Bound by One Scandalous Night Page 18

  His touch warmed her, just as it had done on their wedding day. She pulled her hand away. ‘I—I believe I shall go upstairs and retire for the night. I—I am much fatigued.’

  He nodded, but his eyes were pained. ‘I will go, too. Since I am to rise before dawn.’

  Edmund carried a candle to light their way as they walked up the winding staircase to their rooms. Amelie did not take his arm out of fear that desire would ignite if she touched him. How awful that would be, showing she wanted him only days after—

  He walked her to the door of her bedchamber, their little candle making a cocoon of light around them. In the darkness the house seemed eerie and strange, full of shadows and creaking floorboards.

  He put his hand on the latch of her door. ‘Do I say good-night to you here, Amelie?’

  She could not look at him. ‘I—I am very weary.’

  He turned the latch and opened the door. ‘Sleep well,’ he murmured.

  She darted a glance to him. She wanted to tell him to knock on the connecting door after Sally readied her for bed, but she couldn’t.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said, a little too shrill.

  She hurried into the room and shut the door behind her.

  Sally was in the room waiting for her.

  ‘I—I believe I’ll go to bed early,’ she told her.

  ‘Very good, ma’am.’

  Sally helped her change into her nightdress, after which she sat at a small dressing table while Sally pulled the pins from her hair and brushed out the tangles.

  ‘How has this day been for you?’ Amelie asked her.

  ‘The others have been kind to me,’ Sally answered. ‘They’ve been very busy but helpful.’

  ‘Did you get enough to eat?’

  ‘Oh, yes, ma’am,’ Sally assured her. ‘As much stew as I could want.’

  Amelie was glad to hear it. Sally must eat well and stay healthy for the baby’s sake.

  ‘And your room,’ she asked. ‘Is it comfortable?’

  ‘It is very comfortable, ma’am.’ She plaited Amelie’s hair. ‘It is on the second floor. A small room next to the stairway. Very plain, but all I need. Even a chair and table. I have never had a room of my own before.’

  ‘I am glad you like it.’ Amelie was determined that Sally have every possible comfort.

  Sally tied the plait with a ribbon and Amelie stood.

  ‘Will it be all right if I stay up a little?’ Sally asked. ‘I am not sleepy.’

  ‘Of course,’ Amelie resisted asking the source of her sleeplessness. Sally would not like it, and it would cause too many questions among the other servants if Amelie hovered over her the way she wanted to.

  ‘You have my permission to make use of the library, although it looked thin of anything that might appeal to you.’

  ‘I might look for a book,’ Sally said.

  When she left, Amelie blew out the one remaining candle. She climbed into bed and curled up under the covers and tried not to think.

  * * *

  Sally went to her room on the second floor. Not only did she have a room of her own, she also was the only one on this floor. The other servants had rooms on the same wing as the kitchen. This room even had a window that looked out on the garden in the back.

  She pulled the chair up to the window and sat gazing at the garden, bathed in moonlight. It was such a lovely night, like the ones in Brussels when she had slipped out of the hotel to meet Calvin.

  Poor Calvin. She’d known him since they were children in Hampstead. Even then they’d meet at night, sneaking out to explore the Heath. Her happiest times had been at night, with Calvin. She missed the nights; she missed Calvin, terribly.

  Her solitary room suddenly no longer seemed spacious. It seemed suffocating. She grabbed her shawl and lit a candle and walked as quietly as she could down the stairs and to the conservatory, where she knew she could easily reach the outside without anyone knowing. She carefully opened the door and made certain it would not lock behind her.

  Leaving the candle in the conservatory, she stepped out onto the lawn and gazed at the wild expanse in front of her. The mountains surrounded her, black shapes against the cloudy grey sky. She’d never seen mountains before. She wished Calvin were here to see them with her.

  Would he mind that his baby would be born in this wild place? Miss Glenville—Mrs Summerfield, she meant—said she’d be protected from scandal here where no one knew her, but what would happen to her and her baby later? What would Mr Summerfield do? Mr Summerfield knew she wasn’t a Mrs. Sally remembered him from Brussels. He’d been with Miss Glenville that night, not Captain Fowler, the man Miss Glenville had been betrothed to. It had taken a while for Sally to remember him.

  Mr Summerfield was a kind man, though, Sally thought. And an honourable one. He had married Miss Glenville to give their baby his name.

  Sally had always assumed any baby she had would have Calvin’s name. This baby would not have a father’s name, merely her family name, but, for his whole life, she would have to lie to him, making up a marriage that never happened and a father who wasn’t Calvin.

  ‘Hoo doo, ma’am?’ A man’s voice made her jump.

  She swung around. It was the man she had met earlier, the steward. ‘Mr Reid. You startled me!’

  ‘Is anything amiss?’ he asked.

  She was embarrassed to be caught like this. ‘Nothing. I—I felt like some fresh air, is all.’

  He stood beside her and gazed out over the mountains. ‘I like coming out here on nights like this, as though there was naught but me and the mountains.’

  She smiled sheepishly. ‘I have spoiled it for you, then.’

  His gaze was warm. ‘Nae. It is nice to meet someone who appreciates the night.’

  His accent was unlike any she’d heard. She had to concentrate to understand him.

  ‘It is peaceful,’ she said, even though the night had not brought her peace.

  ‘You’ve not been here long, but what do you think of it?’ He glanced out at the mountains.

  ‘I’ve never seen the like,’ she said. ‘It is all hills and trees.’

  ‘And where are you from?’ he asked.

  ‘London.’ she asked. ‘It is mostly buildings and streets except for the park.’

  ‘I’ve never seen the like of that.’ He gazed at her again.

  His was a nice face. Tan from the sun but pleasant to look at. Not tall and thin, like Calvin, but shorter and thicker as if there was much power packed inside him.

  She suddenly felt bashful. ‘I—I should go inside.’

  ‘Mebby we will meet out here again some night,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Goodnight, then, lass.’ He tipped his hat.

  ‘Goodnight.’ She turned around and ran back in the house.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Edmund woke to a cry.

  Amelie’s voice came through the connecting door. ‘No! No! No!’

  He bounded out of bed and donned the banyan he’d pulled out of his trunk before going to bed.

  ‘No!’ she cried again. ‘My baby.’

  He opened the connecting door and ran to her side. She thrashed in the bed.

  ‘Amelie,’ he called, holding her still.

  Her eyes opened but did not focus. ‘I lost the baby, Edmund.’

  She was still asleep, he realised.

  She reached for him. ‘I lost the baby. I cannot find her anywhere.’

  If she woke, she would remember the dream and suffer the loss all over again. If she slept there was a chance she would forget the nightmare.

  He climbed onto the bed, and she clung to him. ‘Find my baby, Edmund!’

  ‘Sleep, Amelie. I’ll find the baby. Sleep.�
�� His throat turned raw. This was too much like that awful night. Her crying out in her bed. Her distress.

  Their loss.

  ‘Very tired,’ she murmured.

  ‘Yes. Sleep.’ He laid her back against the pillows and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

  Her unfocused eyes opened again. ‘Do not leave me.’

  Of course he did not want to leave her. Every night he’d spent apart from her had been difficult, especially when she was a mere door, a mere wall, away. Edmund was used to being alone, even among officers in his regiment, schoolmates, sometimes even among the people at Summerfield House. With Amelie, though, so distant, emotionally if not physically, he felt acute loneliness. He hadn’t felt such loneliness since—

  Since watching his mother die.

  He crawled into bed with her and spooned her against him. She relaxed and slipped deeper into sleep. It took longer for Edmund.

  * * *

  When he woke, Amelie was still next to him, soft and warm and tempting him to let Mr Reid and the farm go to the devil so he could hold her longer.

  But he was uncertain if she would like finding him next to her. He waited a moment, savouring the scent of her and the soft sounds of her breathing, before carefully moving away from her the way he’d done on that night in Brussels when he’d thought he was merely leaving her with a pleasant memory, a memory that had helped sustain him during the battle and when he lay injured.

  Too much had happened since that time.

  His bare feet hit the floor, and his skin felt the room’s chill. The fire had nearly died. He padded quietly over to the fireplace and put on two more logs so the room would be warm when she woke. Out the window the mountains were haloed in a faint glow.

  Dawn was near.

  He grabbed his banyan and walked silently to the connecting door and quietly lifted the latch.

  She stirred behind him and he froze.

  He turned to see if he’d woken her, but she became still again. Her hair had come loose of its plait and tumbled over her shoulders. Her face was relaxed, as untroubled as a child’s. He caught his breath at the sight. If only he could keep her untroubled for all her days.

  He opened the door and slipped out of the room.

  He’d left his trunk in disarray from searching for his banyan the night before and now he disturbed its contents even more, looking for clean drawers and a shirt.

  He pulled on his drawers first, then shaved quickly and put on his shirt and a pair of buckskin pantaloons.

  The connecting door opened.

  He swerved around.

  Amelie stood in the doorway. ‘I heard you moving about.’

  He buttoned his pantaloons. ‘I did not mean to disturb you.’ He ransacked the trunk again, looking for a coat and waistcoat fit for touring a farm.

  She walked over to him. ‘You did not disturb me. I just woke up. I slept well, though.’

  Except for her nightmare, but, as he’d hoped, she didn’t seem to remember it.

  She peered into his trunk, which was a rumpled mess. ‘Shall I have Sally unpack for you?’

  ‘If she has time.’ He put on his stockings and boots.

  She handed him his hat and gloves.

  ‘I have no idea when I will be back.’ He pulled on his gloves.

  ‘Do not concern yourself over me,’ she said. ‘I will find something to do. See about making some of the other rooms ready, perhaps.’

  ‘Do not tire yourself, Amelie.’ He was certain she was not as recovered as she pretended.

  Her eyes turned sad. ‘I must keep busy.’

  He understood. Keeping busy was his only means of relief from his thoughts. His regrets.

  He smiled at her. ‘I suspect I will be busy if I make the meeting with Reid in time. Wish me luck.’ He opened the door. ‘I shall need it.’

  She gazed at him earnestly. ‘I wish you a wonderful day.’

  His heart pounded at her words as he hurried down the stairs and out the front door.

  He walked around the house and towards the farm buildings. One long building off to the side he’d guess to be the stables. He trusted Lord Northdon’s coachmen had been given good beds and would be provided with a hearty breakfast before they started back to Hertfordshire.

  * * *

  When he reached the place Reid had designated to meet, Reid was not there. The sky was turning lighter by the minute. Edmund pulled out his timepiece. Five minutes past six. Had Reid not waited for him? He paced back and forth in the yard, both to keep warm and to wake himself up.

  Finally Reid emerged from the far end of the last building. He did not walk faster even though he saw Edmund.

  ‘You are here,’ Reid said.

  ‘As I said I would be,’ Edmund responded.

  ‘Not much happening today,’ the man went on. ‘The sheep are grazing.’

  The night before, Reid had made it sound as if he would be consumed with work. Was he putting Edmund through some kind of test? If so, he had passed the punctuality part.

  Edmund ought to be the one to test Reid, to see if Reid did his job properly.

  ‘Show me the farm,’ Edmund said firmly. ‘I need to see everything. No more delays.’

  Reid nodded. ‘Let us begin with the buildings. I’ll show you each of them.’ He opened the big wooden door to the building they were standing near.

  * * *

  After Edmund left, Amelie stood at the window and watched him cross the lawn to the farm buildings. He looked so impressive, walking briskly, the tails of his coat surging behind him.

  She felt better this morning. Not exactly cheerful, but not despondent either. For the first time since her miscarriage she had woken to something besides her morose thoughts. She’d woken to the sounds of Edmund moving about in his room. It had comforted her.

  She refused to be idle today. She needed to be busy, so busy she couldn’t think. Making the house more comfortable and pleasant was something she could do.

  Starting with this room.

  She gathered the clothing he’d left strewn around. Picked up his drawers—what an intimate thing, picking up his drawers! A proper wifely task. She remembered him removing them, both in Brussels and—and on their wedding night.

  But she should not think of either of those nights.

  She set his drawers aside and the shirt he wore the previous day. Both would need to be laundered. She hung the coat he wore on the back of a chair and folded his trousers. Kneeling next to Edmund’s trunk, she refolded the clothes he’d tossed around in his rush to get dressed. She held a shirt up to her nose. It had been laundered, but she could still smell his scent on the fabric.

  Why did he not have a valet? She must ask him some time.

  At the bottom of the trunk she spied a packet of letters tied up with a string. She picked it up.

  The writing on the outside was in a feminine hand. Amelie had a sick feeling deep in her stomach. Was there another woman he truly loved? How would she know? Had a woman been the reason he wanted to return to Brussels?

  She dropped the packet of letters.

  They could just as easily be from his sisters. Or from Tess’s mother. He’d lived with Tess’s mother in Brussels before the battle, he’d said.

  If Amelie untied the string and read the letters she’d know for certain.

  No. She would not snoop where she was not wanted. If he had a woman he loved somewhere, she would just have to wait until he told her.

  Because he would tell her. Unlike everyone else Amelie knew, Edmund always told her the truth.

  She put the letters back exactly as she’d found them and refolded all the clothing in his trunk before going back to her bedchamber. The fire in her fireplace was reduced to a few glowing embers. She put on another lo
g and stood warming her hands when flames began to curl over it.

  There was water enough in the ewer to wash herself. It was something she could do while waiting for Sally to come and help her dress. She stripped out of her nightdress and washed herself, shivering as she did so. Her bleeding had stopped, that reminder of what had happened. Mrs Bayliss had told her to wait until after her courses before having relations with her husband again.

  But she did not want to think about that.

  She donned a shift and covered herself with a wrapper and sat in a chair right by the fire, wondering what Edmund was doing. He wanted to be of some use to her father, she knew. She must do her part, as well. Manage the household.

  There was a light knock on the door, and Sally crept in.

  Amelie swivelled around in her chair. ‘I am up, Sally.’

  Sally looked alarmed. ‘Sorry, ma’am. I thought you would still be asleep.’

  ‘I woke up.’ She did not explain that she had woken up and heard her husband in the next room and had had a sudden desire to see him.

  ‘Would you like me to help you dress?’ Sally asked.

  Amelie smiled. ‘First I would like you to tell me how you are feeling.’

  ‘Ohhh.’ The maid drew out the word. ‘I suppose I am feeling well enough.’

  ‘And how did you sleep?’

  Sally looked abashed. ‘It felt strange to be up on that floor all alone.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ Amelie had not wanted to be alone either. She stood and walked over to the girl. ‘You must tell me if you feel unwell or fatigued. I will not have you work yourself too hard.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Sally sounded as solemn as ever.

  ‘And here I am going to ask you to do more than your duties.’

  ‘What is it, ma’am?’

  Amelie suddenly felt guilty for it. ‘I wonder if you would unpack Mr Summerfield’s trunk for him and put the clothes in the wardrobe in his room.’

  ‘Oh, that will not be hard, ma’am. I will do that.’ She spoke with more energy.

  ‘Thank you,’ Amelie said with feeling. ‘I think today I want my plainest dress. And I wish I had thought to have some caps made. I plan to see all of this house, and I have a feeling dust will be everywhere.’