Читать книгу Bound By One Scandalous Night - Diane Gaston, Diane Gaston - Страница 11

Chapter Four

Three months later, September 1815—London

‘Edmund? Edmund Summerfield?’

Edmund, just stepping out of Horse Guards onto the parade, turned.

Marc Glenville quickened his step to catch up to him. ‘I thought that was you.’ He extended his hand to shake. ‘How are you, Edmund? What a surprise to see you in London.’

Edmund was surprised as well. It was September. He thought everyone would be in the country hunting birds, not in London. He’d not written to any of his sisters that he would be in England, because he expected to return to Brussels in a week or two, and he assumed they would not be in town. Who could have thought he would run into his half-sister Tess’s husband?

Amelie’s brother.

He accepted the handshake. ‘I arrived a few days ago.’

He’d come into town to settle his affairs in person. He’d planned to write to his sisters from Brussels after he returned. Better to inform them by letter afterwards than tell them ahead of time what he intended to do.

‘Tess will be delighted you are here,’ Glenville said. ‘Where are you headed?’

‘Back to my hotel.’

‘Are you staying at Stephen’s Hotel?’ Glenville asked.

It was a good guess. Stephen’s Hotel catered to army officers and, even though Edmund was not in uniform, Glenville would assume he would stay there.

He nodded. ‘I am.’

Glenville clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come have a drink with me first. It is but a short walk to Brooks’s.’

Edmund could think of no excuse. ‘A drink would be welcome.’

As they started to cross the parade, Glenville gestured to Edmund’s leg. ‘How is your injury?’

‘Mostly healed.’

A French sabre had sliced into Edmund’s leg at Waterloo. He still limped a bit when he first rose in the morning, and it still pained him at night. He’d helped Marc carry a grievously wounded Fowler back from the battlefield, despite his own injury. Fowler, the supposed fiancé who had abandoned Amelie on the streets of Brussels—although Edmund had said nothing to Glenville about that. Fowler had been wounded in the ill-fated Scots Greys’ cavalry charge. Would Glenville have brought Fowler back to Brussels if he’d known how reprehensibly he’d treated Amelie? Edmund did not regret saving Fowler, though. Even a cad like him did not deserve to die on that battlefield. Too many of them died undiscovered, and none of them deserved that fate.

How strange was fate? Edmund’s life had become entwined with Glenville when he married Edmund’s sister. Had Glenville not met Edmund, he might have walked by Edmund at Waterloo and not asked him to help bring Fowler back to Brussels. Care of Edmund’s leg might have been delayed. The wound might have festered. He might have lost his leg. Or his life. Many of the wounded died for lack of immediate care.

Fate also entwined him with Fowler, a man he’d preferred to have known nothing of. But he would not for all the world have missed his brief time of knowing Amelie. What if he’d never met her? What would have happened to her if he’d not noticed her on the streets of Brussels that night, had not been there to save her from that brute who’d meant to molest her? What if he’d not walked her back to the hotel, not made love to her?

How the memory of that night had sustained him! During the hard fighting at Quatre Bras. All during the rain-drenched night after that battle. During tense moments of inaction at Waterloo.

After his injury.

Knowing that Amelie, with all her warmth, beauty and passion, was still in the world had been and still was a comfort. Spending those precious hours with her had been like touching light. He’d become more resolved than ever to make something of his life, to succeed where his father had failed, to prove to his departed mother that her sacrifices had not been for naught.

How had Amelie fared? What memories did she hold about that night? Regret? Shame? He fervently hoped not.

Of course, he could simply ask Glenville how Amelie was.

‘How is Tess?’ he asked instead.

Glenville’s expression turned soft. ‘Tess is wonderful.’

Edmund nodded in approval. Tess deserved such a man to love her.

‘And your family?’ he went on.

‘My parents are getting along very well.’ Glenville spoke this with some surprise.

‘And your sister?’ He tried to keep his tone even.

‘Amelie?’ Glenville rubbed his forehead. ‘Amelie has had it rougher than the rest of us. Fowler, you know.’

Edmund was surprised. ‘Fowler died, didn’t he?’ That should have been the end of it for her.

When last Edmund saw Fowler, he’d been barely clinging to life—but still alive. Glenville and Tess had taken him back to England to his parents. Edmund had stayed in Brussels to be cared for by Lady Summerfield, his half-sisters’ mother, and her lover, Count von Osten. Even though that lady had run away from Edmund’s father and abandoned her children years before, Edmund had searched for and found her. He’d stayed with her and the count in Brussels both before the battle and after.

‘Fowler lived,’ Glenville said. ‘But there is no thought of marriage between him and Amelie now. His parents said he was in no condition to marry and that it was best to break the engagement. Amelie never speaks of it, but there is no doubt she’s been changed by all this.’

Was the change due to Fowler? Or was Edmund responsible? It had been nearly three months since that night together. He’d hoped she’d rebounded from both.

He and Glenville continued walking past Carlton House, the grand residence of the Prince Regent.

Glenville suddenly halted. ‘I have a better notion than going for a drink! Come to dinner tonight. My parents are at the country estate, but that will give you and Tess more of a visit. We have no plans for the evening. I will go home directly and send word to you at your hotel if by some chance we must withdraw the invitation, but I can think of no reason you should not be very welcome.’

If Glenville’s parents were in the country, Amelie would be with them. There was really no reason not to see Tess now that she knew he was in town. He could tell her in person what he’d planned to write in a letter.

Besides, he missed her. And Genna and Lorene.

Might they be in London, too?

‘Dinner. Name the hour and I will be there.’

‘Come at seven,’ Glenville said. ‘We are at my parents’ on Grosvenor Street. Third house from the corner adjacent to the square.’

Edmund had not spent much time in London and none in the fine houses around Grosvenor Square, but he knew where Grosvenor intersected with Bond Street. ‘I will find it.’

Glenville smiled. ‘Excellent! Tess will be happy to have a nice long visit with you.’

* * *

At a little past seven, Edmund sounded the knocker at the third town house adjacent to Grosvenor Square.

A footman opened the door, and Edmund gave him his name. ‘This way, sir.’

Edmund followed him to the door of the drawing room, where he was announced. As Edmund stepped into the room, Tess was already on her feet, rushing towards him.

‘Edmund!’ She flung herself into his arms for a hug. ‘What a nice surprise.’ She immediately pulled away to look at him. ‘How is your leg? Marc said it was healed. Is it? Does it pain you still?’

He smiled at her, surprised how pleased he was to see her. ‘My leg is healed. Nothing to worry over, I assure you.’ He gazed at her sparkling hazel eyes, her shining chestnut hair. ‘You look even more beautiful than in Brussels, Tess.’

She blushed. ‘I am happy. That is the reason.’

Her husband approached. ‘How good you could come on such short notice. I am delighted we will have the evening together.’

Glenville and Tess stepped aside.

From a chair near the fireplace, another woman stood. ‘Hello, Edmund.’

Amelie! He caught himself before he spoke her name aloud, bowing instead. ‘Miss Glenville. Good to see you again.’

A memory of holding her in his arms, feeling her soft skin against his palms, her lips against his, slammed into him. He’d missed her, although why he should miss a woman he’d only spent a few hours with would make no sense to anyone.

Except to him. Those hours together had had an impact that would never leave him. She was the inspiration for him to dare to make himself a success.

She looked as beautiful as ever, but thinner. Paler.

‘You must call me Amelie.’ Even her voice seemed altered. Softer. Tenser. She made an attempt at a smile.

Tess pulled him towards the sofa, near Amelie. ‘Come. Sit. Marc will pour you a glass of claret. You must tell me why you are in London and why you did not write to us that you were coming.’ She gave him a scolding look.

He glanced at Amelie, who sat again, before turning to Tess. ‘I assumed you would be in the country.’ He assumed they all would be in the country.

‘Marc had some work to finish,’ Tess said. ‘And Amelie came for a visit.’

Marc poured the wine and handed a glass to him and one to Tess. ‘That was why I was at Horse Guards.’

Edmund tore his eyes away from Amelie. ‘Work brought you to Horse Guards?’ What sort of work at Horse Guards did a viscount’s heir perform?

Glenville smiled. ‘Indeed.’ But he did not explain.

It appeared Edmund and Amelie were not the only ones to keep secrets.

‘But why did you come to London, Edmund?’ Tess asked again.

He took a sip of his wine and took one more glance at Amelie before facing Tess. ‘I sold my commission.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You are no longer in the army?’

‘I sold out.’ He gestured to his clothes. ‘That is why I am not in uniform.’ He met Tess’s gaze, but wondered if Amelie even attended to his words. ‘Napoleon is defeated. The war is over. Without the war, there is no future for me in the army. Regiments will disband, I fear. There will be fewer and fewer opportunities to advance.’

And who would promote a bastard when there were plenty of aristocratic sons wanting the higher ranks? When fighting in Spain, he’d been passed over for field promotions. Captaincies had been given to men with fewer skills and less seniority.

‘But what will you do?’ Tess asked.

He could not resist a glance at Amelie, who sat primly, eyes lowered, hands folded in her lap. ‘I plan to return to Brussels.’

‘Brussels? With Mama?’ Tess’s voice rose.

Tess and her sisters had not known their mother was in Brussels, let alone that Edmund had corresponded with her for several years and stayed with her when his regiment was sent to the area. Because of Edmund, Tess and Lady Summerfield had forged a reconciliation, albeit an ambivalent one. Unlike Edmund, Tess had not forgiven her mother for abandoning them.

But this was not the time to discuss Lady Summerfield.

‘There are fortunes to be made on the Continent, now that the war is over,’ he said instead. And Count von Osten had a talent for finding them.

‘You sound like Papa,’ Tess accused.

Their late father had always chased an easy fortune, finding instead only debts and failure. When his half-sister Lorene sent him money to purchase a captaincy, Edmund had been surprised there had been any money left to inherit. While Edmund recuperated in Brussels, he used that money, not to purchase an advancement in the army, but to make the very sort of investment his father might have made. Except, unlike his father, Edmund made good profits from taking the risk. Now that he’d sold his lieutenancy, he had even more money to invest.

‘I’ll do well enough, Tess,’ he assured her. ‘Besides, I only have me to worry over.’ Not a wife, three daughters and a bastard son, like their father.

‘No more talk of money,’ her husband said cheerfully.

‘Then tell me of Lorene and Genna,’ Edmund said, glad to change the subject. ‘Are they in London, too?’

Their sister Lorene had married a very old man, a reclusive earl who lived near their village in Lincolnshire. She’d married him for his money, which seemed unlike her. Edmund had never met the man.

‘Lord Tinmore has retired to the country.’ Glenville’s voice rang with contempt. ‘He has filled Tinmore Hall with guests who are invited for the bird shooting.’

‘Guests?’ Edmund said. ‘I thought he was an old recluse. Was that not what was said of him when we were growing up?’

‘He probably has invited his eligible gentlemen friends in an effort to get Genna married off,’ Tess responded. ‘He is eager to be rid of her, I think.’

‘How old is Genna?’ Edmund asked. ‘Is she not too young?’ His eyes darted to Amelie again. How old was she? he wondered. Had she been too young? He’d not given that a thought that fateful night.

‘She is nineteen now.’ Tess rolled her eyes. ‘Plenty old enough, but she professes to be against marriage. She sometimes vows never to marry, but it is unlikely Tinmore will allow her that choice.’

Edmund was alarmed. ‘Surely he will not force her!’

Tess exchanged a look with her husband, who answered, ‘I fear Tinmore is capable of almost anything.’

‘What of Lorene?’ Edmund asked. Could he take care of both Lorene and Genna if it became necessary? ‘Does he treat her ill?’

Tess shook her head. ‘He is indulgent of Lorene as far as I can surmise. She wants for nothing, but he wants Lorene all to himself, not shared with her sisters.’

Edmund curled his fingers into a fist. ‘You will tell me if he mistreats either of them.’

‘We will not let them be mistreated,’ Glenville said emphatically.

The butler entered the room to announce that dinner was served. Tess took Glenville’s arm. There was nothing for Edmund to do but offer to escort Amelie. Her graceful fingers wrapped around his offered arm.

‘How are you, Amelie?’ he asked in a lowered voice as they trailed behind Tess and Glenville.

She raised her blue eyes to his for a moment but quickly averted them again. ‘I am well enough, I suppose.’

She appeared altered, though, not full of sparkle and happiness like when he first met her in Brussels. She was different than when he’d made love to her, as well. She seemed...worried.

In the dining room she was seated next to him, and he was aware the entire time of her closeness. He found himself wanting to see the expressions on her face to gauge how she was feeling.

There were so many questions he wished to ask her. Was she ill? Was she still affected by Fowler’s behaviour in Brussels? Did she ever think of the night they’d spent together? If so, did she remember it as he did? As a transforming experience? Or did she feel regret, remorse, or worst of all, shame? Should he have left her at the hotel door?

He hardly attended to the conversation at the table, hardly knew what he’d said to anyone. He’d talked about his investments, his plans to travel to wherever a fortune could be made. He and Glenville debated what countries that might be and also what the end of the war might mean to the economies of Britain, France and the rest of the Continent. If only he could remember what they concluded. A part of his mind had fixed on Amelie and would not let go.

* * *

Amelie made a show of eating, although she mostly pushed food around her plate. She’d not had an appetite of late. Would he notice?

She’d forgotten how handsome he was. Out of uniform in a beautifully tailored coat and trousers that showed his muscular legs, he was an impressive sight.

Was he glad to see her? She could not tell. There was no way to talk to him alone, and she dared not reveal that she knew him a great deal better than Marc or Tess could ever imagine. Perhaps his reticence to even look at her was to help keep their secret. She hoped so. She hoped it was not that he disliked encountering her again.

* * *

After dinner he and Marc did not linger over brandy. Instead they all returned to the drawing room for more conversation.

She’d thought she might never see Edmund again, thought he’d return to the army and be sent somewhere far away, but here he was and now she needed to make a decision. To speak to him now, to tell him of her—situation—or to have him find out later, perhaps in a letter from Tess.

It had bothered her greatly that he would find out after the fact and not hear it from her own lips.

He was here now, though. This might be her only chance.

But how to speak to him alone?

She could not think of any excuse to do so. He seemed not to pay her much mind, so would likely miss any hint she could try to send him to let him know she wanted to see him alone, with no one around. Just her and Edmund.

Eventually she excused herself, saying she was going to bed. Instead she put on her cloak and sneaked outside. She’d stand in the chilly September air until he walked out the door.

She waited in the stairs that led from the street to the servants’ entrance, hoping none of them opened the door and caught her there. The wind and damp seemed to find their way to her hiding place, making the minutes ticking by move even more slowly. How easy it would be to simply turn around and re-enter the house and tell herself she’d tried. He might stay for hours, might he not? Could she wait so long? Her feet, still in her dinner slippers, felt like ice, and her ungloved fingers trembled as they sought warmth in the recesses of her cloak. How long had it been? She tried to listen for the chiming of clocks, but all she could hear was the wind, an occasional carriage rumbling by or the chattering of her teeth.

Finally she heard the front door open, and she emerged from her hiding place, stepping into the light cast by the rush lamps.

He turned at the sound of her footsteps. ‘Amelie! What are you doing out here?’

‘I—I wanted to see you alone,’ she managed.

He took hold of her arm and walked her back into the darkness. ‘Tell me truthfully, Amelie. How do you fare? Your brother said you were not doing well. Are you ill?’

‘I’m not ill,’ she said.

‘Do not tell me you are still affected by Fowler.’

She almost laughed. ‘Certainly not.’

‘Then is it what transpired between us?’ He sounded distressed. ‘If so, I am so sincerely sorry—’

‘It is not that,’ she broke in. ‘At least not precisely.’

‘You must not allow that night to change you. You are still beautiful. More beautiful, in fact. There is no reason you cannot marry—’

She cut him off again. ‘There is a reason, Edmund! A very important reason. That is why I contrived to see you alone. There is something I must tell you.’

‘What is it?’ His voice was tense. She could not clearly see his face.

Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. She took a deep breath and said words she’d never until this moment spoken aloud.

‘I am going to have a baby.’