Page 58 of War of the Wedding Wagers
They stared at each other, the implications slowly sinking in.
“She didn’t die,” Amelia said. “She escaped. With William.”
“And her father covered it up rather than face the scandal.” Sir Frederick’s voice held grudging admiration. “But why make this entry at all? Even if it isn’t actually in the book? Surely that defeated the purpose?”
“Perhaps…” Amelia hesitated. “Perhaps someone wanted the truth to be known. Eventually.”
His hand covered hers where it rested on the ancient page, and as he looked at her, his thumb traced small circles on her wrist, sending shivers up her arm that had nothing to do with her damp clothing.
“Sir Frederick—” she began.
But before she could continue, the vestry door opened, flooding the small room with light. They sprang apart as the vicar entered, full of apologies for his lateness.
“Ah, you found the records!” he said cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their flushed faces and damp clothing. “Fascinating reading, aren’t they? All those old stories, waiting to be discovered.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Amelia and SirFrederick had barely made it back to the castle, their clothes still damp from their earlier soaking, when they heard Lady Pendleton’s strident tones echoing down the corridor.
“Completely incompetent! I won’t have it. Not in my house!”
Rounding the corner, they came upon a tableau that made Amelia’s heart sink. A young maid kneeled on the floor, desperately trying to gather up the shards of what had clearly been an expensive Chinese vase, while Lady Pendleton loomed over her.
“Mama, please.” The quiet voice was Lady Pendleton’s son, Albert. He stood a few feet behind the young maid, his expression pained. “It was my fault entirely. I wasn’t looking where I was going and bumped into Jenny as she was dusting.”
“Nonsense, Albert!” Lady Pendleton rounded on her son. “You needn’t cover for the girl’s clumsiness. She’ll be dismissed without a character, of course.”
The maid’s face went white. “Please, my lady, I beg you—my mother is ill, and my wages—”
“Enough!” Lady Pendleton’s voice was quiet, but harsh.
“Mother,” said Albert, his voice still gentle but now carrying an unmistakable note of authority, “I have already said it was my fault. I will, of course, replace the vase from my own allowance.”
“But Albert—”
“And Jenny,” he continued as if his mother hadn’t spoken, “is one of our most conscientious servants. When Grand-papa was alive, he often remarked on her attention to detail, particularly in caring for the library’s more delicate volumes.”
At the mention of her late father, Lady Pendleton’s expression flickered. Albert pressed his advantage.
“In fact, I was just coming to find you, Mama. I’ve been reviewing the estate accounts as you asked, and I have some questions about the tenant farmers’ rents. Shall we discuss them in your sitting room?”
It was masterfully done, Amelia thought. In the space of a few sentences, he had reminded his mother of her father’s values, demonstrated his own attention to estate matters, and offered her a graceful way to exit the situation without losing face.
Lady Pendleton drew herself up. “Very well. Though I still think—” She broke off, finally noticing their audience. “Sir Frederick! Miss Fairchild! I trust you haven’t been caught in that dreadful downpour?”
“Only briefly,” Sir Frederick replied smoothly. “Though long enough to appreciate the excellence of your roof repairs. The castle seems remarkably well-maintained.”
Another masterstroke, Amelia realized. Lady Pendleton immediately launched into a detailed account of recent improvements to the estate, allowing Albert to help the maid to her feet and whisper something that made her grateful curtsey markedly less shaky.
As his mother swept down the corridor, Albert turned to them with a rueful smile. “I apologize if you witnessed any unpleasantness. My mother can be…passionate about the running of her household.”
“It seems to me the household—and the estate—are fortunate in their future master,” Sir Frederick remarked.
Albert’s smile turned self-deprecating. “I try to live up to my grandfather’s example. He always said that true nobility lay not in how we treat our equals, but in how we treat those who depend upon us.” He glanced after his mother. “Though sometimes that requires a degree of…diplomatic skill.”
“A skill you seem to have mastered admirably,” Amelia said warmly.
He laughed. “Years of practice, I assure you. Though I’m still learning. There’s so much to understand about running an estate of this size. The responsibilities to the tenants, the preservation of the house itself, the balance between tradition and necessary change…” He shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be truly ready.”
