Page 20 of Jaxon (Gentlemen of War #4)
Amelia
Pressing my back against my closed bedchamber door, I seized a deep cleansing breath that pulled from my toes and threaded through my body. I could still feel my heart pounding in rapid sequential beats. It started the moment Mr. Jack made himself known at the threshold and I feared he would see the title of my book. Then somehow my pulse raced over his proximity.
When he inquired about my injuries, the note of ease in his voice surprised me, especially after our rather spirited row merely a couple of hours ago. It may have been that he felt obliged to do so, but I sensed sincerity in his inquiry over my wounds… something I had not heard from a man in a very long time.
This affianced lie to Mr. Jack was going to take much more effort than I ever believed. Why had I been so foolish and hasty in my words? Now, each time he referenced the absurd topic, from the location of the wedding to the imagined fiancé himself, I would have to prolong the deceit for however long we were stranded here.
I could not believe the implausible certainty that we could not leave this house. I left one prison to find myself in another one. Looking around the room only to find the glassy-eyed animals staring back, I released an overly dramatic sigh. It could have been much worse. I could be stranded with the Tigress, or be without my books… I smiled as I studied them in their various positions around the room. Tis true , I thought to myself, the day I do not have a book in my hand is a sad day indeed .
I moved from book to book, slowly and methodically turning the pages to allow additional portions of the volumes and tomes an opportunity to dry. On occasion, I would find a few pages had dried stuck together but not so much they could not be separated… thankfully.
Cradling Peter’s last Gentleman’s Magazine in my hands, I took a seat on the floor against the soft rug and leaned my back against the bed, something I would have never done at home in London, but then I had plenty of chaises and window seats to choose from there… here it was the bed or the stiff chair and, astonishingly so, the floor was quite comfortable.
I cracked the periodical open and rifled through to the pages to that which was titled THOMAS AMYOT, ESQ, F.R.S. F.S.A. and proceeded to reread portions of his memoir for the hundredth or so time, not letting my disappointment of not getting to his lecture overpower the delight of feeling Peter near me each and every time I read his words.
And, at this moment, I truly needed to feel Peter near me.
It wasn’t often that Peter shared his gentleman’s magazines with me, for he claimed men must have their secrets, too. Truth be told, this was the only one, for he wished at the time for me to learn of the man he so admired.
I read from the beginning.
Mr. Amyot was a native of the city of Norwich. Born of respectable but not wealthy parents, he had scarcely any school-education that he was indebted for the position in society which he attained solely to domestic tuition and to his own talents and social qualities. He was intended for the practice of law as a county attorney…”
I yawned and stretched, my mind feeling quite at ease and yet still exhausted over the night’s events.
“…He was selected in the year of 1802 (then in his 27 th year) to be the law agent of Mr. William Windham in the contest which then arose for the representation of the city. As this incident changed the whole course of Mr. Amyot’s life, it will be no unbecoming digression when we state of Mr. Windham that he was a Norfolk gentleman of high Whig family, as well as a Liberal in his personal character and the intimate friend of Charles Fox…”
My body still felt the ill-effects of the recent trauma and as my limbs began to ache, I moved to a lying position with the periodical spread out before me.
“…In the year of his removal to London Mr. Amyot formed a happy matrimonial connection with Miss Colman, the daughter of an affluent and eminent surgeon in Norwich…”
I wondered if anyone in the future might read such glad tidings of me. What would such an announcement say?
“The speeches of Mr. Windham are the only independent work which Mr. Amyot has published thus far. He is known as a man of letters solely by his papers printed in the Archaeologia. His papers in number about fifteen. He has written on the Historical Import of the Bayeaux Tapestry and is most interested in the death of Richard II as well as ancient Shakespearean poems. Mr. Amyot collects an excellent library, which includes good copies of all the printed chronicles and collections of State Papers with several thousand works of great usefulness and value connected with English History. He has two copies of the first folio Shakespeare.”
Oh, I groaned to myself. This is not helping me overcome my disappointment of not meeting the man. Could a person even imagine standing amongst a thousand books of English History? I would likely swoon. I chuckled as a soft scratch came to the door.
“Come in, Daisy,” I said, though I did not move from my position.
She entered and closed the door behind her. When her silence met my ears, I finally looked up.
“Miss?” Daisy’s mouth gaped open. “What are you doing on the… floor?”
“Reading,” I said, as if it was completely natural for me to be sprawled out like a child playing a game of Squeak Piggy Squeak, only I was not sitting on a cushion.
“Might I help you prepare for dinner, Miss?” She took a few steps to bring her closer. “Mrs. Gentry said supper will be ready in a quarter hour.”
I closed the magazine and rolled into a sitting position, staring up at Daisy with a dreary expression. “What must you ready?” I shook my head. “I have no gown, no toilette, no means to improve this…” I waved a hand from my head down to my toes.
“I have washed your dress, Miss, and it is drying, then I can begin the mending, but it likely cannot be worn until tomorrow. The other articles Mr. Jack retrieved this morning are all in similar disrepair. It will take time to restore them.”
I pulled my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, resting my head on my knees. “Wouldn’t Mr. Jack be so surprised if he was ever to see me at my finest?” I whispered. “To see me in a muslin gown with sheer overlay, long elegant gloves, and an adornment of pearls.”
I froze, daring not to meet Daisy’s eyes.
Why in heaven’s name did I say that?
“Mr. Jack, Miss?” Daisy scrunched her nose.
I stood to my feet. “Well, that was a slip of the tongue.” I chuckled darkly. “Truly, I do not care what Mr. Jack thinks of me or whether he should see me so distinguished. It is a natural desire for one to always be presented in the most refined manner possible. I only wish I had my own dresses. It would make me feel more like myself.” Because obviously I was going mad to say such shocking things . I tapped my forehead lightly as if such betraying thoughts could be thumped from my apparently lucid brain.
Daisy took my hand and led me to the desk chair. “I was able to borrow a brush and some hairpins from Mrs. Gentry and, even though I can’t fix your attire, I can do something lovely with your hair.”
I smiled and squeezed her hand, grateful that she was by my side. “You are a gem, Daisy. I’m so blessed to have you.”