Page 24

A loud banging on the front door began almost the precise moment the clock struck nine the following morning.

Amelia startled. Her fingers stilled over her beloved jewelry box.

Could that be Jacob? She suppressed the irrational hope as soon as it threatened to bubble.

Whatever he’d said upon their parting had to be mere platitudes.

He’d always been kind that way. She couldn’t possibly take politeness as promise—no matter how much she wanted to.

Outside her bedroom, rushed footsteps trailed up and down the hall, accompanied by barked summonses of this servant or another. Her maid was nowhere in sight, no doubt preoccupied with preparing her sisters for the Grand Jubilee.

Amelia slipped her jewelry box onto the dressing table with a sigh. For someone who’d spent most of her life lamenting her differences with the rest of her family, she felt oddly content to be staying home today.

Adventure, for all its thrills, came with its share of heartaches. And she would appreciate the opportunity to nurse her heartaches in peace today while everybody else flitted about.

A scratch on the door preceded a chambermaid popping her head in.

“Miss Fitzwater,” she squeaked, looking as timid as she was frazzled. “You’ve been asked to join your father.”

“Me?” Amelia turned. She glanced down at her rumpled night clothes. “I am hardly presentable.”

“Oh.” The maid looked immediately flustered. It rather reminded Amelia of her own awkwardness during her first day at Mrs. Wilmark’s house. Her heart tightened with fond recollections. Whether or not Jacob ever visited, she had to call on Mrs. Wilmark sometime herself. “But Mr. Fitzwater said?—”

“Can you help me dress?” Amelia stood up and procured one of her dresses herself. It was, perhaps, slightly too fine for a morning at home, but all her other dresses were still being laundered. “And I can do my own hair.”

“Very well, miss.”

With minimal instructions, and plenty of tricks Amelia had learned from Betsy, they managed to render her into something somewhat presentable. The maid scurried off to help the more demanding members of the house, and Amelia marched herself downstairs.

“I fear I cannot make such a promise.” Papa’s voice floated down the hallway even before Amelia reached his study door. “My daughter’s opinion must be consulted.”

“Surely, you cannot mean to renege on our agreement now?” a loud, angry voice responded.

Amelia trembled without even having seen whoever Papa’s guest was.

Between the gruff voice and Amelia’s unexpected summons, this could not be Papa’s usual scholarly conversations about China with his gentlemen friends.

Her hand paused on the handle of the closed study door.

Papa’s voice responded firmly to his companion. “I understand that we have made a prior agreement. But Mr. Hawthorne, you must understand?—”

Hawthorne—the name jumped at Amelia. And without thinking her actions through, she flung the door open and rushed inside, her eyes darting all over Papa’s study for a glance of Jacob.

But instead of her tall, blond friend and his wry smile, she came face to face with a towering, large man with expensive clothes, an angry set of the jaw, and a clearly unimpressed expression.

Her breath caught.

She swallowed and diverted her eyes to her father. “Papa, you called for me?”

“This is the chit then?” said the stranger.

Papa frowned, looking far angrier than she’d ever thought him capable of. “I would warn you against disrespecting my daughter, Mr. Hawthorne.”

There was that name again. Amelia was tempted to study old Mr. Hawthorne for a moment, looking for a resemblance to her dear Jacob where there might well be none. Surely, there had to be plenty of people named Hawthorne.

She pushed away any fanciful thoughts.

“I do not see why I should respect her if you refuse to respect me,” the large man growled, turning back to Papa.

“An agreement is an agreement, sir—and by honor of your word, you have established an alliance of our families in marriage. I refuse to be tossed aside as if the betrothal were a mere inconvenience. The settlement must be signed. I have no need for her measly dowry, if that is what is causing delay. But I demand an acknowledgment that our arrangement stands.”

“I am not refusing it altogether.” Papa pressed forward on his desk.

Air rushed out of her lungs. So this was what the meeting was about.

For all of Papa’s entreaties for the family to welcome her back, the arranged marriage still stood.

And now, she had nothing left to bargain with her family—no legacy, no dowry, no nothing.

Mother hadn’t been wrong about Amelia having to accept the match as a good one, when her very legitimacy lay in doubt.

Amelia sniffed.

“So set a date then,” barked old Mr. Hawthorne—how odd to think of the man by those terms. “When shall the wedding be? Why are the banns not being read?”

Amelia’s eyes darted up to the imposing man that glared at her father. Surely, he couldn’t be the groom—could he? Bile crept up her throat, making her both ruing and rejoicing that she hadn’t broken her morning fast just yet.

The man was older than her father! Certainly, she could never, ever want?—

“Again, my daughter’s opinion shall be consulted.” Papa stood firm, for once in his life. He turned to Amelia and gestured her forward. She inched towards him, heart drumming like a death march.

“Papa.”

“Amelia, dear, Mr. Hawthorne here wishes to consult us about the betrothal we had arranged before you—that we had arranged earlier.”

“I understand.” Her words trembled, as did her hands.

“While we believe the match to be a preferable one, I would like to ensure that you are amenable to the connection. I would not want to impose such a permanent arrangement upon you if you are not in agreement.”

She stole a glance at the large man huffing and puffing across the room. The roughness of his face and his manners terrified her. It was impossible.

She lowered her head once more. “Papa, I do not think I can accept.”

Papa’s shoulders lowered, though he hid his disappointment otherwise. “I understand your hesitation. But perhaps if we take time to get to know the Hawthornes, we can?—”

“She cannot refuse!” Large, angry Mr. Hawthorne loomed forward. Here was a man who had to be accustomed to always getting his way. Could Papa not see the danger of that? “Do you think yourself in a more powerful position than I? Mr. Fitzwater, as the mere brother of an earl?—”

“I do not consider myself the better of any man, sir.” Papa returned his glare.

“And yet your actions beg to differ. A prideful bunch of hypocrites, you noblemen are.” He flung an agitated hand towards Amelia without so much as a look her way.

“Who even knows if your daughter is even truly the spawn of a foreign princess? Did you think such rumors could fool me? I’ve been talking to your servants, Mr. Fitzwater, and I know that your daughter has not been home these past two weeks.

If word were to get out of her escapade, who would even have her? ”

The study door, already open, flung wide against the wall with a bang . All three people turned abruptly to the figure of a tall, blond man standing at the entryway.

Amelia lost all ability to breathe.

“ I will have her,” said Jacob, as he marched in with the easy grace he always seemed to so effortlessly possess. He looked the two older men in the eye before smiling at Amelia. “That is, if she will have me.”

Three Days Earlier

It had taken all of two minutes without Amelia for Jacob to confirm, once and for all, that he wanted to spend his life with no one else other than the dubiously-legitimate, spirited, almond-eyed lady.

From the moment he returned to Sir George’s carriage, her very absence gnawed at him, creating a gaping hole in his heart that none other could fill.

The view of a drowsy Sir George dutifully ordering his carriage to drive Jacob to the Hawthorne residence after his club was not a particularly romantic one for such a sentimental epiphany, but one often did not get to choose when such pivotal moments happened in one’s life.

In fact, if life had been all about his choices, Jacob might never have chosen to court an earl’s niece, to agree to a betrothal his father had arranged, or to keep company with a baronet.

But Providence had other plans, he supposed—plans that had aligned both the path demanded of him by the Hawthorne legacy and the path he’d chosen by helping the intriguing stranger fighting with her hackney driver and accompanying her all the way to Matlock.

Jacob’s lips twitched into an involuntary smile as the Staunton carriage deposited him at his father’s front door.

The last thing he’d expected after Father’s two-month ultimatum would be to voluntarily end the period in half the time.

But there were things to discuss and details to confirm before he could approach Amelia again—properly, this time, as a suitor would.

What Jacob hadn’t taken into consideration, apparently, was how business had taken his father out of town and how inconvenient arriving home on a Friday was if one wanted to investigate and confirm the identity of one’s betrothed while everyone else in London fussed over church and Monday’s Grand Jubilee.

Betsy had to be returned to Mrs. Wilmark’s.

Payments had to be made for correspondence received.

Even his bedroom had to be properly dusted by surprised servants wholly unprepared for their young master’s unexpected return.

Then, at last, Monday came. Jacob picked out his best morning suit and took extra care with his toilette.

He’d never been a vain man, but it was not every day that a young man proposed to his betrothed.

In fact, most people did said proposing before acquiring said betrothed.

But his and Amelia’s acquaintance had proven so convoluted in its order of events that Jacob supposed there was no use fussing over such a minor detail.

He sailed down the stairs, ready to take leave of Father—whom he’d not managed to see at all except in passing upon the man’s return last night—before heading to Upper Wimpole Street to see Amelia.

But business apparently never stopped for Alastor Hawthorne, for Jacob was promptly informed by the servants that his impatient parent, who had probably taken less time than Jacob in curating his attire, had already left the house to confront old Mr. Fitzwater himself.

Off flew Jacob on his horse, little care given to the state of his curated attire. He might never have been a particularly keen horseman, but he certainly valued having been equipped with the skill now.

Thankfully, his brief ride concluded readily, with the butler recognizing him as the man who’d delivered Miss Amelia home and thus not a stranger.

Judging from the way Father had been hollering upon Jacob’s arrival, and the shocked look on everybody’s faces when he declared himself upon entry, his timing could not have been better.

There would not likely be the sweet, tender, private reunion he’d envisioned endlessly the past few days, but at least he’d stopped his father from insulting Amelia any further.

“ I will have her,” Jacob declared readily, marching into Mr. Fitzwater’s study as he did. Jacob nodded at both the older men present before turning to the woman he’d been longing for every waking moment the past three days. He smiled. “That is, if she will have me.”

His beloved Amelia stared at him, mouth agape, looking like a deer caught by surprise by a speeding carriage.

She was beautiful, as always. But she looked decidedly unimpressed.

“Ja—Jacob?” Her eyes looked almost trance-like.

“I beg your pardon,” said her father, forcing Jacob to meet his eye. “I fear I am at a disadvantage in my own home. ”

“Ah, of course.” Jacob straightened. He flashed an apologetic smile and a bow. “Mr. Jacob Hawthorne, at your service, Mr. Fitzwater.”

“Hawthorne.”

“My son,” said Father, his voice somewhat prideful and confused at the exact same time. “Good of you to join us, Jacob.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You’re Jacob,” said Amelia.

He looked at her again. “I am.”

“But you—and Mr. Hawthorne—” Her eyes darted between father and son, no doubt cataloguing any similarities she might find. Jacob had taken after his mother in looks, for the most part, but he did have Father’s height—and perhaps a mannerism or two. “You are—that is?—”

Amelia huffed. Then she whirled around to face her father.

“May I have a word with Mr. Hawthorne?”

“Mr. Hawthorne?” Mr. Fitzwater looked to Father.

“Not that Mr. Hawthorne.” Amelia planted her hands on her hips. Jacob smiled as she flung her hand his way. “ That Mr. Hawthorne.”

“Mr. Hawthorne—ah, yes, of course.” Mr. Fitzwater looked thoroughly confused, not that Jacob could blame him. “That is, I suppose, if you want to?—”

“It is perfectly natural for a betrothed couple to spend time in private conversation,” declared Father.

“We are not betrothed .” Amelia groaned.

“See here, young lady,” spoke Father, “there has already been an agreement that you and?—”

“I shall not force my daughter’s hand,” said Mr. Fitzwater .

“It is a matter of honor! If you do not?—”

“My daughter’s happiness is more important to me than?—”

“My son is a fine catch! Any number of young women in society?—”

“My daughter shall only marry if she wishes?—”

“You and your wife have agreed that she would marry?—”

“She will not?—”

“I never said I wouldn’t marry him!” Amelia shouted, finally quelling the quarreling fathers. Hope rose in Jacob’s chest as the room around them stilled. Then Amelia huffed. “But I never said I would either.”

Jacob watched, with bated breath, as both fathers seemed to consider her words.

“Now, if you would excuse us,” said Amelia, neck held high, every inch a princess, “may I have a word with Mr. Hawthorne in the back garden?”

After what felt like an excruciating long pause, Mr. Fitzwater said, “Very well.”

Amelia nodded, turned around, cast a commanding glance at Jacob, and promptly marched out the study door.