Page 48 of Echoes of the Sea (Storm Tide #2)

Though Amelia was still exhausted from her fall the day before and still in pain from her injuries, she dressed for dinner that night.

She would give her uncle no reason to declare her a failure as a hostess or neglectful of her duties.

Further, her distrust of Mr. Winthrop made her nervous about being alone in her room, not knowing where he was.

After a quick knock, Mrs. Finch poked her head around the door. “Dressed for dinner, I see.” She stepped fully inside, closing the door behind her. “I told Kipling you would decide to join everywho for the meal.”

“Has he underestimated my stubbornness?”

Mrs. Finch nodded. “But the rest of we didn’t.” She produced from behind her back a long, sturdy stick with a bend at the top. “It isn’t a proper cane, but the workmen scoured the island looking for something that would make a decent substitute for you.”

“How thoughtful.” Amelia was truly, deeply touched.

Mrs. Finch set the “cane” in Amelia’s hand. “Them smoothed it down so it won’t give you splinters.”

“The people of Guilford really are wonderful.”

“A feeling us has for you and Kipling as well.”

Amelia tested the cane and found it to be just the right height, not overly heavy, and sturdy enough for leaning on. “I do hope my uncle and Mr. Winthrop aren’t being unkind to anyone.”

“Other than you ?” Mrs. Finch gave her a pointed look.

“A few more months and I can be free of them both.” She set her shoulders, grateful for the friendship of this wonderful woman and the kindness of the people of Guilford. “Shall we go endure an evening with the two of them?”

“Our Kipling will be there.” Mrs. Finch hooked an arm through Amelia’s. “That’ll make the evening far more enjoyable.”

“He is rather lovely, isn’t he?”

“Quite lovely.”

They were nearly to the end of dinner, having spent much of the evening on the sort of pointless, mundane discussions that tended to punctuate awkward meals. Into that pointed awkwardness, Uncle quite suddenly introduced a topic of great importance to her.

“Amelia, Mr. Summerfield tells me you have an idea for Guilford that I am likely to find myself quite in favor of.”

She looked to Kipling. He nodded encouragingly.

Most of the gentlemen she’d known would have simply shared the idea themselves.

It wasn’t entirely a matter of putting themselves ahead of a lady on such matters but that they recognized that many of their fellow gentlemen would be more likely to listen to a man.

But Kipling had managed to navigate both difficulties with a great deal of acumen. He had primed her uncle to listen to her and had given him reason to believe that he ought to. That significantly increased the odds of her being heard. He was, without question, exceptional.

“Guilford is a very nice estate, and its nearness to the sea would make it intriguing to many people.” Just not to her. “I am determined to see it ready to be lived in again.”

“Are you hoping to live here?” her uncle asked.

With perhaps more fervor than she’d intended, Amelia said, “No.” Just the thought of living here permanently sent a shiver of horror through her. “But there’s no reason it couldn’t be made an appealing and exciting place for a family.”

Uncle seemed genuinely intrigued. “The house is entailed.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest that it be sold,” she said. “You could find a family of standing in Society who could make their home here. Then the house wouldn’t be empty, you could have income from it, and it wouldn’t fall back into disrepair.”

To her delight, she saw his eyes brighten. He hadn’t dismissed the idea out of hand.

“I am working very hard to organize those I have hired from the village. The progress they are making has me increasingly convinced that it is an entirely possible and sensible approach.”

“Restoring Guilford is requiring funds from the Stirling estate,” he acknowledged. “Should it deteriorate again, those funds would have been wasted. But I am not going to abandon my home in order to live here and look after the place.”

“Of course not.”

“You think it could be made ready for a family to take up residence?”

She nodded. “I believe I could have it ready by the end of my six months. And since the ordinary needs of Guilford are already accounted for in the expenses of your estate, whatever you charge the family to whom it is lent would be profit.”

A slow smile spread over Uncle’s face. He was not merely considering her suggestion. He seemed to have already begun embracing it.

Amelia hazarded a glance at Kipling, wanting to see if she was misjudging her uncle’s reaction but also not wanting to give away her hopeful nervousness. Kipling offered a very subtle smile that, while she certainly hadn’t missed it, she didn’t think would undermine anything.

She made the mistake of letting her gaze wander the tiniest bit to Mr. Winthrop. He, far from looking pleased or intrigued, appeared legitimately livid. So much so, in fact, that she involuntarily recoiled.

“You may have stumbled upon something worth pursuing, Amelia,” Uncle said.

“My nephew and I have seen quite a few homes throughout England,” Mrs. Finch said.

“Several of them were let to families who paid rent to live there. It is not merely a common arrangement; it is also a wise one. An estate that sits empty is far more likely to fall into disrepair. It is also far less likely to be visited by those looking to be impressed by the holdings of otherwise impressive families.”

Uncle nodded, though whether he realized he did so wasn’t clear.

They had finished the last of their meal, and Mrs. Finch rose.

She didn’t generally break with protocol, which told Amelia that she felt it wise, for some reason, to leave the gentlemen without delay.

Perhaps she felt Uncle Stirling was more likely to do some pondering if he didn’t have to do so with ladies present.

Amelia took hold of her already-beloved cane and stood as well.

The gentlemen all got to their feet. Mr. Winthrop stomped away, apparently upset enough to be uncivil.

As Amelia passed Kipling, he smiled fleetingly. How she wanted to stop and throw her arms around him. She kept herself to proper decorum, though, and made her way from the dining room.

Out in the corridor, far enough from the room not to be overheard, Mrs. Finch said, “I believe you are very near to convincing he. Hold steady a bit longer.”

Amelia felt that same hope.

Mrs. Finch slowed their forward progress, studying Amelia as she’d taken to doing since the previous day’s misadventure. “You’re aching again, I would wager.”

There was no point denying it. “I suspect I am going to be in pain for some time.”

“I’ll find Jane and have she make certain the fire in your room is built up so you’ll be warm when you return there. And I’ll fetch you a warm shawl as well.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said.

She received a fond smile in response. “Us’re watching out for you. Don’t ever doubt that.” Mrs. Finch hurried off in search of Jane.

Amelia made her way slowly toward the stairs leading to the drawing room.

But her eyes happened upon the front windows.

It wasn’t so late that it was truly dark out.

She could see a figure near the sea road.

Surely everyone was well aware that it wasn’t traversable yet.

Wandering in that direction would be dangerous. Whoever it was needed to be warned.

She stepped through the front doors and out under the portico. She would make quick work of the swift reminder to wait for the sea to retreat, and then she could retreat back into the house. But first she had to reach the person, as the wind was too strong for her voice to carry to him.

She was within a few yards of the sea road when she spoke to him. “It isn’t yet safe. You need to—”

He turned, and she froze.

“Mr. Winthrop. Why aren’t you in the dining room with the other gentlemen?”

“Your uncle promised,” he said. “I offered him a portion of your dowry. I sacrificed what would have been mine by rights. And he promised .” Anger flashed hot in his eyes.

“His promise always depended on my success or failure here.” She backed up carefully, too afraid to turn her back on him but too unsteady on her feet to rush. “I’m not failing at Guilford. He has to honor the terms of—”

“He will not break his word to me.” Mr. Winthrop moved surprisingly quickly, placing himself in her way.

“My uncle alone doesn’t determine what happens to my inheritance. The solicitor must be in agreement with him.”

Her attempt at countering his anger didn’t help. Mr. Winthrop didn’t speak, didn’t move. Indeed, there was something about his expression that told her his thoughts had suddenly jumped far afield. But he was still too much in her way for her to get around.

“Please allow me to pass.” She spoke as firmly as she could manage. Her speed was not sufficient to escape on her own; he would have to permit her to do so.

He grabbed her arm and yanked her in the opposite direction of the house—toward the water-covered road. Toward the sea.

She pulled backward, resisting his efforts, ignoring the pain he was causing her. Only the day before, she’d been torn on rocks and tossed into the ocean. She tried to hit him with her cane, but he held her too near him. She couldn’t manage the right angle.

He dragged her farther from the house.

“The sea road is still underwater,” she said. “You cannot get to the village yet.”

“I don’t have to get you to the village,” he said through tense teeth. “You simply have to be off the island.”

Off the island. He meant to force her to break the terms of the agreement.

She pushed back as hard as she could, but she was weakened, and he was bigger than she.

Closer and closer he pulled her. Sea spray lashed her face and her hair. The wind off the water chilled her to her core. He would have her in the water. It was so close. All she could hear was the angry crash of waves.

A flurry of limbs suddenly pounded into Mr. Winthrop.

Mick. He’d arrived out of nowhere, without warning, as he so often did, and was fighting Mr. Winthrop fiercely.

His efforts freed Amelia from Mr. Winthrop’s grasp, but in the next moment, the man flung Mick, who tumbled toward the sea.

She lunged for the boy, horrified at the idea that he might be carried away.

But before she reached him, Kipling flew past.

He shouted back at her, “Stay on the island!” He grabbed the brave boy and pulled him to safety.

Mr. Winthrop made to reach for Amelia once more.

She swung at him with her cane. He was yanked back by Smudge.

Jane placed herself between Amelia and her would-be abductor.

Mrs. Jagger and Marsh joined in the efforts.

Others from the village did as well. Kipling, holding fast to Mick, reached her side.

They’d managed to stay out of the water, but Mick would be bruised and sore, just as she was.

Kipling put an arm around Amelia and tucked her up close. She leaned against him, relieved and a bit shaken.

“I think it’s time this was off the island.” Smudge shoved Mr. Winthrop forward and toward the missing sea road.

“Toss him in.” Mr. Ivers spoke from his rowboat, glaring thunderously at Mr. Winthrop. “Us’ll not wait for the sea to retreat. Him’s leaving now.”

One of the groundskeepers tossed Smudge a length of rope, which he used to tie Mr. Winthrop’s hands behind him. They apparently were taking no chances of him putting up a fight. Smudge strong-armed Mr. Winthrop into the boat and jumped in with him.

“What do you think they are going to do to him?” Amelia asked.

“It might be best if we don’t know.”

“Likely, them’ll just make certain him don’t come back and bother you,” Mick said. “The people of Guilford are protectors, not murderers.”

“It’s a shame we can’t, with any degree of confidence, say the same of Mr. Winthrop,” Kipling said. “Isn’t it, Mr. Stirling?” He looked just beyond her, in the direction of the house.

Amelia followed Kipling’s gaze and found her uncle standing there, looking horrified.

“Once he had his money and his heir, what do you think he would have done to her?” Kipling continued. “If he was willing to do what he just did before getting what he wanted?”

Uncle Stirling looked around at them all, uncomfortable.

“But at least you would have gained a rentable estate and some extra money in your pocket,” Kipling added coldly. “Is that what constitutes an honorable trade in England?”

“I didn’t realize he was this horrid,” Uncle insisted.

“ This horrid?” Mrs. Finch scoffed. She tucked an arm around Mick. “That you knew he was horrid at all and still meant to move forward is despicable.”

Kipling kept his arm around Amelia and walked with her back to the house. The villagers took up the procession and followed.

Once inside, Amelia breathed a heavy sigh of relief, one that shook with the enormity of all that had happened.

Kipling pressed a light kiss to her temple, “You are remarkable, you know.”

“You saved Mick,” she said.

“And he helped the village save you.”

Amelia looked over her shoulder at all of them before stepping inside. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you all.”

“Us don’t want to lose you,” Mick said, looking embarrassed at the sentiment yet speaking it firmly. “Either of you.”

For one who had never really been wanted before, it was deeply touching.

Kipling took her to her book room. “If your uncle decides to go looking for you, he likely won’t start here. You may have more time to yourself.”

“A good plan.” Her words shook despite herself. She was safe now, but two days in a row of being threatened with the ocean had taken a toll. “I only wish I couldn’t hear the waves in here.”

“We are, without question, going to get you away from the ocean the moment it’s possible. I don’t think I can endure watching you plunge toward the water a third time.”

“Perhaps there is a home somewhere near Guilford Village but not on the water. We’ve found family here.”

He grinned. “ We. I like that, Amelia Archibald.”

She smiled as well. “We could be the eccentrics of the area: a lady who wields her cane like a sword and a gentleman with a surprising knack for carpentry.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “I like the sound of that.”

She looked up into his beloved face. “I can’t leave for months yet.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “My aunt and I will simply have to scout the area in the meantime to see if we can’t find the perfect place.”

“And you will keep coming back to tell me what you find?”

“Always,” he whispered.