Jane Goodger (23 page)

My God, he’d already struck her once, leaving an ugly bruise that made him sick to see. She’d shrugged it off and laughed, told him not to be silly. She knew he didn’t mean it, and of course, he hadn’t meant to hurt her. But he had hurt her, and next time it could be much, much worse.

The dreams were a shameful reminder of where he’d come from, a past from which he could not escape. He’d thought that perhaps having Amelia sleeping next to him would give him solace, but it only seemed to make things worse. Perhaps her soft breathing, her subtle movements triggered something in his sleeping brain that awoke the fear and violence lying dormant there.

He wanted to be with her, wanted to hold her in his arms, but he could not take the chance of hurting her. She would regret their marraige even more if she knew the extent of the brutality in his dreams. Boone was beginning to believe that whatever demons had made his father the way he was also lived inside of him, and simply waited to escape.

“Something’s wrong,” Maggie said that night as she pulled a brush through her long, dark curls.

“You saw it too, then.”

Maggie turned to her husband, surprised he’d noticed that not all was right between Amelia and Boone. “They don’t hate each other.”

“They don’t look at each other. I’ve never seen a couple not look at each other as much as those two.”

Maggie looked at the reflection of Edward, smiled at him. “I hadn’t noticed that specifically. I suppose not every married couple is as in love as we are.”

“Or as Rand and Elizabeth are.”

Maggie gave Edward a troubled look. “I do get the distinct feeling that they are not deliriously happy. At least Boone is not. And it’s more than that he is feeling a bit out of place here. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Edward came up behind Amelia and put his hands on her shoulders. “Remember when you returned to England?”

“The first time or the second time?”

“Either time. I loved you so much, I couldn’t bear to look at you. It hurt too much.”

“I do remember. And I remember doing the same,” Maggie said, her brow furrowed. “But we weren’t married then. Each of us was just pretending we weren’t madly in love, so that the other wouldn’t know…” Her voice trailed off and Edward raised an eyebrow.

“Precisely.”

“Do you really think they are madly in love but afraid to let one another know?”

Edward shrugged. “It’s either that, or they truly don’t love one another.”

Maggie turned and swatted him playfully on the arm, and he bent and gave her a long kiss in apology. Pulling back, he smiled at his beautiful wife. “If they do love each other, it shouldn’t take too long before they figure it out.”

Maggie still looked worried. “What if one is not looking at the other because they are in love, and the other is not looking because they are not.”

It took a moment before Edward could figure out what Maggie was saying. “Ah. Unrequited love.”

“Oh, that would be horrible. Who’s the unrequited one, then? Boone or Amelia?”

“Boone. Women are entirely more fickle about love than men. And remember, the poor sod was already half in love with her before they were even married.”

Maggie stood and wrapped her arms around Edward’s neck, nuzzling her face against his chest. “I’m so glad we figured it out. Imagine if we hadn’t. Imagine if one of us was too proud to admit how stupid you were being.”

Edward let out a laugh and gave his wife a sound kissing as punishment for her teasing.

“I do hope the ball we planned to introduce Boone to society isn’t a mistake. He’s so very shy.”

“Mmmm.”

“Lord Hollings, you are not listening to me at all,” Maggie said in mock anger.

“How can I possibly care about a ball when my wife is standing in my arms?” he said, his hands beginning to drift just where she wanted them.

Maggie let out a soft sigh of pure pleasure. “It’s too late to cancel, the invitations are out, and…” She squealed as he lightly nibbled at her ear. And that was the end of that particular conversation.

The next few days were spent settling into their new life, looking at homes for let or purchase, and for Boone, meeting his future patients. Dr. White led him ’round to the patients that he visited the most—the Fitzfields with their twelve children, Mrs. Delvin, who had been bedridden for two years, and Mrs. Langley, who, Dr. White suspected, was simply lonely.

He found the village charming, the people warm, but a problem came up that he had not at all anticipated. He could only understand every other word they were saying, which Dr. White found rather delightful.

“Me conker’s ’l swerlen, if’n ye noticed,” one old gent said. “Me conker.” He’d looked at Dr. White helplessly until he translated for him.

“He has a swollen nose. No doubt from visiting the pub, eh, Sully?” The old man gave the doctor a sheepish look and tipped his hat to both men before heading down the street—probably to visit yet another pub.

Amelia kept busy touring houses and finding none to her liking. They were either too austere, too small, or too far away from the town center.

Discouraged, Amelia returned to Meremont with Maggie.

“I think we’ve been to every available home in Hollings,” she said as the women walked up the shallow steps to Meremont’s front door.

“You know you can stay here as long as you want,” Maggie said.

“I know, but I’d like to be in our own place for the holidays. And I think Boone would too.”

They walked into a little sitting room, and Maggie pulled a rope for tea. “I’m famished. I swear I’ve become a proper English lady having tea each day.”

“It is the thing I missed most when I was in Texas,” Amelia said feelingly. “That and trees.”

Maggie was thoughtful for a moment before asking, “Do you think Boone misses Texas?”

Amelia shrugged. “He doesn’t say he does. But I don’t think so. I have noticed that he looks more tired of late, as if he’s not getting enough rest. He doesn’t sleep well.”

“Are you worried?”

She shook her head and stared into her tea. “I don’t think he’s ever slept well,” she said, and left it at that. She wanted to add that Boone seemed happy, happier than he’d ever been. Yet more distant.

That was why, the next day, when Boone arrived home early, she made it her mission to drag him outside for a walk with her.

“Shall we go down by the beach? It’s a lovely day and the tide is low so we’ll have plenty of beach to walk on.”

Boone smiled. “All right.”

Amelia gave a little happy jump, making Boone smile even more broadly. She adored it when he smiled, she thought as she hurried to fetch her coat and gloves. The sun was shining, but it was a windy day and down by the sea it was always cooler.

As the wind buffeted them, making their cheeks pink, Amelia said, “Now you know why all my gowns were wool.”

Boone pulled his collar up. “I like it.” Seeing her look of disbelief, he said, “I do. But, it does get warm in the summer, here, doesn’t?”

“A bit,” Amelia said, laughing. She picked up her skirts and ran to the bluff, then disappeared from view. Boone let out a shout, only to find Amelia peering back up at him from a safe shelf over the crashing surf, laughing with abandon. “Sorry,” she said, between laughs, then proceeded to expertly scale down the steep path to the rocky beach below.

Boone followed her, liking the way she confidently lifted her skirts and navigated the path with ease. When they reached the bottom, she flung herself against him, laughing.

“Your lips are like ice,” he said, kissing her.

“I know. Isn’t it wonderful?”

They walked hand in hand, looking at the seagulls hanging from the sky, surfing the wind. Tiny little plovers skittered in the sand in front of them searching for food.

“This is nice,” Boone said, breathing deeply of the salty sea air. He’d never spent much time near the water. It was bracing and invigorating, and again he was struck by how different this place was from Small Fork.

“You must have felt very strange in Texas,” he said, gazing out onto the white-capped sea.

“I did.”

He looked down at her, realizing how very strong she’d been in such a strange land. She’d complained of the heat, but in a goodnatured way. How shocking it must have seemed compared to this damp coolness. “You were very brave,” he said, wishing he could say something more, but feeling foolish.

“No more brave than you,” Amelia said, kissing his cheek. She swallowed and looked out at the sea. “I’ll always be grateful to you.”

Grateful
.

They walked a bit further up the beach, then looked back, surprised how far they’d come.

“I believe if we walk up this path, we’ll come to a road and the walking will be a bit easier.”

So the two began trudging up the walk, happy to find a set of sturdy stone steps and a wooden railing that had been carved into the cliff. “My goodness, it’s been a while since my legs have gotten this much exercise.”

Boone reached the top first, and held his hand to hoist her up the last few steps. They both turned toward the road…and that was when they saw the home they would live in for the rest of their lives.

It seemed a bit magical, that they would turn and see the house, abandoned and overrun by ivy, a crooked “For Sale” sign tacked to a white picket fence badly in need of whitewashing.

“Oh, my,” Maggie breathed.

It wasn’t a large house by any means, but one that welcomed them, as if it were calling out to their very souls. The two-story clapboard house had a slate roof and tiny little turrets, as if it were trying to be far grander than it was. A balcony stretched along the top floor, and French doors looked out to the Irish Sea. At the very top of the house was a widow’s walk. If Boone had conjured up the perfect house, he couldn’t have done better.

They looked at each other and smiled, feeling one of those rare moments that married couples share when they know, deep in their hearts, they are thinking precisely the same thing at the same moment.

“Welcome home,” Boone said, and they both ran across the road to get a better look at the old place.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Amelia said, standing on the front porch and gazing out to the sea. “I can’t believe our agent didn’t point it out to us. Perhaps it’s in disrepair.” They stood side by side and peered through the window, each putting their hands on either side of their heads to block the glare of the sun. Inside, the walls were whitewashed, and a large fireplace dominated what must have been the main parlor. Sheets covered the furniture, but they could see the wide-plank floors and old-fashioned wall sconces. It was absolutely charming.

They walked around to the back, stepping over a garden gone to weeds, as well as discarded wagon wheels, and even the rotted carcass of an old rowboat.

“It doesn’t look as if anyone has lived here for years. I wonder why,” Amelia said. The house was larger than it appeared from the front, stretching back into an overgrown lawn. No neighbor’s house was visible, giving the place absolute privacy.

“Maybe it’s haunted,” Boone said. “By an old sea captain.” He looked at the widow’s walk built onto the roof.

“Oh, I should love to have a ghost or two,” Amelia said, clapping her hands together.

It was moments like this when Boone had to use all his restraint not to drag her into his arms and proclaim his undying love. She was so beautiful standing there in her simple day dress, her windswept hair a mess, her cheeks flushed from the wind and sun. She’d long ago taken off her hat, as it was futile to keep it on in the strong wind that blew in from the sea, and so strands of her hair whipped across her face. He reached out and tucked one strand behind her ear, swallowing heavily.

“I think I’ll come to you tonight, if you don’t mind,” he said, his voice sounding low and gruff.

“I don’t mind.” She turned to look back at the house. “I wish it could be ours now. I wish we could sleep here tonight.”

“You don’t think it’s too small?”

“Goodness, no. You should have seen the stone mausoleums that agent was showing me. They had about as much warmth as a sanitarium. But this…this is a house for a family.” She blushed prettily, and Boone’s gut wrenched.

“Do you think you’re…?”

Amelia was momentarily confused, then realized what he was asking. “No, not yet. I’m quite sure. But someday, we’ll have children and they’ll grow up here and run down to the beach.”

“Only when they are old enough.”

“Yes, and we’ll build sand castles and explore and collect seashells.”

“How many children?”

“Six,” she said with a decisive nod.

“Six? That’s a half dozen.”

“Yes. A lovely number. And if we have to make the place larger, we can always add on.”

“Six children?” he asked again.

“Yes,” Amelia said, hugging herself and gazing up at the house. “Six little rosy-cheeked, well-behaved, beautiful children. The boys shall look like you and the girls like me.”

“That would probably be best,” Boone said indulgently.

Amelia grinned happily. “Let’s go speak to my agent and tell him to find the owner so we can arrange a purchase.”

“Don’t you want to see the inside first?” Boone asked.

“Not at all. If it’s something we don’t like, we can fix it. But we’ll never find another home like this. It’s calling to me, Boone. It’s the strangest thing. It’s almost as if it were waiting here all this time, waiting for us to find it here. We can make it happy.”

Boone looked at the house skeptically and followed Amelia back to the front of the cottage.

“Look,” she said, pointing at the house. “It’s smiling.”

Boone tilted his head and realized that the house, with its symmetrical shape and gracefully curved porch, did indeed look like it could be smiling.

Two weeks later, Amelia sat in her brother’s library and breathed deeply. Oh, that
smell,
that wonderfully familiar smell of books and beeswax and leather. Could there be a more wonderful smell on this earth? She hugged herself, her eyes still closed, as she scooted down further into the overstuffed chair where she’d decided to curl up with a book for the afternoon.

Why, it was almost as if she’d never left at all. Other than the fact she now was married, of course. The cottage would not be ready for another few weeks, and was in far worse condition than it first appeared. The place had been empty for fifteen years and needed to be completely modernized. Amelia couldn’t wait to move in, but in the meantime, enjoyed being home.

Boone had been kept inordinately busy with his new patients, who, after a bit of reticence, were eager to meet the handsome young American doctor. Especially the women, Amelia noted with some displeasure. Boone claimed to be completely oblivious to the fact that nearly every woman in the village, whether a toddler or in her dotage, suddenly developed some sort of illness.

“At least they all pay in silver,” had been Boone’s only comment. Indeed, after a career spent collecting eggs and beef as payment, real currency was a bit of a novelty.

Her brother entered the room, pausing for a moment when he saw his little sister once again taking up space in his library. “Here again, are we?”

Amelia wrinkled her nose at him.

“Don’t you think you should spend a bit more time doing something else?”

“Doing what? Other than needlework, there’s not much for me to do until the cottage is ready. I was hoping Aunt Matilda would be arriving soon with the children. I do miss them.”

“They’ll be here soon enough,” Edward said dryly. “And as you do nothing more than read and visit with Maggie, I don’t see why you cannot spend a bit more time getting the cottage ready. Surely you must need curtains and such.”

Amelia gave him a level look. “I’ve already ordered them. It took approximately twenty minutes. Other than putting on a pair of coveralls and picking up a hammer, there’s not much for me to do to get it ready. I fear if I did, I would do more damage than good, anyway. Boone works all day. I hardly see him. Who knew there were so many sick people in Hollings? Sick women, that is.”

“Jealous, are you?”

“Of course. The women of Hollings see far more of my husband than I do.” Even at night, after the rare times they made love, Boone would leave her bed for his. And every time she pretended it didn’t matter, even though it broke her heart.

“I have to work, just like your husband does. As a matter of fact, I have several meetings this afternoon which require privacy.” He stared at her expectantly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”

Just then, as if planned, the butler announced the arrival of her brother’s counsel.

“Don’t you have friends to visit?”

“Of course,” Amelia said, forcing herself to sound cheerful.

The fact was, the one visit she’d made to an old friend had been a disappointing affair, strained to the point of being exceedingly uncomfortable. Betsy Gardner was now Lady Havershaw, as she’d married a local baron, an older man who’d been widowed and was trying to add a boy to his brood of five girls. Betsy had taken on a sour look, like someone who was terminally unhappy with life. Amelia couldn’t remember her being quite so disagreeable before. They hadn’t been best friends, but Amelia remembered a few afternoons discussing parties and eligible bachelors together. Perhaps the only thing they’d had in common back then was that they were both unmarried.

And Amelia had the distinct feeling, as difficult as it was to fathom, that Betsy somehow felt superior to Amelia, simply because she’d married a doddering old baron. Betsy had said nothing overt, of course, nothing Amelia could repeat and show as proof, but the visit had not gone well.

“Perhaps I can go visiting,” Amelia said, warming to the idea. After all, Betsy wasn’t the only old friend she’d had in the area.

She asked a footman to have a carriage made ready and hurried to change, thankful to have a maid again who could help her into her nicer dresses. She put on a lovely sky-blue day dress that reminded her, for some reason, of the distinct color of the Texas sky at midday. Oddly, it made her smile to think of it.

Within twenty minutes she was handing her card to a solemn butler who worked for one of her friends, Mrs. Beatrice Turner. Beatrice and Amelia had gone to Prout Finishing School together, often commiserating on the complete inanity of much of what they were required to learn. Beatrice had married a very nice gentleman, the heir to a successful shipping enterprise.