Chapter Fifteen The Tale of a Re

Meanwhile, at Fenwick House

Lady Amelia Sheppard approached the front door of Fenwick House as she usually did, her lace-trimmed parasol hovering overhead while her lady's maid followed several steps behind.

Browning opened the door before she had even crossed over the area, stepping aside to allow her entry. "Lady Violet hasn't returned from her ride, my lady. Would you like to wait in the parlor?"

Amelia turned to Trimble. "I'm going to wait for Lady Violet upstairs. Go on to the back, and I'll send for you when I'm ready to leave." Her attention going to Browning, she said, "I know the way to the parlor."

The lady's maid nodded her agreement and joined the butler as they made their way toward the back of the house.

When the servants had disappeared, Amelia moved to the study and peeked in. She grinned at seeing Philip behind the desk, his head bent as he read a letter. "Good afternoon, my lord," she said in a quiet voice.

Philip gave a start and quickly refolded the note. "Amelia!" He waved her into the study as he stood and made his way in her direction. "To what do I owe this honor?" He closed the study door and, rather than kissing the back of her hand, he kissed her cheek and then pulled her into his arms.

"Your sister, of course. She's not yet back from her ride in the park," Amelia replied, purring when she felt his warm hands smooth over her back.

"Do you suppose she has stayed away deliberately?" he asked, suspicious. "Because her best friend asked her to?"

Amelia scoffed. "I had nothing to do with it, I assure you," she claimed, but her subsequent giggle gave her away. "Oh, dear. Now you'll always be suspicious of my motives," she claimed.

"Nevertheless, I'll have to thank her later," he said, finally letting go his hold on her. He led her to a sofa at one end of the study and they sat. "Your color is very high this morning, and although I am flattered at seeing it, I cannot believe it is all due to me," he said, taking her hand to his lips. For a moment, his gaze went to her reticule, and he traced a finger along the intricate stitchery decorating it.

"You and your Father," she said, arching a dark brow.

Philip gave a start. "What are you talking about?"

"He came to Weston Hall this morning. An hour or so ago," she explained. "I saw him in the downstairs salon and knew right away he was your father. You two—"

"Look alike, I know. Mother used to say it all the time." He displayed a smirk, which brought out a dimple in his lower left cheek.

"I'm going to be the most fortunate wife in all the ton," Amelia said on a sigh. "He's so handsome for a man his age."

Philip chuckled softly. "Thank you. I think."

"You could have told me Lord Fenwick knew my mother," she gently scolded.

His brows furrowing, Philip gave her a glance of uncertainty. "Actually, I wasn't certain he did until last night. We spoke of it after dinner."

Amelia scoffed softly. "Mother took one look at him and fainted."

"Fainted?" he repeated, his mouth dropping open in shock. "The Duchess of Weston fainted?"

"That was my thought exactly! Anyway, his lordship caught her before she fell to the floor," Amelia continued, turning on the sofa to face him. "It was so romantic." She reached out a gloved hand and pulled his head down before dropping a kiss on his forehead. She inhaled deeply, then let the breath out at the same time she hummed softly.

Philip arched a brow. "I hardly see how fainting can be romantic," he argued, pulling her onto his lap until she sat on one of his knees.

"Oh, but you should have seen him. The way he looked at her. Said my mother was more gorgeous than he remembered." She audibly sighed again.

Furrowing his brows, Philip scoffed. "Father said that?" He leaned back in the sofa. "Well, I was reminded last night that he knows your mother from a long time ago," he mused. "Which makes sense, I suppose, since he apparently lived here in the capital until he moved to Shropshire and married my mother."

"Wasn't your mother from London?"

Philip started to answer and then stopped. "Um... actually, her family's country estate is very close to the Fenwick lands in Shropshire. Father met her when her family was staying there during the summers," he explained before scrubbing the side of his face with a hand. His eyes suddenly widened. "So... Father has met you?"

She nodded as she smiled. "Indeed. He's so terribly handsome for a man of his age," she repeated. "You should have warned me."

"Father?" Philip rolled his eyes.

"Well, of course I shouldn't be surprised. You're simply a younger version of him in appearance. He must have looked exactly like you when he was your age," she reasoned. "Which means I shall enjoy looking upon you for the rest of my life."

Chuckling, Philip angled his head first one way and then the other. "If you insist," he replied.

She leaned in, making it apparent she wished for them to kiss. Philip didn't hesitate, wrapping his arms around her shoulders to bring her closer. When their lips touched, their eyes closed, and for several seconds, they reveled in the touching of tongues as they tasted one another.

A knock at the door had them both straightening in alarm. "Damnation," Philip said in a whisper as he helped her to stand.

Amelia shook out her skirts and hurried to the chair in front of the desk.

"Come," Philip called out, moving to take his chair behind the desk.

The butler opened the door and gingerly poked his head around the opening. "Pardon, sir, my lady. Lady Violet has returned from her ride and is asking for Lady Amelia."

"Oh, good. I won't have to bother you any longer, my lord," Amelia said, her teasing grin aimed in Philip's direction.

"You're never a bother, my lady," he said, giving her a wink. He leaned forward. "Wait. You never said what happened after your mother fainted."

Amelia paused near the door. "Oh. Well, Mother woke up and she was quite embarrassed, of course, and she told me she needed to speak with Lord Fenwick alone, so I left."

Philip gave a start. "I'll have to ask him what he was doing there," he murmured.

Rolling her eyes, she said, "Why, reacquainting himself with my mother, of course." When he displayed a blank look, she added, "It's quite obvious they were once lovers," she whispered, her brows dancing in delight.

Philip huffed as if he didn't believe her words. "My father and your mother?" he asked. "You're mad," he added, waving a hand as if to shoo her out. "Don't keep Violet waiting any longer, or she'll hound me at dinner."

"I love you," Amelia whispered, barely dipping a curtsy before she ducked out of the study.

Grinning until the door was once again closed, Philip quickly sobered and returned to his desk.

What would Weston do once he learned his mother's long ago lover had returned to London? Somehow, Weston had known about Michael and Helena—it's what had gotten he and Weston into so much trouble at university—and Philip was fairly sure it wasn't because the duchess had admitted anything to her son.

So how had Weston learned of their affaire?

More importantly, would Weston be more likely to give his blessing for a marriage to his sister if his mother renewed her relationship with his father?

Or less?

Philip was almost afraid to pay another call on Weston Hall to find out.

Lady Violet stood in the middle of the hall, her gloved hands on her hips. She was still dressed in her bright blue riding habit, the feather in the matching hat drooping on one side. "I stayed out as long as I could," she said. If the Duke of Weston had left her in the park any earlier than he did, she would have taken another turn about the grounds to delay her return to Fenwick House.

"It was the perfect length of time," Amelia assured her. "Although I haven't been here very long."

"Oh? I thought you were going to be here at eleven o'clock. What kept you at Weston Hall?"

Amelia hooked her arm into Violet's and led them to the stairs. "Your father, as it happens," she said with a brilliant grin.

Violet's eyes widened. "You've already met him?"

She nodded. "He came to the house."

Stiffening, Violet's expression changed to one of worry. "Oh, dear," she murmured.

"What?"

Indicating they should climb the stairs, Violet kept her voice down as she said, "I think he meant to plead my brother's case with your brother."

Amelia frowned. "Why would he do that?" she asked, pretending she hadn't learned of the reason first hand from the marquess.

Violet lowered her voice to a whisper. "Because your brother told your mother who told her lady's maid who told my aunt's lady's maid who told my lady's maid who told me that he has no intention of giving anyone permission to marry you if he learned they didn't hold him in high regard, and everyone knows my brother and your brother didn't get along at school." She took an exaggerated breath. "And I might have mentioned it to Father."

Blinking, Amelia scoffed softly. "He may have encountered an unexpected surprise when he got there."

Violet stopped at the top of the stairs. "What do you mean?"

"My mother," Amelia stated.

Angling her head to one side, Violet stared at her friend for several seconds before she said, "You think Her Grace is trying to protect Alfred from my father?"

Amelia shook her head. "No. After what I witnessed, I rather doubt Lord Fenwick even remembers I have a brother."

Scrunching her face in confusion, Violet opened the door to her bedchamber and waved Amelia into it. "I am confused."

"As am I. What do you know of your father's time in London? Before he married your mother?" she asked, settling into one of the chairs by the fireplace as Violet hurried to change clothes behind a japanned screen in the corner. Although Dearing wasn't in the room, she had left a day gown draped over the screen.

"I don't know that I know anything about that," Violet replied, her words muffled by the yards of fabric she was removing from her body. "He talks of his time at Cambridge once in a while, but I don't recall him speaking of London."

"Well, he obviously lived here at some point. In his younger years," Amelia insisted.

"He did. He had to. He said he attended every session of Parliament before he married Mother."

"But not after?" Amelia asked. She moved to join Violet behind the screen and did up the buttons at the back of her day gown.

"I don't know. I think when I was younger, he might have gone to Town on occasion," she mused. "Probably for Parliament. But he was back home right away. I don't think he attended balls or soirées. He was never much for London Society, and Mother..." She paused and blinked several times. "She was happy to stay with us. I think she was too shy to want a life here in the capital."

Amelia winced, knowing the reminder of Barbara Cummings was always hard for Violet. Losing her mother when she was barely fourteen coincided with when Philip was away at school. Once he completed his studies at Cambridge, he had headed to London to run the Fenwick marquessate while their father, Michael, and Violet remained at the country estate in Shropshire.

"So he never told you that he and my mother were... close? Lovers, perhaps?"

Violet's brows furrowed, and she remembered the conversation she had overheard the night before. "Is this before she was a duchess?"

"Indeed. They were in love," Amelia insisted. "You should have seen your father. You should have seen her when she saw him." She pretended to swoon, which had Violet gasping.

"Your mother fainted?" she asked in disbelief. "But... she never faints!"

Amelia nodded. "It was so romantic," she said on a sigh, her hands clasped together and held to her chest as she fluttered her lashes.

A knock sounded at the door.

"That will be Browning with the tea tray," Violet said, feigning relief at being saved from seeing more of her friend's playful antics. "Come!"

The butler entered and set a salver with the tea set on a table near the fireplace. "I'll serve," Violet said, moving to take one of the chairs. Amelia waited until Browning had left the bedchamber and closed the door before she flopped into the adjacent chair. "What aren't you telling me?" she asked, her suspicion evident.

Violet finished pouring tea and offering biscuits before she answered. "I might have eavesdropped on a conversation where my father shared what happened. Before he married Mother. Why he married Mother," she admitted, offering Amelia a cup of tea. She poured another for herself before she stared at the embers in the fireplace. The few lumps of coal the maid had left that morning had already burned to ash.

"Go on," Amelia urged, helping herself to a biscuit.

"Two lovers, prevented from marrying because your grandfather claimed there was a marriage contract and a betrothal already in place," she stated.

"My grandfather?" Amelia repeated in confusion.

"The Duke of Woodleigh."

Amelia gave an unladylike snort. "That old fart? Doesn't surprise me. He probably reveled in telling your father he couldn't have her. Which is what I'm imagining my brother is going to do when Philip finally gains an audience with him."

"Amelia," Violet gently scolded. "You're far too harsh when it comes to Weston." After that morning's ride, her opinion of the young man had changed considerably. She had thought to simply make friends with him. Soften him up for when Philip finally requested an audience with him.

Now that she had spent time in his company, she understood why he behaved as if he was a curmudgeon. Why it was he had aged so much since taking on the duties of a duke. Why he seemed so unpleasant, when in fact he was simply overwhelmed with all he needed to accomplish on behalf of the Weston dukedom.

That she had already arranged the ride in the park with Alfred for the very same time Philip had intended to meet with him that morning merely meant she now had more time to work on Weston. Ply him with compliments. Play him.

Besides, she didn't know it was Philip's intention to pay a call at Weston Hall at the same time she was to be with the duke.

It was simply a happy coincidence.

Amelia furrowed a dark brow as she regarded Violet with surprise. "He's become a toad," she said on a huff.

"You're never going to gain his permission to marry my brother if he finds out you think he's a toad," Violet warned.

Tittering, Amelia took a sip of tea, then said, "I suppose not." She dared a glance at Violet before adding, "You do realize that if your father and my mother had ended up together thirty years ago, we—"

"We would not exist," Violet finished for her.

"Or we'd be someone else."

"I'd look like you. Like your mother," Violet said.

"Alfred would look like your father. Which would be a huge improvement," Amelia remarked. "I absolutely adore that Philip looks so much like Fenwick."

"Amelia," Violet scolded again, deciding a change of topic was in order. "Has your gown for tonight been delivered?"

"Indeed."

"What color?"

"Oh, white, of course," Amelia replied in disgust. "When I'm a married woman, I am never wearing white again," she vowed.

Violet giggled. "My aunt chose the fabric for mine. We picked up the gown yesterday from the modiste, and imagine my shock at seeing it's not a true white."

"What's this?"

"It's not even ivory or cream. It's the palest of blues. I can't tell you how happy I was when I tried it on. Aunt Katherine said I should never wear white, but I didn't expect she meant while I was still in the first year of my come-out," she explained.

"You're so lucky to have her," Amelia remarked. "Even though she and my mother are both duchesses, Katherine seems to flaunt convention whilst my mother clings to it."

Violet chuckled. "I think it's because Katherine is so much older. She doesn't fear reprisals from the ton any longer."

"Will you ask if she'll adopt me?" Amelia murmured, her grin the only evidence she was teasing.

Violet helped herself to a biscuit. "You do realize that if your mother and my father end up together, we—"

"We'll be sisters!" Amelia announced, grinning in delight.

"We were going to be anyway when you and Philip marry," Violet countered.

Amelia's face suddenly fell.

"What is it?"

"Philip and Alfred will be brothers," she whispered. She swallowed. Hard. "It will be awful."

Violet furrowed her brows, understanding her friend's concern. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?" she urged. "We're not even sure what Father and your mother have planned for the Season." She glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. "Which reminds me, I need to bathe for tonight."

"You do smell of horse," Amelia said with a grin. She stood and huffed. "I'll let myself out and find you later tonight. Oh, and don't forget the flower for your hair," she said, pulling a bloom from her reticule. She offered the silk hibiscus to Violet.

"Are you sure this ball has a tropical theme? I never saw the actual invitation," she said as she accepted the flower.

"Indeed it does. A tropical paradise," she said in a sing-song voice. "Lady Reading has been telling everyone the ball will even feature a buried treasure, whatever that means."

"We'll be sure to have fun," Violet said.

"Indeed, and I must say, I rather like knowing both waltzes have already been claimed by your brother. If I don't have a partner for any of the others, I shall not feel as if I've become a wallflower."

Violet grinned, but she decided it best she not mention who she would be dancing with that night.

She was going to save both waltzes for Alfred, Duke of Weston, and she was looking forward to them far more than she had thought possible.