Page 62 of Lord of Fortune
“You know my son very well.”
“Where is he now?” Amelia could only imagine what he was feeling. If she found out her parent was a horrid person and that she suddenly had responsibilities she’d never conceived… He was an adventurer, an explorer, not a lord.
“He left. He often spent time in a small lean-to in the woods behind the house when he was a boy. I suspect that’s where he went. He could be back by now.” Margery looked down at her soup. “I suppose it’s gone cold by now.”
Amelia took a taste and found it was still warm. Only she wasn’t very hungry anymore. Forcing herself to sip a few spoonfuls, she noticed Penn’s mother seemed to be trying to do the same.
Thankfully, the footman rescued them a moment later, removing the dishes. Of course, he only brought the next course, which was about as appetizing as the first.
That wasn’t fair. The fish did look delicious, and Amelia told herself she ought to eat.
Margery took a few bites and set her fork down. “I’m afraid I’m not that hungry. Don’t let me interrupt you, however. I’m happy to have a bit of company. It’s quiet here now that Cate is married. Did Penn tell you about his sister?”
Amelia swallowed a bite of fish. “Yes. I understand she is newly married.” To an earl. Amelia had told Penn she’d never met an earl. Apparently, last night, she’d kissed one.
She set her fork down. “I’m not particularly hungry either. I blame all the food the inn sent for my journey.” There had been an excess, really, and every bite was delicious. But she knew that wasn’t the reason for her loss of appetite.
She wanted to ask about Penn and how he’d come to live with them, but decided she preferred to hear that from him. If he wanted to talk to her. First, however, she would keep Penn’s mother company. “Since we don’t seem to be interested in eating, would you like to show me your husband’s study?”
Margery’s eyes lit with interest. “Oh yes, let’s. That will be a welcome distraction.” She stood, and Amelia joined her.
Later, after Amelia had heard the exciting tale of how Penn’s parents had met, she stood in her bedchamber as Culley put her clothing away. “Culley, do you happen to know where Mr. Bowen’s—Penn’s—chamber is located?”
Culley snapped her head around in surprise. “I believe it’s the one next door.”
Good, that would decrease the chance of her being noticed.
“Are you going to…visit him?”
Amelia didn’t see any reason to lie, not to Culley. “He’s had some bad news, and as you know, he and I have become friends. I’d like to make sure he’s all right.”
Culley’s expression softened. “You’ve a kind heart. I won’t say a word, of course.”
“Thank you. I really am just paying a visit.” Amelia didn’t know why it mattered. She was a widow and not the slightest bit concerned about ruining her reputation. She was, however, a guest in the Bowens’ home, and she meant to behave respectfully. She doubted Penn’s parents would mind her checking on him, especially not if it helped.
As she made her way from the room into the corridor, she wondered if she were doing the right thing. What if he didn’t want to see her? Well then, he wouldn’t open the door. Assuming he was even there. She hoped so. She hated thinking of him outside in the dark. Alone. Upset.
Relying on the audacity he claimed she possessed, she knocked on his door. When she heard nothing—no response and no movement—she said, “It’s Amelia.”
When there was still no sound from the room, she knocked again and repeated herself, but a bit louder—as loud as she dared.
Not willing to give up, she reached for the latch. If he wasn’t inside, she’d wait for him. The door wasn’t locked. She pushed it inward. And nearly fell flat on her face.
Strong arms caught her as she pitched toward the floor. The door had moved quickly, and she realized now it was because someone had been opening at the same time she’d pushed.
She looked up into the dark blue, tortured gaze of Penn.
His grip on her waist was tight and…electrifying. He didn’t immediately let go, and she basked in his touch. Alas, he finally released her.
“What are you doing here?” he rasped.
She closed the door, plunging them into darkness without the light from the sconce in the corridor. “I came to see you.”
“Well, that’s obvious. Why?”
She followed him into the room and promptly stubbed her toe on something. “Ow. Do you suppose you could light a candle?”
A moment later, she heard flint, and a candle sputtered to life. She took in her surroundings—Penn’s bedchamber. She’d stubbed her toe on the chair set in front of a writing desk. The candle sat on a nightstand on the other side of his bed. He sprawled in a wingbacked chair set in front of a dark hearth, his long legs stretched before him. He drank from a glass dangling from his fingertips.
