The Heiress of Winterwood - By Sarah Ladd Page 0,11
more than a month, all that would change. Once she and Edward wed, her uncle’s family would move to their new residence in London, and she would continue her life here at Winterwood—only as Mrs. Edward Littleton.
Aunt Augusta’s head of fading hair bobbed with each word. The woman’s words always spilled forth in a rush, like a waterfall of unchecked thoughts. “Five weeks, dearest! Can you fathom it? I am counting down the days. Perhaps we should consider having new gowns made before departing—although of course the London seamstresses are far superior. By my word, Helena, this will be the season. Amelia has her match, and now you shall have your pick of suitors.”
Helena’s golden eyes flicked toward Amelia.
Now that Amelia has made her match. Amelia knew the words must have stung, and her heart went out to her cousin. When Uncle George first invited his colleague Edward to visit Winterwood Manor, he’d no doubt regarded him as a suitable match for either his daughter or his niece, and Helena’s interest in him had been evident. But Helena, for all of her charm and beauty, lacked the single asset Amelia possessed and the one quality that would catch Edward Littleton’s eye—a substantial inheritance.
Helena quickly turned her attention back to her mother. “I am eager for Father and Mr. Littleton to return.”
“I, too, look forward to Mr. Barrett’s return tomorrow, but I daresay our feelings are nothing to Amelia’s anticipation for the return of her Mr. Littleton.”
The weight of her aunt’s attention shifted to her, and Amelia turned to see her aunt smiling at her as proudly as any guardian could. “Dear Mr. Littleton. You must be eager to see him.”
Amelia’s spine stiffened at the sound of her future husband’s name. She pressed her napkin to her lips before returning it to her lap, refusing to look at Helena. “Indeed.”
Her aunt continued. “I have instructed Cook to make pigeons en compôte for dinner. I have it on good authority that Mr. Littleton is fond of the dish.”
Amelia forced words. “That is very considerate of you, Aunt.”
Her aunt lowered her spoon to the table, surprise crossing her pointed features. “Why, Amelia, I should think you might show more enthusiasm. It has been more than two weeks since he last was here, has it not?”
Amelia nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, Aunt. A fortnight.”
“Two weeks is a long time to be separated from one’s love.”
Separated from one’s love?
Did she love Edward?
At the beginning of their engagement, she had believed so. But now? So much had changed in the span of the past year that made her question the wisdom of her choice. And now, with Edward’s refusal to allow Lucy to remain at Winterwood once they wed, she realized he was not the man she’d thought she knew.
“And what of the child?”
Amelia jerked her head up at her aunt’s indifferent reference to Lucy. Immersed in her own thoughts, she had lost track of the discussion.
But before Amelia could formulate a response, Helena spoke. “Have you not heard? Captain Sterling has returned just yesterday. He is at Eastmore Hall with his brother.”
Augusta dropped her fork and turned to face Amelia. “What is this? Oh, my dears, how did I miss this news?”
Amelia would have kicked her cousin under the table if the ornate table had not been so large. “Captain Sterling returned to Darbury yesterday, I believe. He paid us a visit this morning to meet Lucy.”
Aunt Augusta pushed herself to her feet in a rustle of burgundy taffeta. “You girls should have told me of this immediately!”
Amelia thought she saw a hint of a smile flash on Helena’s lips before her cousin looked down at her plate. “I am sorry, Mother. I thought you were aware.”
Aunt Augusta tapped her forefinger to her lips. “I suppose no harm is done. After all, this is good news, is it not? Lucy’s father will make arrangements for her, and you and Mr. Littleton will be left alone, as newlyweds should be.”
Amelia felt faint at the words. She did not want her aunt—or anyone—thinking that Lucy would be leaving. She straightened her shoulders. “It is my desire that Lucy should remain here, even after we wed.”
“Here? At Winterwood Manor?” Aunt Augusta’s laugh echoed from the high plastered ceilings. “My dear Amelia, you need to focus on starting your own family now. Besides, has Mr. Littleton not forbidden it? You cannot go against his wishes. ’Twould not be right.”