Page 41 of Echoes of the Sea (Storm Tide #2)

Amelia watched the approach of her uncle’s traveling carriage with greater confidence than she had felt during any of his previous arrivals.

Guilford was sufficiently staffed. The villagers had worked hard and made incredible progress.

Kipling wouldn’t have to hide. And she had a plan to present to her uncle that he would directly benefit from but which more or less required him to treat her and her efforts with fairness and honesty.

There was no guarantee, and he still had the upper hand, but it was a chance. And that chance gave her hope.

She waited in the drawing room, knowing Marsh would fulfill his role as butler with precision and impressiveness.

Her uncle, accompanied by whichever of his companions he’d chosen this time—it might be the solicitor, it might be Mr. Winthrop, it could even be her aunt or cousin—would have reason to be impressed from the moment he was greeted.

By the time Amelia heard footsteps approaching, her posture was precise, her appearance was proper, and she was ready to face him.

They had decided that whenever her uncle did arrive, Kipling and his “aunt” wouldn’t be there immediately, wanting to give the impression that they were exploring and visiting, just as their story said they were. That meant Amelia would greet her visitors alone. But she was equal to it.

She’d not had to face Kipling and the disappointment he’d so clearly displayed after their kiss.

Even with that disaster hanging in the air between them, she trusted him to keep his word and help her.

He wasn’t unkind or untrustworthy. She knew he cared about the village, and they deeply cared about him.

She turned from the window and faced the door as she heard Marsh step inside.

“Mr. Stirling and Mr. Winthrop, Miss Archibald.” Marsh stepped aside and allowed the two visitors to enter.

Mr. Winthrop. Amelia froze. She had suspected her uncle would bring the would-be suitor with him. Seeing him step into the room filled her with greater dread than she would have predicted. But Kipling would be there, and in a role that allowed him to keep a vigilant watch. That would help.

“Welcome back to Guilford, Uncle Stirling.” She dipped a curtsy, which was returned with the appropriate bow. She turned to Mr. Winthrop, forcing herself to appear unbothered by his presence. “And welcome back to you as well, Mr. Winthrop.”

If he noticed her curtsy wasn’t quite as deeply executed as the one for her uncle, he didn’t let it show.

It wasn’t truly a slight; her uncle was a person of more significance in her life and certainly could be considered to warrant greater respect.

But she felt better with the knowledge that she had made what little stand she was able to without rocking the boat overly much.

“You appear to have been busy since we were last here,” her uncle said. “This room alone has received a deep cleaning and a good polish. And the pathway to the front of the house was neatly trimmed. The stone wall near the sea road has been repaired.”

He’d already noticed improvements. That was encouraging. “Yes, I’ve managed to secure more staff and some talented workmen from the village. They’ve done excellent work. I anticipate the house being put to rights by the time my six months are concluded.”

That brought a conflicted look to her uncle’s face.

Conflicted was better than aggravated, which was what she had anticipated.

Mr. Winthrop made no effort to hide that her success did not meet with his approval.

She would address that as she was able. At the moment, she needed to allow what she’d said to simply percolate and move forward without pressuring her uncle to feel one way or the other.

“It’s a blustery day today,” she said to them. “Would either of you care for some tea?”

“Yes, please,” her uncle said.

Amelia turned to one of the maids they’d hired from the village, who had, thankfully, been extremely well trained by Mrs. Jagger.

She stood near the doorway awaiting the instructions that the kitchen had likely already anticipated.

To her, Amelia said, “Please have Cook send up tea and a few things to refresh our visitors after their journey.”

The maid curtsied an acknowledgment and turned.

“And make certain there is enough for our other visitors as well,” Amelia added. “I suspect they will return from their jaunt shortly.”

“Of course, Miss Archibald.” The maid quickly slipped out.

Casual as anything, Amelia walked to a chair and sat, leaning her cane against the arm of her chair.

She indicated her visitors should do the same.

They were both watching her with abject curiosity.

Not wanting to draw attention to the fact that she had made certain to let them know there were others in residence, she chose a different topic altogether.

“How fortunate that the weather has held today. Mr. Ivers, at the lighthouse, suspects we’ll have a storm in the next day or two.

” She tried to pretend like it wasn’t actually a shame that the storm hadn’t come already and rendered the sea road unpassable.

As she could have predicted, her uncle did not allow her to remain on the subject of weather. “Do you have other visitors, Amelia?”

She smiled softly and gave a small nod. “A Mr. Summerfield and his aunt. They are embarking on a tour of the finest estates in this area of England. They wished to visit the Little Sister of Mont-Saint-Michel. I hadn’t realized how legendary Guilford actually is in some circles.”

“It is a very unique place,” Uncle said.

Amelia nodded. “How grateful I was that we had made as much progress on the house as we had before their arrival. I think the gentleman and his aunt are impressed with what they’ve seen.

And they’ve enjoyed exploring the island.

I will have grounds workers set to the task of repairing more of the walkways that traverse the shoreline and the cliffsides.

None of them are in complete disrepair, but some are rather precarious.

Fortunately, the workers I’ve secured are good at what they do and work very hard.

” Leaving that to spin about in her uncle’s brain, she turned to Mr. Winthrop.

“I confess, I had not expected you to return a second time with my uncle. I assumed your own estate would be calling to you.”

“My estate is efficient enough to more or less run itself. I’m not needed there constantly.”

“How very fortunate for you.” She was rather proud of how little of the snippiness she felt made it into her tone. “Has your estate been in your family for long?”

He puffed up, just as she’d expected he would. Keeping his attention focused away from Guilford and, by extension, away from her seemed a good strategy. “The Winthrops have lived in this area of the world for generations and will do so for generations to come.”

“It’s a fine thing to put down roots,” she said.

Mrs. Jagger stepped into the room on the heels of that pronouncement, followed by the footman carrying a tray laden with tea things.

Behind him was the maid Amelia had sent to deliver the message to the kitchen.

She was carrying a tray of foodstuffs. It would be a perfectly acceptable offering without being a grand one, which is what they had all decided would be best. If her uncle got the impression that she was trying to impress him, he would wonder what she was covering up and what other deficiencies she was attempting to distract him from.

Having things run smoothly and unexceptionally was wisest.

She had brought many of those who had come from the village into the discussions about strategy. Their futures were on the line as well, after all. And having a few different ideas was never a bad thing.

Everything was in order, and the servants had slipped back out just as Kipling and Mrs. Finch stepped into the drawing room.

It was a testament to how well both were dressed and carried themselves that her uncle and Mr. Winthrop immediately rose to their feet.

Mrs. Finch had convinced them without a word that she was a lady.

And Kipling fit the part so well that no looks of confusion or consternation flitted across either face.

Amelia rose more slowly but also with more dignity, a reminder to her two newest visitors that she was the lady of the manor at the moment and worthy of more consideration than either of them had given her on their past visit.

“Mr. Summerfield, Mrs. Summerfield. This is my uncle, Mr. Stirling of Parkwood Manor outside of Tunbridge Wells, and Mr. Winthrop, whose estate is, I understand, not terribly far from here.”

Bows and curtsies flitted about the room. Kipling and his “aunt” were seated among them, and Amelia began pouring out tea for everyone.

“How far is your estate?” Mrs. Finch asked. “Perhaps it is one we have visited. We have been all over this part of the world, seeing the finest of places.”

Amelia wasn’t certain she would ever not feel some amusement at hearing how well Mrs. Finch mimicked Kipling’s accent. It wasn’t identical, but it felt enough the same that one would absolutely believe it was simply the way Americans spoke in the area of America they were supposed to be from.

“Norwich Manor is approximately thirty miles inland from here,” Mr. Winthrop said.

That pulled Kipling’s attention. Whether it was his acting his part or something that held significance for him, she didn’t know.

“I don’t believe that one has been recommended to us.” Mrs. Finch turned to her “nephew” with a curious look. “Have you heard mention of it?”

He smiled at her with the exact fond, indulgent smile a nephew would with his slightly eccentric aunt. “I don’t believe it has, but perhaps we should add it to our list.”