“Well, perhaps,” Mrs. Carson reluctantly agreed, sounding much put upon. “When I’m a little stronger.”
“Next week,” Amelia suggested.
“We shall see. Now, there were just a few little things you may have forgotten.”
Amelia was edging rapidly toward the door, but Mrs. Carson was undeterred.
“I noticed the cottage down the way has curtains in the windows, so I should have them as well.”
“Curtains don’t come with the cottages. Anyone who has them has purchased them on their own.”
“Not come with the cottages! Well, I never! And who comes in to cultivate the garden?”
If Verwood hadn’t been there, Amelia would surely have exploded.
“You
cultivate the garden, and you teach your children how to do it as they grow. Tommy can help you.”
Amelia didn’t wait for Verwood to reach the door but threw it open with an excess of energy that made the house shake. “And you teach them to feed and raise the animals, and to make bread and beer and bacon and butter and cheese and everything else that is needed!”
As Amelia erupted from the house and started to hasten down the street, Mrs. Carson called after her, “But I don’t know anything about cultivating a garden! There is so much
dirt…”
Amelia wouldn’t wait for him to catch up, but trotted down the road as fast as her feet would carry her with any dignity. There were very odd sounds coming from him, much as though he were choking, which she could finally hear when Mrs. Carson’s plaintive voice was outdistanced. There were muffled snorts and bursts of expelled air, a sort of rumbling noise. Finally, when they reached the railing outside the church, she heard him collapse against it, and turned in alarm to see what damage he’d done to his poor knee.
He was bent over, doubled up. Amelia’s heart twisted painfully in her bosom and she rushed to his side. And then, unable to control himself any longer, he roared... with laughter. Amelia had never seen anything like it. Peal after peal of unholy mirth rocked right through him, exploding out into the until-then-quiet village street. The whole area was filled with his glee, so infectious that two laborers walking by grinned, and then chortled, and finally burst out laughing right along with him. Though he apparently made some effort to overcome his excess of amusement, he could do no more than shake his head and utter one word, “Shrew!”
Amelia was not amused. She was affronted. However, the general merriment proved too much for her, and her lips began to twitch, her eyes took on a sparkle, her throat began to bubble, and at last she, too, allowed herself to giggle.
Verwood clasped his hands at her waist and swung her around, right in the middle of the street, saying, “She’s a shrew. My God, you’ve brought a shrew to Margrave. Oh, Amelia, you are the most adorable, precious darling in the whole world! A shrew. How positively wonderful! That will teach you to play Lady Bountiful. I love it!”
When he set her down on her feet, her eyes were rueful.
“I’d never met her, you know,” she explained between lingering giggles. “I didn’t want you to see what she was like. Isn’t she awful? I don’t know what I’m going to do with her.”
“Leave her to Mrs. Lawson,” he suggested, clasping her hand in his and heading back toward Margrave. “Mrs. Lawson will know exactly how to handle her.”
“I suppose so.” She was silent for a moment, trying to gather the courage to speak. When he pressed her hand encouragingly, she moistened her lips and asked, “Do you really think I’m the most adorable, precious darling in the whole world?”
He continued walking, but his gaze caressed her upturned face. “Yes,” he said, “I do.”
He did not elaborate. They walked the rest of the way to Margrave in a companionable, if slightly uncertain, silence.
Chapter 17
Since his home was on their route, and the excursion had been mentioned the previous evening, Michael Upham joined them. Martello House was named for the martello towers on the ruins of Camber Castle, which lay midway between his estate and Margrave. Amelia had never much cared for the design of Martello House, since it was a pale and pointless imitation of the fortress ruins. The duplication seemed almost a mockery to her, purporting to be something it wasn’t, and making the accommodations within the house, she felt sure, quite uncomfortable.
Mr. Upham, however, was the most genial of hosts, inviting them to inspect his home before they passed through the Strand Gate and into Winchelsea. Amelia would have preferred to deny herself the treat, but the others appeared eager to inspect the place, so she tagged along, trying always to be close enough to Verwood to hear what comments he had to make.
The house was remarkable! Amelia had no idea Mr. Upham’s home would be so luxuriously furnished or would give evidence of a very rich man with exquisite taste. If she had been asked her opinion beforehand, she would have guessed that the furniture would be over-ornate, the accessories vulgar. Trudy positively beamed at her as they wandered from room to room, exclaiming at each new and delightful vignette. Amelia was better able to restrain her enthusiasm, but she was not unimpressed.
And Mr. Upham was particularly genial and attentive. He joked with Peter about the extent of the marshland in the area, complimented Veronique on her lovely bonnet, wished he could remember when he’d seen as fine a pair of violet eyes as Amelia possessed, assured Trudy that he had seldom seen French cloth used to such advantage as in her gown, begged Lord Verwood to come again to take stock of his stables... and accepted a small packet from M. Chartier when the two lingered behind in his study.
Amelia saw this transaction, and nudged the viscount, who was standing beside her. “Not now,” he insisted, grinning at her. His eyes gleamed with fervent admiration, or something of the sort, and he added, “Later, when we’re alone!”
Of course she knew he was teasing, which both excited and frustrated her. “Did you see?” she hissed, unaware that her nose twitched.
“I saw,” he assured her. “It’s the most adorable nose I’ve
ever
seen.
“The packet,” she whispered. “Did you see him give Upham the packet?”
Verwood pursed his lips thoughtfully, and winked at her, but walked off without answering.
This was not precisely the way Amelia expected a suitor to behave, especially one who was also a co-conspirator in a very serious affair. At least it
might
be a serious affair. Surely it was difficult enough for her to keep her mind on Chartier (when she would far have preferred giving some thought to just exactly what was going on in Verwood’s mind), without having him act so perversely.
Not until they were in Winchelsea opposite the Old Court House did it occur to her that his comment about her nose had something to do with its twitching. Clarissa had said that it twitched. Unconsciously Amelia reached up to touch it, flushing brightly when she caught Verwood regarding her with laughing eyes.
The group strolled across the square and down a short lane to a gate, which led to Greyfriars, once a monastery and now in a ruinous state, the house used as a farmhouse and the chapel as a barn. Verwood managed at this point to come abreast of Amelia and separate her slightly from the rest of the company. “Winchelsea isn’t as large as I expected. Where do smugglers keep their goods?”
“In the old vaults.” Amelia waved back toward town. “In the old days there was a thriving import trade in French wines, and the merchants had vaults built to store them. They haven’t been used legitimately in ages, but the smugglers know where they are. At least,” she said, casting a glance to make sure no one was close by, “I’m sure Mr. Upham does. There may even be some closer to Martello House.”
“It seems unlikely. The old town spread out in the other direction.”
“Camber Castle is just as convenient, really. It’s full of dark underground passages.”
His face showed interest. “Have you explored there?”
“Not since I was a child.”
“Let’s walk there tomorrow morning,” he suggested. “Just the two of us.”
Amelia felt her heartbeat increase, but she said only, “If you wish. I can’t see how that will get us any relevant information.”
He smiled lazily at her. “Oh, I think it could tell us a great deal.”
* * * *
Wednesday morning dawned as warm and sunny as each of the preceding days. Amelia couldn’t see that Verwood had done anything to further their knowledge of Chartier’s activities. When she had suggested that he search the Frenchman’s room, Verwood had merely laughed. Nor had he spent any particular time with either Henri or Veronique casually attempting to extricate fresh tidbits that would be useful. He had, in fact, done nothing whatsoever except enjoy himself—riding, eating, playing cards, sipping at brandy, conversing on topics that didn’t come anywhere close to inspiring confidences. He even had several seemingly amiable chats with Trudy. As Peter had remarked the previous evening, he was the perfect guest.
Everyone managed to be in the breakfast room at the same time that morning, which in itself was an unusual circumstance. Trudy and Chartier were both late risers as a rule. There was a cheerful buzz of conversation, broken only when Bighton entered with a sealed letter on a silver salver. Amelia expected it was something for the earl, and was surprised to see Bighton pass him by and pause behind M. Chartier.
“A letter by messenger, M. Chartier,” he said. “The man is waiting for a reply.”
Naturally Chartier looked quite surprised by this development, quickly snapping up the letter and breaking the seal with his table knife. A prodigious frown grew on his forehead as he read the contents, all the while making a truly admirable tsk-ing sound. “What a nuisance!” he exclaimed. “I shall have to go to London at once.”
This did surprise Amelia. At once? Her eyes flew to Verwood, but he was watching Chartier, who continued, “How terribly vexing. Lord Welsford, I’m most dreadfully sorry, but this is a matter of some urgency. I do hate to break up such a delightful house party.”
There was a general murmur of consternation. Peter was the first to speak. “I do hope this won’t mean you must spirit off Mlle. Chartier. My aunt should, I think, make a perfectly acceptable chaperone for her, and we’d all hate to see her visit cut so short.”
Deep lines of concern etched themselves on Chartier’s face, giving evidence of his profound interest in his sister’s welfare and the propriety of the situation. His worried gaze settled on Verwood for a moment, and then on Lady Amelia.
But it would be rude and ungracious to contradict the earl’s assertion that Miss Harting was sufficient chaperone. He calmed himself, offered his sister a fleeting smile, and said, “How truly kind you are. If Miss Harting feels up to the responsibility…”
“But of course,” Trudy insisted. “Your sister must stay with us.”
Just so easily was it settled. Chartier went off to oversee the packing of his valises and Verwood disappeared on some errand of his own. Amelia was disappointed, thinking he had forgotten their planned walk to the castle. As hostess she really had to stay in the house until Chartier departed, anyhow, but it was the principle of the thing. She moped around the major reception rooms, sitting down at the pianoforte to play a few tunes before springing up to wander about once again. Finally there was sufficient commotion in the hall to signal Chartier’s departure, and she came out to bid him farewell.
Verwood was already there, shaking hands with the Frenchman, who bounced about on his toes in his usual attempt to get above his shirt points. “A few days, a week at most,” he was telling anyone who listened. “Be assured I shall return as quickly as possible. If it weren’t business of the most urgent nature, I would never desert such a delightful gathering. Take care of yourself, Veronique. Miss Harting will guide you in how to go on. Lady Amelia, farewell. Lord Verwood. Lord Welsford. And Miss Harting,” he concluded, kissing her hand, “I cannot thank you enough for taking my sister in your charge. So very amiable of you.”
Amelia waited impatiently for him to actually climb into his carriage and vanish down the road. She found Verwood at her side, tucking her arm through his, with the soft reminder, “We were going to take a walk this morning.”
“Perhaps you have other things to do.” she suggested, just a little miffed with him.
“Nothing nearly so important,” he assured her as Peter and Veronique wandered off toward the conservatory, and Trudy, humming cheerfully to herself, walked purposefully toward the housekeeper’s room.
Amelia took the time to find a shawl, just to keep him waiting for a few minutes. He didn’t even seem to notice. When she returned he was standing in the open front door, looking out over the lawns toward the castle. There was a curious smile playing about his lips, which remained when she spoke to him.
“Why do you suppose he left today?” she asked as they descended the stairs. “I’m quite sure the day mentioned was Thursday.”
“He may have to be in contact with someone before he goes. I’m having him followed.”
“Really?” Amelia beamed at him. “Oh, I’m so glad. How did you find someone to do that?”
“Peter suggested a man I could trust. I was forced to tell him why. You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, he would have to know sooner or later. But it’s really too late as far as Veronique goes.”
Verwood cocked his head at her. “In what way?”
“Peter’s mind is made up. He’s not likely to change it.” She sighed and bent to pick a daisy from the bed along their path. “He’s never been this devoted to anyone before, you know. I don’t think even finding out her brother was a spy would deter him. And I’m sure he could never bring himself to believe
she
had anything to do with it.”
“I doubt she does.”
“No, I suppose not. Besides, she’s young enough to be malleable.”
He grinned at her. “That much younger than you?” he asked teasingly.
Unconsciously she had begun to pluck the petals from her flower. “I’m not very flexible, I suppose. But I’m not awfully stubborn, either. What I mean is, I try to learn from experience. My father used to point out the advantages of not becoming unbearably rigid. Of course, there are some things I’m more receptive to than others.”