Page 16

I t cost them a pretty penny to hire their own post-chaise, a transaction that Jacob surprisingly insisted upon paying for, claiming some sort of chivalric code that Amelia was too tight a bundle of nerves to comprehend.

But what had felt like an extravagance at first now felt like a treasured privilege, especially as they pulled up the drive at Milford House.

At least she had the privacy to feel every emotion currently churning in her stomach.

The generous facade of the large house emerged fully into view. This was the place where Sir George Staunton had been born. Today, this would also be the place where the mystery of her own origins would be revealed.

The man might merely be a baronet, with possible distant ties to an earl. But Amelia herself was the niece of an earl and the heiress to a princess’s legacy. She had no reason to fret.

At least, she liked to tell herself so .

“Are you ready?” Jacob asked gently as their conveyance slowed and then settled to a stop.

Amelia eyed him tentatively, drawing strength from the kindness in those entrancing blue eyes. He’d called her Amelia last night, hadn’t he? Surely, it was not overstepping the mark for her to think of him as Jacob.

She tried to smile. “I suppose I must be.”

“That is a far cry from the confident woman I saw at the docks.”

Amelia chuckled. “Perhaps I have learned a thing or two since then.”

He smiled gently. For a moment, she almost thought he would reach for the hand she’d rested on the bench between them. But he pulled back before touching her, turning instead to open the door.

Perhaps, it was for the best.

She’d miss him, but there was no reason for them not to part ways after this.

She had a past to discover—a new life to chart out. He had to go back to whatever his life had been before their little adventure. From what Amelia could tell, Jacob did not seem to particularly like that life, but she had no just cause to deprive him of it either.

“Come,” he said gently as he handed her down the lowered steps. “I’m sure they shan’t bite.”

Amelia laughed and squeezed his hand. “Have you ever met a member of the English aristocracy? Some of them can bite better with their words than dogs can with their mouths.”

“As someone who has been bitten by angry puppies—twice—I beg to differ. ”

“Well, as someone who is related to—” Amelia stopped short as Jacob met her gaze, a knowing, challenging glint in his.

He knew she’d been hiding most of her identity from him.

And yet, he’d helped her. As someone who’d spent almost all of her life surrounded by people who believed friendships were only ever worth pursuing when there was money or influence to be had, Jacob’s goodness was incredibly refreshing—and humbling.

Behind them, Betsy tried to climb down the carriage steps, groaning loudly, as if needing to make it clear that Jacob hadn’t helped her .

Both Jacob and Amelia chuckled.

Amelia glanced behind her. “Are you quite well?”

“Well enough, miss,” Betsy answered dutifully, her foot an inch away from the ground. She cast a lovelorn glance Jacob’s way. “Would be nice to have had some help.”

The fact that Jacob didn’t clamor to flatter the girl—for Betsy was pretty, in her own way—was a testament to his good character. There were many masters who would think little of toying with a maid, especially one so eager for his attentions.

“I should have helped,” the driver said, jumping down from his seat, looking almost as lovesick as Betsy herself. The maid seemed to hesitate briefly before reaching out her hand to receive due assistance for the last step.

Amelia had to turn towards the house again to hide her chuckle, and Jacob seemed to do exactly the same.

They walked forward together until Jacob approached the door.

“Mr. Jacob Hawthorne,” he presented himself with affable confidence to the sober-mannered butler, his bearing and speech every bit the gentleman, “here with Miss Amelia Wa?—”

“Fitzwater.”

Jacob stopped and looked down at her, a small glint of betrayal in his eyes.

Amelia swallowed. She hadn’t wanted to lie to him, but it had felt a necessity for self-preservation at the time.

She turned her face towards the butler, who now regarded them with open curiosity in place of his earlier detachment.

“Miss Amelia Fitzwater, of London,” she said as evenly as she could.

The butler bowed slightly, his formality restored. “Sir, madam.”

“We are here to see Sir George Staunton, whom we were informed had left London a few days ago,” Jacob said, resuming control.

“I see,” said the butler, even more impassively. Did butlers receive training in maintaining stoicism? It was perhaps the sort of training Amelia needed, given that she felt herself ready to vomit up her heart at any moment. “And shall Sir George recognize this acquaintance?”

“He is a friend of my father’s,” Amelia said, “Mr. Martin Fitzwater.”

She figured it was better to leave off the honorable title. Jacob had received enough surprises for the day.

“Very good, miss.” The butler bowed again. “But Sir George is not at home.”

Her heart dropped. “No?”

“Perhaps,” said Jacob, his muscles tensing under her arm, “ it would be best for Sir George himself to make such judgment.”

“As you wish, sir,” said the servant, unperturbed, “but I fear a letter shall take a few days to reach him up north, and the reply would take equally long to return.”

“He is truly not here then?” Amelia narrowly avoided wailing. Was she to traipse all over England without getting any answers at all?

“Her ladyship is in residence, if you wish to verify the matter with her.”

“Her ladyship?” Amelia hadn’t realized Sir George was married.

“You are at the residence of the Earl of Morchester.” The butler looked outright offended now.

“Right, of course,” Amelia answered quickly.

She didn’t remember ever having met this particular earl, but there was a slightly higher chance now that they might receive more direction than they had at the Thorntons’.

Please tell her ladyship that Mr. Jacob Hawthorne and Miss Fitzwater, the niece of—Lord Aldbury, are here to call. ”

If the newly-named relation surprised Jacob at all, he was kind enough not to show it.

“Very good, miss,” the butler said at last. “Allow me a moment.”

Jacob watched, eyes and mind sharp, as the thin, severe Countess of Morchester arranged the silks of her dress. They had all been introduced and seated for a good two minutes by now, but neither Jacob nor Miss Waters dared to breathe a word before their unhappy hostess did.

Miss Waters—the mere thought of the name had Jacob clenching his jaw. He’d always known it was a pseudonym. It was why he’d always thought of her as Miss Amelia in his mind. Somehow, he’d known that part of her name to be truly hers, at least.

But she was apparently not Miss Waters, running away from some unnamed genteel family who didn’t welcome her. If Jacob remembered correctly—and he very nearly always remembered correctly—she’d introduced herself as Amelia Fitzwater, the niece of Lord Aldbury.

There were many types of lords in England—none of whom Jacob was particularly eager to meet.

Searching for one elusive baronet was proving difficult enough.

But all his life, he’d thought of the nobility as more archetypes than people, a different species that breathed a different air and inhabited a different habitat than regular men.

Father had always aspired to rise among the ranks and ingratiate himself with the upper crust. Jacob had always thought the idea vanity of vanities.

But now he was seated in the house of an earl, in the company of a woman he’d come to think of as a friend, who was herself related to some sort of lofty nobleman.

The idea that these people who monopolized English wealth and thought themselves to be better than others were real human beings with real problems was a rather challenging idea.

“You’re Aldbury’s niece, you say?” The Countess of Morchester finally spoke, her voice as spindly as her person.

Amelia nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

“Are you Madelaine’s girl then?”

“No, ma’am, that would be my cousin Thea.”

The countess raised a fine brow.

Amelia cleared her throat. “Lady Dorothea Fitzwater.”

“Lady—” The countess frowned, her features pinched. “Ah, yes, Henry inherited.”

Amelia’s fingers twitched. To Jacob, it was clear that she was nervous. Whether or not it was just as apparent to the countess, the latter did not seem to particularly care.

“Yes, Lady Morchester,” Amelia said with a barely level voice.

The countess sent an assessing eye up and down in response. Amelia shrank back slightly. Jacob wished he could reach over in support.

He himself might be the son of an upstart tradesman, his name barely worth the card it was printed on in the eyes of people who called themselves lords and ladies.

But if Amelia had been born the niece of a nobleman—and he had no reason to doubt she indeed was—then, surely, she deserved better treatment than this.

“You do not take after your father then—if he looks anything like his brothers,” said Lady Morchester.

“I do not think, my lady,” Jacob said, unable to keep quiet any longer, “that Miss Wa—Miss Fitzwater’s appearances have anything to do with our errand today.”

Lady Morchester sent an even more disdainful look Jacob’s way. “And you are?—”

“Jacob Hawthorne, at your service.” He leaned his head forward in the semblance of a bow, even though he knew they’d already been introduced earlier.

“Miss Amelia is here on an errand to consult Sir George Staunton. And if your ladyship would be so kind as to extend your help, we would perhaps be able to?—”

“And who is Sir George to you, young man?”

“He is—” Jacob paused to rein in his rising ire. “He is in possession of information that is valuable to Miss Amelia.”

“And is that true, Miss Fitzwater? If that is indeed who you are?” The countess swung her gaze back at Amelia. “Sir George might not be the master of this estate, but his whereabouts are not something we bandy about to any riffraff who asks.”

Jacob rose quickly. “I beg your pardon, ma’am.”

“Our apologies.” Amelia rushed to her feet beside him. She clung to his arm. “I—I had not realized that we were intruding upon another earl’s residence. We were under the misapprehension that Sir George was residing here?—”

“His mail is being forwarded to this address,” Jacob said.

“What George does with his mail is his business.” Lady Morchester sniffed.

“My apologies, Lady Morchester,” said Amelia. “Please, forgive us for disturbing you.”

Then she took Jacob by the hand and tugged him all the way out of the house.