A Secret Proposal (3 page)

Amelia was nearly three hands into the most boring game of piquet she’d ever played when one of the Richmonds’ footmen approached her with a note. Dinner had long since been cleared and the ladies had moved into the drawing room to find their own amusements, which were not particularly amusing at all.

Just as Mama had predicted, the Earl of Highland had been at dinner, but they’d been seated quite far from one another. All of Mama’s ill-mannered attempts to engage the earl in conversation from across the table had resulted in little success.

For her part, however, Amelia had seen enough. Although nearly sixty, the earl seemed as healthy and robust as a man half his age. His death did not appear imminent in the slightest. The Earl of Highland went immediately to the bottom of the list.

Still, she smiled and nodded demurely at the earl, who greeted her enthusiastically and asked after her health and how she found the weather. No sense in being uncivil to the man. Highland might not look sickly, but one never knew when one’s health might take an unexpected turn for the worse.

Amelia quickly took the note from the footman’s gloved hand and glanced about the drawing room. None of the other ladies seemed to know or care that she’d just received a missive. They were all a bit too interested in the game. She tossed her cards on the table and excused herself. Walking quickly to the corner, she unfolded the paper and surreptitiously read its contents.

Meet me in the gardens at half past
.—
T

A thrill shot through her. She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

Thaddeus.

He always signed his correspondence with a single letter. More insurance in the event that her mother found their letters, not that it would be difficult to decipher based on the contents alone. Thankfully, to date, Amelia hadn’t had to test that particular theory.

But what was Thaddeus doing here? How had he even known she was here? It was true there was a certain set like the Lexingtons who would welcome him into their homes, but the Lexingtons were of the highest water. Nothing could damage their stellar reputation. People firmly on the midtier like the Richmonds had to be particularly careful when choosing dinner guests. Not to mention, if Mama even so much as suspected that Thaddeus would be at a particular party, she would studiously avoid it. Amelia was counting on the remoteness of the Lexingtons’ estate and the presence of the marriage-minded Duke of Stanford to keep her mother
from turning around and leaving once she discovered Thaddeus’s presence. But that would all be next week if she could orchestrate such a feat. This week she must meet with Thaddeus and convince him to attend the house party in the first place. He detested Society events. And convincing him started with meeting him in the gardens here tonight and hopefully finding out more about his mysterious “one condition.”

Amelia glanced about again. None of the ladies were watching her. She carefully slipped the note into her reticule, stood, and made her way slowly to the door. Thankfully, Mama was deep in a conversation with Mrs. Richmond and some of the other matrons on the far side of the room. She didn’t appear to notice Amelia slip away.

Once in the darkened corridor, Amelia tiptoed down to the library where French doors led to the gardens. She said a brief prayer hoping that the library would be empty. Standing outside the double doors, she took a deep breath. A tiny skitter of anticipation raced down her spine. Why? It was only Thaddeus, her old friend. Paul’s old friend. She expelled her breath and repeated aloud to herself, “It’s just Thaddeus.”

She braced a hand on the cool brass handle and pushed open the door. The library, thankfully, was empty and dark. Only one candle burned on a small silver stick in the middle of the room. Amelia was thankful for that bit of light. She would just borrow it for a moment. Making her way over to it, she scooped up the candle and let it light her way across the room toward the glass doors that led outside. She couldn’t see anything beyond the blackness in the gardens. She steeled herself, and using her free hand, opened the door. She took two tentative
steps outside.

Summer air floated over her skin with its scent of jasmine and roses. She made her way along the stone terrace to the far side of the veranda and set the candle upon the balustrade. She glanced down at her hands. They were shaking. She pressed them against her light pink skirts, but no doubt the way she was biting her lip was a sure giveaway that she was nervous. She stopped doing that too.

“Amy.” The name seemed to carry on the breeze, spoken in Thaddeus’s sure, deep voice. She wanted to kick herself. Sure? Deep? When in the world had she ever thought of Thaddeus’s voice at all, let alone as sure and deep? She turned. “Tha-Thaddeus?”

If it was the last thing she did, she would stop allowing awkward pauses between her words. She did it when she was nervous, usually when Mama was about, but now she was doing it in front of Thaddeus. Ridiculous. She was acting like a silly schoolgirl.

Thaddeus stepped forward out of the blackness at the end of the terrace. The glow of candlelight illuminated half of his—she sucked in her breath—oh-so-handsome face. He wore black evening clothes and a perfectly starched white cravat. Both brought out the startling light blue of his eyes. Like aquamarines, those eyes. She swallowed and looked away. Thaddeus had always seemed like a friend to her. Now he seemed like a dashing, debonair, handsome…suitor. She couldn’t help it. The word popped into her mind unbidden. He was exactly the kind of suitor she would wish for were she allowed to wish for such things. She shook her head to clear it of such unhelpful thoughts.

He strode forward and took her hands. “You look well—ah, hells bells, Amy, I’m just going to say it. You look beautiful.”

A warm heat spread across her cheeks. “Pardon?” Oh, she’d heard him all right, but she wanted to hear that again. She self-consciously pulled her hands from his.

“You look gorgeous,” he said. “Who knew you’d have grown into such a beauty?”

She traced a still-shaking finger along the balustrade. “I was all angles and awkwardness when I was younger,” she admitted, struggling not to bite her lip again.

“You had a mass of gold ringlets all over your head, that’s what I remember.”

“Ah, yes, I could never tame those things.” She snatched her hand away from the balcony and self-consciously pushed one of those same curls behind an ear. “I still struggle with them.” She tried to laugh but the sound lodged in her throat.

Thaddeus reached out and wrapped a curl around his fingertip. “Your hair looks like spun gold now.” His voice was soft, reverent.

Amelia swallowed.

He quickly pulled his hand away and scrubbed it through his own hair. He turned back to face her. “I’m glad you were able to get away to meet me.”

She cracked a smile. “I must admit, you surprised me. How did you know I was here?”

The side of his mouth quirked up in the semblance of a grin. Ah, there was the Thaddeus she remembered, quick to smile. Not so brooding.

“I have little problem finding people when I need them,” he said.

She glanced away. Ah yes, she knew that from his letters. How could she have forgotten? Thaddeus had picked a life of scandal, but he kept the tip of one boot firmly planted in society. After the scandal, his duel in which Paul had died, Thaddeus had shunned society. He’d already been the black sheep of his illustrious family. He hadn’t thought his reputation could get any blacker—or so his grandfather had been fond of saying—but Thaddeus had proven his grandfather wrong. So wrong. Being the owner of a boxing saloon was blacker still. And Amelia knew from his letters that he was quite proud of that reputation, or at least he said so. It was sad, really, when she stopped and thought about it. The fact that Thaddeus could never again be the carefree young man he had once been…
before
. But then again, they’d all changed since then, hadn’t they? Papa had gone into his study and rarely came out. Amelia herself had assumed the role of the eldest, the one who must marry a title. Even Mama had changed. Or had she? At any rate, she’d refocused her society-minded attention on her daughter.

“Ah yes, I remember you writing to tell me how you tracked down Lord Ridley in the middle of his wedding,” Amelia replied with a laugh.

This time Thaddeus definitely cracked a smile. “Ridley owed me a great deal of money.”

Money. The mention of it made Amelia stiffen. It was Paul’s money—or so her mother had claimed—that had attracted Thaddeus’s friendship to begin with. Of course her mother conveniently forgot how delighted she’d initially been when her son had become fast friends with the grandson of the Duke of Montclare.

“A duke,” her mother had said, dancing around the drawing room. “Just imagine the young
ladies to whom you’ll be introduced at the duke’s parties.”

“Yes, yes, Mama,” Paul had replied. “There will be plenty of time for that. But Thad is a capital fellow in his own right.”

Amelia sighed. Paul had always had such patience with Mama, much more than Amelia had ever been able to manage. Oh, Paul, how she wished he were here now. She wanted to lean her head on his shoulder as she did when they were children and she was frightened. Guilt gnawed at her. There had been so many times when she’d had the awful thought that Paul was the lucky one, no longer having to deal with Mama’s obsessive desire to see their family advance in the rankings of society.

“A money-grabber,” Mama had screamed about Thaddeus that awful day when Dr. Murdock had come to the door to announce he’d done everything he could to save Paul’s life. “An opportunist,” Mama had railed. “A scheming, no-good user. He never cared a fig about your brother. He only ever wanted to use him as a bank, a steady stream of cash for his debauched vices.”

Amelia had run up to her room, hands tightly clapped over her ears, unable to listen to Mama screaming such hateful things about the boy her beloved brother had counted as his closest friend. Amelia had met Thaddeus Hammond on a handful of occasions and he had always been nothing but kind to her, bringing her a sweet from Vauxhall, or a flower for her hair. He seemed so safe and friendly. But above all, Amelia couldn’t allow herself to believe that her brother had died alone on a misty field outside London at dawn, the victim of a stupid male
pastime without a friend to his name.

And then, Thaddeus had arrived at the front door, hat in hand, unmistakable unshed tears in his eyes, but his chin remained strong, upright. Mama had gone to the door herself. Amelia had snuck to the top of the staircase and peered down from the landing, holding her breath to hear what Mr. Hammond would say, somehow explain how this unthinkable thing could have possibly happened.

Mama had stood there wearing yellow—Amelia would never forget—so incongruous with the occasion. It was the last time for months that Mama would wear a color other than black and she’d yet to don yellow since.

“Mr. Hammond,” Mama had said through tightly clenched teeth, after refusing him entrance.

“Mrs. Templeton. I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I—”

Even from her perch at the top of the stairs, Amelia could tell something was wrong with him. His face looked bloody and bruised and he appeared to have a pronounced limp. He winced when he breathed. Mr. Hammond was injured. Severely so.

He’d been about to speak, to offer an explanation, but Mama’s voice had cut through the tomb-like silence of the foyer. “Mr. Hammond. I expect you to respect my request that you never darken our doorstep again.”

His jaw had clenched. If Amelia hadn’t been watching him so closely she might not have seen it. He flinched as if Mama had just slapped him and Amelia had flinched too. She clapped
her hand over her mouth to keep Mama from hearing her gasp.

“Mrs. Templeton,” he said, in a voice that shook almost imperceptibly. “I can scarcely imagine how you must feel, but please allow me to explain…”

Mama had drawn up her shoulders. “Unless you can tell me, Mr. Hammond, that my only son is still alive, that he was not killed in a duel this morning, serving as
your
second, then you have absolutely nothing to say that I want to hear.”

Thaddeus glanced up then. His gaze met Amelia’s and she recognized the unmistakable tears shimmering in his clear blue eyes. The tears were illuminated by the candlelight from the chandelier hanging in the center of the foyer. In that one moment, Amelia felt his pain. No matter what had happened that morning, no matter what the explanation, she knew without a doubt that Thaddeus had loved her brother and he was hurting now, terribly.

He hung his head. “No, Mrs. Templeton.” His voice had cracked on that last word and Amelia would never forget it. As long as she lived.

The door had slammed then, right in Thaddeus’s face. And Amelia had gasped. Before she had a chance to incite her mother’s anger, Amelia jumped up, ran down the hall to the back staircase, down the steps, out the back door, down the porch, and around the house. Tears streaming down her face, she’d reached Thaddeus’s coach just before he’d driven away. She rapped on the door to the conveyance, her breath coming in heavy pants. Thaddeus must have ordered the coachman to stop. The door swung open and he leaned out.

“Amy,” he’d whispered hoarsely, and knowing her brother would never again call her by
that name made her cry harder. “Amy, what are you doing here?”

Amelia was shaking violently. He reached out and squeezed her hand.

“I know,” Amelia had sobbed. “I know you loved him. I know you’re hurting too.”

When she saw him up close, she realized just how severely injured he was. He looked as if he’d been beaten within a pace of his life. His face was half blood-encrusted and his cheeks bruised. One of his eyes bulged from its socket in a gruesome manner. The muscle in his jaw had worked overtime and he blinked back his unshed tears. He winced when he spoke as if in pain from internal injuries. “I’m so sorry, Amy. So sorry. And I promise you this. If you need anything ever. Anything at all. You have only to ask and I’ll do it for you.”

She’d taken a great heaving breath. She glanced back at the town house. If Mama found her out here, she’d beat her soundly. “I cannot stay,” she whispered. “But will you write to me?”