Page 64 of Rakes & Reticules
A LOVE LETTER IN AMELIA’S RETICULE
BY USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR - MEARA PLATT
CHAPTERONE
Cotswolds, England
September 1817
“There is nothing so charming as a weekend house party,” Lady Amelia Harcourt’s aunt, the dowager Duchess of Redfern, cheerfully proclaimed while being helped down from their carriage in front of the Duke of Marston’s magnificent country estate on this sunny afternoon in autumn.
Amelia sank back against the squabs to stare out the window of their conveyance as she took in the sight of Marston Hall, a grand manor built of golden stone known as Cotswolds stone. It stood amid landscaped park grounds designed to blend in with its natural surroundings. She liked to walk and also liked to read, so she hoped the duke had a library in his home, for this is where she planned to hide whenever she could not sneak outdoors to admire the reds and golds of the changing leaves.
Not that she disliked company. Indeed, she had many friends, but they were nottonand did not stride about with their noses in the air. She was going to be a fish out of water throughout the entire affair.
It turned out her aunt had not been speaking to her when remarking upon the charm of a house party, but to the handsome gentleman assisting her. He now responded in a deeply resonant voice that immediately drew Amelia’s attention. “Welcome to my home, Rosie. I hope your journey was pleasant.”
“It was indeed, Callum. My dear boy, it is so good to see you. Come, give us a kiss.”
This Callum fellow dutifully bussed her aunt’s cheek, and then peered inside the carriage. “Ah, good,” he said, casting Amelia a smile she could only describe as charming. “I see you have brought your niece along. I have a friend or two eager to meet her.”
Amelia’s heart shot into her throat.
Who would care to meet her?
She had spent her entire debut Season as a wallflower, overlooked by even the most desperate of fortune hunters. Indeed, if awards were given out for the most unremarkable debut of the decade, she would win first prize.
But this is what came of growing up forgotten, for her parents had never meant to have children and did not know what to do with her when she inconveniently came along. Her upbringing was left to a veritable stream of nannies, governesses, and tutors. Lots of tutors before she was finally sent off to an exclusive girls school, deposited there and left to fend for herself amid the empty halls whenever the school officially shut down for term break.
If it wasn’t for her Aunt Rosie blowing into her life like a maelstrom and taking charge of her several years ago, she would have melted away to nothing, disappearing as surely as a snowflake in summer.
“Hullo, there,” the handsome fellow her aunt had referred to as Callum said with ingratiating cheer.
Amelia smiled back at him. “Hullo. I am Amelia.”
She was now here at Marston Hall because her wonderful aunt had taken charge of her upon the untimely death of her parents and insisted on taking her wherever she went. In the blink of an eye, Amelia had gone from being shunted aside to hurled into the whirlwind of balls, soirees, musicales, and house parties with almost no preparation.
One of the lovable things about Rosie was that she saw life through an optimistic tint and could not see a single flaw in Amelia. “You are smart, beautiful, and you don’t talk too much,” her aunt would always tell her as she was about to toss Amelia into the choppy seas of these social affairs. “What bachelor with any brains will resist you?”
They all had.
But Amelia did not have the heart to tell her aunt that no one saw her as the diamond her aunt insisted she was.
So she endured these affairs with a smile and never a complaint, just as she would endure this one.
An older gentleman, who had been standing on the steps watching her and her aunt greet the handsome gentleman, now stepped forward with a boisterous shout. What was it about these cheerful fellows? “Good to see you again, Rosie! It has been far too long.”
“Indeed, Danvers. You are looking quite fit.”
They disappeared into the house, leaving Amelia with the younger gentleman, Callum. “I am Marston, by the way,” he said, reaching into the carriage to assist her. “Although you might have guessed by now.”
Heat shot into her cheeks. “You are the duke?”
“So they tell me.” He took hold of her hand while helping her down, his gaze sharp as a hawk’s as he assessed her. “I hope you are looking forward to our weekend, Lady Amelia.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Her heart felt as though it was about to burst. This was the duke? She ought to have guessed immediately, for no footman would ever dare address the Duchess of Redfern as Rosie, and had he not just welcomed them tohishome? “Very kind of you to invite me.”
“It is my pleasure. Your aunt has spoken highly of you.”
