Lady Amelia's Mess and a Half (25 page)

Jake didn’t seem to notice her distraction. “I’m reminded I haven’t seen my sister for a fortnight. Perhaps I should pay her a call.”

Amelia snapped from her fog. “Yes, you
should
see to her welfare. I imagine this has been a troubling day for her.” And Amelia had her own business, that of locating Mr. Tucker and hearing the rest of his tale.

Amelia fretted over what she would say to Mr. Tucker, if he even responded to her request to call on her at Verona House. Her message had simply stated she had an urgent matter to discuss with him post haste, and although she believed it to be life or death, he might disagree.

When a knock sounded at the drawing room door, her heart paused before beating at an ungodly pace.

“Enter.” Her voice wavered.

Bradford appeared in the doorway and glided across the room with a tray in his gloved hands. A cream calling card with black script barely registered against the polished silver. “You have a caller, milady.”

She plucked the card from the tray.
Mr. Isaac T. Tucker.
“Please show the gentleman in.”

Bradford’s slightly pinched face revealed his disapproval, but as with all good servants, he performed his duties without comment. She conceded that her behavior might raise his suspicions about her character. First, she had allowed an overnight gentleman guest and now she not only welcomed a different gentleman, she had summoned him. Nevertheless, Bradford’s suppositions were beyond her concern at the moment, and he had proven himself capable of keeping household gossip at a minimum.

Mr. Tucker followed her butler into the drawing room and stood at a respectable distance.

Amelia gestured to a chair farthest from the settee where she sat. “Please, come in and have a seat, sir.”

The gentleman nodded curtly and strode to the leather wingback before gracefully lowering his lanky frame. “Thank you, my lady.”

Bradford took up position at the room’s perimeter, doing his best to appear unobtrusive.

“Thank you for coming on short notice, Mr. Tucker.”

His brows lowered as he leaned forward. “Your message indicated you had something urgent to discuss. Has a problem arisen with the design for the foundling house? I can relay a message to Mr. Brown.”

“No, no. Everything is perfect. The children will be pleased with their new home.” She twisted her hands together, unsure how she should broach the subject, but it wouldn’t do to waste his valuable time. “I wish to ask more about your friend in New Orleans.” At his dubious expression, she rushed forward. “It may seem an odd request, but I assure you I have my reasons. You say your friend, Mr…?”

“Mr. Canaan,” he supplied.

“You say Mr. Canaan told you the story you shared today, that it was about his wife.”

Mr. Tucker nodded.

“There was more to the story, wasn’t there?”

He sat up straight. “What makes you think there is more?”

She folded her hands together to keep from picking at her Indian muslin skirts. “The story sounds familiar, but I may have Mr. Canaan’s tale confused with another I’ve heard in the past.” Lying didn’t sit right with her, but she had never revealed the story to anyone besides her husband. Because of the humiliating nature of the situation, she would rather keep her role a secret. “Please, tell me what happened to the girl.”

Mr. Tucker made a show of adjusting his jacket and avoided her eyes. “I apologize, Lady Audley, but I never intended to share anything more. It is inappropriate for polite company.”

He was correct, but she had to know.

“Did a gentleman…” she paused, not sure how to word her question. “Did he ask for a special favor?”

His eyes rounded. “My lady, I—”

Amelia shuddered as she recalled the hideous sight of a grown man, well beyond his prime, soaking in a tub. Why, there should be a law requiring gentlemen of such
distinction
to bathe in full dress. “You may simply confirm with a nod of your head, Mr. Tucker. The girl was saved from the indignity of assisting the gentleman when the head maid searched her out.”

Mr. Tucker’s face flushed crimson. “Is this one of those Banbury tales I’ve heard gentlemen speak of in coffee houses? I must look like a wet goose.”

“Not at all, sir.” Amelia wished that were the case, and although she would like to hand the designation of royal ninnyhammer over to Mr. Tucker, it was her crown to wear. “Does Mr. Canaan ever mention his wife’s name?”

“He rarely speaks of her, but once he mentioned the name Mia.”

Mia?
This couldn’t be true. Audley had betrayed her; he had told another of her humiliation. Had he laughed when he retold her story? Had he called her a stupid girl who deserved ill treatment for being so foolish? He had spoken similar words to her when she had told the story to him years earlier. And she
had
been a fool, foolish enough to believe sharing would build a bond between her and her husband.

But why would this other gentleman desire to pass this tale off as one belonging to
his
wife? Who was Mr. Canaan?

“And the gentleman has never mentioned anything more about his wife?” she asked.

“Lady Audley, I am puzzled by your line of questioning. What is it you desire from me?”

“I believe I know your friend’s wife.
Knew
her. We… we were childhood companions.”

Mr. Tucker’s eyebrows lifted. “So she
is
deceased?”

Amelia nodded rather than speak one more lie, although she was developing a talent for it despite Bibi’s claims that she was a horrible liar.

“Was it a tragic death?” he asked.

How could she respond? Since he waited for her reply, she offered a sharp incline of her head and held her breath, hoping he would not ask for details. Perhaps she was not as gifted when it came to deception as she thought, because her mind was blank.

Mr. Tucker slumped against the chair back with a thoughtful look. “It’s no wonder he wanted to start over, leave his past in England. He must have loved his wife a great deal.”

She made a sympathetic sound and encouraged him to continue.

“David always has a sad look about him when he speaks of her.”

Amelia’s spine stiffened. “David?”

“Yes, that is Mr. Canaan’s given name, although I always thought he resembled a Herbert.” Her thoughts dashed in different directions. The gentleman in New Orleans knew her story, one she had never told another soul. What were the chances his name was also David? And he was an Englishman, probably nobility, in Mr. Tucker’s estimation.

“No!” She bolted from the settee.

Her sudden movement startled the American, and he stood too. “Pardon, my lady? Is everything all right?”

She raced through her catalog of memories. Did David have any identifying marks Mr. Tucker would notice? Heavens, she couldn’t remember. At this point, their separation was longer than their marriage had been.

Her husband died in a fire, at least two years ago, in Durham. Surely, her thoughts were too fanciful. She took a deep breath. “Could you provide a description of the gentleman?”

He scratched his head. “I was never any good at this sort of thing,” he mumbled to himself. “Let’s see. He is a
man
.” Mr. Tucker drew out the last word, looking expectantly at her as if they were playing a round of Yes and No, her least favorite parlor game.

“I had gathered as much, sir.”

“Oh, quite right.” He cleared his throat. “Hmm. This is difficult. Had you asked me to describe a building—”

“Mr. Tucker,
please
.”

“Very well, but I cannot say I ever studied Mr. Canaan’s person. He is medium in build. With brown hair.”

“And eyes?”

“Yes.” Mr. Tucker gave a sharp, decisive nod. “Mr. Canaan most assuredly has eyes.”

She sighed. “Never mind, Mr. Tucker.” He was only slightly less skilled at providing a recitation of another person’s features as the average gentleman. She shouldn’t have expected much assistance in this area.

“Do you believe he is your friend’s husband?” he asked.

“Perhaps.” But how could that be? David
had
died in that fire. His brother had received his body and buried him at Crossing Meadows. She had visited his grave, for heaven’s sake.

Mr. Tucker fidgeted with his jacket again. “Do you wish to send Mr. Canaan a message?”

“
No!
” Amelia closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. “My apologies, Mr. Tucker. I simply meant I would not trouble you with relaying a message. Perhaps I will send a greeting at another time. However, if he wishes to start his life over, he may desire no contact with anyone from his past.”

She certainly wanted no contact with her husband if he were still alive.
Stop, you silly goose! It isn’t Audley.
She was allowing her imagination to run away with her.

Amelia had a good life now. She had Jake. He loved her, and they would marry in two days. They would have children, lots of strong and happy issue to fill her family home. She wouldn’t allow Audley’s memory to haunt her. This other gentleman—this Mr. Canaan—could continue his sick game on the other side of the world. It mattered little to her.

An image of Audley’s ring, the one passed to him from his father, flashed into her mind. Her husband had refused to remove it,
ever
. His brother, Thomas, didn’t wear the jewelry, so she had assumed the ring had been buried with Audley.

“Does…” She took a deep breath. Better to push forward and learn what a ninny she was being by believing her husband might still be alive. “Does he wear any jewelry? A ring?”

Mr. Tucker’s mouth turned down. “He wears a ring, but nothing more. Jewelry wise, that is. He has always been fully dressed on the occasions I have seen him.”

“The
ring
, Mr. Tucker?” Typically, she was a patient person, but the man had a way of testing her fortitude.

“The band is gold and in the center is an onyx.”

Her heart quivered. “And is there an eagle on one side?”

“Yes, and a stag on the other.”

A rush of dizziness made her pitch to the left. Mr. Tucker caught her when her knees buckled and lowered her to the settee.

“Get the smelling salts,” he barked.

Amelia waved away her butler, who had hurried forward to assist. “No, I am fine, Bradford. Just a glass of lemonade, please.” Her servant moved toward the doorway. “And bring a sheet of parchment and my charcoal.”

He didn’t hesitate in following her directives and spoke discreetly with another servant waiting outside the drawing room.

In a short time, he returned with the items she requested. She moved to the table, both men hovering like nervous nannies, and sat down to sketch the ring as best as she could remember it. She checked her drawing once more before handing it to Mr. Tucker. “Is this the ring?”

“It looks similar. I can’t be certain.” He held the sketch closer. “Yes, I believe it is. There is an A imbedded in the stag’s bridle, just as you have depicted.”

Bitterness rose in the back of her throat. Audley had faked his death.
The
dirty, lying blackguard.
If Mr. Tucker were not present, she might let loose an unladylike string of curses she had learned from Bibi.

“Thank you, sir. Your assistance is much appreciated.”

He frowned. “I feel as if something significant has happened, but I am kept in the dark.”

She patted his hand and offered a sympathetic smile. “I am certain it is a familiar locale for you, sir.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his golden brows forming a vee.

Poor Mr. Tucker. She owed him some explanation, but she couldn’t tell him the truth. No one could ever learn her husband was still alive. Audley wanted everyone to believe he was dead, and to her, he was.

“I suppose I can reveal this much to you, since my friend no longer lives to be troubled by a possible scandal. You see, Mrs. Canaan believed her husband to be dead when she passed. She would be shocked to learn otherwise.”

Mr. Tucker blinked. “I see. I suppose David has a good explanation.”

“I am sure he does, sir. Please do not mention anything about this conversation to him. It sounds as if he has suffered enough.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I’m certain he has suffered greatly.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Tucker. I hope this does not cast a shadow over your travel. If you have never visited Edinburgh, you will find the city to your liking.”

The mention of his destination brought a slight smile to his lips. “I am looking forward to my stay. And I am honored to have been of service to you, Lady Audley, although it pains me to have revealed troubling information.”

“You are a kind man, Mr. Tucker.” It wasn’t until after the gentleman left Verona House that she wondered as to the identity of the body buried in the Audley family cemetery.