Assuming Spencer let Jack live.
Her skin prickled with dread. She’d been desolated by the mere idea of choosing between them. Now the events of this night threatened to make the decision for her. And Spencer might never forgive her if Claudia came to harm.
Lily dozed fitfully in an armchair nearby, but Amelia knew she’d never find sleep. Her mind buzzed, her thoughts flitting from one possibility to the next. None of it made any sense to her, and that was what kept her circling the carpet, trailing her fingers along the mantel, skipping to the windowsill, then tracing the back of the divan. She understood why Jack would wish to elope with Claudia—obviously a duke’s ward would come with a significant dowry. But why on earth would Claudia agree to go with him? Jack was handsome enough, and he could be charming when he wished to be … but he certainly didn’t look his fittest at the moment, and the girl had scarcely spent any time in his company. Claudia obviously resented Amelia and Spencer’s marriage, but was she so thoroughly steeped in adolescent rebellion that she would go so far as to elope out of spite?
And … Scotland? He would have to forgive her for saying it, but Jack just didn’t seem industrious enough to stage an elopement to Gretna Green. It was a long, hard journey, and an expensive one. He obviously had no funds, and Claudia’s pin money wouldn’t go far. Perhaps they had some goods they hoped to sell.
Had they taken things from the house?
Driven by a sense of dread, and the desire to be anywhere but the drawing room, she grabbed a candlestick and charged up the stairs to her and Spencer’s bedchamber. She yanked open the small corner closet and pried up the panel at the bottom, holding the candle over the hidden cache … straining her eyes into the darkness, searching …
There. It was still there, the cloth-wrapped bundle of Mama’s jewelry. None of it was worth a great deal—not in coin, anyway. But the strands of seed pearls and topaz earrings were priceless to Amelia.
After replacing the secret panel, she stood.
And immediately crumpled back to the floor. She had to pull herself together. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she felt so lightheaded.
Oh, God. Suddenly it all made sense.
Stay here.
Those were his words to her, his only request. Stay here, in case she comes home.
“Forgive me, Spencer,” Amelia muttered as she stepped over the cottage threshold. She wrapped her foul-weather cloak around her shoulders and closed the door behind her. The rain was lighter now, but cold. The moon shone through a gap in the clouds, but Amelia didn’t trust it to last. She reached for the carriage lamp hanging beside the door. Splashing through shallow puddles, she made a hasty sprint for the stable.
She simply couldn’t stay put in the cottage and wait. If her suppositions were right—and the small voice in her gut told her they were—Claudia was in even greater danger than Spencer realized. But the girl might not be so very far away.
Ducking into the humble stables that temporarily housed beasts bred for kings, Amelia saw that her mature, steady gelding had been left behind. Of course, the men would have taken the fastest mounts.
“Now there, Captain. Would you like to go for a ride?” She extended her hand and let the horse sniff it before cautiously giving him a pat. Stretching up on her toes, she unlooped his halter from the ring. The gelding shuffled forward, and Amelia realized that—logically—her saddle had been removed. As had the bit and bridle. She swung the carriage lamp and her gaze toward the tack hanging on the wall. Could she even remember how it all went together?
“Oh!” Startled by a sudden nudge at her waist, she nearly dropped the carriage lamp. It was only Captain nosing her pocket, looking for a treat. But it made her realize she was completely out of her depth. It would be stupid of her to try to saddle him herself, and perilous to her unborn child if she took a kick or a fall. She would have to go on foot.
The decision made, she left the stable. Eschewing the smooth but circuitous carriage lane, she hurried toward the narrow, winding footpath that climbed the bluff. Few trees grew here, and the way was paved with exposed limestone and moss—rain didn’t improve the traction of either surface. She slipped and stumbled as she went, at one point clawing her fingernails into a bit of turf to keep from tumbling headlong into the river. Somehow she managed to reach the bluff’s plateau with body and carriage lamp intact.
She allowed herself a few moments’ rest and thanksgiving. And then she dashed for the ruins of Beauvale Castle. That was where the d’Orsay boys had always got up to their mischief. As she covered the half-mile’s distance to the walls of crumbling stone, she said a prayer that old habits would have endured.
By the time she reached the gatehouse, she was gasping for breath. Her heart lightened as she saw the door was already ajar. She pushed the slab of oak open and thrust the carriage lamp inside.
Jack stood in the center of the darkened tower. His hair was matted to his forehead in thick, pale locks. He scarcely looked surprised to see her.
“I didn’t know, Amelia.” He cast a glance over his shoulder. Behind him, Claudia shivered in the corner, hugging her knees to her chest. “I swear to you, I had no idea.”
“You’re a fool,” she said, hanging the lamp on a candle sconce blackened with centuries of soot. She brushed past him to go to the girl. “Do you think she’d agree to run off with you on the basis of a dashing smile? You’re not so very handsome as that.”
Hurrying to the corner, Amelia knelt before Claudia. The girl’s lips were blue and quivering; her eyes, unfocused. Tears and rain streaked her face.
Amelia untied her cloak and quickly arranged it around the girl’s trembling shoulders. “It’s all right, dear. Everything will be fine. Claudia.” She waited until the girl met her gaze. “It’s all right. I know. I know everything.”
And then the girl fell into Amelia’s arms, sobbing helplessly against her shoulder. Amelia held her tight, murmuring words of reassurance. The poor dear. She’d been needing this embrace for so long, and Amelia had been too absorbed in her own problems to realize all Claudia’s rudeness had been aimed at pushing her away—not because she resented Amelia, but because she was afraid of anyone learning her secret.
Even Amelia couldn’t have possibly guessed the truth until today, after that tearful epiphany in the kitchen. The girl’s aloof demeanor, her strange moods, her wild fluctuations in appetite and illness in the coach …
Claudia was with child.
“You poor thing.” She stroked the girl’s wet hair. “I’m so sorry.” What a terrible burden for a fifteen-year-old girl to struggle under on her own. “Did it happen in York?”
Claudia nodded against her. “My music master. I was so lonely there, and he was so kind to me, at first. He promised I wouldn’t …” The girl’s voice broke, and Amelia held her tighter still. “Oh, Amelia. I was such a fool. And how will I ever tell him?”
Amelia knew she wasn’t referring to the music master.
“I can’t bear it,” the girl sobbed. “He’ll be so furious with me.”
“Shh,” Amelia said, shifting to cradle the girl in her arms. She rocked them both, gently. “I will tell him. And if he reacts with anger, it won’t be anger at you. He cares for you so much.”
“I thought … if I ran away, married—”
“Everyone would believe the child was Jack’s,” Amelia finished for her. “And you would never have to tell the truth.” She rubbed Claudia’s back briskly, feeling the girl warm in her arms. Wet muslin clung to her body, clearly delineating a rounded belly—the telltale sign her high-waisted gowns had heretofore concealed.
“It was all her idea.” From the other side of the small room, Jack spoke up. “I didn’t know she was with child until the rain soaked us through. You must believe me. She just came to me, and I was so desperate …” His back met the stone wall, and he slid down it until he sat on the floor. “I haven’t touched her, I swear it.”
“Yes, but why, Jack? How can you do this to me? Don’t you know how I’ve defended you? Again and again, I’ve helped you, believed in you. And this is your thanks, absconding with my husband’s ward?”
“I’m in a bad way, Amelia.”
“Yes, Spencer told me.”
“It’s worse than even he knows. Exile or death, those are my options.” He buried his face in his stacked arms. “Not sure I’d mind the second.”
His words caught Amelia sharply in the chest, driving a wedge between her ribs and slowly levering them apart. She thought of going to her brother, but then Claudia whimpered. Instead, she tightened her arms about the girl to offer more comfort and warmth.
And then she began to shiver with fear. Between Claudia and Jack, the two of them needed so much. Not only comfort and warmth, but reassurance, assistance, absolution. Amelia wasn’t sure she had enough within her to give them, and even if she did … there might be nothing left. Perhaps she would simply disappear.
“You mustn’t blame him,” Claudia whispered. “He’s right. It was all my idea.”
“Yes, but he should have known better. You’re fifteen years old.”
“Nearly sixteen,” she sniffed.
“Sixteen.” Jack raised his head and stared unfocused toward the ceiling. “Don’t you remember the summer you were sixteen, Amelia? You were engaged to Poste. Hugh and I, we spent the whole summer up here at the gatehouse, plotting to stop the wedding. We may have been only thirteen and twelve, but we were blood sworn to never surrender you to that decrepit troll. We made black-powder grenades to create a diversion, a catapult …” He gave a hollow chuckle. “There was some strategy involving riled-up chickens, as I recall.”
Tears welled in Amelia’s eyes, even as she laughed to imagine the confluence of chickens, black powder, and a catapult interrupting her wedding. Old Mr. Poste would have likely expired on the spot. “What valiant plans. You must have been gravely disappointed when I cried off.”
“No.” His gaze met hers—utterly devoid of cynicism or deceit. “We were relieved, Amelia. Not just me and Hugh, but everyone. You deserved so much better. That’s why …” He cleared his throat. “It’s damned miserable, knowing I’ve driven you to marry Morland now.”
“Jack, that’s completely different. Spencer is nothing like Mr. Poste. I love him.”
“You love everyone, no matter how undeserving. He’s still not good enough for you. No one is.” He shook his head. “If Hugh were alive, we’d have found a way to interrupt that wedding, too. Chickens, black powder, whatever it took.”
Had they laid siege to all Bryanston Square, she doubted Spencer could have been dissuaded. If he wouldn’t stop the wedding to answer murder allegations, a homemade catapult wouldn’t have stood a chance.
“Of course,” Jack said, “if Hugh were alive, everything would be different, wouldn’t it?” Her brother tipped his head back against the wall and stared up at the leaking ceiling. “We spent our boyhoods in this crumbling heap. Couldn’t bear to come back here, after. Thought I’d be relieved to see it sold, but …”
Her heart squeezed. So that’s why she hadn’t been able to get Jack out here last year. The same memories that comforted her were simply too much for him.
“I should have gone with him. I hated Laurent for buying Hugh a commission, and not me. I always followed him everywhere.”
“I know,” she said. “But you can’t follow him now, Jack. Not to the grave.”
“Can’t I?”
“No,” she said forcefully.
Water dripped slowly from the rafters. Plink, plink, plink. And then a realization exploded inside her.