The Wedding Escape (33 page)

They were right, Jack realized, moved by his family's desire to help.

“Fine, then,” he relented. “But you do exactly as I say—is that clear?”

The little band of former thieves solemnly nodded.

Chapter Fourteen

A
MELIA LIFTED AN EDGE OF HEAVY VELVET CURTAIN
to peer at the drunken, cheering mob jostling each other on the street below.

They had started to assemble from the moment word of her return had raced through the streets of London, some two days earlier. At first the crowd had consisted mainly of journalists, photographers, and the idle curious, who had nothing better to do than languish about all day hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous Amelia Belford, runaway American heiress. Despite her mother's attempts to control the details of both her disappearance and her return, which the abundantly bribed newspapers dutifully reported as an abduction, the popular consensus was that Amelia had run away.

The stories of what had happened to her during her disappearance were wildly fanciful. They ranged from her falling madly in love with some Arabian prince who had made her the favorite of his harem, to her giving away all of her jewels to the poor on the London docks one night and then retreating to a convent in Italy to live a life of poverty and seclusion. Whatever her adventures had been, all of London was thrilled that she had returned to her family and the welcoming arms of her betrothed. When her father informed the newspapers that Amelia's much-anticipated wedding to the Duke of Whitcliffe would take place after all, the throng crowding their elegant neighborhood swelled into the thousands. An army of policemen had to be hired for her wedding day to maintain some semblance of order amidst the shouting, pushing hoards, just to ensure that Amelia's bridal carriage would be able to travel the short distance to the church and home again, where a hastily arranged reception for some one hundred and fifty guests would be held.

She let the curtain drop and moved slowly back to her bed. Lying down atop the intricately embroidered silk coverlet, she pressed the heels of her hands against her aching eyes.
I will not cry anymore,
she told herself fiercely.
I will not.
She squeezed her eyes tight and inhaled a ragged breath, fighting the wave of despair that was threatening to engulf her.

At first she had been able to control her tears, even as her mother flitted about giving orders and worrying about every detail of Amelia's hastily arranged nuptials. A seemingly endless contingent of unfamiliar maids, dressmakers, florists, cooks, footmen and delivery people had descended upon the house, whipping every room into a frenzy of activity as preparations were made for the lavish reception that was to follow the ceremony. Through it all Amelia somehow managed to act as if everything was all right. Nineteen years of being trained to endure in stoic silence was too ingrained to permit her to do otherwise.

Her mother had been most effective in thwarting any attempt Amelia might have made to run away. More daunting than the servants watching her and the crowd camped outside was the formidable assertion that if Amelia did anything to avoid her marriage to Whitcliffe, both she and Freddy would be cut off. While Amelia had learned she could survive without her parents' support, she was absolutely certain Freddy could not.

From the time he was born, not one droplet of either her father's discipline or her mother's ambition had made itself apparent in Freddy's sunny, carefree personality. Her beloved brother was content to live the life of the millionaire's idle son, who didn't need to trouble himself with the tiresome details of earning a living. Bewildered by his youngest son's lack of motivation, John Belford had put all his efforts into grooming William for one day taking over the management of his railway company. As Rosalind was preoccupied with raising Amelia to marry an aristocrat, Freddy had been permitted to carry on however he liked. The result was a handsome, charming, fun-loving young man, who found rising by noon rather taxing, given that he regularly stayed out drinking and carousing until dawn.

Freddy could never survive being cut off by his family.

There was also the threat of what Amelia's parents would do to anyone who dared help her in her new life. With several thousand well-wishers flocked outside her door, as well as scores of policemen and journalists, Amelia had no hope of escaping unnoticed. She would be followed wherever she went, which meant her parents would easily find her in her new life in Inverness. Rosalind had promised to destroy anyone who helped her, and Amelia was painfully aware that her father's wealth and influence made this a powerful threat. Jack and his family would fall victim to an assault in which none of them would be spared, either financially or in the media onslaught that would follow. Once her parents discovered she was working at the Royal Hotel, her mother would simply ask her father to buy it and have her dismissed, along with dear Mr. Sweeney. All the people who had been so kind and generous to Amelia would suffer for befriending her.

She would not let that happen.

She could endure being married to Whitcliffe, she told herself, fighting the sick revulsion that churned through her when she thought about sharing her body with him the way she had with Jack. She could endure anything if it meant protecting those she loved. She would learn to live her life as a prisoner, incarcerated on a remote estate, married to an elderly man who openly disliked her, and whom she very nearly despised. She would not have love, but she would have the memory of love.

And the remembrance of an exquisite passion that for one brief moment had flamed so gloriously hot and bright, she had felt as if she would know joy forever.

It was far more than most women of her station ever had, she reflected, brushing away the tear leaking down her cheek. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned onto her side, muffling her sobs in her pillow.

It was far more than most women of any station ever had.

 

E
XCUSE ME, MADAM,” SAID PERKINS, USHERING TWO
pretty, crisply starched maids into the dining room. “Miss Belford's new maids have arrived to assist her in getting ready—Miss MacGinty and Mademoiselle Colbert.”

“You're twenty minutes late,” fretted Rosalind.

One of the maids was tall and slender, with elegantly arranged blond hair that reflected her ability with a brush and hairpins. The other maid was dark-haired and velvet-eyed, with a slightly lusher figure. Both women had a fan of fine laugh lines beneath their eyes, suggesting that they were past the bloom of their twenties.

“You, there,” Rosalind called out to one of the scrawny men dragging the leased tables into the dining room, “can't you see you're scratching the floorboards? Kindly lift the table!”

“Pardonnez-moi,”
said the blond maid, regarding Rosalind with the haughtiness for which French maids were renowned, “but eet was most
difficile
to reach dis house through that ugly mob. If madame no longer wishes for our assistance…”

“Of course I wish for your assistance,” Rosalind hastily assured her.

The last thing she needed was to have the maids she had hired to arrange Amelia's hair and dress her quit in a fit of pique. There were one hundred and fifty people arriving that afternoon for an extravagant reception that had yet to be cooked, to be served on rented china, linens, and crystal that had not yet arrived, on the ugly, badly scratched tables that were currently being crammed into the dining room, drawing room and entrance hall. The flowers that had been delivered earlier were red and yellow, when Rosalind had expressly ordered ivory and peach; the only musicians she had been able to engage on such short notice consisted of a violinist and a bagpiper, the sound of which she could scarcely imagine; the ice sculptures were already half melted by the uncommon heat of the day; and something was burning in the kitchen and filling the house with a disgusting smell. The preparations were going abominably, and Rosalind was acutely aware that if anything was found lacking at Amelia's wedding reception, all of London society would take great delight in gossiping about it for months after.

“Perkins will take you up to Miss Belford's chamber,” she told the maids. “Miss Belford is to be dressed and ready to leave for the church at precisely two o'clock. I have left a picture on her bureau of how I would like her hair to be arranged, which I hope you will be able to duplicate. Try to lace her corset as tightly as possible, to show her gown to the best possible effect. Did you bring your implements for dressing her hair?”

“But of course.” Mlle. Colbert, the French maid, sounded insulted by the suggestion that she might have forgotten something so vital.

“I also brought some of my own special cosmetics with me,” said Miss MacGinty, indicating the leather case she carried, “in case you would like me to make her even more beautiful on this very special day.”

“I do not want her wearing rouge or heavy powder,” Rosalind told her, “but you'll have to do something about the dark circles under her eyes. Just try to make her look as naturally lovely as possible.”

“Very good, madame.” Maintaining a superior air even as she curtsied, Mlle. Colbert finished, “It shall be exactly as you say.”

 

A
MELIA ROSE FROM THE BED WHEN SHE HEARD THE
knocking upon her door and went to the washstand, where she hastily pressed a wet cloth against her swollen eyes. Whoever it was, she did not want them to find her weeping. “Come in.”

“Forgive me for disturbing you, Miss Belford,” apologized Perkins, squinting into the dark chamber's gloom. “Your maids have arrived to help you get ready. Miss MacGinty and Mademoiselle Colbert.”

“Thank you, Perkins.” Amelia barely glanced at the two women.

He began to leave, then hesitated. “Do you need anything, Miss Belford?” he asked with uncharacteristic gentleness.

Yes,
Amelia thought, feeling on the verge of hysteria.
I need to go home.
“No, thank you.”

He nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Well, I think you need some light,” Annabelle said, abandoning her French accent as she went to the window and threw open the dark velvet curtains. “It's positively dreary in here, Amelia. I swear I've played death scenes in more light.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Grace opened the curtains of a second window and a bright wash of sunlight streamed into the room. “That's much better, don't you think?”

Amelia stared at the two women in shock. “Annabelle—Grace—what on earth are you doing here?”

“We heard you were in London and came by to see how you were faring,” said Annabelle breezily.

“We were worried about you.” Grace regarded her with concern. “How are you, Amelia?”

“I'm fine.” She fought to control the waver in her voice. “I'm getting married, you know.”

“Yes, we had heard that,” Annabelle told her. “It was in all the newspapers.”

“Does Jack know?”

“Yes.”

Amelia swallowed thickly. She could well imagine how betrayed Jack would feel. “I don't want him to know that you found me crying. You won't tell him, will you?”

“Of course not,” Grace soothed. “Not if you don't want us to.”

“I know he would be upset if he thought I was being forced into this marriage. It's better that he thinks I just changed my mind. That once I came home I realized how much I missed my old life, and decided I wanted to marry Lord Whitcliffe after all.”

Grace went to her and gently brushed a tangled lock of hair off her face. “Do you want to marry Lord Whitcliffe, Amelia?”

“It doesn't matter what I want,” Amelia told her, despondent. “It never has.”

“Of course it matters,” countered Annabelle. “Do you want to marry Whitcliffe or not?”

“I have no choice,” Annabelle told her. “My mother has vowed to cut both me and my brother off completely if I don't go through with this wedding. I can survive without my family's money, but poor Freddy can't.”

“Does he suffer from some sort of terrible ailment?” wondered Grace.

“No, nothing like that. It's just that Freddy isn't accustomed to working, and I'm afraid he isn't trained to do very much.”

“You said the same thing about yourself,” pointed out Annabelle, “and then you went out and got yourself a job.”

“I was able to get that job because your family helped me.”

“We would help Freddy too, if we had to,” Grace assured her. “You mustn't let your concern for him force you into a marriage you don't want.”

“It isn't just Freddy I'm worried about. My mother has threatened to destroy anyone who tries to help me escape this marriage and begin a new life elsewhere. If she finds out about you and Jack and your family, she will have my father see to it that all of you are ruined, both financially and socially.”

Annabelle laughed, amused. “He doesn't have the power to do that.”

“He is terribly rich, Annabelle,” Amelia argued. “He can buy almost anything.”

“Wealth doesn't buy everything in England and Scotland,” Grace told her. “Your father is American, and does not have the benefit of the loyalties and associations that come from being born here, or having a title.”

“Which is part of the reason your parents are so anxious for you to acquire one for the family,” Annabelle added. “Even if it means sacrificing their only daughter's happiness.”

“They believe that eventually I will come to be happy, once I am settled into my life as a duchess. Mother thinks that love isn't necessary for a successful marriage.” Amelia fought to keep her voice steady. “She believes that as long as a husband and wife have similar interests and are civilized with one another, that is enough.”

“I suppose for some people, that is enough.” Grace regarded her intently. “But those are people who have never known what it is to really be in love, Amelia.”

A painful fist of emotion squeezed Amelia's heart.