The Wedding Escape (37 page)

“Now that I would like to see,” said Freddy, who was awkwardly hacking away at an enormous fruitcake while Grace arranged the crudely chopped pieces upon a tray.

“
Non,
it will be quicker for me to do it.” Annabelle abandoned the pink medallions of beef she was dropping into a frying pan. “Perhaps, Monsieur Belford, you would not mind watching this meat for me as it cooks. You must turn it just as it browns, carefully, without piercing the meat.” She handed him a long fork, wiped her hands on a cloth, and disappeared into the pantry to search for the tea canister containing a mixture of sugar and potassium nitrate that Simon and Jamie had placed there earlier that day.

“One thing is certain—we won't be going hungry.” Amelia's father found he was actually enjoying himself with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up, carving an enormous leg of lamb. “When I was a boy, a roast like this would be made to feed us for a week.”

“Really, John, how you exaggerate,” scolded Rosalind, still jabbing uncertainly at her soggy potatoes. “How on earth could a single roast feed a family of fourteen for a week?”

“We never ate it as sliced meat,” he explained, expertly carving another piece. “We had it chopped up in stew, or served in chunks over potatoes, or boiled and shredded in a soup—”

“Fire!”
cried Annabelle, racing out of the pantry amidst a cloud of dense gray smoke.

“Throw some water on it!” shrieked Grace.

Freddy obligingly grabbed Rosalind's pot of potatoes, ran to the pantry door, and flung them in. Smoke continued to spew merrily from the little room.

“We need to smother it!” John snatched up an enormous bowl of flour and charged into the gray fog.

“John!” screamed Rosalind. “Come out of there at once, do you hear?”

He answered with a violent fit of coughing.

“Go in there, William, and bring out your father, before he has a heart attack!”

William reluctantly followed his father into the blinding haze.

“What the devil are you doing?” shouted John furiously as William grabbed him. “Let me go!”

“Mother told me to get you,” William insisted. “Come on—oh, for God's sake!”

Both men stumbled out, covered in flour.

“What the devil are you people burning down there?” barked Dr. Chadwick crossly. “The air up here is foul!”

“The smoke must be drifting upstairs,” said Grace. “Mademoiselle Colbert and I will open the windows to clear the house.”

The two women hurried up the stairs, leaving Amelia's family to deal with the problem of the acrid smoke still pouring from the pantry.

“I think it's starting to die down,” mused Freddy, heaving another pot of water into the pantry. He cautiously entered the little chamber, blinking against the gradually thinning haze.

“That's strange,” he remarked, spying the smoldering tea canister. “Do you suppose Mademoiselle Colbert accidentally set the tea afire?”

John, Rosalind, and William crowded into the pantry to stare in confusion at the thin plume of gray gusting from the splendidly painted tin.

“Tea could never make that much smoke.” Puzzled, John moved closer to examine the canister. “Whatever is burning smells odd—like saltpeter.” He frowned at the twist of burnt rag protruding from the top of the container. “What the devil is that—a fuse?”

Understanding hit William with the force of a hard slap. “Jesus Christ!” His face contorted with fury, he raced out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“Did you get that foul stink under control?” demanded Dr. Chadwick, who was cramming his hat onto his head by the front door. “It's not good for the lungs, you know. Turns them black. Looks perfectly ghastly when you cut them open.” He frowned. “What the devil is that white mess all over you?”

“Where is my sister?” demanded William, convinced that the smoke in the kitchen was part of a scheme to help Amelia escape.

Dr. Chadwick looked at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. “Have you been drinking, young man?”

“Don't play games with me, you old fool—where is she?”

“Your sister is upstairs in her chamber, resting quietly.” Dr. Chadwick's tone was mild, as if he was speaking to someone who suffered from bouts of paranoia. “She's sick with the pox, as I'm sure I have mentioned. As soon as I have finished examining my other patients, I will send Sister Cuthbert back to check on her.”

William glanced through the open door at Dr. Chadwick's carriage. An ancient driver was helping Sister Cuthbert as she slowly climbed inside, taking care to avoid the sun beneath the hood of her cloak. “Where are those two maids? Miss MacGinty and Miss Colbert?”

“They are upstairs, opening the windows.” Dr. Chadwick's gray eyes narrowed. “Have you been taking opium?”

“Of course not!”

“Very well, then.” He picked up his bag. “I suggest you get some rest, young man. Experiencing sudden, irrational fears indicates the onset of brain fever, which is a most unpleasant affliction, I can assure you. The brain boils in its own juices, resulting in madness before a slow and agonizing death. Ghastly business. Sometimes I drill a hole in the skull to drain off the liquid, but that has unfavorable side effects, including idiocy. Hard to know how deep to drill before the brain comes squirting out. Best to lie down now.”

“I don't have brain fever!”

“You may be right.” Dr. Chadwick shrugged. “You could just be suffering from the onset of the pox.” He shuffled out the door.

William loosened his necktie, suddenly feeling unaccountably hot. That's because it was bloody hot, he told himself crossly. The whole house was suffocating, thanks to the blistering heat and the choking stink of smoke. He began to slowly mount the stairs. Perhaps he should lie down, just for a minute.

By the time he reached the next floor, he felt as if he were melting. He tore off his jacket and opened his shirt, which was sodden with sweat. Was it too much to hope for a breeze in this smoky, pox-laden house? he wondered furiously. He walked toward the windows, desperate for a gasp of cooler air.

They were closed.

“Miss Colbert!” he shouted. “Miss MacGinty!”

No one answered.

He strode along the corridor toward Amelia's chamber. He supposed the two maids had gone there to see to her needs. That was understandable, but surely one of them could have dealt with the windows. He rapped on the door and waited. He preferred to speak to them in the corridor rather than venturing into the stifling, disease-ridden air of Amelia's room. No point in taking any chances. After a moment, he rapped again.

Silence.

A strange sense of foreboding gripped him. Forcing aside his considerable fear of Amelia's condition, he slowly opened the door.

And stared incredulously into the gloomy shadows of the empty chamber, and the hastily abandoned nightgown puddled in the middle of the floor.

Chapter Sixteen

“…
THEN THE LAD CLIMBS INTO THE CARRIAGE SLOW
as molasses, lookin' more dead than old if ye ask me, and I shut the door and we drive away, just like that.” Oliver chortled, thoroughly pleased with his latest escapade.

“Jack made Oliver drive around for over an hour, just to be certain that no one was following us,” continued Charlotte.

“But the streets of Mayfair were deserted after the servants ran from the house screaming that Amelia had smallpox. Obviously Jamie and Simon were very convincing when they started the charge for the door.” Grace looked at her brothers with amusement.

“As soon as I heard Mrs. Belford yell ‘quarantine,' I started screaming and used my most terrified expression, just the way Annabelle taught me.” Jamie bulged his eyes and stretched his mouth as wide as it could go.

“When I came upstairs after hiding my smoking canister in the pantry, I didn't know if the servants were running from the pox or from him,” quipped Simon.

“I never taught you to look like that, Jamie,” Annabelle protested.

“Ye look as if yer head is about to explode,” added Alex, frowning.

Doreen snorted with amusement. “ 'Tis that or he needs a good laxative!”

“Finally, Charlotte, Grace, and I were able to convince Jack that Amelia was safe and he let us come home,” Annabelle finished.

“An' a good thing ye finally showed up when ye did,” said Eunice, serving a plate of shortbread. “We was ready to march over to Miss Amelia's house and fetch her ourselves when we thought ye was takin' too long.”

“If I'd been there, I'd have given old Whitcliffe a thrashing.” Beaton puffed up with outrage as he poured coffee into little china cups. “Imagine runnin' off like that, when poor Miss Amelia was lyin' on her deathbed.”

“But she wanted the greedy old codger to run off, Beaton.” Lizzie looked at Amelia fondly. “The poor lamb just wanted to come home.”

Genevieve leaned against Haydon and squeezed his hand, profoundly relieved that her children were safe. Her little band of orphans was grown, but that did not make her worry any less about their safety or their happiness. She glanced across the crowded drawing room at Amelia, wondering just how this profoundly privileged American heiress was going to adapt to living amidst such a colorful family.

“Jack has always been very concerned about my being followed,” Amelia reflected, smiling. “He constantly imagined that whoever happened to be traveling behind us in Inverness was actually someone trying to come after me—but of course it never was. Poor Oliver had a terrible time trying to keep him from leaping out of the carriage and accosting people.”

“Aye, that's true,” Oliver agreed. “But one night, it seemed we were bein' followed, didn't it, lad?”

Jack stood slouched against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. He knew Oliver suspected something important had been revealed to Jack during his visit to Lord Hutton. Jack had downplayed the matter, saying only that it had to do with information regarding the attacks on his ships. Oliver had regarded him skeptically, but had not pressed the matter further. One day Jack would tell his family about his relationship to the earl, but only when he had come to terms with it himself. While they would be pleased he had solved the mystery of his sire, nothing about Jack or his life would change. His family would still be the people around him, each of whom would do anything to help him, just as he would do anything for them.

Including Amelia.

“I don't remember.” He shrugged.

“Now that Amelia has left her family once again, I expect her father will increase the reward for her return,” speculated Haydon. “We will still have to be careful about her being followed—even in Inverness.”

“I'm not so sure,” Jack countered. “Her father seemed fairly disgusted by Whitcliffe when he went flying out the door. Now that he's gone, I think Amelia's parents will finally give up on trying to force her into a marriage she doesn't want.”

“They won't get the chance again,” Amelia stated flatly. “You and I will be married and my parents will no longer have any control over me.”

Everyone's gaze shifted with amusement to Jack, who had suddenly lost his ability to speak.

“What's the matter?” Amelia regarded Jack expectantly. “You are going to marry me, aren't you?”

“Best answer her quick, laddie,” advised Oliver.

“Lassies dinna like their men to dither on matters o' the heart,” Eunice added.

“Just ask any of yer sisters,” finished Doreen.

“If Jack won't marry you, Amelia, I will,” Jamie offered, trying to be helpful. “I'm sure we would get on fine.”

“She doesn't want to be married to a doctor who is always running off to see some sick person,” objected Simon. “She'll be much happier married to me. We can work on new inventions together.”

“Really, you two, stop teasing.” Annabelle feigned vexation. “If Jack won't marry Amelia, then she and Alex can live with me. We could work together on a new book—
The Orphans of Argyll and the Runaway Heiress.
”

“I think Amelia and Alex should stay with me,” said Grace. “Amelia knows a great deal about fashion, and we could come up with some wonderful new designs for next spring.”

Charlotte looked at Jack with a mixture of sympathy and amusement. “I don't think Jack cares for those suggestions.”

“Then why doesn't he say somethin'?” Alex scowled at him. “Are ye goin' to marry her or no?”

Jack flashed a look of pure exasperation at his family. “I thought I would actually ask her first,” he managed tautly, “when we were finally alone.”

Alex snorted with impatience. “Why do ye need to ask her, when she's already asked you?”

“The lass has a point,” agreed Oliver merrily.

“Miss Amelia asked first because she's American,” Lizzie explained to everyone with great authority. “American girls are very direct in their way of speakin', on account of the way they've been raised.”

“I've always liked the way Miss Amelia speaks.” Beaton gazed at her adoringly. “She's a real spanker.”

“Perhaps we should all say good night to Jack and Amelia,” Genevieve suggested, realizing the two might appreciate a little privacy.

“I think that's a good idea.” Haydon offered his arm to his wife and drew her close. “It has been a long day. Good night, everyone.”

“I'm hungry,” protested Alex, who was reluctant to go to bed.

“Of course ye are, ye poor wee duck,” clucked Eunice. “Come down to the kitchen then, and I'll fix ye a nice plate of oatcakes and cheese.”

“I'm hungry too,” Simon told her.

“That's all right, lad, there's plenty for ye as well.”

“I was actually thinking a few of your scones with marmalade would be nice.” He regarded her hopefully.

“Do you have any of that clapshot left?” wondered Jamie.

Annabelle's eyes lit up. “With butter and pepper?”

“Maybe we could warm up some of the salmon hash to go with it,” Grace suggested.

“Sweet Saint Columba, did I nae just feed ye supper?” Eunice fisted her hands upon her plump hips and glared at the little group with mock severity.

“Aye, ye did—and I've never tasted date puddin' so fine.” Alex's expression was angelic. “No one makes puddin' like ye do, Eunice.”

“Well, there's nae denyin' that,” Eunice agreed, thoroughly flattered. “Come on then, duckies,” she said, shepherding them out of the drawing room with the rest of the servants following. “Let's see what we can do about fillin' yer bellies until mornin'.”

“Good night, Amelia.” Charlotte bent down and kissed her cheek. “I'm so glad you're finally here,” she said softly. “We've been waiting for you a long time.”

Jack waited impatiently for the last of his family to leave the drawing room. When he and Amelia were finally alone he closed the doors. Slowly, he turned to her.

“I'm sorry if I embarrassed you in front of your family.” Amelia realized she probably shouldn't have demanded if he was going to marry her in front of everyone. “Lizzie is right—I do have a way of just blurting out whatever comes into my head. It's just that I thought everything between us was settled, and I assumed that after everything you said—after what you told me…” She stopped, suddenly uncertain. “It was true, Jack,” she began hesitantly, afraid that she had misunderstood. “Wasn't it?”

“I meant every word of what I said, Amelia. But I want to be sure you understand what you are giving up.” He began to pace the room, feeling a need to have some distance from her as he tried to explain.

“I can't give you all the things you are accustomed to,” he informed her bluntly. “North Star Shipping is a small, struggling company. While I believe eventually I can build it into something profitable, I can't guarantee I will ever have the extraordinary success your father has achieved. Of course I would make sure you had everything you needed, but you wouldn't be able to spend thousands of pounds on art and furniture, or gowns and hats from Paris—”

“I don't want those things,” she assured him. “They aren't important to me.”

“There is also the matter of where we would live,” Jack continued, unconvinced. “With almost all of my money tied up in my business, I can't afford to buy you a bigger house—”

“We don't need a bigger house, Jack,” Amelia objected. “There's more than enough room for you and me and Alex to live in your home quite comfortably, and if Oliver, Eunice, and Doreen choose to stay here with us, there is room for them as well.”

“You're not used to living in such small quarters.”

“You're right, I'm not. Freddy and I used to ride our bicycles in the corridors of our mansion in New York—much to the servants' horror. One day we were having a race and I had to swerve to avoid running down a maid, and I ended up crashing and breaking my arm.” Her voice was teasing as she finished, “I promise not to try that at your house.”

“I'm serious, Amelia.” He resumed his pacing, convinced she did not comprehend the enormity of what she was doing. “My shipping business requires me to travel. I wouldn't travel as much as I do now, and I would try to limit myself to voyages that wouldn't take more than a week or two, but there would be times when you would be without me.”

“I'm sure that between Alex, Oliver, Eunice, Doreen, and the rest of your family, I won't be lonely, if that is concerning you. I'll also have my work at the hotel to keep me occupied.”

“You wouldn't have to continue working at the hotel. I may not be rich, but I can provide a comfortable enough life for you that that wouldn't be necessary.”

“But I want to work,” Amelia told him earnestly. “I enjoy my work, Jack. It gives me a sense of accomplishment and independence. Of course I realize Mr. Sweeney and everyone else will be shocked when they discover I'm actually Amelia Belford, but I expect that once they get beyond that, I'll be able to continue much the same as before. I have all kinds of wonderful ideas to make the next few events at the Royal Hotel really lovely and exciting—”

“You don't have to do this, Amelia.” He had to give her the chance to leave him before she made a decision that she would undoubtedly regret. “You don't have to give up everything you have ever known to live with me in a shabby little house, surrounded by aging thieves and a family that society barely pretends to accept, and a husband they openly hold in contempt. You don't have to condemn yourself or your children to a life of always being looked down on, of never really belonging…”

“You're right, I don't.” She rose from the sofa and took his hands, forcing him to look at her. “I have a choice, Jack. And I choose with all my heart to spend my life with you. It doesn't matter how much money we have. Of course I want North Star Shipping to do well, but only because I know how important that is to you. I don't need an enormous house or hundreds of gowns—surely you must realize that by now. As for what society says about us, I honestly don't care. You forget that British society looked down upon me long before I met you. They despised me for being rich and American before I even set foot upon English soil. And our children will be fortunate to have a father as wonderfully strong and brave and caring as you. That matters far more than wealth or titles or pedigrees.” She stared into the shadowed gray depths of his eyes, trying to cast light upon his fear.

“I love you, Jack,” she told him fervently. “And I always will. You can believe me now, or spend the next fifty years letting me prove it to you.” Her voice was teasing as she finished primly, “I really do think you ought to marry me, though, if you are at all concerned about protecting what little is left of my reputation.”

Jack stared down at her in wonder, unable to believe that something so glorious could actually be within his grasp. A tentative joy seeped through him, slowly at first, like water trickling out from beneath the melting shield of a frozen pond. Amelia loved him. And she wanted to share her life with him.

It was as simple, and as incredible, as that.

“Marry me, Amelia.” He drew her close and lowered his head until his lips barely grazed the velvet of her mouth. Then he whispered with aching, humble tenderness, “Please.”

Amelia wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, surrounding him with her gentleness and strength and love.

“Yes,” she said, that single, earnest word encapsulating the exquisite joy she felt as she pledged herself to him. She kissed him deeply, eradicating the last remnants of his uncertainty and his fear. And when she felt his body harden and his powerful muscles begin to shift and clench beneath her touch, she laid her hand firmly against his heart, feeling it beat strong and whole and sure against her palm. “Yes.”