Chapter 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

A melia stirred some time later, to the darkened interior of the carriage, and Lionel’s arm around her. A lantern swung in the center of the carriage, flashing light upon his slumbering face, illuminating his handsome features before casting them in shadow again.

His hand was still holding hers, so tightly—even in his sleep—that she had no hope of extricating her fingers without waking him.

What are you dreaming of? Are they nightmares or good dreams? She observed him intently, watching his brow furrow and relax, noting how his mouth moved as if he was talking to someone, though no sound came out. But he did not appear to be in any distress, his hand occasionally squeezing hers as if to make sure she was still there, even though he was not properly conscious.

“What am I doing?” she whispered. “Why am I letting you do this to me?”

She jolted in fright as the driver called down from his box. “We are at the gates, My Lord!”

Lionel awoke with a start, hurrying to draw his arm away from her shoulders, though he still refused to let go of her hand. Perhaps, he thought that if he did, she might vanish or might insist on being taken straight back to the docks, to board the next ship across the ocean to faraway shores.

“I did not mean to fall asleep,” he said apologetically.

Amelia shrugged. “You must have been tired.”

“I confess, I have not slept properly for days.”

“I can tell,” she remarked, for it was impossible to ignore the dark crescents beneath his beautiful green eyes and the ashen pallor to his skin.

Still, she would show no sympathy. There was no point, not until she understood why she had been hauled away from her well-laid plans and brought back to Westyork. Was there some prop or something that he required, in order to tell her what he could not tell her at the townhouse? Or had she fallen into some manner of trap that would put her back where she had started, too enchanted by her husband to realize?

As the carriage pulled to a halt at the bottom of the porch steps, a figure hurried down to greet them. Caroline threw open the carriage door, took one look at Amelia, and cried out, “Oh, thank goodness! I am not often a praying woman, but I prayed with all my might that you would return together.”

“Grandmother, now is not the time,” Lionel said calmly. “She has returned for now, but there are things we must discuss. You can swarm her later.”

Caroline waved a dismissive hand. “That is not why I am relieved, Lionel!” She gestured back at the manor, apparently unable to form words. “There is something you must see! Quickly, come!”

“What is it?” Lionel asked, getting out of the carriage, leading Amelia.

She stepped down behind him, wondering if he would ever let go of her hand as he headed up the porch steps, tugging her along. Of course, she probably could have pulled her hand forcefully out of his, but she had grown accustomed to the comforting feeling. Even if the coming conversation was anything but comforting.

“A miracle, Lionel!” Caroline shouted back over her shoulder as she hobbled up to the front entrance.

As the trio stepped into the entrance hall, Amelia frowned at the sight of several unfamiliar faces. A man and woman stood awkwardly to the side of the foyer, the latter holding an infant in her arms. The man formed a nervous smile as he looked toward Lionel, whose face had suddenly transformed into a cold, furious mask.

“What is he doing here?” Lionel asked his grandmother in a frosty voice, before addressing the man directly. “Did you not believe me when we last spoke, Uncle?”

After two years, Lionel had not been able to forget the havoc that John had wreaked upon his household. Yes, everything that had been sold had eventually been bought back, but whenever Lionel looked at the James Lambert landscape on the wall, of the cottage in the woods, he was reminded of how hard he had had to work to restore his fortunes. And he was reminded of how Rebecca and Caroline must have suffered while he was at war, oblivious to the problems.

John took a small step forward. “I believed you, Lionel, and I have thought of our parting words often since I left.” He hesitated. “I was angry for a while, and wished you ill, but… I came to realize that I deserved your harsh rebuke and your exile of me. I was jealous and I was bitter, and I abused your inheritance out of spite.”

“I am hearing nothing that I do not already know,” Lionel replied tersely, careful not to squeeze Amelia’s hand too tightly in his anger.

John nodded. “Even though I looked like a man, and had the years of a man, I behaved like a spoiled boy for so very long. When I reached the Americas, I had to mature, or I would not have survived.” His throat bobbed. “I met my darling wife there, and we have been blessed with a beautiful son.”

“And now you are here to demand money?” Lionel snapped, for he could think of no other reason.

John shook his head. “I am here to repay what I stole from you. Somehow, I have managed to make something of myself in America, and my dear wife thought it would be prudent for me to make amends for my bad behavior in the past. We were already planning to come to England to introduce our son to the other half of his grandparents, so I thought it might be the perfect time to pay back what I owe.”

Lionel narrowed his eyes at his uncle, waiting for the trick, waiting for the wretch to reveal his true intent. As he waited, he realized that his grandmother was behaving very strangely, grinning from ear to ear like a madwoman, wiggling her eyebrows.

He frowned, uncertain of what had come over her.

“I have arranged for my accountant to transfer the funds,” John continued, sweeping an anxious hand through his hair. “When you see it, I hope that you will believe that I have changed, as I hope that, in the future, we might correspond with one another from time to time. For my son’s sake, if not for mine, as I should like him to know his family.”

In that moment, like a lightning bolt had struck him, Lionel realized why his grandmother was behaving so peculiarly. John was standing right in front of him, at almost three-and-forty. John, who was a Barnet man. An exception to the rule, living and breathing and making the most of his life, unafraid to fall in love and begin a family.

“How long are you in England?” Lionel asked, his heart beating faster.

John brightened. “For the winter. We will return to America in the spring.”

“And you have somewhere to stay?”

John nodded. “I have rented Westley Hall.”

“I may call upon you,” Lionel said, eager to conclude the conversation so he could begin another. “There is a great deal for us to talk about, but now is not the time. The hour is late, my wife and I have had a long journey, and we should like to retire.”

John seemed to take a deep, relieved breath. “I will look forward to your visit. As you say, there is a lot for us to discuss, and I really would like to be able to return to the Americas without any regrets. I do not know when we might visit again, you see.”

“Another time, Uncle,” Lionel said, more forcefully, as he gave Amelia’s hand a gentle squeeze.

John bowed his head. “Of course. I wish you a good evening.”

With that, he took his wife’s hand and led her back out into the night, followed a short while after by the rattle of carriage wheels departing.

“Do you understand?” Caroline whispered breathlessly, clasping her hands together.

Lionel offered her a warning look. “I understand. Now, if you do not mind, I should like to retire to the library with my wife.”

“Yes, of course,” Caroline replied with a grin, flicking out her hands. “Off you go. Do not let me stop you. Amelia, darling, I am so very glad to see you back here. For a worrisome moment there, I thought you might have lied to me about returning.” She flashed a wink at Amelia, before spinning around and breezing off up the stairs, humming a merry tune to herself.

Amelia glanced up at Lionel, her eyebrow raised. “ You might understand, and your grandmother might understand, but would you mind explaining to me?”

Her voice remained stern, no glorious smile lifting her plump lips, and though he hoped that this conversation would go a certain way, he also knew that he had hurt her terribly. Perhaps, in a way that could not be undone, no matter what he said.

“Not at all,” he murmured, leading Amelia the rest of the way to the library.