Page 59 of War of the Wedding Wagers
“Those who question their readiness are often the most prepared,” Sir Frederick observed.
“That’s kind of you to say.” Albert glanced down the corridor where sounds of cleaning indicated the maid had returned with reinforcements. “If you’ll excuse me, I should go review those accounts with my mother while she’s receptive to discussion. I’m hoping to convince her to moderate this quarter’s rents. The spring floods hit our tenants hard.”
As he strode away, Amelia found herself exchanging glances with Sir Frederick. The weight of their recent discovery in the parish records seemed suddenly heavier.
“He’ll make an excellent viscount,” she said softly.
“Yes.” Sir Frederick’s voice was equally low. “One who clearly understands the true meaning of noblesse oblige.”
*
It was stilla few hours before dinner, Amelia still had to dry her hair, the meager fire in the grate casting more shadow thanwarmth across the room.
Deciding the drying would happen faster outside, now that the sun had timidly emerged from behind slate-gray clouds, she gathered her shawl and headed back into the weak sunshine.
The gravel path crunched softly beneath her half-boots as she walked the path that led around the rose bushes, their late-season blooms hanging heavy with droplets from the earlier rain.
Rain threatened again, but for now the sun was winning the battle.
The battle.
Amelia gave a wry smile as she considered the various battles which she felt were playing about right now.
Caro and her battle of wills with her brother. Of course, the young girl was intelligent enough to understand, in her heart, that Mr. Greene was nothing but a fortune hunter. He’d already shown his colors by withdrawing his interest the moment he learned he’d have to wait several years for Caroline’s fortune.
And then there was Amelia’s own battle of the heart.
Why, oh why, did she keep thinking of Sir Frederick when she knew inherheart of hearts that relinquishing him to someone far more suitable was the only way to achieve long-term happiness?
Sir Frederick was not for her, and she was foolish if she thought otherwise.
If his smile grew warmer when he addressed her, and his tone held an edge of fondness that was absent when she heard him addressing other young ladies, wasn’t that simply all in her imagination?
Besides, even if it wasn’t, it was because he’d made a sport out of trying to get her to admit feelings for him.
Yes, that was it!
Her reflections were cut short when Henry hailed her from across the lawn, and he strode across to her side. “I’m so glad I’ve caught you alone, Miss Fairchild,” he said, flicking a glance up at the fast-graying sky. As the distance between them closed, Amelia saw lines of concern etched around his eyes. His normally composed countenance was troubled, a muscle twitching almost imperceptibly at the corner of his jaw.
“Is Caroline in trouble again?” Amelia asked with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes, hoping to ease whatever burden weighed so heavily upon him. The smile was a practiced thing, designed to coax confidences from a reluctant source. “I think her brother will be very glad when she is back home and her foolish fancies have something else to focus on. Mr. Greene will not be allowed to call on her at home.” She hesitated, the breeze lifting a wayward strand of hair across her cheek. “I presume it is Greene that is the source of your concern?”
Henry nodded, his gloved hand absently smoothing the lapel of his coat. “Yes, but not in relation to Caroline,” he said. With a furtive glance that swept across the lawn—taking in the gardener pruning roses in the distant corner, the maid carrying linens to dry, the groundskeeper moving wheelbarrows near the kitchen gardens—he leaned slightly closer. “Would you be so kind as to come to the library with me? You see, I’ve found something, and I don’t know what to do with the information.”
Amelia hoped she stifled her gasp. Had he, too, realized that Pernilla and William had actually married?
But when they were back in the large, vaulted repository of books, Henry revealed that his discovery was of a different nature entirely.
“Let me show you,” Henry said as the library doors closed behind them with a soft thud that seemed to seal them into another world. Here, the storm-washed afternoon light filtered through tall windows, catching dust motes that danced abovethe leather-bound volumes. The familiar scent of beeswax polish mingled with aged paper and ink—usually so comforting to Amelia, but now holding an edge of foreboding as Henry led her between the towering shelves.
“Do you recognize this handwriting?” asked Henry. His fingers, slightly ink-stained at the tips, pushed aside a precarious pile of volumes—leather-bound classics whose gilded spines caught what little light filtered through the heavy curtains.
Amelia did. She’d seen the correspondence in his hand—admittedly brief and lighthearted between Caroline and Mr. Greene.
“I think someone interrupted Mr. Greene while he was writing a letter. He covered it with these volumes and obviously plans to return, though he clearly was unable to take the letter with him. But do you see what he has written? I certainly had no intention of prying into his personal affairs, but the letter was there to read the moment I picked up the volume of Virgil, which had interested me.”
Amelia put her head closer to the paper, unwilling to disturb its position, and read that which had so disturbed Henry. The handwriting was unmistakably Mr. Greene’s—the same flowing script she’d seen in his previous lighthearted correspondence with Caroline, now transformed into something far more consequential.
“Dearest Cousin,” the letter read, “Your research was correct. I believe I’ve found the proof we need linking the Greene family to Pernilla and William. Their marriage certificate provides all we need to prove our claim…”
