Page 4 of Jaxon (Gentlemen of War #4)

Amelia

During the carriage ride home following the masquerade ball, the silence between the three of us grew. Father did not even look my way, and Katrina only regarded me occasionally when she felt the proclivity to frown—which she often did.

Once the coach turned onto Park Street, I released a sigh of relief. Though we all lived in the same house, our quarters were separated by floors and this tender mercy offered me the necessary distance from the two of them, especially now that my older brother, Lester, had wed and moved into his own home.

Alone, my father proved to be a kind man, loving, and doting. With Katrina, he became an alternate version of himself, and I grieved the loss. Skipping the baseless pleasantries, I exited the carriage first and walked briskly toward the door as to not get caught in conversation along the way.

“Good evening, Miss Amelia,” Bastian nodded courteously upon my entry. I smiled wide for my friend. Without Peter, our family’s aging butler had become a dear confidant. “Did you have a pleasant evening?” He winked his awareness of our early return. I had told him upon departing that with any luck we would be home before midnight.

I chuckled and leaned in. “Surprisingly, it was not my doing.”

He turned to greet my father and Katrina as they entered and there was no mistaking the dark cloud that followed them inside. Though they did not speak, the tension led me to believe they had quarreled in the carriage upon my exit.

Katrina spoke not a parting word and stormed upstairs. I glared at her warily and glanced back at my father. “Well,” I clapped my hands facetiously. “Thank you for another spirited night of revelry, Father, I am off to bed.” I recalled with anxious delight the book I had left spread open on my bedside table. My preparations for the ball had forced an untimely interruption in my latest gothic novel, The Castle of Otranto , and I could hardly wait to find out where Isabella, the bride, vanished to.

Before I could dart for the stairs, my father’s exasperated voice reached my ears. “Amelia, come to my study tomorrow morning. We must speak.”

I despised these words. I had heard them far too often in the last few months. It almost always meant that some scheming gentleman had asked to court me. It wasn’t that I was a Diamond of the First Water, or even the Belle of the Ball, and though I had some attractive qualities according to Elizabeth, who never lied to me, I was not a na?ve young miss. I knew what they sought.

Ulterior motives seemed to dictate my life.

“London society is not accustomed to such strong and stubborn women,” Lizzy said. “And while I am often overlooked for my frankness, your lovely blond locks and innocent eyes send a different sort of message.”

“What message is that?” I asked, tamping down my vexation as we walked arm in arm along Upper Brook Street. “I don’t pretend to be something I am not.”

She laughed raucously in return. “The message you send, my friend, is that the daughter of Viscount Newell is approachable, obedient, and accepting, yet, in truth, you are a force to be reckoned with.”

“I don’t wish to be discourteous.”

“No, of course not, but very few people have been privy to the genuine Amelia, have they not?”

“You know why I cannot share certain elements of my true self. The consequences would not only affect me, but my family.”

She studied me carefully. “I certainly fear for the man you might one day lose your heart to. He will have no notion what he is getting into.”

“Do not fear, I have no intention to lose my heart to any man anytime soon,” I countered. “I have dreams I wish to aspire to first.”

Glancing at the elaborate gilded mirror that embellished the décor in the foyer, I studied my appearance. I certainly received my chalky gray eyes and flaxen-colored hair from my mother, but the angles of my cheekbones, chin, and lips directly resembled my father. As well as our shared streak of stubbornness and pride.

What did Father wish to convey to me? Did it include Mr. Farthing or Lord Turner? Both of which would surprise me, being that I had not encouraged either one, yet I saw them both engaged in conversation with my father prior to our departure. Then my heart caved. It could not be Sir Howard… we had only danced one set and spoke only of his hunting dogs in the three quarters of an hour we were together for dinner.

Stomping upstairs to my bedchamber like an insolent toddler, I slammed my door shut, hoping that even from their distance, my father and Katrina could hear my discontent.

I knew I behaved badly. I truly did not allow such sentiment free rein like this, but I wasn’t sure I could take this anymore. My life had been perfectly content; well that in itself was a lie, but adequately content before my father married the wealthy shrew. Without my consent, she doubled my dowry from ￡5,000 to ￡10,000. Now, every man with a pulse hounded me for a dance, a walk, a ride, or my hand. It not only stripped me of the very opportunity I had for true sincerity, it also threatened my independence.

I peered over at my book. Oh, yes. I smiled and nearly yanked the bellpull from its anchor. Waiting for Daisy might take far too long. I tapped my finger against my lips. I will read while she prepares me for bed. A task I engaged in far too often.

“Wake up, Miss.” Daisy nudged. I felt her touch upon my shoulder but did not budge. “Your father wishes to speak to you this morning.”

I grumbled and turned away but rolled on top of my precious novel. “Oh, no.” I wiggled it free from beneath me and rubbed my eyes to check for damage. I was so close to the end and I must have fallen asleep. I peered over the lines. Oh yes, Manfred just gave Jerome the devastating choice to give up Princess Isabella or his son Theodore. “Tell my father I will be there…” I began reading. “Sometime.”

“Miss!” Daisy’s voice warned. “Remember the last time you ignored his request and he came up here and seized your book. Do you wish for him to do that again?”

My eyes widened. That’s true. And I never did get to read the end of The History of Tom Jones, a foundling.

“Fine! Help me dress.” I slipped my book underneath my pillow for additional protection before Daisy selected a yellow morning dress. I chuckled at her intent. She most likely assumed, like me, that the bright color might put my father in a congenial mood.

I arrived at my father’s study before I even broke my fast, and he did not hide his surprise.

“I did not intend for you to acquiesce this quickly, Amelia. Are you well?”

Truly it made no sense to delay the inevitable. “Your words last night held caution in them. Please do not keep me in suspense. What dreadful fate awaits me?” I said this wryly and slipped down to one of the two leather wingback chairs that faced his desk.

Father stood up and rounded the desk, bringing him closer. For a brief moment, glimpses of the father from my childhood appeared. The man who was ever present when my mother lived. I missed that version of my father dearly.

He reached for my hand with both of his and patted it. “I only want to see you happy, dear Amelia. You have not… well you have not been the same for some time.”

“You mean since mother died and Peter was ki—”

“—Yes. Since then.”

I narrowed my eyes. We could not even speak of them?

“I am confounded over what misplaced distinction has driven you to reject so many fitting suitors over the years.”

“Over the years?” I choked back my exasperation. “Father, it has only been three Seasons since my debut.” And though I didn’t say so out loud, there had only been a couple of interested suitors during that entire time. At least, until recently when the Tigress increased my dowry to utter irrationality. Regardless of whether he believed this or not, I had been open to the idea that if I found anyone who might suit, I would consider him with sincere intent… but I hadn’t. “You and Mother always gave me the freedom to choose. Is that not your belief any longer?”

He sighed heavily. “You are two and twenty, Amelia. It is time you settled, my dear.” This time his sigh stretched. “I fear I have no other choice. If you do not accept a proposal by the end of this Season, I will make other arrangements for you.”

My lips parted and I couldn’t prevent the gasp from escaping. “Other arrangements?”

He scratched his cheek and the scraping sound of his day-old scruff emerged. “Your mother’s great aunt, Agatha, has written and expressed a need for a companion. She has asked for you.”

“A companion?”

“It is a change of scenery, love, and you might find what you are in need of outside of London.”

My heart thundered at the very idea. If I could not find the right man in all of London society, I would hardly find him in the small coastal town of Bridport. I had only visited once before at the age of ten and the fish odor did not leave my clothing for months.

“You are sending me away?” I could not hide the hurt in my voice. While I would not miss seeing his hellcat of a wife, I would certainly miss my home and friends… and him.

The door opened and Katrina walked in. A formidable chill accompanied her. Even now I could not have a private moment with my father without her interrupting. Holding her chin high, she wore an emerald-green dress that accentuated her sharp features. She scrutinized the two of us and my father instantly let go of my hand. My brows furrowed as I tried to get him to return my look. Why did he do that?

“Have you informed her?” Katrina raised a brow above her distinctive catlike eyes. Everything became clear. It wasn’t my father after all, it was his new wife who wished for my absence.

Father cleared his throat. “We were only discussing it now.”

She shook her head. “I do not see how you are the only lady in the lot of London who can remain unmarried after, what, six proposals? Or is it seven?” she said the last part with a sneer.

Instantly defensive, I didn’t hesitate in my response. “I have been in search for a match similar to my parents.” I looked to Father as his eyes softened. “The love and devotion they had with one another was unmatched.”

Katrina’s eyes sparked. “You are a spoiled child living with unrealistic views.”

“I am the woman my father raised.”

“And he has been a fool to permit so much freedom!” she exclaimed.

How dare she insult my father to my face, and as if he weren’t even present. I glanced at him and, though he hid his pain well, I could see it. It appeared in every line and fold of his face. Not waiting to be excused, I stood up and marched for the door, slamming it closed behind me.

The sounds of an ensuing argument between my father and Katrina faded the farther I got from the study.

Though I adored my Aunt Agatha’s wit when she visited London, I struggled to even consider leaving the entertainments of the city—the opera, Gunter’s Tea Shop, Hyde Park, museums—the list of pleasures proved endless. What sort of society could Bridport offer? A country dance and a fishmonger’s paradise?

Two months into the Season and I now had little time to find the man that I must marry. I had already reached my majority; perhaps I could convince my father of my need to take my dowry and live on my own in the manner which I desired. If I wanted to pursue an interest in language, mathematics, science, teaching, or antiquity, could I not do that without a husband?

Antiquity? I should not have been surprised when that thought entered my mind. I devoured practically every book that intimated a mystery, and there were times I had solved it prior to its revelation. I loved puzzles, deciphering clues, and unraveling the unknown.

Frustrated, I tossed myself onto my bed, trying to whittle through the list of available gentlemen before me. Though the last two Seasons yielded a better crop, many of those men had now married and moved on. Could it be possible men now only looked to me as a challenge and no longer believed that I was a suitable preference for marriage? They might be correct on that mark, though it did little to ease my concerns at this precise moment.