having worsened with every mile that had brought her closer to imprisonment. Closer to her gaoler. Thankfully, it was his mother, and not he, who awaited her under the vaulted ceiling of the grand foyer of Stoneridge Hall.
After her father’s initial introduction to the viscountess years back, he’d claimed her one of the most elegant women he’d ever met. Given such singular praise, Amelia expected to find a woman of unparalleled beauty. In that, the viscountess did not fall short.
Above average in height, Amelia was accustomed to peering down at most females and standing eye-to-eye with half the gentlemen of her acquaintance. The viscountess, however, topped her by an inch or so, her slim figure wrapped in a burgundy gown of fine merino wool. Her complexion, creamy and unblemished, had done well in weathering the wrinkling and dulling of age that had wreaked havoc with many of the fading beauties of the ton.
“Lady Amelia, welcome. I’m relieved to see you have arrived safely. Your father sent word expressly notifying us of your delay. I pray things went better this morning.”
At the offering of a smile of such genuine kindness, Amelia’s heart sank. How easier this whole ordeal would be if the viscountess was as arrogant and disagreeable as her son. But her manner, her tone, the warmth of her green eyes indicated quite the opposite.
Amelia dipped in a stiff curtsey. It still wouldn’t be wise to grow fond of the woman, blood being all that it was. “Good afternoon, Lady Armstrong. Yes, I must admit we fared a great deal better today.”
“Wonderful. You had us quite worried. Thomas was—”
A scant second before Lady Armstrong broke off and shot a glance over her shoulder, the air became charged. Even before Amelia saw him appear in the stretch of hall in front of her, she’d perceived him. Like some malevolent being, his presence filled the surroundings, causing her senses to shift into high alert.
“Ah, Thomas, there you are. Just in time. Lady Amelia has only recently arrived.” It was clear by the softening of the viscountess’s expression, she loved her son in the blind, unstinting way only a mother could love her offspring.
I was loved like that once. Just as quickly as Amelia felt the pang of pain, she ruthlessly quashed all thoughts of her mother. To remember was to open up a well of hurt.
“So I see,” he drawled, closing the gap between them with unhurried strides and a lord-of-the-manor swagger. He appeared as if he’d just come from outside, attired in dark brown riding clothes with his thick mane windblown. Halting in front of her, he dropped at the waist in a bow. A most uncalled-for bit of gallantry, but one Amelia believed he’d performed purely for show.
“Welcome to Stoneridge Hall, Lady Amelia.”
“Lord Armstrong.” Amelia gave a stiff nod but managed to keep her tone neutral. It wouldn’t do to have her dislike of the viscount obvious to members of his family and household.
Perhaps to his mother, and Hélène and George, who hovered discreetly behind her, the smile the viscount bestowed upon her might appear gracious, but she knew better. His green eyes held a mocking glint, his expression, a sly look of satisfaction.
“I pray your travels today progressed without further mishap.”
Aware that Lady Armstrong watched their exchange with heightened interest as evidenced by her intent regard, Amelia inclined her head in a polite nod.
“Wonderful, then we best get you settled.” Turning to the viscountess, he asked, “Mother, which room did you have prepared for Lady Amelia?”
“The blue room, my dear.”
In brusque tones, he instructed the footmen, who had just hefted one of her larger trunks through the front door, to carry her things up to the designated bedchamber.
“And your chaperone … I believe it was Miss Crawford?” His gaze briefly strayed to Hélène and George.
“Unfortunately, Miss Crawford was forced to return to Yorkshire. Her mother is failing.” And Amelia’s father, the Marquess of Bradford, a man who had a sense of propriety rivaled only by the patronesses of the convent of Almack’s, had had no qualms in sending her off to the residence of a known rake without a chaperone.
Lord Armstrong elevated a brow. “Indeed? Your father failed to mention that bit of news in his communication. Am I then to presume this is your new chaperone?” he asked, directing his attention to Hélène, his expression dubious.
Given her maid’s youth, she hardly suited the role, but it was clear introductions were in order. Amelia motioned Hélène and George forward.