. “Eunice and Doreen are fine staying here, and I am in no rush to sail again. As a matter of fact I just gave orders for the
Lightning
to leave tomorrow, without me.”

“But now that Amelia is going to stay with me, you needn't inconvenience yourself,” Annabelle insisted. “You can sail off to Egypt or Africa or wherever it is you're planning to go, and not worry any more about her.”

Jack glared helplessly at his sister. Annabelle's generous offer would free him of the responsibility of looking after Amelia, and enable him to get back to the demands of his life. He could set sail the next day on the
Lightning,
secure in the knowledge that she was being well looked after by his family, who would do everything within their power to see that she was safe. It was a perfectly reasonable solution. He should have felt relieved.

Instead he felt utterly hollow.

“Thank you for your offer, Annabelle,” he began stiffly, “but Amelia is going to remain here with me.”

“Really, Jack, you're not being reasonable—”

“I'm being perfectly reasonable,” he countered. “I'm the one whose carriage she climbed into, and I'm the one who agreed to take her away. Amelia is my responsibility, not yours. She stays with me.”

“But what will people think?”

“I don't give a damn what people think.”

“You may not, but Amelia does.”

“No, she doesn't.” Jack thought of Amelia scrabbling down the church wall in her wedding gown, and slapping Percy hard across the face in front of eight hundred people. Those were hardly the actions of a woman who was overly concerned with appearances. “Amelia is American. She does what she wants to do.”

“What if she does not want to stay here?”

Charlotte's question took him by surprise. “Did she say she did not want to stay here?”

“Not in those words.” Charlotte regarded him steadily. “But she was very upset by the way you spoke about her yesterday.”

“If she doesn't want to stay here, then she is free to go wherever she bloody well pleases,” he retaliated brusquely. “I don't give a damn.”

He turned and stalked angrily from the room, leaving his sisters staring in wonder after him.

 

A
MELIA PUSHED OPEN THE HEAVY DOOR AND WEARILY
stepped inside the faintly lit front vestibule. The spicy-sweet scent of baked apples and cinnamon mingled with the lingering aroma of beef-and-onion stew. It was late and she knew the food had already been served and put away, but the memory of it wafted in tantalizing currents upon the air, filling her senses with a warm, comfortable feeling. She sighed and stripped off her gloves.

It was good to be home.

She unpinned her hat as she walked toward the staircase, eager to wash and go to bed. The day had been long and tiring, and while Mr. Sweeney had apologized profusely for keeping her so late, he had asked that she be back to work by eight o'clock the following morning. There were a dozen or more upcoming events he wanted to work on with her, each of which would require meetings with the clients and then the organization of everything necessary to create a unique and scintillating atmosphere. Amelia had no doubt that she could envision ideas for all of them, for she had been to enough balls and luncheons and teas in her life to provide her with inspiration for scores of affairs. Doing the necessary administrative work to bring these events to fruition, however, was another matter entirely. She was expected to draft the letters and place all the necessary orders, then ensure that everything arrived on schedule and more, on budget. She was reasonably adept with figures and believed she would have little trouble keeping track of the expenses she incurred for each event. What would prove more challenging would be setting a budget for each spectacle, and then staying within its limits. Budgets were not something with which she had a great deal of experience.

“You're back,” drawled a low, accusing voice.

Jack's towering form was silhouetted against the dim light spilling from his study. It was too dark to make out his face, but she could see he wore no jacket and his badly wrinkled shirt had escaped the confines of his trousers.

“You startled me.” She lowered the hand that had flown to her throat.

He slouched against the wall and raised a bottle to his lips. “Did I? How common of me. Not what you're accustomed to, I suppose—being with someone so low and base.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Amelia frowned, surprised by his obvious hostility. “You're drunk.”

“I suppose I am.” He shrugged. “Come have a drink and we can be drunk together.”

“I'm tired,” she informed him with stiff civility. “I believe I shall say good night and retire to my chamber.”

“Now those are the words of a proper English duchess if ever I heard any.” His voice was laden with contempt. “I'd have thought you braver than that, Amelia. Having slapped one viscount in a ballroom full of aristocrats and left a duke sweating at the altar, I'd not have thought you a girl afraid of indulging in one simple drink with a lowborn sailor like me.”

“I'm not afraid.”

Even as she spoke the words, she knew they were not precisely true. She remembered when she had inadvertently roused him from his sleep a few nights earlier. He had seized her wrist with bruising strength as he stared at her, his eyes filled with fear and ice-cold fury. In that moment, she had known he was capable of violence. Not toward her, but toward the demons that haunted him. There were ghosts in Jack's past—cruel, vicious memories that still preyed upon a starving, shivering boy who had been forced to survive an unbearable life she could scarcely imagine.