Chapter One
Chapter One
Early May 1830
"You're going to the estate," Corin St. George, the Earl of Durrant, said as he paced the bedchamber. "You're sick. You can't handle being in London."
Reuben St. George started to answer his older brother, but he ended up in a coughing fit. He had to drink the glass of water that was next to his bed in order to satisfy the incessant tickle in the back of his throat. He placed the nearly empty glass back on the table and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief.
"It's a common illness," Reuben argued. "I've had this many times while growing up. I get a fever, have some aches and pains, get a stuffy head, and cough. I'll be fine in a few days."
Corin poured more water into his glass. "Back then, you had Mother to take care of you. Things are different now. I'm responsible for you. Unfortunately, I can't be here all the time to make sure the servants are doing their due diligence."
Reuben groaned. "I just turned twenty, Corin. I'm not a little kid anymore. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
"You can do that better in the country. This is the fourth time you've been sick since we came to London." He shot Reuben a pointed look. "And you've only been in London for seven months."
Reuben didn't know how to answer that. Even for him, fighting off this illness a third time was a lot. He usually only got sick twice a year. But he had to stay here. He couldn't go back to the estate. Not when things were going so well with Miss Carnel. "I'll be fine. The fever already broke. The fever is the worst part. I'm starting to get my strength back."
"You'll get your strength back and get sick within the next two months. I worried London would be too much for you. There are far too many people. Despite my complaints, those in charge still won't clean the streets and alleys like they should."
"London isn't filthy."
"I saw rubbish on the street on my way to see how you were doing today. It's not that clean. The doctor thought you'd be better off staying in the country, and he was right."
"But I can't find a wife in the country, Corin."
"What good is a wife if you're dead?"
Reuben's stomach tensed into a knot. He was afraid his brother would say that. He shook his head. He wasn't the only suitor Miss Carnel had. The fact that he was missing out on this week of seeing her was already hindering his chances of marrying her. He'd never have a chance if he left London. "I'm not leaving. I'm staying." The tickle in the back of his throat returned, so he drank more water.
Corin frowned. "Do I need to remind you of the two times when you claimed you were fine and had a relapse? Your fever returned, and you were so hot that even the snow didn't cool you down. Mother and I both thought we were going to lose you."
Reuben winced as a stab of pain clenched his gut. "Don't do this to me, Corin. I don't want to be stuck all alone in the country."
"You won't be all alone. Candace and I will bring our children for a visit. We'll stay there all summer. You can teach Judith how to draw. That'll be fun. You can even go fishing with her. And I'll join you. We'll catch so many fish that you'll have fish for every dinner."
Reuben set his glass down. He enjoyed spending time with his eight-year-old niece. He enjoyed spending time with his one-year-old niece. He even loved fishing with his brother. But what he really wanted was to start having a family of his own. Judith and Minerva ran over to Corin every time he entered the room. It would be nice if Reuben knew what it was like for his own child to run over to him. Uncles were fine, but no one took a father's place. Reuben also wanted to have a lady look at him the way Candace looked at Corin.
Ignoring the nausea in his stomach, Reuben said, "I want what you have. I want a family."
Corin offered him a sympathetic gaze. "I know you do. That's why I brought you to London. But Reuben, this isn't working for you. You're always sick. I'm sorry, but I can't keep going through this. If you died, I don't know what I'd do." He winced. "It's not fair to ask a lady to take the risk of being a young widow or to ask children to live without their father, is it? I'm sorry, Reuben, but London isn't good for you. Your health holds up much better in the country. It's my job to look after you. I need to know you're going to be all right. Sometimes that means doing what you don't want. I'm going to make arrangements for us to go to Wellington."
Though Corin spoke softly, the words pierced through Reuben like a sword. He had done his best to hide his illnesses from Corin, but every time, Corin had caught onto his ploy. Shoulders slumped in defeat, Reuben slumped against his pillows. Why did he have to be born with a fragile body? No matter how much he tried to take care of his health, he seemed to get sick.
"If you need to write to any ladies to let them know you can't keep courting them, I'll make sure those missives are delivered," Corin added.
Reuben let out a resigned nod but closed his eyes so Corin wouldn't see the tears that stung them. Corin was fifteen years older than him. He'd lived longer. He'd been all over the country. He'd met a lot more people. He had taken a financially unstable estate and created a firm foundation that would protect the entire family for generations. He had more experience than Reuben did. He was probably right. Reuben was probably better off in the country. He was probably better off not getting married. Candace loved Corin. She would be devastated if he died. Corin's children would be devastated without him, too.
Reuben would be selfish to ask a lady to take the risk of marrying someone who might not be able to give her a lifetime. Nor would it be fair to ask her to raise his children without him. Some things were beyond a person's control, and health was one of them. If he'd been born with a strong constitution, things could be different. But, as it was, he was stuck with a frail human body. For Miss Carnel's sake, it was best he let one of her other suitors marry her. Then she could spend the rest of her life with someone who could love her for a lifetime.
The pain in his stomach eased. He swallowed the lump in his throat and sat back up in the bed. Corin had left the room, but Reuben could hear him talking to the maid in the hallway. He was telling her that she needed to start packing for the upcoming trip after dinner. The maid came into the room shortly afterward and placed a fresh pitcher of water and a wash basin on the dresser. With a greeting at Reuben, she took the old ones away.
Reuben waited until she shut the door before he got out of the bed and lumbered to the desk off to the side of the room. From the sound of it, Corin would have him leave within the next couple of days, if not tomorrow. Now that Reuben was on the mend, he could handle the journey to the estate. Reuben stared at the parchment in front of him for almost an hour before he started to pen the missive to Miss Carnel.
***
Two days later, Miss Amelia Carnel stared at the missive in shock while she sat on the settee in the drawing room. Mr. Reuben St. George wasn't coming by for visits all the time like Lord Compton did, and he didn't attend almost every single social function like Mr. Everson did. But Mr. St. George was the most attentive suitor she had.
When she happened to see him, he showed a sincere interest in her, and it was easy to lose track of time since they never ran out of things to say. He had even snuck in a kiss at her brother's dinner party when no one was looking. That kiss had bordered on the scandalous, but it had thrilled her to no end. And it showed her that he had a playful side to him. She couldn't help but be attracted to that. She had been certain he was going to propose to her.
Lord Compton and Mr. Everson were pleasant enough, but she didn't look forward to seeing them the same way she looked forward to seeing Mr. St. George. She'd only kept the other two suitors because her brother warned her that if things didn't work out with Mr. St. George, she would still need to marry someone unless she wanted to be a spinster. And she definitely didn't want that.
She placed the missive in her lap. He had written that he regretted ending the courtship but had no choice due to his health. He was leaving for his country estate, and he didn't think he'd ever be back in London. He commented on his affections for her and how he wished he was healthy enough to marry her and have a family. He considered their times together to be the best thing that had ever happened to him and that he would always cherish those memories. He ended the missive with the wish that her future would be a happy one.
She didn't see how she could be happy if she didn't marry him. She stared at the window but didn't really see the clear blue sky. Her mind went over the evening of the dinner party when she met him. He hadn't originally been her escort, but the gentleman who was supposed to escort her had an irrational fear of her cameo and had insisted on escorting another lady. After some ado, Mr. St. George had been paired up with her.
At once, she had been attracted to him. His dark hair complemented his deep brown eyes, and his smile made her feel warm all over. The rest of the dinner party only made him all the more appealing. He told the most entertaining stories about his childhood at his country estate, and when they played cards, he'd been a gracious loser. Granted, losing wasn't fun, but when he congratulated the winner, she realized he had more grace in his personality than most people did.
After that evening, he sent her a calling card, and he would come by for a visit every other week, entertaining her with more stories of his childhood or sharing a joke he'd recently heard. If they happened to be at the same ball, he asked to dance with her twice. If they came across each other in public, they would converse for a couple of minutes. She had been sure a proposal was coming. They got along so well.
So what changed things? He claimed it had to do with his health, but could it be her other two suitors had dissuaded him from asking if he could marry her? She had worried about keeping the other two suitors around. If her brother hadn't been so insistent on keeping them, she would have dismissed them a month ago.
She couldn't fault her brother. Given his past, it was natural he would want her to have her pick of gentlemen. His first marriage had been arranged, and that had been less than ideal. She couldn't recall a time he'd been more miserable than when he was with his first wife. Her death, though tragic, had been a relief. When he chose a lady to marry, he ended up with Carol, and Carol made him happy. Choices mattered. The ability to choose one's spouse mattered.
And I choose Mr. St. George.
Amelia rose to her feet. She couldn't sit idly by and watch the promise of a good future dissolve around her. While Lord Compton and Mr. Everson were nice, she'd done them a disservice in allowing them to court her for as long as she had. She was going to have to tell them both she had decided to marry someone else. Then she was going to go to Mr. St. George and let him know she didn't have the other two suitors anymore. If he cared about her with the depth she suspected, he would finally propose. Decision made, she went to find her brother.