The Heiress of Winterwood - By Sarah Ladd Page 0,58
honor, I will continue to fight for you, Amelia.”
Amelia had heard enough. “I believe you mean you will fight for Winterwood.”
Edward dropped her hands. “What?”
“I heard you and Uncle last night in the library, before I came in. You were talking about Winterwood, about the money. About my father’s will.”
“You misunderstood.”
“No, I do not believe that I did.”
He staggered back. “And do you think this man—this captain—is any different? Of course he wants to marry you. You are beautiful. Wealthy. And you will take care of his child. He is manipulating you.”
Amelia shook her head. “I am sorry if I have caused you pain. I truly am. But circumstances change. People change. I have grown to love Lucy as if she were my own. Her happiness and security are my happiness and security. And I have no faith that either of us will be happy or secure with you as master of Winterwood. So you must understand. My decision is final.”
“This is preposterous.” Edward’s voice escalated. “Do not think for a minute that I—”
“James!”
Confusion fell across his features, then a wary smile. “Oh, come on, Amelia. You don’t think—”
Her second cry was louder. “James!”
The older man popped his gray head through the door, his expression concerned. “Yes, miss?”
“Mr. Littleton is leaving. Immediately. Please call for his carriage, or horse, or however he came.”
James stammered. “But Mr. Barrett said—”
Her voice hardened. “I am my father’s daughter and heiress to Winterwood Manor. Please see that Mr. Littleton has his coat and have him escorted to the gate.”
Edward rolled his eyes. “Amelia, this is ridiculous.”
Ignoring Edward, she turned to the butler. “Thank you, James. And when you are done, please send Elizabeth up to my chamber.” She gathered her skirts and brushed past James without so much as a glance back at her guest.
After a nap and a warm bath, Amelia dressed in a gown of brown cambric embroidered with small white roses along the hem. She sat at her dressing table as Elizabeth worked to brush the stubborn tangles from her hair. Every stroke aggravated her aching head, so she dismissed Elizabeth and decided to perform the task herself.
As the minutes ticked, her reflection in the glass grew murky. Now that autumn had slipped into winter, night fell early over the moors. She abandoned the task completely and shifted her attention to the window, which framed the purple twilight blanketing Sterling Wood. A chill traveled along her spine. She stood, crossed to the window, and told herself to draw the drape, but couldn’t resist looking for a shadow outside. She’d never actually seen Edward leave.
She returned to her dressing table and lifted the note that had arrived from Jane that afternoon. Her friend was planning to host a dinner on Wednesday night to celebrate Amelia’s forthcoming union with Captain Sterling. Amelia shook her head in amazement. Only Jane could organize such an event on such short notice.
Would it accomplish its intended purpose? No doubt news of her dissolved engagement with Edward had already spread to every corner of the village. She imagined every idle tongue wagging outside the dressmaker’s and butcher’s shops. But surely Jane was right. If Mr. Hammond gave the union his blessing, others would follow.
Amelia rubbed her hands over her arms, hoping to generate a little more warmth. The dress seemed pitifully thin for the weather, or perhaps it was the dampness of her hair on her back that made her shiver. She pulled a thick woven shawl from her wardrobe and wrapped her fingers around the candlestick. A visit with Lucy was just what she needed.
Amelia made her way through the labyrinth of stairs and hallways to Lucy’s room, where a cheery fire danced in the wide stone fireplace and bathed the room in a warm glow. Two rocking chairs flanked the ornately carved mantel. In the chair to the left sat Mrs. Dunne, her back facing the door, her figure shadowy against the fire’s glow. She sang softly as she rocked. A lullaby! Amelia searched her memory, unable to recall anyone singing such a song to her. She stepped closer, straining to hear.