Page 13

Amelia sighed. “‘The country’ is not much to go by, is it?” She thought of her mother’s jewelry box, the paintings on the cold porcelain feeling more distant with every day she spent chasing down their futile promise. “I almost wonder if I should give it all up.”

“Well, our Jacob found your Sir George readily enough in London. I should think him fully capable of sleuthing out his whereabouts elsewhere.” Mrs. Wilmark smiled. The pride she took in Mr. Hawthorne was heartwarming. It was a pride that Amelia wished to see bestowed on herself eventually.

How odd, truly, that the niece of an earl, raised in relative privilege all her life, should yearn for the approval of a humble clergyman’s sister.

Amelia smiled. She’d tried to make herself useful these last few days—observing how Mrs. Wilmark ran her tidy little home and offering her assistance with a tea tray here or some organizing there, all while the other two maids worked and chattered alongside them.

That her quest to find her royal relatives had led instead to Amelia socializing with the help was most ironic—although in an almost amusing way.

She still detested waiting, but hearty company did render the waiting remarkably more bearable.

“We don’t even know where exactly Sir George is,” Amelia said before another sip of the impressive tea. Did Mrs. Wilmark have friends in high places who gifted her tea? “I hope Ja—Mr. Hawthorne won’t have a difficult time.”

Mrs. Wilmark didn’t remark on her slip of the tongue, at least not with words.

Mr. Hawthorne had wasted no time committing himself to finding Sir George’s trail after depositing Amelia and Betsy back at Mrs. Wilmark’s after their futile call at the Thorntons’.

Surely, there was nothing irregular about Amelia wondering over his progress. He was truly being helpful .

He was also kind and distractingly handsome—but that was all beside the point.

“That boy is more responsible than is good for him, sometimes,” Mrs. Wilmark said with a mother’s pride, “but I suppose that is hardly something to complain about.”

“No, it isn’t.” Amelia inhaled the scent of the tea, steeped to perfection as it was. “The world would do good to have more Jacob Hawthornes.”

Mrs. Wilmark chuckled. “I’ll have to agree about that.” She sent a fond look towards the apartment’s entrance, as if Mr. Hawthorne had just left. “My brother and I always said that he would make an excellent husband.”

Amelia narrowly avoided burning her tongue. “Is he—is Mr. Hawthorne engaged?”

“Not to my knowledge, although many a pretty young lady has tried to catch his eye.”

“I—I suppose they would.”

Mrs. Wilmark sent a knowing look Amelia’s way, and Amelia was suddenly very thankful she had more tea to sip.

“A good man is hard to find these days,” Mrs. Wilmark said gently as Amelia tried to distract herself by fiddling with the tea things. “They always are. And Mr. Hawthorne is most decidedly a good man.”

“I am glad—that is, for his sake.”

“Not for yours?”

“I—” Amelia looked up briefly. She might not be much talented in the art of subtlety, but she certainly had a good amount of self-respect. “I don’t see why it has much to do with me, even if I concur.”

“He is rather devoted to your cause. ”

“You said yourself that he is a responsible man.”

“He is.”

“And I’m sure that is all there is to it.” Amelia’s own words stung her, particularly because she believed them to be entirely true. She had never been anyone’s priority. There was no reason she suddenly would be now. “He is being kind.”

“Well, that he is.”

A rap on the door saved Amelia from having to fend off more of Mrs. Wilmark’s insinuations, although having the door open to reveal a slightly disheveled Jacob Hawthorne did her distraction little good.

“Good afternoon.” He smiled at Amelia first.

“Good afternoon.” She turned askance, uncharacteristically shy. Somehow, between failed journeys and being a recipient of unexpected kindnesses, she’d misplaced a good chunk of her usual confidence.

Mrs. Wilmark cleared her throat, as if she were masking a chuckle. “And how goes your search?”

“Ah, yes.” Mr. Hawthorne straightened and smiled at the dear matron. “Sir George’s solicitor was—most loquacious.”

This time, both women chuckled a bit.

“Did he talk your ear off like you do us?” Mrs. Wilmark laughed.

“I do not talk people’s ears off.”

“Well, some might disagree.”

“He spoke of a hundred different things.” Mr. Hawthorne ran a hand through his golden hair. “I’m not sure all were particularly helpful. If not for his clerk constantly reminding him to answer my questions, he might still be talking now. ”

“Does he know where Sir George is?” Amelia asked, anxious to know the answer to her primary question.

“Ah, yes.” Mr. Hawthorne smiled again, his features youthful and bright. “He’s given me the family’s address—where his correspondence is forwarded.”

“Oh!”

“Yes.” He stepped forward until he stood right in front of Amelia. “It is not in London, I’m afraid, but in Milford House, in Salisbury.”

“Salisbury—” Amelia tried to recall her lessons. “That is in Wiltshire, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“But a journey like that—it can take days.”

“A day and a half, perhaps, not at all impossible.”

Amelia nodded, her mind churning. She still had almost all her money, thanks to Mr. Hawthorne’s intervention and Mrs. Wilmark’s hospitality. If she could hire a proper carriage and rent horses and—how exactly did one manage to plan a trip to another county?

“Would either of you happen to know where I can rent a carriage?” Amelia asked, only to have two sets of surprised, blinking eyes staring at her.

“I—I would suggest the stagecoach, Miss Waters,” said Mr. Hawthorne gently.

“Oh, yes—that—that would be helpful, I suppose.”

“I hope you do not need to pass through Hounslow Heath?” asked Mrs. Wilmark.

“Hounslow Heath?” Amelia repeated while Mr. Hawthorne frowned. He frowned rather often for a man so young, a habit that lent a shade of maturity to his otherwise boyish features.

“It might be a dangerous journey,” he said lowly.

“Oh.” Amelia braced herself for another tirade about why the idea would be as inappropriate as her former attempt to sail for China.

“But if we act carefully and do not draw unnecessary attention, it might be done readily enough.”

“Oh.”

“You must take Betsy with you,” said Mrs. Wilmark.

Mr. Hawthorne winced, almost playfully. “Is there no one else you can spare? Or perhaps we don’t even need a chaperone.”

“You know I need the rest of them. And you two can hardly pass for brother and sister.”

“Alas,” said Mr. Hawthorne, grinning.

“You said we .” Amelia leaned forward on the table. Both her companions turned towards her, but she only had eyes for Mr. Hawthorne. “You said we must act carefully. Does that mean that you will help me? You’ll go with me all the way to Salisbury?”

For a moment, he looked almost shy. “I had intended—that is—if you will let me.”

“Yes.” Amelia smiled. Relief rushed through her limbs. “That would be wonderful.”

Mr. Hawthorne smiled back, the consummate gentleman. Amelia barely even noticed Mrs. Wilmark’s chuckle.