Page 17

T he young maid at the Brown Hare Inn stacked their used dishes on a tray.

Then she sent one surreptitious, admiring glance Jacob’s way before sliding out the door of their private parlor.

Amelia sighed. She’d always enjoyed dinners with Jacob.

Betsy usually dined below stairs, eager to feast her eyes on the plethora of men—often returning to Amelia afterwards with detailed descriptions of the people she’d observed, before declaring Jacob handsomer than this or that servant boy who’d flirted with her.

But tonight, Amelia was quiet, as was Jacob. It was almost as if the revelation of her identity, however partial, had taken with it the camaraderie they’d previously established.

Amelia toyed with the edge of the worn wooden table. She couldn’t blame the man, could she? He’d set aside all his concerns—whatever life required of him—to help her on a quest she herself could barely define. And she, in turn, had repaid him with lies.

Across from her, Jacob wiped his mouth with a serviette, folded the fabric before laying it aside, and shoved himself away from the table.

She could feel his eyes on her even without meeting them.

“It is late,” he said.

It was not late. It was, in fact, distinctly early. For they’d arrived numbly from Milford House and called for dinner without realizing the hour of the day. Only Betsy had said anything during the ride, her chatter drowning out the tension between the two people she was supposedly chaperoning.

The sun was nowhere near the horizon, and they’d already eaten every dish the humble inn could manage to send their way.

When Amelia said nothing to Jacob’s comment, he stood and paced towards the door.

“Wait,” she called out.

He stopped, obliging as ever.

She drew a deep breath for courage. Then she looked up.

He didn’t look angry, at least not as much as he had when Lady Morchester was hurling barbed insults their way. But he did look cautious, and a little weary.

Amelia made sure not to cry.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He didn’t move, though he had to have heard her.

“Shall you sit? I—” Amelia swallowed and attempted a weak smile. “I think I owe you a story.”

He didn’t answer, but his eyes softened before he turned his body back towards the room rather than the door.

He stepped forward. Yet instead of circling the table and retaking his earlier seat, he strode directly towards Amelia, shoved his hands in his pockets, and leaned back against the table.

The edges of her skirt brushed the side of his boots, and she arched her neck high to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

He shrugged. “Whatever for?”

“Whatever for? I—” It was Amelia’s turn to rise. It eased her neck to be ever-so-slightly closer to him in height, and it allowed her to put slightly more distance between them. She couldn’t afford to be distracted. “I have hidden my identity from you.”

“As I was well aware you had.”

“You were?”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “You have not exactly been very subtle, my dear.”

She tried to ignore the endearment. “But I have hidden my connections to the nobility—something which you apparently dislike.”

This time, his pause felt longer, more thoughtful. “I do not despise or dislike the nobility for its own sake—although today’s experience has certainly done little to improve my opinion of its members.”

“Lady Morchester was not very kind, I’ll admit.”

“Not very kind?” Jacob scoffed. “She insulted us—insulted you—at every turn.”

Amelia sighed. “We appeared unannounced at her house, seeking a guest who was not there. I suppose she had the right to be wary.”

“Wariness does not justify incivility.”

“Perhaps not.” Amelia sniffed.

She hadn’t enjoyed their conversation with Lady Morchester. But she was even more concerned with the fact that they had essentially run up against a brick wall, and compromised her identity in the process.

If Lady Morchester was inclined to gossip—although Amelia hoped not given the countess’s general unawareness about the state of the Aldbury title—then it would not take long for news of her whereabouts to reach London.

And Mother might send a Bow Street Runner after Amelia, marriage settlement in hand, right to the Brown Hare’s door.

“If that is the life you’ve left behind, Amelia,” Jacob said quietly, his deep voice permeating every corner of the private parlor, “then there is no wonder you ran away.”

Her eyes darted up. “You are not angry with me then?”

“I am angry, yes.” He straightened. “But I have no reason to be angry with you.”

Her heart skipped. She ordered it to behave. “I have concealed my identity from you. I have upended your life for a lie. And now, if we cannot find Sir George?—”

“Do you wish to find him?”

“Do I? Of course I do.”

“Then we will.” He stepped forward, his shoulders towering over hers, yet without making her feel the least bit trapped.

“If you can be patient and give me a few more days, then I can track down wherever his mother might be—or wherever his more important correspondences were being forwarded. As long as we have the funds, it should not prove difficult to hire more means of transport. ”

“Jacob.”

“I am aware that you might be in a bit of a hurry—and I do not need to be told the full circumstances of what exactly you are attempting to escape. But as a gentleman, as a friend, it is my duty?—”

“You have no duty towards me.” Amelia choked on a laugh as a stray tear escaped. “I wish I could say I had some sort of claim, but I do not, and everything you do?—”

“Everything I do, I do because I want to.” He closed the space between them and reached for her hand. He pressed her fingers, ungloved, against his chest. “And I want to help you. I want to aid you.”

“Why?”

“Because—“ He seemed to struggle to speak, although he was usually eloquent enough.

And then his gaze dropped to her lips, his own parting slightly. Amelia stopped breathing. Every inch of her wished him to remove the distance between them—but could she allow him to when he barely knew who she was, when she herself barely knew who she was?

“Jacob,” she whispered, her voice heady to her own ears. But what could she really say? Slowly, he seemed to edge closer—as if an invisible string tightened between them. She’d set out to find her family, determined that her past was the key to her being. But what if?—

“Miss Amelia!” The door behind him burst open, and they quickly jumped apart. Amelia struggled to regain her breath. Betsy grinned, looking entirely unaware of what she had potentially interrupted. “Miss Amelia, we’ve found him. We’ve found your Sir George.”

And both Amelia and Jacob watched her with wonder.

“Matlock?” Jacob ruminated on the word. The groom from Milford House nodded eagerly, no doubt urged on by the adoring way Betsy clasped his hand and gazed up at his face. The boy was handsome enough, Jacob supposed, in an innocent, childlike sort of way. “That’s all the way into Derbyshire.”

“Yessir,” he answered with gusto, his lanky limbs and budding frame folded awkwardly into their private parlor. “Heard his valet say so himself, sir.”

“Derbyshire is up north,” Amelia whispered, her first words since Betsy’s interruption. The news the maid brought had been welcome, though her timing imperfect. “It does align with what the butler said.”

Jacob shook his head. Distracting himself with thoughts of what might have happened if Betsy and her newest object of affection had not interrupted them was the last thing he ought to be doing.

“And you are certain of this?” he questioned the groom.

“Yessir, wouldn’t have told Betsy here if I weren’t, sir.”

“Isn’t he so very helpful?” Betsy cooed. Given the briefness of their call at Milford House, Betsy’s ability to pick up a new romantic interest was remarkably efficient, if a little unsettling. “I knew it couldn’t all end so badly for us, miss.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said. Jacob smiled at her sincerity. She turned to face him, eyes hopeful, and momentarily chased away all his thoughts about the elusive Sir George. “Is it possible to follow him so far?”

Jacob very nearly said that he would go to the ends of the earth for her, if it came to it. Even China no longer sounded as outrageous as it did a week ago.

Instead he swallowed. “It is manageable. Nothing more than two or three days’ worth of traveling.”

“We might be able to find him then?”

“Yes, if this next direction proves true—although we might have to ask a few strategic questions once in Matlock.”

“I ain’t lying to you, sir,” Betsy’s new sweetheart rushed to assure them. “I won’t get Betsy here in trouble, I won’t.”

“That is admirable,” Jacob said. “I suppose I can make arrangements by the morning. Given our previous experience, I am hesitant to rely on the stagecoach. We would be much more efficient if we?—”

“I know where to get you help, sir. That is, if you wish, sir.”

Betsy swooned anew at the offer, and Jacob paused to consider the advantages of not having to see to the traveling arrangements himself.

“That would be helpful, yes. Thank you.” He reached for some coins in his pocket, but Amelia was faster in producing a crown and dropping it into the grateful young man’s hand.

Who was she, in actuality? Neglected by her family, born to a complicated past, and yet distinctly a gentlewoman and in possession of a veritable little fortune in her bottomless reticule—Amelia Fitzwater was a mystery.

A thought at the back of his mind reminded him of a little thing called Debrett’s Peerage.

Mr. Terrance had always talked about the book with a mixture of interest and amusement, alluding to how the fortunes of men were often consolidated into a few lines on a page documenting their chances of birth.

If Amelia was indeed the niece of an earl, would she be listed in the book?

And if he successfully unraveled the realities of her identity, would the revelation prove her allure to be merely a sense of curiosity—or would it solidify her even more in his heart?

“I’ll see to it right away, miss,” said the groom to Amelia, before he and Betsy pranced out the room, talking loudly all the way. The maid was as indiscreet as they came, but Jacob could hardly blame her when her lack of discretion served them so suitably tonight.

And once the door slammed close, it was just Jacob and Amelia, alone once more.

He waited to turn towards her, his heartbeat unsteady. She met his eyes gradually yet openly, as entrancing as she’d always been. More than ever, Jacob rued the supposed engagement looming over his head.

If he absconded with Amelia to Scotland tonight—would Father truly be able to do anything about it?

“Thank you,” she said, her gratefulness sending a splash of guilt over his selfish thoughts. “I am sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Again, there is no need to apologize.”

“But to go all the way to Matlock?—”

“If I’m not mistaken, milady, you were once prepared to go all the way to China.”

That comment sent her chuckling, and Jacob rued and relished the fact in equal measure.

Could he possibly endure another few days traveling in close quarters with this mysterious woman?

It would be exquisite torture to do so while fighting against having his heart attached, and yet the thought of abandoning her now was even more excruciating .

“We shall have quite a distance to cover tomorrow,” he said, his voice sounding huskier than he’d anticipated. “We both need to rest.”

She nodded, her lashes glistening. “Goodnight, Jacob.”

He contented himself with a brush of a kiss to her cheek, pulling away before he could do more. “Goodnight, Amelia.”