Sophia persisted, battering him with her rationale. “The good Lord forbid, but you would want to tend to us, wouldn’t you?”
Please, Lord, do not let it come to that.
“Then stay, Sophia.” In the end, he had no legitimate rebuttal against her arguments. “Amelia can use Molly and Peg’s room. You can use Mariah’s old bedchamber. We’ve begun to pack it, but the bedding is still in place.”
“Amelia will not be a bother to the household, but I know how hard her presence here is going to be for you. Each passing day she is coming to look more and more like my beloved Mariah. I find the resemblance a comfort, though I know you do not. I am sorry for that.”
There were others who would be reminded by the resemblance. James counted on them not to mention it. His sister-in-law, however . . .
“Sophia, I do have one request to make of you—please don’t discuss Amelia with Miss Dunne. She doesn’t know about our arrangement. I’ll explain the situation to her.”
Sophia’s eyebrows twitched scornfully. “Believe me, I have no intention of discussing family matters with a servant.”
“Miss Dunne is not a servant. She is my assistant, and her cousins are the Harwoods, which makes her grandfather a gentleman.”
“She has fallen very far from such heights, hasn’t she?” Sophia pursed her lips. “It continues to disturb me, James, that you seem to care about Miss Dunne’s opinion. I cannot fathom why her sentiments are of any value.”
He met his sister-in-law’s hard gaze. “Because, Sophia, I care what she thinks. This poor Irish girl you so enjoy despising. I won’t have her believing that I am a heartless coward.” Less than the man he should have been.
Sophia exhaled sharply, a sound filled with disgust. “The shock of our arrival has befuddled you. Clearly. I am going to take my rest now, and hopefully when I see you later you will not be speaking such nonsense. Troubled over a servant’s sentiments. Bah.”
“Don’t count on me being any less troubled when you see me next, Sophia.”
“Mariah . . . your father . . . they would both be severely disappointed in you.”
The scimitar sliced his heart in half. “I know.”
Rachel was scraping off her plate in the scullery when Joe entered the kitchen with a young girl. Miss Amelia, she presumed.
“Here ya go, young miss,” Joe said, guiding the girl to the table. “We’ve toast already and I think I know where there’s a bit o’ currant jam.”
While Joe rustled about in the pantry, Rachel stepped into the kitchen. The girl looked to be around three years old, not much younger than Sarah and Ruth. She was much better scrubbed than they ever would be, however, and pertly pretty in her navy blue checked frock banded with a thick ruffle. Raised to keep her back painfully straight, Miss Amelia folded her hands in her lap and lifted her chin haughtily. It didn’t take long for the gentry to learn their superiority, it seemed.
“There you are, Miss Dunne,” said Joe, surfacing with the jam before ducking back into the pantry for a jug of milk. He thrust a chin in the girl’s direction when he returned, his foodstuffs balanced precariously in his hands. “This ’ere is Miss Amelia. Mrs. M’s given me charge of the girl this mornin’ until Mrs. Woodbridge is settled. An’ this, Miss Amelia, is Miss Dunne.”
“Good day, Miss Dunne,” the lass replied, her voice cultured as fresh cream. “Aunt Soph said we had to come. Agnes is sick. She went to the hospital.”
“Oh, I see.” So the child was Mrs. Woodbridge’s niece, not her daughter as Rachel had initially presumed. “Is Agnes your nurse?”
“Yes,” Amelia said, delicately biting into the bread. “She’s awful sick and Aunt Soph says we must pray for her.”
“Ah . . .” Rachel paled. She met Joe’s gaze over the top of the girl’s head. He frowned and poured out some milk, thumping the jug heavily onto the table when he finished. For the both of them, Molly’s death was too raw. “I am sorry she is ill, Amelia. I hope she gets better.”
“She’s got the chol’ra. I heard Aunt Soph say that Agnes is going to die.”
“I believe I need more coffee,” interjected Rachel, cutting off the conversation. “Joe, do you want some?”
“Nah. Can’t stand the stuff.”
Rachel didn’t much care for it, either, but sticking her nose in a mug was better than gaping at Amelia or trying to think of what further to say that