Page 42 of Echoes of the Sea (Storm Tide #2)

“Where is it you two are from if this is not your country?” Uncle Stirling no doubt had noticed their accents were slightly unusual, but she suspected he was trying to take an approach that felt less rude than simply telling them they sounded strange.

She hadn’t done that when she’d first met Kipling, which she was embarrassed to think back on.

“From America,” Kipling said. “Though my aunt was born in England and lived here until she was nearly twelve years old. She wished to return to her homeland, and I couldn’t resist the opportunity to come with her.”

“Have you returned with an eye to remaining?” Mr. Winthrop’s question might have been posed to either of the American visitors.

It was Mrs. Finch who answered. “Yes. I’ve longed to be back. And Kipling is such a delightful addition to any society in which he is part. I believe England will be all the better for having him.” She reached over and patted his hand.

Amelia was grateful that she had a teacup in front of her mouth so no one could see the laugh she struggled to hide.

Before long, Mrs. Finch would be cleaning his face with her handkerchief and indulgently attempting to ply him with sweets.

Uncle Stirling and Mr. Winthrop would have very little trouble believing she was a doting aunt with a nephew she still struggled to view as a grown man.

It was a rather perfect dynamic, really.

It was going well. For that, Amelia was grateful.

And she managed throughout to avoid meeting Kipling’s eyes, for which she was deeply, deeply relieved.

Dinner that night was the perfect balance of food fit for a fine estate and an offering that felt like a family dinner rather than a formal gathering.

They wanted Uncle to get the impression that this was a family home so that when she suggested to him that they prepare it to be let to a family, it would feel like a natural fit.

If he set his mind to that idea, his stubborn nature would push him ahead with far more enthusiasm than any logical arguments from her could ever manage.

Upon reaching the drawing room after their meal, with the gentlemen remaining behind, as was customary, Amelia turned to Mrs. Finch. “I believe it is going well,” she said quietly.

Mrs. Finch nodded. “Your uncle appears to be pondering all he’s seeing and hearing.

” She kept to her assumed accent and manner of speaking, no doubt on the off chance that their visitors should catch them unawares.

“Mr. Winthrop clearly recognizes that he’s not making the progress he wants to and that he might be slightly losing his ally.

But nothing is so obviously confrontational that they can truly object to anything. ”

Amelia nodded. It was what she had felt and seen as well. “And you seem to be enjoying your role of slightly eccentric American aunt.”

Mrs. Finch grinned more broadly than Amelia had just about seen anyone do.

“That Kipling manages not to laugh over any of it is so astonishing that I find myself enjoying it all the more. He told me that in his previous life, he was an actor. If it weren’t such a scandalous thing in this time, I’d suggest he take it up again. He’s very good.”

“I imagine he misses it,” Amelia said. “He misses a lot of things.”

“He does. More than that, he doesn’t know who he is without those things. I think he’s more lost than he lets on.”

Amelia had seen that in him the day of their kiss. It had broken her heart almost as entirely as his abrupt pulling away from her. It was a painful thing seeing him struggling and not knowing how to help or if she could. Or if he even wanted her to.

At the sound of the gentlemen’s voices, she and Mrs. Finch assumed expressions and postures that spoke of a simple, friendly, unexceptional conversation.

They needed her uncle to believe that Amelia was managing everything with ease rather than worrying and scrambling as much as she was.

Pretending that she wasn’t pretending was exhausting.

Kip might have enjoyed being an actor, but she didn’t think she would have.

“You have actually visited Chatsworth?” Uncle said as the gentle-men stepped inside.

“It isn’t in this area of the country,” Mr. Winthrop pointed out, sounding as though he had caught Kipling in a lie.

“We have been in your country for quite some time,” Kipling said.

“And this is not the first tour of grand estates we have undertaken. It’s simply our most recent.

” He was unshaken, personable, and welcoming.

There was a competence that didn’t lean toward arrogance.

He could navigate the objections and the difficulties even without warning. It was rather remarkable.

She pushed all those thoughts from her mind and offered a welcoming smile to the gentlemen.

“Have you planned any particular entertainments for this evening?” Mr. Winthrop asked her.

She couldn’t tell if he was attempting to catch her out at having not planned something, was trying to sound as though he were bowing to her as the mistress of the house, or was simply wondering what came next.

“As I wasn’t at all certain how weary you might both be from your journey, I have opted to allow this to be a quieter evening.

Whatever everyone feels equal to can be undertaken, even if that is something as simple as reading a book and then retiring early.

” Could they hear that she very much hoped they would choose that?

“Perhaps you would play the pianoforte for us,” Uncle suggested. He turned to Mr. Winthrop. “She plays well, if not expertly. Enough to quite pleasantly entertain people for an evening.”

Obviously, she hadn’t entirely turned her uncle’s thoughts away from a match with his questionable friend.

That left her with something of a dilemma.

Ought she to agree to play but do so poorly so as to give Mr. Winthrop second thoughts, knowing that might irritate her uncle?

Or ought she to play as well as she was able in order not to upset her uncle, knowing that might further convince Mr. Winthrop of the wisdom of pursuing this match or, worse still, make him wonder if she was trying to impress him?

She didn’t mind puzzles, but sometimes, a person needed a moment of simplicity.

Mrs. Finch turned to Amelia with a look of absolute maternal concern. She even reached over to her and placed a hand very lightly on Amelia’s arm. “Oh, I can see you’re going to agree in order to be a good hostess, but I simply cannot let you neglect your own well-being.”

“Her well-being?” Kipling stepped closer, looking genuinely concerned. Whether this was more of his good acting or he was actually worried, Amelia didn’t quite know.

“She hid it well during dinner,” Mrs. Finch said, “but I finally wriggled out of her while you all were having your port that she has had a touch of a headache today. Nothing serious,” she quickly added, looking at the other two gentlemen in a way that said any decent person would be suddenly quite worried, “just a hint. And we all know that the tiniest of headaches can grow into something absolutely unbearable if one is not careful.”

“Oh, we certainly wouldn’t wish for Miss Archibald to cause herself distress when we are all perfectly capable of entertaining ourselves for an evening.

” Kipling turned and looked at her uncle and Mr. Winthrop.

“I cannot imagine the expectations of gentlemanly behavior are so different in England than they are in America that any of us would insist she remain and cause herself pain.”

They couldn’t object after that without seeming like cads. It was remarkably well managed.

Mrs. Finch very quickly ushered Amelia from the room, then made quite certain her felicitous declarations could still be heard in the drawing room.

Once they were in the corridor that held Amelia’s bedchamber, Mrs. Finch dropped the act.

“I realize you don’t necessarily want to spend the entire evening alone in your bedchamber, but I think it would serve your purposes grandly if those two men what just arrived today are reminded that them haven’t the right to bullyrag you.

And you not being nearby for your uncle to parade in front of his irksome friend wouldn’t be a terrible thing either. ”

“You and Kipling are a force to be reckoned with. I would not ever want to find myself on the opposite end of any endeavor as you both.”

“Us are rather remarkable.”

Amelia laughed as she was deposited in her bedchamber. Mrs. Finch smiled at her once more. The maternalness of it was still there, though it felt more real and more sincere now.

“You allow yourself a moment’s rest. Think through how you mean to approach the remainder of their visit. Kipling and I will keep they occupied tonight and make sure their thoughts turn the way us needs they to.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said.

Long after she climbed into bed, pondering her next day and her most important tasks, thoughts of Kipling kept weaving themselves in.

He was helping her and helping the village.

She sensed he’d found family in Mrs. Finch, and whatever path he meant to take after Guilford, the dear woman would remain part of it in some way.

Amelia was happy for him. While part of her heart still longed to feel like she might be a fellow traveler on that path, and the broken part of that heart wished the kiss they’d shared had ended differently, she could still be happy for him.

They would get through this visit. She would hold out hope that they would convince her uncle.

And through it all, she would find a way to guard her heart against the pain of loving him when he didn’t feel quite the same way.