Page 31 of Bond Street Bachelor (The Rakes of Rotten Row #5)

REUNITED

F anny hadn’t fibbed when she’d announced a bath had been prepared, though Amelia wouldn’t have been surprised if she had, if only to help her avoid what had obviously been an… impossible situation. Even though she hadn’t known the maid for very long, it just seemed like the sort of thing Fanny might do. But no, the bath was in fact waiting for her, the water hot and fragrant. And minutes after arriving in her chamber, Amelia found herself seated in the tub as Fanny began unwinding her braid—or what remained of it, anyhow.

“Bit of a tangle,” she said, and Amelia wasn’t sure if she was referring to her hair or to that confrontation downstairs. Likely, a little of both.

Clementine, who’d been mostly silent since leaving Mr. Beckworth’s study, met Amelia’s stare.

“It isn’t really,” she finally said. “In fact, there is actually a good explanation for all of it.” But then she winced. “I’m just not sure where to begin.”

Thanks to the comfort of the hot water and the scent of the lavender soap on her skin, Amelia was already feeling more like herself. Although, perhaps, however, it had more to do with this reprieve from having to deal with her mother. She could sense that the frayed ends of her tattered composure would unravel if she allowed her thoughts to stray.

To any of it.

The little scenario in Mr. Beckworth’s study, but also earlier…

Because where her heart had once lived felt unusually empty.

Amelia flicked her gaze to Clementine’s lap, where Margie had made herself comfortable.

“Why did you have to keep Margie too?” Amelia asked. Discussing the past suddenly felt a thousand times easier than discussing the present. And for the moment, Amelia was happy not to think about what was to come…

“Oh, Amelia.” It was Clementine now who looked like she might dissolve into tears. “I—I didn’t mean to. It was just that, by the time I found her and returned to your chamber, you had already gone. I wrote to you, several times, in fact. Benjamin—Lord Winterhope, that is—was quite prepared to drive us both to Cherrywood Park. To return Margie, but also so I could talk to you. I never meant to hurt you.”

Amelia’s lips twisted, her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. Father and Mother said…”

As though to prove Clementine’s point, Margie leapt onto the edge of the bath and nearly slipped right into the water. Amelia reached up to try and pet her, but Margie batted away her wet hand, luckily without getting her claws involved, and darted away again, out the door.

She’d likely explore the entire manor. Outdoors if she could find an open window.

Margie had never been easily contained.

“Oh Clem...” Amelia trailed off. It was too absurd now to repeat what her parents had told her, how her cousin had so thoroughly and spitefully betrayed her and their family.

“You didn’t receive my letters, did you?” Clementine asked, tilting her head.

“Father said you insisted on keeping her.” But of course Clem was telling the truth!

They were the ones who had lied!

Her parents hadn’t really liked Clementine. In fact, they’d complained about her often. Amelia hadn’t taken them seriously, because she, personally, had never been happier than after Clementine had arrived.

Her cousin and her friend, who just so happened to have also been Amelia’s paid companion.

Amelia stared into Clementine’s eyes, an almost startingly beautiful violet color, the likes of which she’d never seen on anyone else. She hadn’t been jealous of Clementine. Not really. It had been something else.

“When you came to Cherrywood Park, would you have stayed, if my parents hadn’t paid you?”

Clem frowned. “Of course! But I wasn’t given a choice. Your mother?—”

“My mother…” Amelia was already nodding, not liking herself very much. “I’ve been wrong all along. Those were the only terms upon which they’d allow you to stay, weren’t they?” She exhaled. “I’m the one, I think, who owes you an apology.”

“Not at all!”

“Yes, I do. I thought…” Amelia swallowed hard. She had loved Clementine, but at the same time, deep down, she had believed Clementine didn’t really feel the same. She had been so distant at times, so stiffly professional, while at others, she could be so understanding and kind. The dichotomy had been confusing, and that confusion had led to hurt. As her resentment grew, she’d treated Clem unfairly, but now she could clearly see her parents’ influence in all that had happened between them. “Oh, Clem, I’m so sorry.” New tears pricked the backs of Amelia’s eyes.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” Clem leaned forward.

Fanny took that moment to dump a pitcher of water over Amelia’s head with no warning.

“Pftt!” Amelia sputtered and peered out from between the wet strands of her hair. She blinked in shock, and then all three women broke into a startling fit of giggles, breaking the tension.

It was also possible that Amelia was feeling a little hysterical.

“We can discuss this more later, but…” Clementine turned serious again, her expression somewhat regretful. “I think you know that there are more pressing matters to be addressed.”

Oh no. Amelia wasn’t ready to talk about those pressing matters, to hear the reason why Clementine and Lord Winterhope had come to Smuggler’s Manor—with Lady Foxbourne and Miss Henrietta in tow.

Amelia’s legs drew up toward her almost of their own accord, and her arms wrapped around her bare knees as they rose above the surface of the water.

“What would those be?” she asked weakly.

Clementine plucked at her gloves, and Amelia couldn’t help but notice how proper her cousin looked. Not as stiff and proper as Amelia had been, but so very elegant and beautiful. Marriage, it seemed, suited her.

Being a marchioness suited her. Clementine met Amelia’s gaze.

“Uncle Lysander.” Amelia’s father . “He is involved with a very bad man.”

“The Duke of Crossings,” Amelia said. At least this much she was familiar with.

“Yes. It seems your father didn’t realize who, exactly, he was dealing with, however. They had a… falling out. Unfortunately, the duke is a powerful man. He’s evil, Amelia. He trades opium for tea.”

“He is a smuggler,” Amelia said.

“Yes, but not like Mr. Beckworth. The duke kills people. He kills anyone who gets in his way. When Benjamin told me you might be in danger, I was desperate to warn you.”

“But I wasn’t receiving your letters.”

“Exactly. And Benjamin, well, he, Mr. Beckworth, and few other gentlemen are trying to stop the duke. It’s a dangerous business and they couldn’t risk your father knowing that they knew… It’s all very complicated, but everyone agreed the only way to protect you was to?—”

“Make it look like a kidnapping.” It was all making sense now. It explained why Mr. Beckworth hadn’t taken her father’s jewels. It explained why he’d promised her father that she would be safe. It even explained why he didn’t want her to go walking outside alone.

“Mr. Beckworth kidnapped you at Lord Winterhope’s request, to protect you.”

Amelia hadn’t kept a single thing from him. And yet he hadn’t even seen fit to tell her the truth of her own circumstances. Would he have told her now? If they hadn’t been interrupted? Was that what he’d been going to say?

There she had been, waiting for him to declare his love. But…

This was only temporary.

“He could have told me,” she said in a small voice. “Once I was safe, why didn’t he tell me?”

Clementine shrugged. “No one could be sure that you weren’t in on it. I remembered that you helped your father with his books—his accounts…” She winced. “I told Benjamin you wouldn’t be, but…”

No one had trusted her.

Mr. Beckworth certainly hadn’t. Had all of it been a lie? And if her mother was here now…

She needed more time!

“Is it over? The danger? Is that why you’ve come?” She didn’t want to hear the answer, but she asked anyway.

But Clem was shaking her head. “The opposite, I’m afraid. I have… terrible news, Amelia. Your father has disappeared. No one knows if he’s left the country or if he’s been…”

“My father might be dead,” Amelia whispered. This couldn’t be happening.

“Benjamin says it’s possible that he caught a packet across the channel, so there’s still hope. But until this is all settled, and until your brother returns, you are still in grave danger, and your mother needs protection as well now.” Clementine offered a weak smile. “That is why we are here. Benjamin and I, and you and your mother, we are going to wait all of this out somewhere safe.”

“That’s why you’ve come.”

“Yes.”

That numb feeling, the same one she’d felt when she’d first been… kidnapped, took over her body from head to toe. It was too much. Best to feel nothing. Suddenly, she was watching all of this happen to somebody else—some other lady.

“The water’s gone cold.” Fanny held up a large towel and Amelia automatically rose. Holding her arms out, she allowed the maid to wrap it around her.

She didn’t even startle when she heard the door between her chamber and the corridor open to allow her mother and Miss Henrietta to enter. Not far behind the women, two uniformed manservants followed, carrying a familiar trunk.

Amelia’s wardrobe.

Like two guards, both Clementine and Fanny stepped in front of Amelia. “What do you think you’re doing, barging in here while her ladyship is dressing?” Fanny demanded, fierce as a bulldog.

“You are an impertinent one, aren’t you?” Lady Foxbourne wrinkled her nose as though she was smelling something foul. She lifted her chin. “If it were up to me, you’d be sacked. But… seeing as you work for that man .” She sniffed. “My daughter’s lady’s maid will tend to her now. You can go.”

Fanny’s back straightened, and Amelia vaguely realized that none of Mr. Beckworth’s team were accustomed to dealing with members of the aristocracy. If Amelia hadn’t felt utterly dead inside, she would have been embarrassed. For Fanny. For her mother. For standing amongst them wearing nothing but a towel.

Fanny was practically shaking in outrage and looked poised to lay into the intruders once more until Clementine placed a halting hand on her arm. “This is the Marchioness of Foxbourne. Lady Amelia’s mother . Thank you. You’ve helped more than you can ever know.”

Amelia almost felt like she was dreaming. It seemed impossible that her cousin, her mother, her lady’s maid, and Fanny—one of Mr. Beckworth’s people—could all be here with her, in the same room, at the same time. Those parts of her life were supposed to remain separate, a divide between Smuggler’s Manor and everything that came before.

She did not want them to come together. Amelia could practically hear the deafening explosion as they collided right in front of her.

“You need to get dressed, Amelia. In a proper gown.” Lady Foxbourne stood tall and proud, her hands clasped at her waist, frowning down at everyone around her. It was a familiar sight, one that Amelia would be expected to emulate someday soon. One that she had tried to emulate in the past.

The manservants had exited by now, and Amelia’s lady’s maid was already rummaging through the trunk.

“Clementine and I will wait for you in the drawing room. We’ll get on with our journey as soon as you’re looking presentable again. We certainly can’t stay here.”

“That’s Lady Winterhope, Mother,” Amelia said.

Both Clementine and her mother stared at her curiously.

“She is Lady Winterhope now,” Amelia clarified.

Clementine smiled weakly, but the disapproving lines in Lady Foxbourne’s face merely deepened.

The older woman flicked a glance to Miss Henrietta. “Be quick about it.”

Two minutes later, Amelia was left alone with her old lady’s maid, who had wasted no time in gathering a pile of undergarments and a pastel lavender gown.

Unlike the gowns Amelia had been wearing, Amelia knew the design was modern. It would be fitted to her waist and feature bell sleeves, made more cumbersome than a person would expect by the stuffing required to fill them.

“We mustn’t dither,” she said.

There was something so familiar, but also so very wrong, in all of this. It was as though Amelia was watching another woman submit to the chemise and the tights, not to mention the small pillows attached to her shoulders.

Those wretched stays.

“You’re thicker. Your mother won’t like this. Have you been gorging yourself, my lady?”

Bent over slightly, Amelia grasped one of the bedposts while the maid tugged and wrestled with the laces until she was satisfied that they were tight enough.

As Miss Henrietta dropped the gown over Amelia’s head, Amelia experienced a few seconds of panic when she couldn’t seem to breathe. She very nearly succumbed to it, but no. No! Clawing, she poked her head out and gulped for air.

The maid didn’t even notice, or purposely ignored her, smoothing Amelia’s skirts and then tugging on the fasteners in back. “Nothing but water and greens until you’ve done some decreasing,” she said. “Once all this is over, you’ll need to look your best for Lord Northwoods.”

“But… I’m ruined,” Amelia said helplessly. Of course, she was ruined! Intentionally. Willfully. Happily!

Twice!

“No,” Miss Henrietta said. “The ton believes you are in mourning—for an old auntie. Word has been sent to your brother, and I imagine he’ll finalize your betrothal the second he’s on English soil again.”

She was ruined, though. But in a secret way. Memories she could never share with another soul. So…

Does it even count if nobody knows?

Marched to the chair in front of the vanity, Amelia didn’t bother complaining or arguing any further. Not even as Miss Henrietta tugged at her hair so hard Amelia felt a few strands come away, or when she began to jabbing pins into her scalp.

Because this was her life.

Her short taste of freedom, she realized, had come to an end.