Page 6 of Jaxon (Gentlemen of War #4)

Amelia

“Thank you for coming to call, Sir Howard,” I smiled sweetly and curtsied as he bowed at the end of our fashionably timed quarter-hour visit.

“M—might I interest y—you in a carriage ride this afternoon to see my hunters? They love v—visitors.”

My smile faltered. I did not dare look over at Katrina. She surely waited with bated breath for my answer. Why she pursued a match between me and Sir Howard so forcefully I did not know, other than his connections and wealth perhaps, but as a social climber herself, I would expect her to pursue someone with a more powerful title.

“That is truly kind of you to offer,” I spoke with a gentleness in my voice. I knew he stuttered while nervous, but that did not bother me so much as playing with dogs when I could be reading a book. “I fear I must decline, for I promised to take a walk with my dear friend Miss Elizabeth this afternoon.”

“A—another time then, Miss Amelia.”

“Certainly.” I smiled and watched him bow once more before he turned and darted for the door.

I sat back down on the sofa and lifted my lukewarm tea to my lips. Anything to keep me from looking in Katrina’s direction. The ensuing silence tempted me, and I finally peered over the rim of my cup to find her nose pinched and the fine lines around her lips curved unnaturally. Just as I expected.

“You think you are quite clever, don’t you?” she spat.

“I do not know what you speak of dear stepmother .”

I heard her breathing heavily through her nose now.

“Flowers for Miss Amelia,” Bastian announced, entering the room with a lovely bouquet of hothouse lilies.

“Oh, those are simply divine.” I jumped to my feet and strode over to be met with a subtle wink. Saved by Bastian again. “Where shall I place these, Miss Amelia?” he asked.

“They must be the loveliest I have ever seen,” I embellished. “I will take them to my bedchamber straightaway so I can gaze upon them every waking moment.”

“Bastian, call Jasper to do it,” Katrina demanded.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” I said sweetly and retrieved them from Bastian before Katrina could voice her discontent and fled past him and up the stairs. The flowers were not so heavy that I could not manage the task on my own, but certainly Katrina would expect another to do it if only to commit me to await the next gentleman caller… but I desperately needed a reprieve. Five men had appeared in a little over two hours with two at the very same time.

Entering my room, I set the flowers on my dressing table and reached for the card. They truly were lovely; I did not proclaim a falsehood about that.

Honourable Amelia Newell,

These flowers pale in comparison to the illuminating beauty your presence provided at the ball last night. Would you do me the honor of a stroll through Hyde Park this week? I will not rest until I receive your response.

Lord Turner

Drat.

I walked over to the window and glanced out upon the bustling London neighborhood before me—Mrs. Hanover rushing her three young charges down the walk, Mr. Goldstein riding his handsome Turkoman steed at a slow trot, making sure everyone saw how well he handled the thirteen-hand beast, and a phaeton rumbled slowly until it came to a stop directly before our townhome. I watched curiously as the man set the reins aside and stepped out, tugging his waistcoat down over his portly belly. Mr. Donovan? He must be twenty years my senior!

I yanked the bellpull, but realized waiting for Daisy would only delay my escape. Grabbing my reticule, I rushed for the servants’ stairs and practically bowled my lady’s maid over on her ascent. “Daisy, I need my hat and my pelisse at once!” I cried. “And bring it to the servants’ entrance. I must leave… now!”

At the bottom of the stairs, we fled in two different directions. I slipped into the kitchen, hoping to find it empty, but when I took a step forward, Cook came out of the pantry. I froze against the wall, she had not yet seen me. While a servant could be commanded to my will, I had asked more than once for them to lie for me… and Katrina was getting smart to the ruse.

“Mrs. Baker?” Bastian entered the room, shooting me a quick glance, pulling her attention toward him. “I need your opinion on something, if you don’t mind.”

She huffed a little, setting aside the carrots that she was about to chop, and followed him out, just as he waved me on behind his back. I smiled. Bless that man . I reached the servants’ door just as Daisy appeared with my pelisse and bonnet, along with her own. “I cannot let you go alone, Miss,” she cried. “Besides, I don’t want to face the Tigress on my own.”

I laughed as we both put on our outer attire and slipped outside through the dormant garden and the back gate leading to an alleyway.

We continued to keep a steady pace until we reached Upper Grosvenor Street where I hailed a hackney. “British Museum, please.” I directed the driver as we both took a seat inside the coach with its torn leather bench and cracked panels, yet it was the first time all day that I could truly breathe.

“Why did we have to leave so suddenly, Miss Amelia?” Daisy asked.

I wiped my moist brow. While the weather outside was still frigid, our rush had caused quite a stir and, therefore, a thin layer of perspiration built. “I tire of the games, Daisy.” I shook my head. “The gentleman who came to call on us is a man twice my age and a widower with two children.”

“Do you not want children?”

“Yes, of course I do.” I leaned back against the squabs. “Is it wrong to want a husband first?”

Daisy shook her head slightly.

“One who will fall hopelessly and devastatingly in love with me, and then we will have children of our own.” I sighed. “I know children who have lost a mother, much like me, deserve to have a good and kind replacement mother, very much not like Katrina, but I believe… when I see that man, I will know, and he is certainly not Mr. Donovan.”

The coach rumbled along the uneven roads, turning and slowing until it came to a stop on Great Russell Street. Stepping out, Daisy and I stood before the grand colonnaded front of the museum. Its majestic appearance took my breath away as if it was my very first time beholding its beauty. It wasn’t. In truth, the number reached closer to a dozen, but I knew it would never grow old.

“Come, Daisy.” I reached for her hand. “I want to show you something.”

We entered through the main entrance then meandered around the side and up the stairs to the second floor. Striding past the treasures of the orient, we entered the elongated hall that housed the Egyptian antiquities. On the right-side walls over a dozen papyrus scrolls hung on the wall, each with an individual inscription of where they were found, followed by two painted wooden sarcophagi which I had marveled at multiple times. On my left, a collection of amulets was displayed fashioned after the ancient gods; objects believed to bring the possessor protection. The museum claimed to have found them at the site of the pyramids in Giza, but at the end of the corridor stood the black jagged piece of rock called the Rosetta Stone, discovered merely a decade ago.

As we approached, I opened my reticule and fished out a folded piece of parchment and my graphite stick. Unfolding the piece of foolscap, I showed it to Daisy. Her brows knitted severely. “I don’t understand what this means.”

“It’s alright. I’m going to show you something wonderful.” I glanced around us and waited the few minutes required until we were entirely alone, then placed the parchment flat against the etched rock. “This is called the Rosetta Stone,” I said. The ancient stele had been covered in chalk for quite some time to help the symbols become more identifiable, but I had learned a cleverer way to access the writings from a book I read. Taking the graphite stick, I rubbed it slowly over the paper pressed against the carvings and watched how they materialized. “And Mr. Bouchard says these are hieroglyphics.” Symbols showing birds, lions, feathers, a foot, and an eye, appeared. I wanted to giggle at their transformation.

As a couple entered the room, I took a step backward and pulled Daisy with me, showing her how the trick had brought the symbols to life on my paper.

“How did you do that?” she cried.

“It is quite fascinating, really.”

“What do they mean?” Daisy asked. She barely knew her basic letters and numbers from our own language as it was.

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” I smiled.

Though the shiny black slab with rows and rows of etchings on its face was only a portion of the rock, there were enough carvings to keep my mind occupied for a lifetime. But I would start with what I held in my hands first.

“How can you find out?” Daisy inquired.

“Let’s go to the reading room at the Bodleian Library, surely they might offer books on Egypt.”

“Today?”

I smiled mischievously. “Whyever not? We can take another hackney to Cattle Street. It is still early in the afternoon, and we must take advantage of our freedom while we still can.” I laughed and wrapped my arm through hers as we strode down the stairs and out the doors.

That evening, after my successful sneak back inside the house, I came downstairs to join Katrina and my father for the nightly meal and found Father to be quite preoccupied with a letter he had received from his solicitor only minutes before. Katrina blessedly did not utter one word to me as we dined on our roast duck, potatoes, and garlic butter green beans, and despite her pointing eyeballs and not so subtle gestures from him to me, Father ignored us both. And I would not attempt to deny the pleasure I took from that.

After the very silent dinner, I excused myself to my room, eager to pour over my notes taken from M. James Bruce’s Voyages en Nubie, one of several volumes he wrote on the land of Egypt that I found within the upper reading room of the library. Of course, the Bodleian library was not like a lending library where I could take such a tome home with me, thus the notes, and unfortunately, even Bodley’s Librarian could not locate any book that might offer insight to the mysterious symbols on the Rosetta Stone.

Alone in my room once more, I curled up on the bed with the few pages of parchment notes spread out before me as well as the paper I had rubbed over the Rosetta Stone. Each time I found a reference to a symbol he described that was similar to what I found on the stone, I wanted to squeal with excitement. The thrill of learning something new, unraveling a mystery, and following clues brought memories of all the times I had done something similar with Peter. As thoughts of him filled my mind, my heart ached profoundly.

He would have loved this.