The Wedding Escape (16 page)

“How lovely to have such a close family.” Amelia sighed. “If I had married Lord Whitcliffe, my family would have returned to New York. Although I suppose my mother would have visited me occasionally, I don't think I would have seen my father or brothers much—unless I went to New York to visit them. My father doesn't like England, and couldn't wait to go home. William keeps very busy working for my father, so he wouldn't have time to travel here.”

“What about Freddy?”

“Unfortunately he didn't care much for Lord Whitcliffe, and his lordship detested Freddy, so that would have made any visits a bit awkward. Lord Whitcliffe thought Freddy was a wastrel.”

“Ironic, considering Whitcliffe has never worked, either.”

Amelia fastened her gaze on the row of houses passing by the window. She had no idea if she would ever see Freddy again.

“We're here,” announced Jack as the carriage came to a halt.

It had started to rain, veiling Inverness in a gray gloom. Jack paid the driver, then helped Amelia down from the carriage. Once she was on the ground he released her hand.

“Can you manage from here on your own? The neighbors may be watching, and it will look strange if I escort you on my arm.”

“I'm fine,” Amelia assured him.

The house before her was considerably smaller than the London town house belonging to Jack's parents, but it was handsome enough and reasonably maintained. Two rows of large windows overlooked the street, and the heavy black front door sported a gleaming brass knocker in the shape of a lion's head. Amelia and Oliver huddled in the rain as Jack fumbled through his coat pocket and produced a key. The lock wouldn't move at first, forcing him to rattle the handle several times. The door remained stubbornly closed.

“It must be swollen from the humidity.” He took a step back, then heaved his full weight against the door just as it swung open.

“Sweet Saint Columba!” swore Doreen, ducking aside as Jack went flying into the house. “Ye're lucky I didn't bang ye over the head with my scrub brush.” Her thin, heavily lined face tightened with exasperation, as if Jack were somehow to blame for her nearly crowning him. “What are ye doin' here?” she demanded, dropping her bristly weapon into a bucket.

“I live here,” Jack told her. “What are you doing here?”

“Scrubbin' the floors, same as I do every Tuesday.”

“For God's sake, Doreen, I've told you that isn't necessary—”

“Ye're back!” Eunice beamed with pleasure as she squeezed her well-padded form through the door from the kitchen. “Come in quick, Ollie, afore ye catch yer death from the cold and wet—and you, too, lad,” she clucked, waving a plump hand at Amelia. “Never mind the floors—we weren't expectin' ye so there's nae much in the larder, but I've just made a nice pot of tea and I've oatcakes with butter and marmalade, which should tide ye over nicely 'til we can get somethin' more.”

“Ah, Eunice, ye know the way to my heart,” declared Oliver.

Amelia gratefully stepped into the warm hallway. The smoky sweet scent of a fire burning in the kitchen mingled with the fragrance of lemon oil and soap. “Thank you,” she said to Eunice as the white-haired woman took her coat. “That sounds lovely.”

“Now there's a different accent,” observed Doreen as she relieved Oliver and Jack of their wet coats. “Where are ye from, lad?”

“America,” Amelia replied.

“America!” marveled Eunice. “What brings ye all the way to Inverness? Are ye workin' for Jack on one of his ships?”

“Miss Belford is going to be staying with me for a time,” Jack explained. “As my guest.”

The two old women looked at Amelia in surprise. She obligingly removed her cap, releasing her heavy mantle of blond hair.

“I knew it!” exclaimed Doreen triumphantly, forgetting that she had just called Amelia “lad.” “These old eyes are as sharp as ever. Why are ye dressed like that, lass? Are ye runnin' from the police?” The idea seemed to appeal to her.

“Miss Belford is trying to avoid a number of people,” Jack explained. “She had a change of heart at her wedding, and Oliver and I helped her to get away.”

Eunice's mouth rounded with shock. “This is the lass who went missin' from old Whitcliffe's wedding?”

“Aye.” Oliver chuckled. “Climbed into my carriage in all her weddin' finery and told me to drive off, just like that!”

“I should have known you two scoundrels were involved.” Doreen fisted her hands on her narrow hips. “When Miss Genevieve and the children came back without ye, sayin' ye'd driven off after the bride disappeared, I thought 'twas strange ye didna come right home like ye'd planned.”

“We had to make a stop in London first,” Jack explained.

“Ye should have seen the disguises the lad wore while we were there,” Oliver added, chuckling. “I swear one night he looked older than me.”

“Ye can tell us all about it after we've given this poor lamb a bath and some decent clothes to wear,” said Eunice. “Come along, ducky,” she cooed, shepherding Amelia toward the staircase. She stopped suddenly. “Whatever shall we put her in? She canna go back into this.” She shook her head with disapproval at the damp, ill-fitting coat and mud-splattered trousers Amelia wore.

Doreen squinted at the mantel clock in the drawing room. “The shops are open for another hour or so. I'll go and fetch a few things for the lass while ye see to her bath.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Amelia was tired of wearing either Jack's clothes or her evening gown, and longed to be in something pretty and comfortable. “If you'll just bring me some paper, pen, and ink, I shall write down my measurements and make you a list of everything I require.”

“Nothin' too fancy,” advised Oliver, remembering the spectacular wardrobe she had ordered in London. “Remember, lass, the secret to an escape is nae how fast ye run, 'tis in walkin' slow with no one lookin' yer way.”

“Do ye think old Whitcliffe will come looking for her here?” wondered Eunice.

“Whitcliffe won't, but the police or agents for her family might,” Jack replied. “There is also the matter of the ten-thousand-pound reward being offered for her return, which I suspect will be reported shortly in the Inverness newspaper, if it hasn't been already.”

Doreen stared at Jack, flabbergasted. “Ten thousand pounds!”

“Yer family must really want ye back,” observed Eunice.

“She needs three simple outfits.” Jack was determined to set limits for Amelia's wardrobe this time. “And some shoes and slippers and—whatever she needs to wear underneath. That's all.”

“But what shall I wear after tomorrow?”

Jack regarded Amelia blankly.

“Three outfits will only do for one day,” she pointed out. “What shall I wear after that?”

“While ye're here ye won't have to change yer gown three times a day,” explained Eunice. “ 'Tis nae that kind of household.”

“But surely you cannot expect me to wear the same gown to dinner that I have worn all day,” Amelia protested. “It isn't proper.”

“This isn't London, Amelia.” Jack was trying to be patient. “Women here wear the same gown all day and no one thinks less of them.”

“Oh.” Until the night she had boarded the
Charlotte,
Amelia had been accustomed to changing at least three times a day, and that was only if there were no outings or special parties planned. Her current wardrobe consisted easily of some eighty new gowns per season and hundreds of pairs of gloves, which totaled over two hundred and forty outfits, and did not include the clothes she had left in New York. “I see.”

“Three gowns will do for now,” Jack insisted, sensing her confusion and disappointment. He was not about to deplete his entire bank account in order to furnish Amelia with the kind of wardrobe to which she was obviously accustomed. “If you need something more, we can always buy it later.”

“Of course. Three gowns is very generous. Thank you.” Summoning an extraordinary dignity, she lifted the excess length of her muddy trousers in her hands and turned, trying her best not to trip as she followed Eunice up the stairs.

“Three gowns isn't really very much,” Doreen reflected after she had gone, taking pity on her.

“Ye should have seen the gown she was wearin' the other night,” remarked Oliver. “I've nae seen anythin' so bonny. She looked just like a queen, she did.”

“And I'll be paying for that gown when the bill comes in,” Jack muttered. “Along with anything else that Beaton and Lizzie fail to return. Unfortunately, I don't have the money to buy her a new wardrobe.”

“I'm sure Miss Genevieve and the girls will be willin' to give her a few things from their wardrobes,” said Doreen. “When I go to Grace's shop I'll ask her if she can spare an outfit or two.”

“You can't go to Grace's shop. No one can know she is here—not even my family.”

Doreen frowned. “Why not?”

“It's too dangerous at the moment. Amelia has caused a great scandal by running away. I don't want my family involved. Haydon and Genevieve don't need any more scandal in their lives.”

“His lordship and Miss Genevieve have known nae but scandal for as long as either of them can remember,” Doreen countered. “They willna mind a wee bit more—especially when 'tis for a good reason.”

“They aren't to know, Doreen.” Jack's tone was final.

She huffed with impatience. “Ye canna tell me ye plan to keep the lass here like some sort of pet, with just you and Oliver hanging about?”

“No, I need you and Eunice to stay here as well, while I figure out what I am going to do with her.”

“And what am I to tell our coachman when he comes by tonight with the carriage to take me and Eunice home?”

“Tell him to explain to Haydon and Genevieve that I have returned home and need your help to get the house in order,” Jack suggested.

“They're sure to think 'tis odd, since we come every Tuesday to clean and dust and see there's nae thieves nor rats livin' here while ye're gone.”

“Then say there's nothing to eat in the house and you're going to stay a few days to do some shopping and cooking for me. Tell the coachman you think I'm half starved and you refuse to let me be.”

“They'll have nae trouble believin' that,” predicted Oliver, chortling.

Doreen snorted with annoyance. “Fine, then. We'll stay.”

 

R
AIN BLED IN DARK STREAMS DOWN THE WINDOW-
panes, turning them into glistening black squares. Amelia sat huddled upon the enormous expanse of Jack's bed with her arms wrapped around her knees, contemplating her unfamiliar surroundings. Jack had insisted that she take his room, even though Amelia had assured him she would be more than happy to sleep in his guest room. Oliver pointed out that Jack didn't really have a guest room, at least not one that was properly furnished, because Jack never had guests. Amelia had not known what to say to that. She had never known anyone who didn't maintain extra bedchambers in case family or friends came to visit. Jack had muttered something about not being home very much, and the matter was dropped.

She rested her chin upon her knees and sighed. Her bed was carved of glossy mahogany, and given its large dimensions, Amelia suspected it had been constructed specifically to accommodate Jack's unusual height. The design was simple and unadorned, but within the piece's sheer simplicity was a remarkably elegant beauty. The enormous wardrobe on the opposite side of the room was similar in spirit, as was the chest of drawers by the windows. The walls were bare, save for a painting of a magnificent clipper ship in full sail upon the ocean, which hung over the fireplace. Even when he wasn't at sea, it was clear Jack liked to be reminded of it.

She blew out the oil lamp on the table beside her and lay back against the pillows. Jack's mattress was extremely hard compared to the soft feather mattresses she was accustomed to, making it impossible for her to get comfortable. The rain seemed to grow louder as it beat against the windows, and she became aware of a gnawing hunger. She had not eaten much in days. While Eunice's oatcakes and tea had seemed more than enough earlier in the evening, they could no longer quell the emptiness growing inside her. Giving up on sleep, she threw back the covers and climbed out of the enormous bed. Perhaps there were a few oatcakes left, she reflected, wrapping herself in a soft plaid blanket. She lit a candle and padded into the hallway in bare feet, determined to find something to eat.

The house was still except for the sound of the rain drumming against the roof. Amelia crept down the stairs in silence, trying to not waken anyone. When she reached the main floor she noticed a spill of light seeping from one of the rooms down the corridor. Curious, she moved toward it and peered inside.

Jack sat hunched over a desk at the far end of his study, his head buried in his arms, snoring.

She slipped quietly into the small chamber, fascinated by the artifacts he had collected from his travels. It was evident he had a passion for ancient weaponry, for one wall boasted an impressive collection of dirks and daggers, swords and sabers, shields, helmets, pikes and crossbows. Another wall reflected his appreciation for the arts in a small but magnificent exhibit of carved friezes from Egypt and Greece, coupled with polished wooden masks from Africa and colorful fragments of mosaics from the East. The third wall displayed a series of intricately drawn maps.

The wall that he viewed from his desk seemed strangely incongruous with the rest of the room. Above the fireplace hung a portrait of a pretty, auburn-haired girl of about eleven, who was seated in a chair reading a book, with an ivory rose lying on the floor by her skirts. The painting was lovely, but its gentle romanticism was inconsistent with everything else Jack had chosen to surround himself with.