Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

L ionel did not sleep for the rest of the journey, though he kept his eyes closed. He heard Amelia shifting on the squabs, breathing evenly, clearly restless.

It is better that you understand now. He had seen the confusion on her face, the flicker of hurt in her eyes. It was not his intention to upset the woman, and there had evidently been some misunderstanding, but he hoped it was clear to her now.

Letting his mind drift back toward London, he wondered if he had made a mistake by insisting on his sister and grandmother remaining in the city for a few days. Caroline would have known how to unruffle Amelia’s feathers, tossing out a well-timed joke to break the tension. Although, he was not sure what Rebecca’s reaction might have been; she was still against the marriage. So against it that she had refused to attend the wedding, leaving their grandmother no choice but to stay behind too, to ‘talk’ to her.

It is just for a month, and by then Amelia will realize that her liberty is a gift and not a curse. Soon enough, she will barely remember that she has a husband. He comforted himself with that outcome, knowing it would be best for both of them.

“My Lord, we’re at the gates!” the driver called down from the box, as he always did.

Lionel eked his eyes open, glancing over to the opposite squabs. His wife sat facing away from him, staring out of the carriage window. She sat rigid, her shoulders back, as still as a statue.

Even with his poor vision, he noted the gleam of her shiny hair, braided up into a bun, and remembered the scent of it as it had fallen from her borrowed top hat. Discreetly, he inhaled through his nose, the air in the carriage carrying the faint perfume of her. His fingertips itched to unpin those braids and unravel them, until her hair was long and loose again, imagining that that perfume was still trapped in those honeyed locks.

He blinked and looked away, bewildered by the impulse. She is no more than a business associate. Do not forget that.

Thanks to her, he would be able to extend the scope of his business endeavors, invited into rooms and meetings that he would not otherwise, able to put his partners in enterprise at ease. Of course, she would be well compensated for her part in solidifying his reputation—what lady would not be glad of that, enjoying the merits of being a Countess without any of the expectations?

Before long, the carriage had pulled to a standstill outside the porch steps of Westyork Manor, the sandstone glazed in the bronze of sunset. The housekeeper, Mrs. Scanlon, emerged with a maid and two footmen behind her, her hands folded neatly against her stomach, her chatelaine heavy with keys. She was a diligent woman who had been there as long as Lionel could remember.

Lionel opened the door and stepped down, turning to offer his hand to his wife.

Amelia took it hesitantly, anxiety obvious on her face as she looked toward the gathered servants.

It will feel less strange in time, he wanted to tell her, but after their earlier conversation, he did not want to give her any hope of affection. There could not be another misunderstanding.

“Welcome, My Lady,” Mrs. Scanlon said, as the couple made it up the steps, Amelia’s hand still resting on Lionel’s.

The housekeeper made a gesture, and the footmen took off down the steps to retrieve the luggage that Lionel had brought from London. According to her father, Amelia’s should have arrived already.

“It is… a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Amelia said quietly.

“I am Mrs. Scanlon,” the housekeeper continued. “If there is anything you require, you may ask me. I am at your disposal, as are the rest of the staff.”

Lionel withdrew his hand. “Mrs. Scanlon, please show my wife to her chambers and help her to settle into our residence. I am going to retire to my study for the rest of the evening. I need no dinner but see to it that my wife is fed and tended to.”

“Of course, My Lord.” Mrs. Scanlon dipped her head, hiding whatever expression might have crept onto it.

With that, Lionel headed inside without his bride, walking as quickly as he could toward the sanctuary of his study. No one would bother him there, and Mrs. Scanlon would ensure that Amelia never bothered him there either.

“I hope this will be to your liking,” the housekeeper said, leading the way up the curving stairwell and across the landing, which had a beautiful view of the marble entrance hall and the tall windows, revealing the expanse of immaculate lawns beyond.

Amelia paused to admire a pretty landscape painting that hung above the front doors: a charming picture of a cottage beside a lake, where three cows grazed on green grass and one supped from the water. She could just make out the detail of a wisp of smoke puffing out of the cottage chimney, igniting her imagination as she created a story of who might be living inside.

“My Lady?” the housekeeper prompted.

“Apologies.” Amelia hurried after Mrs. Scanlon, heading through an airy hallway to a door at the farthest end.

The housekeeper selected a key from her chatelaine and slotted it into the lock, opening the door wide. “If you do not care for these chambers, I can show you others until you find one you like.”

Amelia stepped into the beautiful bedchamber, the last of the sunset pouring in through the windows, tingeing everything with a golden sort of haze. The high ceilings made it feel anything but suffocating, the writing desk in an excellent position by the back window, with what appeared to be a fine view over exquisite gardens. The four-poster bed was draped in a gauzy fabric, everything appearing fresh and clean and inviting. Pale Persian rugs formed a barrier between bare feet and cold floor, while the large fireplace had been lit, radiating glorious warmth into the room.

“Might I request somewhere to sit by the fire?” Amelia blurted out, immediately bracing for a scolding for her impertinence.

The housekeeper seemed pleasantly surprised. “Of course you may, My Lady! You may have as many armchairs as you desire. I shall have the footmen fetch two from the rear parlor, which I think will suit the room nicely. If you disagree, new furniture can be purchased.”

“Oh, there will be no need for that!” Amelia rushed to say, feeling a curious little thrum of excitement in her veins. “I will be quite happy with whatever you can find.”

In her family residences, the staff only obeyed her father and her brother. If she had asked for even a stool to perch on, the staff would have had to ask her father if he thought it was acceptable first. As such, though her bedchamber had been her sanctuary, it had never quite felt like her own.

Mrs. Scanlon smiled. “If it is the expense, My Lady, you need not worry. His Lordship has already set aside a sum for any redecoration you might wish to do.” She hesitated. “I hope you become comfortable here, My Lady. We are glad to have you. Now, what would you say to some tea?”

“I think tea would be a fine thing,” Amelia replied shyly, unaccustomed to being welcomed, or for anyone other than her friends to be glad of her presence.

“And a few little cakes?” Mrs. Scanlon raised a conspiratorial eyebrow.

Amelia nodded. “Delightful. I am… somewhat peckish.”

“I shall have a tray brought up to you at once,” the housekeeper said with a reassuring smile. “Did you bring your lady’s maid with you?”

Amelia shook her head. “My lady’s maid was also the housekeeper. My father did not think it was appropriate for young ladies to tend to me. She has remained in my father’s service.”

“Then, I shall select a maid for you. They will all be beside themselves, vying for the role.” The housekeeper chuckled. “Indeed, we may have a fight on our hands, but I will choose someone who I think will put you at ease.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Scanlon.” Amelia smiled the first real smile she had been able to muster in days, a tiny flame of hope igniting with it.

Even if Lionel did not want her near him and thought of her as little more than a name on a contract, perhaps there was joy to be found in unexpected corners of this beautiful manor. Maybe, even with a distant husband, she could make this house feel like home.

“You are very welcome, My Lady.” The housekeeper rested a gentle hand on Amelia’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. With a parting smile, Mrs. Scanlon left her alone in her new rooms, to explore at her leisure… and to decide what else she might like to change.