Amanda StoNeS
Historical Regency Romance Author
How to secure an earl
First Chapters
Chapter 1
“Help! Save us, Captain! Help!”
Anthony Farraway jolted awake from his sleep with a loud gasp. His breaths were shallow and rapid, his fingers clutching the sheets on both sides of him with his knuckles almost turning white. He blinked once, and then twice, as if trying to be certain he was truly awake. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face, down to his neck and then lower, to his sweat-slicked night shirt. The spot on his bed which he previously laid on was soaked with perspiration.
His room was dark. Almost as dark as that one night three years ago that still haunted him till this day. The horror plagued him when he was both awake and deep in sleep. Anxiety burgeoned in his stomach; his throat clogged with an increasing lump.
Anthony forced himself to swallow. Even though he was awake now, the image of that night’s setting, the terrified, desperate cries of his crew members were as vivid as they were in the nightmare he’d just awoken from.
Calm yourself, Anthony.
But try as he might, it was indeed difficult to be composed. Not when the sight of his sinking ship and drowning crew lingered vividly in his mind. Not when he could still see the terror on the faces of his men and they struggled against the ferocious ocean waves. The sea was not kind to them, drawing out desperate cries from them as it swallowed them.
A heavy feeling weighed on Anthony’s heart as he replayed that night over and over. His inability to save every single one of them saddled his heart with guilt. Every night, and every day.
He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes moving through the dark room as his breathing slowed down. Outside, dawn approached, slowly but surely—its promise hanging on the horizon.
Feeling constricted by his own bed, he threw his legs down and stood to his feet. He stumbled to the sideboard across from his bed where a glass tray held his alcohol and two glass cups. He picked up the decanter of brandy and without a second thought, helped himself to a generous amount of it. Tilting his head backwards, he took a hearty swig, wincing at the burn he felt in his throat. The warm, smooth taste of it was enough to ground him back to the present. He stood by the table, and continued taking controlled sips in the hopes that it would help him fully calm his nerves.
He glanced at his bed, imagining what would happen if he went back to it and tried to sleep. He decided it would be better if he stayed awake. It was only a few hours till it was morning after all.
He strode to his bedside and picked up a book from the bedside table. It was one of his favourite books on travel and adventure. It would have to suffice at keeping him occupied.
By the time the morn came, Anthony was feeling greatly improved. He made his way towards the breakfast room, overhearing the chatter between his mother, sister, and cousin even before he had walked in.
“Mother.” He acknowledged in greeting as he crossed the door’s threshold and strolled into the room. The aroma of freshly baked bread and coffee hit his nostrils first, just as the chatter died down.
His mother, The Dowager Countess, Lady Julianna Farraway, turned to her son, a proud smile brimming at her lips.
“Anthony.” Her smile widened as he sauntered towards her and placed a light kiss on her cheek.
“Good morning, Mother,” he said.
“Did you have a good night’s rest?” she asked.
Anthony dithered for half a moment, but—not wanting to worry her—quickly gave a brief nod. “Certainly, mother.”
His younger sister, Blanche Farraway, narrowed her gaze at him. “The slight dark circles underneath your eyes would beg to differ, brother.”
Anthony pursed his lips and cast a glance at his cousin and dear friend, Captain Henry Barlow, who sat across from his sister. Henry’s eyes held an understanding that most wouldn’t comprehend, but Anthony was grateful for it.
“I’m sure he was simply up earlier than he had to be,” Henry responded, his gaze on his cousin. “Reading, I presume. Perhaps, those travel books that he fancies.”
Anthony took his seat across from his mother and to the right of his cousin. “Henry is correct, mother. It is no secret how much I enjoy the silence of the early morn and find it the best time to read.”
Julianna didn’t think too much of her son’s response. “Very well. But I implore you to prioritise your rest more than you read. One must be careful to give due importance to that which deserves it.”
Anthony cleared his throat. “Certainly, mother.”
He hoped that they would continue their chatter without him, but seeing as the tension in the room grew palpable, he felt responsible for the awkwardness that ensued. They carried on eating, but in tensed silence; the only sounds coming from their plates and the silverware they held.
“Fine weather today, yes?” Henry shifted his eyes from his aunt to his cousins. His wry comment might have been a dull attempt to soothe the mood, but at least it was something. “I imagine today would be a good day for a horse ride.”
“Or a promenade,” Lady Farraway said, casting a smile at her son. “I’m sure the young ladies of the ton would think so too. It would be a wonderful time to socialise. Do you not agree, Anthony?”
Anthony grimaced. “Horse riding sounds more appealing to me, mother. I’m sure the young ladies of the ton would not miss me much.” His eyes met his sister’s, and he caught the pitiful look in them. A few years ago, Blanche would barely cast a glance over him with such a perceptive air. Now, he feared she worried for him more than she should.
“There isn’t anything to miss if you barely show your face in society,” Blanche argued, as she brought her cup to her lips.
She would never understand, Anthony often thought. He took a piece of grape into his mouth. The only person seated at this table who would understand to some degree was his friend and cousin, Henry.
The now Captain had been aboard on the ship that had irrevocably changed Anthony’s life. He had survived the shipwreck and now, understanding the weight of responsibility that rested on a Captain’s shoulders, he knew how much that night had deeply affected Anthony. How much it still affected him.
Anthony’s eyes flickered to Henry, as he reached out for the coffee pot. His cousin held a somewhat solemn gaze.
“The Durendale house party is approaching,” Lady Farraway announced, her voice carrying a hint of excitement in it. “It is the talk of the ton. I believe that you are fully aware that Her Grace is known for her extravagant parties. I have no doubt that this one would be one for the books.”
“All her parties are for the books, Mother,” Blanche put in.
“Precisely my point, dearest.” Lady Farraway inclined her head to her son. “We’ve received an invitation, and we must honour it. Our family must be in attendance. Blanche and I shall visit the modiste to acquire new gowns for the party.”
Anthony gave his mother a tight-lipped smile. “I am quite certain you all will have a wonderful time at the party, Mother.”
A frown formed between Lady Farraway’s brows. “Would you not be in attendance?”
Anthony took a sip from his cup before answering. “I fear I could not, and I had presumed you were aware of that.”
“I was not,” she replied firmly. She studied him for a moment and then exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Anthony, need I explain to you how important it is that we attend this party together as a family? You are seldom seen at social gatherings. I know that you must believe they are merely frivolous events but they are by far more than that. As you are very well aware of that. It does not speak well of us as a family if the head of our family gives no honour and recognition to social connections.” Her voice was laced with hope as she went on. “Dearest, I only want what is best for you and this family. The Ton would certainly speak, and that would not do. It is past time you re-entered society. You’ve been away for far too long; shielding yourself as though you are hiding.”
Anthony’s jaw tightened and his arm stiffened at her last word. As much as he didn’t want to argue with her, he also didn’t want to raise her hopes. He had never found much pleasure in participating in such diversions and social gatherings as it was not to his particular liking. He would rather stay at home and bury his attention and time in a book or even go horseback riding.
Anything, would be by far better than socialising.
“This is London. Any right-standing member of the ton should socialise amongst society. It is standard practice,” were his mother’s words most of the time when they spoke on the matter.
The Earl’s lips parted to speak but out of the corner of his eyes, he caught his sister’s look. Her pleading eyes glowed with concern, silently urging him not to disagree with their mother. Anthony stiffened and silence stretched from both ends of the room. Blanche always had a way of disarming his fortress of defence and causing him to reconsider his firm intentions. A deep sigh left his lips.
This was the point he struggled with the most in his life. Being an Earl, having responsibilities to his family, to society, to his family’s estate—all of it reminded him of his responsibilities as Captain back in the day. Everyone expected so much of him and as noble as his title was, he was constantly weighed down by it. He dared not voice his inner thoughts, but sometimes, he even felt inadequate in fulfilling his duties to his family.
Beside him, Henry cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to him.
“Anthony, I am of the opinion that you are allowing your doubts hold you back.” His voice was clear and direct, earning a glare from his friend. A sincere expression etched the captain’s face and he continued. “You mustn’t allow your fears and doubts keep you from doing what is required of you. I mean, surely you don’t think you could possibly stay hidden forever without carrying out your social duties.”
The Earl scoffed lightly. He knew Henry’s words were well-meaning but nevertheless, it had struck a chord in him. His fists clenched and his brows drew together in a knot.
The tension grew, but in Anthony’s mind, all he could hear in his ears were the screams of his crew, in pain, dying, calling out to him for help.
“Anthony, dear, let us not forget how your grandfather and father ensured to maintain the long-standing connection and relationship this family has with the Durendale. It would be a shame if you cannot continue to uphold that relationship,” Lady Farraway said. Anthony well knew only too well, despite the lack of austerity in her tone, that she was in earnest regarding her sentiments. “Refusing their Graces’ invitation would be deemed a slight.”
“And we do not want that now,” Blanche added, sipping her coffee.
Anthony winced. “No. Of course, I would not want that.”
The dowager Countess smiled. “Very well then. So, we shall attend together, as a family.” Her smile widened into a sly one and she returned her attention to her plate, but Anthony didn’t miss the look in her eyes. “You may well find it an entertaining and enjoyable experience. Take note that many young, eligible ladies – some debutantes too – will be in attendance. I trust you shall not be bored in the slightest.”
Anthony held back a scoff. His grip around his cup tightened, so hard that his knuckles turned white and the veins on the back of his hand stretched. In his head, he considered how rude it would be if he got up now and decided he was done with breakfast. His very heart constricted in his chest and a lump grew in his throat. He released his hand from the cup but kept it in a tight fist on his lap.
Courtship and socialising with the young ladies of the ton was not something he spent his time thinking about. It was not too hard to understand why. At least, so he thought. Love—the idea of settling down—was lost on him. How could it be possible for him to contemplate courtship when his every waking moment was haunted by The Ghost of Anthony’s Past? How could it even be feasible to lay his soul bare to someone when it was burdened with so much grief-stricken pain?
Anthony released a sigh and decided to focus on his now cold eggs.
“When shall we visit the modiste for our gowns, Mama?” Blanche asked, her voice tinged with excitement. “I shall like a blue gown, or perhaps a lilac one.”
“This week seems perfect, dearest,” Lady Farraway replied, placing a hand over her daughter’s. “Lilac would look spectacular on you.”
Blanche beamed.
Anthony watched them converse about the latest styles with so much eagerness that it warmed his own heart. The hope in their eyes, the lightness of their voices, it all made his resolve seem not so strong anymore.
His family had stood by him through his roughest days and they had been there to support him every step of the way. They had endured his brooding moods, his decision to withdraw from society and his decision to not seek a wife all this while. But even he had to wonder, how much longer could they bear it all? How much longer would it be fair if he chose to drag it out?
He might not consider matrimony in the near future, but he could at least afford them some semblance of order and propriety in other regards. This summer party could be the first start.
He cleared his throat, ignoring the nauseating feeling stirring in the pit of his stomach. All eyes fell on him with anticipation.
Anthony hesitated at first. “I shall attend the house party at Durendale,” he said.
His declaration earned a relieved and impressed look on his mother’s face. Blanche squealed and clapped her hands delightfully. Henry, who still had that understanding expression in his eye, gave his cousin a supportive nod.
“It is indeed wonderful that you have decided so, cousin,” he stated, “I shall be at your side throughout. No doubt you will need someone to temper the tension a bit. Deem me, if you will, a salve to ease your discomfort should you find yourself trapped in a strained conversation.”
Anthony gave a nod in appreciation. “Thank you, Henry.”
“Oh, how delightful,” Lady Farraway chimed in, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “We will surely have a splendid time.”
Anthony didn’t argue. He hoped that they would genuinely have an enjoyable time. By ‘they’, he meant the rest of his family. As for himself, he didn’t intend to raise his hopes far higher than they needed to be.
When breakfast ended, everyone dispersed to attend to their own personal schedules. Except the Earl.
Anthony remained seated, his eyes unable to stop staring at the dark liquid that remained in his coffee cup. It had assuredly lost all its warmth.
His thoughts were consumed by the upcoming house party. It was to be his first social outing in a long time. He was reminded of how much of these kinds of events he had to attend if he wasn’t held back by the haunting ghosts of his past. The unfortunate predicament from that night had affected his life more than he had ever imagined possible.
Try as he might not to think about them, it was arduous.
Anthony leaned back in his chair and tipped his head back to rest on the rail of the chair, letting out a breath. He knew, deep down, that his family had been patient enough. He could spend all his time worrying and wondering if he’d ever be free from the prison that was his mind, or he could focus on being the man his family needed him to be.
It was time he bore the weight of his rightful duties and obligations.
Chapter 2
“Oh, darling, we have arrived.”
At the sound of her mother’s voice addressing her father, Amelia Creswell’s head rose from the sheet music she was studying. Her eyes looked out of the carriage window and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
Just up ahead was The Durendale Estate, with its grand, imposing iron gates. The family crest in the middle caught Amelia’s eye, and she couldn’t help but study it as they drew closer to the entrance. As soon as their family carriage rolled past the gates, it felt as though she had been transported into another world of opulence and grandeur. The gravel driveway was bordered by tall, well-manicured oak trees; their green colour so lush it made Amelia’s heart flutter.
It wasn’t the first time she was visiting The Durendale Estate. She had visited several times since she was a child, and every time she was more in awe of the attention to detail this estate possessed. His Grace, The Duke of Durendale, had married Amelia’s mother’s older sister. Both sisters were close and so Amelia had the privilege of running through the halls as a child with her cousin and siblings. Her Grace, Duchess Viola, was ever so fond of her nieces and nephew.
Amelia smiled wistfully, casting a look at the stately home her aunt’s family lived in, recalling the days of her childhood.
The carriage came to a stop in front of the building and Amelia didn’t miss the smile on her mother’s face when she saw her sister and her husband standing on the steps that led into the house. Duchess Viola’s face brimmed with excitement, mirroring Lady Creswell’s.
“Viola!” Lady Creswell could hardly wait to get off the carriage. As soon as her two feet touched the ground, her arms extended in a gesture of welcome.
“Cynthia!” The Duchess’s sing-song voice floated through the air, her smile growing.
As Amelia descended from the carriage, following her father, she saw the two women embrace each other fondly. Her own heart picked up its pace, anticipation mixing with unease. She smoothed her hands over her skirts and plastered a trained smile on her face.
Her mother came to stand between her and her father. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her cousin, Emma, step out of the house and onto the stairs. Amelia smiled at her, noting the mischievous smile and look in her cousin’s expression.
Dear Lord, what is that girl up to now? Amelia wondered.
“Your Graces.” Amelia’s father, Viscount Creswell, lowered his head in a polite bow. Lady Creswell and Amelia followed with a curtesy.
The Duke approached them with a straight expression, which slowly turned into a charming smile the closer he got.
“Creswell! No need to be so formal here,” said the Duke with a chuckle. He pulled the Viscount into his embrace and gave him a pat on the back.
Lord Aldrich Creswell chuckled. “Well, it has been some time since I last saw you, Durham. Who knows if new penalties have been made for where there is a lack of formality?”
“Certainly not around here,” His Grace stated. Turning to the Viscountess, he wore a warmer smile. “Cynthia Creswell. My, you look more aglow each time I see you.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it.
Lady Creswell flushed. “Why, thank you, Your Grace.”
“Her Grace does look quite spectacular too, I must say,” Lord Creswell added, gazing upon the slightly older-looking version of his wife. The Duchess and the Viscountess did have such a striking resemblance with each other.
Strong genes, Cynthia always said.
Beautiful genes too, their husbands would agree.
The Duchess’s cheeks heated as she placed her hand in her brother-in-law’s and watched him kiss the back of it lightly.
Amelia and Emma, still standing far apart, watched their parents interact for a bit. It was almost as though they’d forgotten their presence.
“My dear Amelia.” It was the Duchess who addressed her first.
Amelia lowered herself into a curtesy once again, smiling politely.
“My goodness! How positively beautiful you have grown,” Her Grace commented, her tone holding all sincerity.
“I am much obliged! You are too kind dear Aunt Viola.” Amelia grinned.
“Emma, now do not stand there like you are one of the statues,” His Grace called out to his daughter.
The young Miss Durham joined the group at the foot of the stairs, curtseying in greeting.
“So graceful,” Lady Creswell noted, pleased.
Emma’s eyes shifted for a moment to her cousin, before returning to her aunt and uncle. “It is wonderful to see you again, Aunt Cynthia. You and my lord both appear to be in excellent health.”
“Thank you, Emma. That is exceedingly kind of you,” Lord Creswell said.
For a few more minutes, the pleasantries continued.
Amelia didn’t mind it. Her family, both immediate and more distant relations formed a harmonious and devoted set of individuals and thus she had become quite accustomed to it, and so she was used to it. It was surely a good thing that none of their interactions seemed feigned or illusory. Although, she doubted anyone would consider that at all. Those who knew their families were fully aware of how close they were—especially due to her mother and aunt.
“Now, as much as we do need to catch up, dear sister…I am sure you and your family must be tired from your travels. Your luggage has been taken to your rooms and we’ll have Barrett here—” The Duchess gestured to the butler—a middle-aged man—who stood by the grand doors. The Creswell’s were familiar with him. “—escort you to your rooms so you can settle in. We shall have tea as soon as you are settled in and changed.”
Lord Creswell nodded. “Sounds delightful. I could use a bath and some fresh clothes.”
They all headed inside, with Amelia and Emma behind in tow.
“We have a lot of catching up to do,” Emma whispered to her cousin, pulling her into a warm side embrace. She wiggled her eyebrows, as though holding on to some secret of interest.
Amelia let out a small giggle. “Oh, Emma, I hope you have not done anything that has gotten you into trouble.”
“Not yet.” Emma grinned mischievously. “But now that you are present, I find my thoughts quite stirred with some promising ideas.”
Another giggle escaped Amelia. She expected that Emma’s presence would invariably bring about a considerable deal of excitement and unexpected occurrences. Despite her cousin being the opposite of her in personality, they got along very well. Amelia was the quieter and more reserved one of the pair, while Emma was the free-spirited and outgoing one. In many ways, they complemented each other rather well.
Emma rather fancied they were a pair unlike any other to be found. Emma liked to think.
Amelia was surprised they hadn’t gotten into any serious trouble since they were younglings. She hoped it stayed that way.
Later, after a much needed bath and changing out of the travelling clothes, The Creswell’s joined the Duke and Duchess in the drawing room for tea.
Amelia walked through the drawing room doors clad in a light pink gown and with her hair in an intricate Grecian curly hairstyle. A lively hum of conversation had already filled the chamber, and her eyes travelled to its main source.
Lady Caroline Westbrook. Or as Amelia called her—Caroline.
Amelia lowered her gaze to her fidgeting fingers for a moment. She already felt out of place with everyone gathered in the drawing room, and now her older sister had arrived. Presumably when the others had retreated to their chambers to freshen up.
The fragrant aroma of freshly brewed tea wafted through the atmosphere, but still this pleasant smell failed to calm Amelia. She glanced around the room, seeking an escape; even one in the form of her cousin Emma.
Her mind wandered to the sheet music she’d been studying earlier in the carriage and she wished she had brought it to the drawing room with her. It was a classical Beethoven piece that had enraptured her, holding her spellbound with its opening notes.
Amelia’s fingers started t twitch nervously as she longed for the solace of her violin. She could hear in the opening notes of the classical piece in her mind, and imagined her slender fingers gliding through the violin strings with a deftness that could only be achieved by practice and devotion.
From her early days as a child, Amelia had developed a fondness for music. Being the last child of her parents, she often felt quite overlooked, or indeed, invisible when in the company of her siblings.
Her older sister, Caroline, was the jewel of the family. The one often praised for her beauty, poise, and charm. It was these very qualities that had secured her a match in her debut season with the wealthy Lord Westbrook. It was the match of the season, talked about by anyone and everyone. Before Lord Westbrook’s official proposal, Caroline had a steady bevy of suitors at her disposal, and Lord Westbrook by far outshone them all.
Amelia’s older brother and the Viscount’s only son, Daniel, was widely known for his charming persona and adventurous spirit. He was currently on a grand tour of the Continent, missing all the action of London’s high society. But even then, people talked about him often. His endeavours were seen as daunting and somehow, that made him more desirable. It was no doubt that many young ladies fantasised about him returning to take one of them as his bride soon.
Trailing behind her siblings, the only credit in her favour was her love for music and skill at playing the violin and the pianoforte. Even as a child, she would often entertain her family and guests with performances. It was the only time she truly felt like herself in the magical realm of music.
Amelia stood by one corner, observing the room and at the same time, thinking about how a melodious tune like the classical piece she was currently intrigued by would rise above the chatter, drawing everyone’s attention but having none of them understand the emotions behind the tune. In truth, she found this situation quite agreeable.
Her sister, Caroline, had yet to notice her, as she was engrossed in the conversation she was dominating. Everyone listened to her talk about the recent travels of her and her husband, Jonathan.
Caroline was hardly as adventurous as The Creswell’s only son, but she knew how to tell a tale so well that one would think she was. Her confident voice rang bright as she treated everyone to her story of their time in Italy.
“I’ve heard that the food there is absolutely a delight!” Lady Creswell commented. “I wish I had travelled more often during my younger days.”
“Mother, Italian cuisine is quite phenomenal, I must say. It is rather different from what we are accustomed to, but nonetheless, a delight to one’s taste buds and palate.”
Amelia’s hand crossed her body to rest on her other arm. She listened to her sister from a small distance, a fraction of a smile tugging at the edge of her mouth.
Alas, it was all but familiar as Caroline had always commanded full attention whilst Amelia would recede into the shadows of her sister’s grand splendour.
The only time when Amelia made her appearance known was whilst performing her musical piece, captivating her audience though it was short lived as Caroline engaged every suitor as it was her debut.
“How could it be possible for her younger sister Amelia ever compete with such impossibly high standard?” A few ladies of the ton had gossiped then. “Their match is undoubtedly the match of the season.”
And it was, Amelia had agreed then. She had been truly happy for her sister. Still, her genuine emotions for her failed to quell her tenacious feelings of not being quite enough.
The chatter continued to swirl in the drawing room, laughter rippling through the air.
Amelia observed the interactions keenly for a few more moments, then she quickly cast her eyes out the window, landing on the water fountain that was a small distance away from the house. The sound of the water rushing out and pouring back into the pool at the base brought a queasy feeling to her. She closed her eyes for a second, and suddenly, her mind was transported back to her childhood, to a time when she was only eight years old.
***
Eleven years ago…
It was a bright summer day, and Amelia had wandered off after lunch, looking for anything of interest to her. This was a usual occurrence these days. She would wander off after lunch just before her music lessons were to begin. Her little feet somehow always carried her much further from her family estate’s building than she had initially intended.
As she approached the pond on the estate, an excited giggle left her lips and she broke into a small sprint—as fast as her legs would allow her.
Amelia gasped in awe, seeing the water lilies that decorated the pond. Her eyes widened and her lips spread into a toothy grin.
“They are so beautiful,” she gushed.
She carefully studied the ones at the edge of the pond. There were pink ones, purple and white ones too. She moved closer to the edge and crouched down. Her eyes sparkled as she shifted her gaze from one to the other, contemplating on which she would take home.
Deciding she wanted a better look, she inched further to the edge and reached her hand out to touch one of the flower petals. Suddenly, her foot slipped on the muddy bank and she felt her body lose control of her balance. She tried to steady herself, fear gripping its claws around her heart, but instead, she slipped further and without warning, plunged into the cold water.
Dread settled inside the depths of her stomach as water filled her lungs. Her arms flailed out in desperation, as the cold water started seeping through her clothing and covered her body.
“Help! Somebody help!” she cried out.
Amelia struggled against the water, wishing she could somehow miraculously know how to swim and get herself out of this unfortunate predicament.
A sharp sting of tears assaulted her eyes, and her spirits plunged more deeply and swiftly than she could ever conceive her physical being might, should she abandon all hope now.
Life gave her another chance, however. She heard a forceful splash of water and unexpectedly, a pair of strong hands wrapped around her waist, pulled her up swiftly and out of the water, and set her promptly onto the dry land .It was at this point that she had a glimpse of what heaven must feel like.
Amelia coughed and sputtered, her eyes stinging and her heart thundering against her chest.
“Amelia, can you hear me?”
The familiar voice sounded muffled in her ears. She was still coming out of shock when she inclined her head upwards to see her brother, Daniel, kneeling in front of her with concern-filled eyes. His hands gripped her shoulders and he shook her lightly.
“Amelia…Amelia, can you breathe? Are you hurt?”
***
Present day…
Nineteen-year-old Amelia blinked forcefully, pushing the awful memory away. Her eyes travelled down to her hands, noticing how they were trembling.
Calm down, Amelia, she told herself, taking in a few deep breaths.
All around her, everyone was socialising the afternoon away, unbothered by the fact that she had yet to join them. If she had not felt so initially, the room suddenly started to feel overpowering as it was too crowded and excessively boisterous.
Amelia exhaled a long breath and squeezed her fingers together.
The memory reminded her of how much she missed Daniel. Had he been here, she would have been comforted with the knowledge that amidst it all, there was someone who understood her. Daniel’s presence, not only at the pond that day when she was eight, but every other day she’d spent with him was the balm for her anxious soul.
The drawing room doors were thrown open abruptly and everyone’s eyes turned towards them.
“Lord Felton and Lady Felton,” the butler, Barrett, announced in a sonorous voice.
Lord Edmund Felton entered the drawing room with a trained smile on his face and his mother, Lady Felton, at his side.
The Duchess walked up to them with a welcoming expression on her face. Edmund bowed slightly and his mother curtsied.
“Your Grace,” they chorused.
“Lord Felton, I am delighted that you could join us,” the Duchess said.
“The honour is ours, Your Grace. We are much obliged for your kind invitation.” Edmund bowed again.
The Duchess beamed, pleased by the gentleman’s charm. She turned to his mother and held her arms open.
“Felicity, How positively wonderful to see you.”
Lady Felton grinned and embraced her dear friend warmly. “As much to you, Viola. You look well.”
Both women easily fell into small talk, like old friends would.
Meanwhile, Edmund’s eyes surveyed the room. He had received the invitation for the summer house party but wondered who would be in attendance. It came as no surprise to him when he saw Lord Creswell and his family. The Viscount was married to the Duchess’s sister, thus, their presence was only natural.
The Duke of Durendale stood by them and Edmund and extended a brief bow in greeting.
His eyes moved again and stopped when they spotted Amelia.
The youngest Creswell girl, he thought to himself, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smirk. He found himself unable to tear his gaze away, enthralled by her features. The scattering of dark freckles across her delicate nose served to complement her expression with a most pleasing effect. Her auburn hair, a truly glorious shade, possessed a remarkable vibrancy that highlighted and enhanced her features.
“My, my, isn’t she delightful?” he muttered to himself. His eyes observed her fidgeting fingers and her averted gaze. She was looking anywhere else but at the small gathering of people in the room or anyone else in particular. It was easy to tell she would rather be anywhere but here.
“Lord Felton, Lady Felton, please allow me to introduce you to the other guests,” The Duchess offered, leading them both to where Amelia’s parents stood by the Duke. “Lord Creswell, I believe you are acquainted with Lord and Lady Felton. They’ll be joining us for the summer house party.”
Greetings were exchanged and soon, Lady Felton had relaxed into conversation with the Viscountess.
“And of course, my youngest niece.” The Duchess beckoned Amelia to join their company. The young Miss Creswell sauntered over shyly, avoiding Edmund’s direct gaze.
She curtsied in greeting, and then slowly allowed her eyes to travel up to meet Edmund.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Creswell.” Edmund bowed his head smoothly, his lips curving into a smile. He took her hand and placed a light kiss on the back of it, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he savoured the scent of lavender pulsating from her wrists.
“As much to your lordship.” Amelia forced a smile.
Edmund studied her carefully. He wished to discern what topics would suffice in holding her interest. She appeared rather disinterested in her surroundings and perhaps, that could be used to his advantage.
“The most agreeable weather we’ve had this summer, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Creswell?”
Amelia glanced out the window, unable to help the smile that formed on her lips at the sight of two birds perched on the sill. It was indeed fine weather.
“Yes, my lord.” She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to him, and everyone had somehow either paired or grouped themselves in conversation. Why he had chosen to fix his attention on her, she could not possibly know.
“One must observe, out of sheer curiosity,” Edmund began again, in a charming voice, “I find myself wondering where your interests might lie.”
Amelia’s forehead creased in bemusement. “I’m afraid that I am not entirely clear on what you mean, my lord.”
Edmund smiled warmly, but that hardly made Amelia more comfortable. “Well, I assume that you must find your own company more refreshing than being amongst others. Hence, why you were by yourself instead of mingling. I would admit that I become curious whenever I come across people such as yourself…who enjoy their own company more…and I daresay there must be something more to them than meets the eye. So, enlighten me, Miss Creswell, is it your travels you think of when you’re alone? Or perhaps, poetry?”
Amelia hesitated, her eyes shifting across the room looking for any respite. Her cousin, Emma, was not yet in the drawing room and she prayed that the doors would suddenly open to reveal her presence.
She returned her gaze to the young lord and the room felt even smaller. Clearing her throat, she said, “I’m afraid I am not well-travelled, nor do I write poems. I have read a few though.”
“I see. Embroidery, perhaps then?”
“Music.” Amelia held back a tired sigh. “To answer your question, my leisure hours are, for the most part, occupied with the practice of the violin or the pianoforte.”
Edmund’s eyes twinkled and he appeared impressed. “Why, that is even better than I imagined. I do have an affinity for the arts myself and music is one that I am in awe of. I am jealous of you, I confess. To be proficient in the pianoforte and the violin is a true gift.”
Amelia managed a smile. “You have yet to hear me play, Lord Felton. Nonetheless, I thank you for your kind words.”
Edmund gave her a charming smile. “Hopefully, I shall have the honour to hear you play someday soon. A lady with such poise and grace as yourself would surely have that reflect in the music she plays.”
A flush crept up Amelia’s cheeks. Usually, this was a conversation that would interest her, but for the life of her, all she could wish for was an escape out of this conversation.
Still, she knew it would be rude to ignore him. She was left with no choice but to indulge him. The room buzzed with conversation and the light clinking of teacups against their saucers. Her legs had grown tired and she decided she would rather sit if she was to spend her afternoon in the company of Lord Felton.
“You flatter me, my lord,” she told him.
“I highly doubt it. I speak only the truth as is.” Edmund smiled, assuming the demureness of her response was a sign of a maiden’s modesty.
Amelia’s lips pressed together and she swallowed.
“Are you quite well, Miss?” Edmund asked, noticing the subtle change in her demeanour.
“I believe I am in need to sit down,” Amelia said. She didn’t wait for him to say another word. Her feet carried her to the closest chair by the window. Edmund followed behind her, and he quickly swung into charming action, holding the chair for her as she sat.
“Shall I fetch you a cup of tea, Miss?” Edmund offered.
Amelia’s eyes twinkled. “Why, yes. That would be most appreciated.”
Edmund nodded once and then excused himself. As soon as he was a reasonable feet away, Amelia released a long breath. She glanced around the room again and suddenly, the doors were thrown open once more. Two more families—the families of Lords Ramsey and Kent—walked in, joining the party.
Just as soon as introductions and greetings were done, Edmund walked over to where Amelia was, two teacups in hand. He handed her one and she muttered a ‘thank you’ to him.
“Tell me, Miss Creswell.” He took a sip from his cup, oblivious to her discomfort. “You play both the violin and the pianoforte. Do you favour one instrument over the other? I know you must be distinguished in playing both, but it wouldn’t be unimaginable if you didn’t have a higher preference for one over the other.”
“I learned how to play the violin first. But the pianoforte holds a special place in my heart just as much as the violin does. I cannot say that I favour one over the other,” she told him.
Edmund chuckled. “Ah, I see. You must be one of the rare ones then.”
Amelia faked a smile. “I…I’m not sure that I am. I confess, my preferences are quite my
own.” She brought the cup to her lips and took a healthy sip, wishing she would be left alone to enjoy the rest of it in solitude.
Across the room, Lady Felton diverted her attention from her conversation and cast a gaze at her son and Miss Creswell. Satisfaction welled up in her chest, and for a brief moment, her eyes caught her son’s and she sent him a small nod of approval.
Edmund, armed with more confidence seeing as his mother approved of Miss Creswell, decided he should increase his charm. Surely, Miss Creswell, like any other lady he’d come across, was bound to be swept off her feet soon.
Amelia swept her gaze around the room, her fingers trembling lightly against her teacup. She gently lowered it to the table next to her, pretending to be paying attention to Lord Felton’s tale about his visits to the opera.
“Say, Miss Creswell, I would love a chance to someday soon hear you play,” Lord Felton said, his eyes gleaming.
Dear God, save me, Amelia thought.
Eventually, the tea party drew to a gradual end. More than anyone, Amelia was beyond glad. When the guests started exchanging goodbyes and comments about their expectations for the upcoming summer party, Amelia saw her much-awaited opportunity.
“Lord Felton, it has been a wonderful afternoon, but I would now like to retreat to my room. I am still worn out from the journey,” she explained, not bothering to drag out her reason.
For half a moment, Lord Felton’s smile faltered and the sparkle in his eyes dimmed. He wondered if she had even enjoyed his company at all.
He rose to his feet and held a hand to her. Amelia placed her hand in his and stood.
“I understand, Miss Creswell. You need the rest, no doubt.”
“Certainly.”
“Then, I must bid you farewell, until we meet again.” He bowed a slight in greeting.
Amelia curtsied with grace. “I hope the rest of your day is most agreeable.” Without another moment’s hesitation, she turned and excused herself, hoping she would manage to slip out before anyone would notice.
Lord Felton watched her retreat and concluded they were on a promising path. Soon, Amelia would warm up to him and he would make his intentions known. Coming to this party was not merely to socialise. There would be times for that. For now, he had a duty to his family and Amelia might just be the key to solving that.
The initial step would be a union in matrimony with her.
Reflecting on their conversation, Edmund liked to believe that Miss Creswell would make an agreeable wife. Her grace, demureness and family’s standing surely guaranteed it. So, it would be his personal mission to see that she took his last name at the altar soon.
Meanwhile upstairs, Amelia rushed into her room and closed the door as quickly as she could. Her breaths were shaky, her hands trembling even more. She leaned her back against the door and forced herself to exhale calmly. She would not allow herself to think of the dreadful afternoon she had just endured. For if she did, then she would also have to consider the prospect of having to endure more of such gatherings.
She closed her eyes and fisted the fabric of her gown. It was surely going to be an eventful couple of days.
Once again, her mind drifted to her brother, Daniel. A long sigh left her lips. In moments like these, all she could wish for was the comfort of his presence. A moment when she didn’t have to be weighed down by society’s expectations.
She opened her eyes and rested them on her bed. Perhaps, for now, she would have to settle for a nap.
Chapter 3
By morning, Amelia awoke with a refreshed state of mind. Even as she got ready for breakfast, she decided to focus on the one thing she was sure would make the day bearable. When she got the slightest chance to, she’d retreat to somewhere private with her violin and play the afternoon away.
“Miss, you seem more excited than you did when I helped you get ready for bed,” her lady maid, Rachel, commented. Her skilled hands deftly braided the young miss’s hair into a plait, brushing stray tendrils to fold in with the rest of the hair.
Amelia chuckled. “Oh, Rachel, do not allow my expression to fool you. I already dread the exhaustion the day promises to bring. However, I believe it is in my best interest to focus on that. I shall find time today to play the violin. Hopefully, I can escape without anyone noticing or missing my presence.”
Rachel smiled. “Very well then, Miss. Mind you be careful then.”
“I always am,” Amelia replied with a nod. As soon as her lady had completed her task arranging her hair, she inspected herself in the mirror and smiled at her reflection.
Outside, in the midst of everyone else, she might feel left out or unnoticed. But here, in the solitude of her room, she could be herself. She could see herself for who she was beyond just being the Viscount’s daughter with so many expectations hanging on her shoulders.
In this place, she was afforded the rare comfort of being merely Amelia, a truth that proved quite calming for her spirit.
She headed out of her room and started down the long hallway that led to the stairs, taking her time to look at the portraits that lined the familiar walls.
When she finally reached the breakfast room doors, she stopped to brace herself. Beyond those doors lay expectations, the measure of which she often questioned if she could ever achieve. Either way, she couldn’t run from them.
With a prepared sigh, she gave a curt nod to the footman, and he swung into prompt action, pushing the doors open for her.
Amelia walked in with her hands clenched at her sides and her heart picking its pace up.
“Good morning, everyone.” She glided her hands over her skirts as all eyes lifted to acknowledge her. “I apologize for my delay.” She cracked a hesitant smile and allowed her eyes to register everyone at the table.
“Amelia, darling, did you have a good night’s rest?” The Duchess asked with a warm smile.
“Yes, I did. Thank you.” Her feet quickly scrambled towards the seat next to Emma and she lowered herself onto it. Across from her was her sister, Caroline, and her husband.
“Father. Mother.” She greeted her parents in a warm tone. They were seated at one end of the table, next to Lady Felton.
“You look well rested, dear,” her father pointed out.
“I am, Father. Thank you.”
Her eyes shifted and landed on Lord Felton, who sent a charming smile her way. His eyes didn’t waver, his gaze intense and…flirtatious? Amelia couldn’t decide on the last part.
Soon, the room filled with the buzz of chatter about the upcoming party.
Amelia busied herself with her choice of breakfast, but something told her Lord Felton’s eyes remained on her while she ate. A sweat attempted to break out over her brow, and she silently prayed he would divert his attention elsewhere.
“I shall wear one of my favourite light green gowns for the party,” Emma said on the subject of apparel choices.
“Dear, neither of the gowns we just got from the modiste are light green. Whatever could you be speaking of?” The Duchess asked her daughter.
Emma hesitated and then shrugged a shoulder. “It is one that I’ve never worn before and I think I should wear it for the party.”
The Duchess frowned. “Nonsense, dear. You shall pick one of the options we have just procured from the modiste. They are quite becoming on you.”
Emma stayed mute, but Amelia caught the dejected expression in her eyes. A wistful smile spread across her lips. She gently nudged her cousin in the side, and Emma angled her face to her with a blank expression on it.
“If it’s any consolation, I think the colour green really suits you,” Amelia told her.
Emma’s face lit up. “Thank you.”
Amelia’s smile widened. She caught Lord Felton’s gaze on her again and her cheeks heated up instantly. Was there something on her face today? If so, Emma would have said something, right? What was it that made Lord Felton so keen on her this morning?
She turned her focus back to her breakfast, allowing herself to engage in the small talk that floated around the table.
“You know, Amelia, your sister and aunt were talking about you performing a piece at the party,” Lady Creswell mentioned unexpectedly, oblivious to the growing discomfort her daughter was experiencing. “I mean with such musical talents and expertise in playing the violin and pianoforte, you would gain the admiration of several young gentlemen, without a doubt.” The Viscountess’s tone held all the pride it could.
If it had been any other circumstance, Amelia would have soaked up the attention, and maybe not have felt as exposed with all eyes on her.
She stared at her mother quite aghast for a few seconds and only collected herself when Emma nudged her side.
“Uh, mama, I am quite certain there will be distinguished performers at the party. I do not have to play myself,” Amelia mumbled.
“But mama is indeed correct. Do not you want to be wedded, sister?” Caroline asked. Her tone was hardly judgmental, but Amelia couldn’t help but believe she was looking down on her. “Your musical talents might just be the very thing to attract more gentlemen your way.”
Amelia stiffened. She wanted to say that she didn’t wish to be united in matrimony with someone who only considered her worthy of wedlock because of her talents. If she were to enter into matrimony, she would want a match with someone who loved her and chose her for herself.
Rather than say all of this, she chose to remain silent. It was easy for Caroline to say. She was the jewel of the family.
“I agree with Miss Creswell,” Edmund spoke up, seizing the opportunity. All eyes whipped to him and he took a moment to proceed. “She may not want to outshine the musicians who have been hired to display their craft. But I must admit…” He cast a charming look at her, and his voice turned to silk as he went on. “I look forward to hearing Miss Creswell play sometime. I made this desire known to her at tea yesterday, and I hope she obliges me sometime.”
How bold of this man, Amelia thought, suppressing a scoff.
She expected her mother to say something about how she could still play at the summer party and have two birds shot with one stone. But instead, her mother wore a pleased and rather agreeable smile on her face. One that unnerved Amelia to her core.
If her mother even for a second considered Lord Felton to be a viable candidate for matrimony, then Amelia was about to spend the next couple of weeks or months convincing her mother how he really wasn’t—in her opinion. Unfortunately, her mother was a hard woman to convince sometimes.
“I am positive she would be happy to,” Amelia’s mother said, pleased.
She would not, Amelia mused. But it would be disrespectful to say that, or anything else that crossed her mind in the moments that followed as Lord Felton kept going on about Amelia’s talents.
She failed to register what he said, his words feeling more like lead weights than genuine compliments.
He was only making everything worse, despite him saying it was acceptable for her to not perform at the house party. Now, he was raising everyone’s hopes and expectations, charming them with talk that only served to make Amelia more aware of the endless series of social obligations she had.
Emma, unlike anyone else in that room, could tell her cousin was disinterested. She couldn’t blame her. Lord Felton would be better company if he simply closed his mouth.
Amelia continued her breakfast in silence, not even looking in Lord Felton’s direction. She focused her thoughts on her afternoon session when she’d get to play the violin. If she would be allowed such a rare opportunity with so many people around, then she was going to make the most of it.
Suddenly, Lord Felton’s voice cut through her reverie. “I have already inquired of your favourite composer, Miss Creswell, but pray tell, do you have a favourite music piece? I mean, do all accomplished musicians not have at least one? Perhaps you could play that for me—us—whenever you decide you are up to it.”
Amelia gave him a tight-lipped smile. She felt even more trapped now.
“Of course,” she simply said, unable to come up with any other response. Oh, how she couldn’t wait to return home.
***
Meanwhile, all the way across the other side of the neighbourhood, in the Farraway Manor, the Earl of Edenbrook sat at his table with a knot between his brows.
He had awoken early that morning, and not because he wished to or was an early bird, but because he couldn’t continue to bear the torment of his nightmares.
In his dream the previous night, he was once again transported to his ship that fateful night. He could feel the large ship—once an object of pride and prestige—sinking under his feet. The waves crashed violently against the wooden boards and the ocean roared with fury.
From the deck he saw the mast splinter into two halves, leaving his eyes wide and horrified. His men scrambled to safety on the sinking ship, but some were trapped underneath it, their cries of agony piercing his ears.
Just like that night, Anthony had tried to save them. How was it possible to fail them, especially having borne witness to their agonizing screams of terror as their final moments approached them? How was he to explain to the families of some that they couldn’t even be brought home to be properly buried because at the end of that night their bodies couldn’t be found?
Anthony dragged a hand over his face and let out a small yawn. Not only was he exhausted to his bones due to his lack of adequate sleep, but he was hungry.
An hour later, his boots thudded lightly on the floor as he made his way to the breakfast room. He could still smell the lingering pungent scent of gunpowder and seawater that reminded him of that night.
Reaching the doors of the breakfast room, he casually strolled in. His eyes fell on Henry, who was seated with a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.
“Farraway, good morning,” Henry greeted in a chirpy voice.
Anthony sent him a brief nod in greeting. “’Morning, Barlow.”
“Another troublesome night?” Henry asked, studying the dark circles underneath his eyes. It did look better than the previous day.
The Earl sighed. “Another troublesome night, I have to agree.”
The two men exchanged a look of understanding before Anthony walked over to pour himself a strong coffee. He preferred his coffee black with a whisper of sugar.
“You do understand, I have them sometimes too. The nightmares.” Henry watched his cousin sit down across from him. Moments in their mornings before the women joined them were times he liked to savour. Both men had always been close since they were children but after the tragic incident, they had grown even closer. “I do imagine you have it worse than I do.”
Anthony inhaled a breath and then released a deep sigh. He stared into thin air for a few moments, his lips forming a grimace as an image of one of the men who had recently joined their crew flashed in his mind. He was so young—the boy—and Anthony remembered him to be rather jovial, always merry and telling jokes. He could have had a full, long life. Instead, Anthony had watched his small frame struggle against angry waves the minute he was thrown into the water.
“I can never shake the guilt off,” Anthony murmured, still staring at nothing. “I cannot stop blaming myself.” There was a small break in his voice. “Their cries, seeing their faces as they struggled against death…it overwhelms me. I failed them.”
Henry watched the light in his cousin’s eyes dim. His brows furrowed; concern etched on his face.
“I do not know how to live with the guilt. Sometimes I fear it will completely crush me,” Anthony said.
“You cannot—” Henry paused and sighed. “You must longer allow yourself to shoulder the blame any longer, Anthony. You must find a way to move forward. You did everything in your power that night. There are some things beyond one’s control and that night was one of those situations. I was there too and I tried to help as many as I could, and still, not everyone could have been saved.”
“Do you think this would have been easier had I also passed on that night?” Anthony asked.
“You ought not entertain such notions.” Henry’s tone was a bit sterner than he intended, but seeing Anthony’s forehead crease and his lips pursed told him he had struck the right nerve.
Anthony nodded slowly, as if fully trying to come to terms with what Henry had said. He knew there was truth to his cousin’s words but surely Henry didn’t expect the weight of his past that he’d carried around for years on his shoulders to suddenly get thrown off in an instant. He hoped that someday, he would finally be able to release the paralysing guilt he felt.
The sound of women laughing just outside the breakfast room drew their attention to the door. In a matter of seconds, the doors opened and Anthony’s mother and sister walked in, the air shifted immediately upon their entry. They wore bright smiles on their faces as they greeted the men.
“Am I the only one that is beyond excited for the house party at the Durendale estate?” Blanche gushed, her eyes widening with glee.
“I am quite positive Aunt Julianna is as thrilled, if not more,” Henry commented.
The Countess smiled at him.
“I assure you, I’m not.” Anthony’s dry tone drew all eyes. “My attendance is merely a matter of social obligation.”
Blanche rolled her eyes and pouted. “Do not dampen the mood for the rest of us then.”
A round of laughter passed about the table. For the rest of the time spent at breakfast, they discussed the house party and both Blanche and Lady Julianna were more than willing to share their expectations for the event.
The Duke and Duchess of Durendale lived in the neighbouring estate, with only a lake separating theirs from the Farraway estate. Anthony was of the opinion that his mother and sister were far too excited to be going there, but he wasn’t going to turn the milk sour at the table.
***
“Amelia, shall we take a turn about the garden?” Emma asked her cousin, hope blooming in her chest. “It is a most agreeable day, is it not?”
Amelia looked out the window and she couldn’t deny that the weather was indeed remarkable. A sense of confinement within the walls was beginning to settle upon her, so maybe a walk would do her some good. “Yes, shall we?”
The two ladies left the house while everyone else went about tending to their own personal tasks. Amelia was only too pleased to have escaped Lord Felton.
During and after breakfast, Lord Felton had his attention fixed on her, so much so that she knew he was going to come up and engage her in a conversation at the slightest chance he got. Thankfully, her brother-in-law, Lord Westbrook, mentioned something about wanting to discuss some matters with him. The two men had disappeared after breakfast and Amelia could not care where to. All she knew was that she was beyond grateful to Lord Westbrook.
If only he could keep Lord Felton occupied throughout the time they’d be spending here, she felt grateful that her sister had decided to come.
The sweet scent of roses reached both their nostrils as they walked arm-in-arm through the neatly groomed gardens.
Amelia ran her fingers over some of the flowers, stopping to admire some of them and inhale their scent.
She had always loved roses. They were her favourite kind of flowers.
“My parents have expressed their hopes that I make a match during the house party,” Emma said, her eyes lowering to the ground for a moment. “High hopes they have.”
Amelia produced a small chuckle. “Do you not wish to be wed?”
“I do,” Emma replied, sighing. “It does not remove the pressure it creates however.”
Amelia could agree with that. Her mind flashed back to Edmund Felton’s persistent and overwhelming attention at breakfast and at tea the previous day and her heart sank. The thought of courtship was indeed compelling and most of all to someone like Lord Felton. Amelia couldn’t place why she felt perturbed by him but she simply did.
“I do pray that I meet a gentleman who is at the very least good company,” Emma said. “And someone who doesn’t see women as mere objects for reproduction.”
Amelia snickered. “That is a good prayer to start with.”
“What about you?” Emma asked, chuckling. “Surely, your parents have expectations of you as well. Do you hope to find a love match?”
Amelia pondered over her cousin’s question for a moment. Her family’s expectations indeed put pressure on her, but she hadn’t considered the possibility of a love match for herself so much. It was far rarer and only the luckiest of ladies were privileged to experience it. Luck was not her strongest suit, however.
“I presume it would be pleasant to have a love match. Although, I wouldn’t hold such an expectation too dear to my heart. It may never happen,” Amelia expressed.
“You cannot say things like that, Amelia!” Emma huffed out a breath. “You must hope for the best. Any gentleman would be lucky to have you. You must believe that.”
Amelia sent her a sweet, grateful smile. She decided Emma was right. She was to hope for the best. Hope might be a dangerous thing but it was better to hold on to it rather than think the worst.
“Perhaps I shall have a love match as well,” Emma said with excitement. Her eyes sparkled and her steps picked up a rhythm along the path. “I hope he at least enjoys operas and travel. It would be a merry and diverting prospect.”
“You deserve all the love, dear cousin,” Amelia told her. Her eyes held true sincerity. “I hope you find it and I hope the gentlemen that shall be in attendance at the house party recognise that.”
Emma giggled, her lips spreading into a grin.
They continued to walk down the path until they came to a large clear lake. The water’s surface glimmered in the morning sun, and the air smelled cleaner.
“Isn’t it just beautiful?” Emma trilled, walking faster towards it.
“It is,” Amelia concurred.
They stared at the water’s surface for a while, watching as some birds came to perch on it, while some stayed by the edge.
Emma’s eyes scanned the environment and they immediately brightened when she spotted the boathouse. “Oh, Amelia, look!” She rested one hand on her cousin’s arm and pointed a slender finger into the small distance. “We should ride a boat onto the water. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
A cold chill ran over Amelia and she froze. The colour drained from her face at the thought of getting in the water.
Emma cast a sideways glance at her and forced back a chuckle. “Pray tell, are you still holding on to your fear of water?”
“It is not a fear of water,” Amelia argued. “It is a fear of large bodies of water. You surely do not see me complain when I’m holding a glass.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “You need to face your fear, Amelia.”
“You’re not the one who almost drowned.”
“No, I am not. But nothing will happen. It is only a trip to and from the lake. There are no water lilies to tempt you this time and we will be in a very sturdy boat,” Emma suggested. “Overcoming this phobia might be something you find to be liberating.”
Amelia scoffed. “Liberating? I hardly think throwing myself into the very face of my fear would be liberating.”
Emma sighed. “Very well then. Maybe not liberating right away, but perhaps eventually. You shall never know until you try. What is more, how do you hope to travel if you cannot board a boat or ship over large bodies of water?”
Amelia said nothing. She could already feel dread slowly settle in her stomach and her palms growing clammy. Her resolve wavered and unlike her, she was being pulled in opposing directions by a long-harboured fear and a yearning to prove her mettle. In truth, how much longer would she let this fear hold her back? Had she not harboured a desire to travel across the globe, to encounter other continents? To immerse herself in their exceptional tunes and join in their company?
“Very well then,” Amelia said reluctantly, having heard enough of Emma’s persistent encouragement. “We shall take a boat onto the lake.”
Emma’s high-pitched squeal nearly caused Amelia’s ear drums to stop working, and maybe if it had, it would have been an efficient reason not to partake in the boat ride.
Across the lake and far down the open countryside, the Earl of Edenbrook rode past tall green trees on horseback. The wind blew across his face, the rhythmic clash of hooves sinking into the grassy earth offered him a much- needed distraction from his inner turmoil.
Before he had left his home and set out on his horse—Willow—his mind was overwhelmed by thoughts of the impending house party. His decision to ride was simply to distract himself. It also helped that the weather was favourable.
Even now, however, his mind was taken back to the last social gathering he had graced with his presence before joining the Navy. It was the Radcliffe ball held in the country home of Lord and Lady Radcliffe. He remembered how carefree and self-assured he’d been. Breezy as the summer wind and possessing a quiet boldness. He had stood with other gentlemen as they drank together and had even danced with two of the ladies.
It had been a delightful night, and he was even more charming to be around, but in comparison to his current state of mind, the contrast was obvious.
It was doubtful he would ever again feel so unburdened. Not stricken by guilt and not keeping himself from social obligations. A man could dream, could he not?
He had not once stopped Willow and had allowed himself to be lost in his thoughts. When he finally broke out of his musings, he realized they were approaching a lake. It was the lake that partitioned his family’s property from the Durhams’.
He slowly brought his horse to a stop, his eyes beholding the placid view before him. The sound of someone chuckling drew his attention and he quickly traced it, his gaze landing on a small boat with two ladies out in the middle of the water.
Curiosity held him bound and he watched them for a while, noticing that only one of the ladies was rowing. A crack of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t recognize them yet, not that he would if he was any closer. His non-existent social life hardly made it possible for him to remember faces or names except if it was an already familiar face.
He heard the one rowing say something to the other lady but he couldn’t make out the words from the distance. Not wanting to make them uncomfortable if they saw him, he decided it was best he leave.
But nothing could have prepared him for what happened next.