Page 47

H owever, it was Henry she met first, coming upon him in the library.

Shafts of late afternoon sunlight pierced the tall windows, catching dust motes that danced above the leather-bound volumes and casting long shadows across the Persian carpet.

He rose from his chair at the desk, his look furtive and guilty before it relaxed into a smile as Amelia pressed upon him to sit.

“Well, Miss Fairchild, you are the very person I hoped to see,” he said, running a hand through his already tousled ginger hair. “Have you spoken to Sir Frederick about the letter I showed you?”

“I have,” Amelia said slowly, coming into the room and closing the door gently behind her. It was thick, studded oak and they’d not be overheard. The library held that peculiar hush that seemed to absorb all sound.

“And what does he say?”

Amelia cast her mind over their discussions which, while certainly concerned by the threat Mr. Greene posed, had primarily revolved around their gilded future. Her heart quickened at the memory of certain moments that had nothing to do with the current crisis.

“Miss Fairchild, are you all right?” Henry’s concerned voice broke through her reverie. Amelia realized she was smiling, her thoughts far away and centered on herself. She drew herself up and adopted a more sober expression, smoothing her skirts with slightly trembling fingers.

“Sir Frederick is deeply concerned, as you would imagine. But what proof does Mr. Greene have? We know nothing of his evidence. Just that proving his claim would take time and no doubt be costly as it was dragged through the courts.”

“But the marriage is recorded.” Henry’s fingers drummed nervously on the polished desktop.

“Perhaps…though it was on a separate sheet within the register. It was very odd. However, there is no record of any children born to Pernilla. And her crypt is concrete evidence. I doubt Lady Pendleton would either agree to have it exhumed—or could be made to do so.” Amelia thought a moment, pacing before the desk.

“Sir Frederick said that if her father was as wily as we’re led to believe, he may well have placed the body of some other unfortunate in her grave, just so there was no evidence pointing to anything other than that his own daughter had died on the night he claimed she had. ”

Henry’s shoulders sagged. “You’re right. And that’s what I am so worried about. I just think Albert is a capital fellow and I cannot bear to see him usurped by Mr. Greene.”

Amelia moved to the side of the desk, her shadow falling across the scattered papers. “Of course, he has removed his letter, has he not?”

“Of course,” said Henry. “He knows how to cover his tracks.”

“He may not have been so clever at that this afternoon,” said Amelia, before recounting what she had overheard. The memory of Mr. Greene’s silky persuasion made her shiver. “I was hoping to find Sir Frederick here to tell him.”

She noticed Henry had gone rather green, his freckles standing out starkly against his pallor. “Do you really suppose he might go through with an elopement, even after he suspects you may have overheard?”

“I think the man is desperate enough for anything. Colonel Blackwood says the creditors are baying at his heels. And even if he is the rightful heir to the Pendleton estate, he’s not going to have that proved in time for a financial bailout.”

“Bailout!” Henry sneered. “He’ll suck every penny from this place and see Albert and his mother and father destitute. A good thing his sister married well,” he added.

“You are a kind man,” said Amelia. “You always think of others. Caroline would do well to find a man of your caliber. But she’s young and too susceptible to compliments.”

She was struck suddenly by how easily her youthful self had been swayed by her own Thomas’s words. He’d been cunning the way he’d made her his by speaking ill of Sir Frederick and somehow turning Sir Frederick’s easy charm into something to be denigrated.

Yes, young girls were far too easily swayed by the honeyed—or barbed—words of men whose intentions were to use them, and their susceptibility, for their own ends.

How much wiser Amelia had grown in the past few years.

“Oh, goodness, I’m too young to be looking for a wife,” Henry mumbled. “And Caro’s more like a sister.”

Still, the way his face flamed and he couldn’t meet Amelia’s eye told its own story.

“But I can’t let Greene ruin her life if you think she really could be swayed.” He hesitated, his young face creased with concern. “Caro’s more sensible than that, surely?”

Amelia bit her lip. “Sometimes a sensible young lady can be led astray through no fault of her own.” Thinking, she tapped her fingers on the edge of the table.

“To be honest, I think we should be on our guard. I don’t think we should let Caroline out of our sights, for I truly suspect that Mr. Greene might be emboldened to take even the gravest risks to make her his wife.

He needs leverage over Sir Frederick and if he succeeds in spiriting Caroline away, it might be too late to wind back the damage done…

if you know what I mean.” Amelia cleared her throat and Henry’s face flamed anew.

“By God, I won’t let that happen!” he said, slamming his fist upon the table and rising.

“In fact, it wouldn’t be too bad a thing if Greene does go ahead and do his worst!

” He stopped suddenly, his embarrassment growing, as he amended, “I don’t mean ‘do his worst’ but rather if he goes ahead with hiring a chaise and four to take Caroline to the border. ”

“I see you know how it all works, then, Henry. That’s good,” Amelia said with a smile. “I’ve read enough romance novels—and there are incidents aplenty in the news sheets. It’s not such a rare thing as we might suppose. And it so often is not the lady’s fault.”

“I know what exactly to do.” Henry took a few steps towards the door, then turned. “I shall take a trip into the village now and visit all the coaching inns and posting houses to put out the alert. And I shall go farther afield in case Greene has been more cunning than to make his request local.”

“Which he probably has.” Amelia sighed. “What I worry about, though, is that there’s nothing like thwarted love to make a young girl more inclined to follow what she thinks is following her heart when she’s really just incensed that her brother or friend, in this case, has decided what is best for her. ”

Henry nodded slowly. “You’re right, of course. That is so very like Caro. The moment you tell her she can’t do something is the very moment she decides that is the thing she wants most in the world to do.”

“If that is her nature, then this will be a particularly delicate operation.”

Henry nodded. “It will, and so I have just come upon a plan.”

“You have?”

A sly grin spread over his face. “Yes,” he said with a short laugh. “If Greene does go ahead and order a postchaise and four, and if Caro is foolish enough to be persuaded, well, then let him spirit her away.”

Amelia frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand how that can be of any help, Henry,” she said.

Henry chuckled, his face transformed by a boyish enthusiasm that reminded Amelia how young he really was.

“It will if one of the postilions is actually me dressed up in livery and sitting on the back, where she won’t see me until they’ve arrived at the first inn along the way.

If I know Caro like I think I do, she’ll have arrived at the conclusion that her hotheadedness has once again plunged her into hot water.

And she’ll be fearful and full of remorse and despair, thinking that for once, I’m not there to rescue her. Again.”

His grin grew broader and, making a fist, he beat his chest three times as he drew himself up to his full height before gripping the doorknob to let himself out into the passage.

The late afternoon light caught his profile, and for a moment Amelia saw not the boy who’d grown up following Caroline about like a loyal puppy, but a young man capable of protecting what he held dear.

Turning, he said over his shoulder, his voice full of quiet determination that spoke more of love than he perhaps realized, “But I will!”