Jane Goodger (24 page)

Their home was vast and built to impress, containing many modern conveniences, such as electricity and modern plumbing, that many of the older homes in the area did not yet have. Bringing the ancient homes of England up to modern standards was never an inexpensive task. Amelia had been to the home once before leaving, and found it and her friend delightful.

“Madam, if you will,” the butler said, bowing slightly and leading her to a sitting room off the marbled entry hall that boasted one of the most impressive chandeliers Amelia had ever seen. Why, it looked large enough to hold a half dozen people swinging upon its great arms, and she smiled, picturing several members of the aristocracy twirling about on it.

Amelia was surprised and delighted to find the sitting room filled with women she knew, women with whom she’d shared many hours during her London Season. It did not take long to realize they were not nearly as delighted to see her as she was to see them.

“Amelia. What a surprise,” Beatrice said in a tone that to Amelia sounded rather forced. How very odd.

“Yes, well, I’ve been back for more than two weeks and haven’t had a chance to visit old friends, except, of course, for Betsy,” Amelia said, trying valiantly to sound normal.

“Yes, Lady Havershaw mentioned it,” Beatrice said.

“It’s so wonderful to see everyone.” She meant it. It was wonderful, and yet not. Something was strange, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Beatrice indicated that she should sit, and Amelia did.

“We heard you were married,” said Beatrice’s younger, unmarried sister Emily. And someone actually shushed the girl.

Taken a bit aback, Amelia nodded. And smiled. But this time her smile was far more brittle. “Yes. I’m certain some of you have even met my husband. Dr. Kitteridge.”

They let out polite murmurs of agreement.

“It’s lovely to be home again. Texas is very different from England. Much warmer. In temperature.”

The women simply stared.

“Did I interrupt a conversation? Please continue.” And to a woman, they blushed, making Amelia instantly suspicious that she had been the topic of their conversation. She supposed it was natural enough that they would talk about her return, but it certainly was not natural that they should act so strangely toward her now. Not long ago, she would have ignored them, gone on with a smile on her face. But she was either far braver than she’d been or far less patient with their petty behavior, and so she challenged them. “You were discussing me, weren’t you?”

She could tell by their reaction that she was right. “How lovely,” Amelia said brightly, clearly surprising them and gaining a bit of satisfaction. “What would you like to know?”

“We’ve heard rumors,” Emily blurted out, and Beatrice glared at the young woman. “Well, we have,” she said, pouting.

“Rumors? I’m certain only half of them are true,” Amelia said, full of charm even as her throat began to burn. Bravery, it seemed, was a fleeting thing. She’d never, in all her life, been the object of censure, and she realized this was only but a tiny glimpse of what her life would have been like if she had returned to England without a husband.

“We are all very concerned about you,” Betsy said, her brown eyes darting to the other women. “We’d heard that Mr. Kitteridge, your fiancé,
former
fiancé…Oh, it does get confusing.” She fluttered a hand in front of her face as if her sensibilities were so strained, she had to cool herself. “That Mr. Kitteridge was, shall I say, uncommonly common.”

“Yes,” Amelia said quietly. “I suppose by the ton’s standards he was. Of course, none of us realized it when he was here.”

“We were a bit shocked by your sudden attachment to him,” Beatrice said, looking about the room for encouragement. “We all were. But you were so completely convinced he was something other than a charlatan, we all kept quiet.”

“Is that right?”

To a woman, they all nodded.

Amelia passed a hand across her forehead. “I don’t see what that has to do with the present. I’ve returned, married to a perfectly respectable man. A physician.”

“We’re sure he’s very nice,” Beatrice said, speaking for all the women in the room, who were bobbing their heads as if attached to the same piece of string. “But surely you must agree that you will now be moving in a different circle from the rest of us.”

Not knowing what else to say, Amelia’s face turned red. “I’m not quite certain what you mean. My brother is an earl, a rather powerful one. And I call the Duchess of Bellingham a personal friend.”

“She’s an American, though.”

“But still a duchess,” Amelia said, aghast at the snobbery she was witnessing. She stood abruptly, knowing that the anger coursing through her body would end up in tears, which would only cause her more humiliation. She didn’t want to give these horrid women the satisfaction of seeing her cry, even if they were tears of anger. Angry tears were still tears, after all. “I daresay my life will not be diminished by the loss of such dear friends,” she said, her tone scathing. “Good day.”

“We didn’t mean to offend,” one of the women called out, and she actually heard a soft snicker from another.

Amelia didn’t cry until she was beyond the gate of the home, one she now found ugly and pretentious, a monument to false pride and ill-conceived priorities.

Maggie was going over that week’s menu when Amelia came storming into the house, her cheeks tear-stained, though any tears that had fallen were long gone.

“What happened?”

“Those snobbish, horrible women I thought were my friends think they’re too good for me now,” Amelia said, her voice shaking with anger. “I hope none of them were invited to the ball.”

“I fear they probably were. And they likely accepted,” Maggie said, putting the menu aside. “What did they say?”

“That we’d no longer be moving in the same circles,” she said, mimicking the patronizing “concern” in their voices. “They actually said that. To me. My brother is one of the most powerful earls in the kingdom, and they have the nerve to say that to me. Honestly, I hope one of them gets ill and Boone must treat her, and I hope he gives her nightshade. Why, Boone is twice the man any of those ninnies is married to. Betsy married that old codger Havershaw and she has the nerve to suggest I’ve married ill? I wish I was still in Texas. I’d go over there right now with a rifle and…and…”

Maggie listened to her speech open-mouthed, then began to laugh. “So. It’s you, then.”

Amelia looked at her sister-in-law as if she’d gone mad. “Me,
what,
then?”

“You love Boone.”

“Of course I do,” she said, as if Maggie were daft.

Maggie clapped her hands, delighted. “When did this happen?”

Amelia looked at her hands, memories washing over her. She hadn’t told Maggie or Edward about Julia’s murder, had not wanted them to worry, and she hadn’t wanted to discuss it. Her friend’s death was still a raw wound, still incredibly painful. “Right after Julia died,” she said softly, then related the entire horrible incident to Maggie.

“After the funeral, we went to her little house and Boone had put back all her glass bits. There must have been more than a hundred of them, hanging just the way she’d liked it. I knew, of course, what a singular man Boone was, but I didn’t know the true depth of him until that moment.” She took a deep breath, and said fiercely, “He’s twice the man of anyone I know. Except, perhaps, Edward. He’s intelligent and wonderful and kind.”

Maggie continued to smile. “But he doesn’t know you love him, does he?”

Amelia lifted on eyebrow and looked away. “No,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t. And nor will he.”

“Why ever not?”

She closed her eyes briefly, for the truth was too painful to bear. “Because, he doesn’t love me. We all mistook his penchant for doing the right thing for love. He is kind to a fault. Did you know the only reason he was still in Small Fork at all was because Julia needed him? He ran the store to please his old friend, he stayed in Small Fork for Julia. And he married me for pity.”

Maggie furrowed her brow. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes,” Amelia said. “I do. He said as much.”

That seemed to deflate Maggie a bit. “I see.”

“And now those horrible women are treating me as if I’m less than they are, less than I was only a year ago.”

“I’m finding the ton is a fickle lot,” Maggie said, “and these women are hardly the cream of society. They are the kind of women who will ride your coattails when it is convenient for them to do so, but will drop you when it is not. Surely you know better than to take stock in anything they say.”

“You are right, but it still infuriates me.” Amelia was thoughtful for a moment. “I suppose they were never great friends anyway. Hardly more than acquaintances.”

Maggie smiled at the younger woman. “There. See? You must grow a thicker skin. Believe me, I know how awful it can be to be the victim of gossip. New York society isn’t much different from the aristocracy here. If it weren’t for Elizabeth, I would never have met your brother, never mind married him. My father’s arrest doomed me to a life of poverty.”

“You’re so lucky to have a friend like the duchess,” Amelia said.

“She’s your friend, too, and no doubt can secure an opening to society for both you and Boone.”

Amelia smile impishly. “It would be wonderful to show those women what for. I believe I shall start at the ball, by making certain I dance with the duke and my brother. Perhaps I can even convince Boone to take to the dance floor. I don’t care if he steps on my toes a hundred times.”

Boone looked at his reflection and grimaced. He felt completely foreign wearing this formal suit with its tails and black vest. His new, crisp white shirt was heavily starched and uncomfortable, and the tie around his neck looked silly. He was used to the simplest of tie knots, but Lord Hollings had insisted he borrow his valet and do up a proper knot.

“I look like a waiter,” he’d said to the valet.

The proper young man had replied, “Only if you deport yourself like one. I would suggest you dress each evening, and then on occasions such as this, you will feel more comfortable.”

Boone’s only response was to tug at his stiff collar, which earned him a look of disapproval.

“And don’t forget your gloves,” the valet had admonished.

Boone tugged them on and gave himself another look. Not too bad. Not horrible. Certainly not as horrible as attending this ball would be. As soon as Lady Hollings had informed him of the ball, he’d felt slightly queasy each time he allowed himself to think about it. No doubt Amelia would want to dance, and he would not be able to. So he’d have to suffer on the sidelines and watch her dance with men who were born to this world, who felt comfortable wearing evening suits. No doubt he’d have to talk to people as well, people he’d never met who would be curious about him. Just the thought of being in a room full of strangers was enough to bring him into a cold sweat. But the look on Amelia’s face when her brother had made the announcement had been priceless. She looked like a child about to be given a sweet.

It was likely only the first of many balls he’d have to suffer through, so he might as well get used to it.

A knock sounded on the door and he called for whoever it was to enter, expecting to see the valet checking up on his latest victim, only to hear a female gasp.

“You look stunning,” Amelia exclaimed, rushing over to him and grabbing his hands. “Cunningham did this, didn’t he,” she said, referring to the valet. “He’s turned you into a proper English gentleman.” She lifted a hand to his hair, which he’d allowed Cunningham to cut. “You will be the most dashing man in the room. Now. How do I look?”

Words could not describe how beautiful Amelia looked at that moment. She twirled about, laughing, her skirts shimmering and swirling around her. It was, by far, the most revealing gown he’d ever seen her in, and it hit him hard that other men would be holding his wife in their arms while they danced, and would be able to look upon her at their leisure. He couldn’t very well forbid her to dance, although he wished he could.

“Don’t you think you should wear a shawl?” he suggested, and from her frown, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

She looked down at herself as if she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in England, as if that gown didn’t make him think of ripping it off so he could make love to her. “I don’t like the fact that other men will see you wearing this. I don’t think you know what you do to a man. You’re so damned pretty, it hurts my eyes just to look at you. If I can’t keep my hands off you, how will anyone else?”

Apparently that was the right thing to say, for Amelia smiled. “Because my very big, very handsome, very possessive husband will be scowling at them fiercely.”

“I suppose you’ll have to dance if they ask.”

“I will. But I’ll wish it were you. Dancing is far easier than it looks. I do wish you would give it a try. I told Maggie just the other day that I’d suffer broken toes if I could dance with you. I’d be the envy of every woman in the room.”

“Only those who enjoy embarrassment and intense pain,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone, particularly not my wife.” Boone had never danced in his life, he sure wasn’t going to start tonight and humiliate himself and his new wife. “I’m already so nervous I can hardly walk, never mind dance,” he said with an honesty that surprised them both.

“I’m nervous, too,” Amelia said. “How will I ever decide whom to dance with first?”

Boone took a deep breath and looked rather ill.

“You truly are nervous, aren’t you?” Amelia asked, full of concern.

“I’ve never been to a ball before,” he admitted.

“It’s like a big party with overdressed and overstuffed people milling about pretending they are more important than they are,” Amelia said. “The married men, after an obligatory dance or two, generally play cards or billiards, smoke cigars, and drink fine French brandy. At midnight, we gather to eat, then dance again. It’s really great fun if you’ll just relax a bit. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t dance, drink, gamble, or smoke,” Boone pointed out dryly.

Amelia laughed. “Then you will simply have to watch me having fun.”

And that’s what he did, suffering from the sidelines watching Amelia dance with partner after partner, laughing and smiling and generally glowing like an overbright gaslight.

He did try to talk to people, but after a few inconsequential sentences, had nothing more to say. After exhausting the topics of cowboys and indians, and leaving his listeners greatly disappointed that he hadn’t much knowledge of either, other than mending broken bones, he was left standing there watching Amelia have fun.

“She adores dancing,” Maggie said, coming up beside Boone.

“I can see that,” he said, scowling. Amelia at that moment was dancing some lively number that required her to bounce around the floor while her partner, some young buck, stared at her all-too-visible attributes. “Does she have to dance that fast?” He’d wanted to say “bounce” but thought better of it.

“It’s a polka,” Maggie pointed out, laughing.

At that moment, Amelia’s partner took her in far too close for propriety and Boone took a step onto the ballroom floor, his fists clenched. As if realizing what he was doing, he took a calming breath and tried to relax. My God, he thought, it’s pure torture watching her with other men. He hadn’t thought it would be so difficult. If she’d looked bored or anything other than delighted, it might not have bothered him so much. But she seemed so entirely happy, far happier than he’d ever seen her. Except for the day on the ship when they reached Liverpool. “I’m not sure I like balls. I have to tell you, I’m about to take every man in this room and drag them out for a brawl.”

Maggie smiled and shook her head. “You really must learn to dance, Boone. There is a very well-attended Christmas Ball coming up in December.”

“Sounds like pure torture,” he said.

“Only if you allow it to be,” Maggie said, laughing. “Amelia will certainly be invited and will want to go. Lady Rotherham’s Christmas Ball is always the event of the Little Season, so you must learn how to dance.”

“I’d feel foolish,” he said, watching the buffoon on the dance floor totter about with his wife.

“How do you feel right now?” Maggie asked gently.

“Like I want to take her from that dance floor, and…” He flushed. “I’d better learn to dance before I kill someone.”

Maggie studied him for a long moment before saying, “I see. I can teach you. Five years of brutal lessons from a very demanding dance teacher made me quite the expert. We were not rich. But my mother made certain I was trained as if we were. She’d always dreamed of an advantageous marriage for me. It was her number one priority.”

Before Boone could accept her offer of dance lessons, a small group of women approached them and Maggie became decidedly chillier, more like the countess she was. The three women gave her the tiniest of curtsies to which Maggie nodded regally. It was fascinating, really, this odd hierarchy that everyone thought was so important.

“Lady Hollings, what a wonderful crush tonight,” one of the young women said, but she was looking at Boone.

“Allow me to introduce to you Dr. Kitteridge,” Maggie said, sounding almost reluctant. “Dr. Kitteridge, Lady Havershaw, Mrs. Turner, and Miss Eldridge. They are all neighbors of ours.”

“Dr. Kitteridge,” Lady Havershaw said, her eyes flaring just the tiniest bit in recognition. “So lovely to meet you. We’re all friends of your wife. How wonderful that she still has a chance to enjoy these events. Why, the last time she had such a delightful time was at last year’s Christmas Ball, where she met your brother. It was quite a spectacle,” she said. Then, as if she realized how that sounded, she quickly added, “I mean meeting such a celebrated man as your brother. I do believe they danced all night.”

Boone smiled and nodded even though he hadn’t known a thing about how Amelia and Carson had met. It shouldn’t bother him that Amelia had been at a ball with Carson, that his brother had no doubt danced with her. But it did, like a burning ache in his gut. He could picture his brother, bigger than life, eating up the attention, drawing the notice of a beautiful young girl who would one day feel forced by circumstance to marry a man she did not love. “She enjoys dancing,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

“And you don’t enjoy dancing?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t.”

The girls tittered, then Lady Havershaw hastened to explain. “You sound just like your brother. ‘No ma’am,’” she repeated, giving a decent imitation of a Texas accent.

“You met my brother?”

“Oh, yes. We all did, but once he saw Amelia, he didn’t look at any of us…” Her voice trailed off in what seemed like a rather calculated way. “My goodness, it’s so nice to meet you, Doctor. We’ll be certain to call for you if we get the sniffles.”

Boone stared curiously after the three women, who walked away, their heads together, their mouths flapping furiously. Only the youngest one looked back and gave him a worried look. “Why do I get the feeling they were trying to cause trouble?”

“Because you are an excellent judge of character,” Maggie said darkly. “Those are the kind of small-minded individuals that make life here so difficult for us.”

“Us?”

“Americans,” Maggie said. “You might as well know that there are some members of the ton who look down upon Americans as second-class citizens. Or worse.”

“Why?” Boone asked, clearly baffled.

“Because we don’t have blue blood. There are many people who believe Edward married far beneath himself when he married me. Even my friend Elizabeth, who is from one of the wealthiest families in America, has seen some criticism—from her own mother-in-law even. The dowager treats her like a servant. It would be amusing if I didn’t know how much it bothered Elizabeth. For generations, the English aristocracy only married among themselves or to foreign members of the aristocracy. It’s only in our modern age that it’s become more acceptable to marry outside your rank. It seems so silly, but that’s the way it is,” Maggie said, as if she truly didn’t care.

The lively music ended, and Boone watched Amelia chatting with her latest partner before being escorted off the dance floor and toward where he stood. “And Amelia. Was she expected to marry someone in the aristocracy?”

Maggie hesitated. “It did cause a bit of talk when she went off to Texas to marry Carson. But at the time we all thought he was a wealthy ranch owner who could allow Amelia to continue to live the life of privilege she’d become accustomed to. A sort of
Texas
aristocracy, I suppose.” Too late, Maggie seemed to realize what she was saying. “But she was extremely fortunate to find you, and…”

Boone forced a smile and raised a hand to stop her. “I understand,” he said. And he did. He was beginning to understand things all too well.

Amelia didn’t think she could dance another step. She was happy, but exhausted, and feeling slightly guilty that she had abandoned Boone for as long as she had. She was about to look for him when she was waylaid by Emily, Beatrice’s younger sister, who looked delightful in a modest white lace dress. The girl had come out only last year.

“Mrs. Kitteridge,” Emily called out.

“Good evening, Miss Eldridge,” Amelia said coolly.

The girl worried her hands. “I feel simply awful about the way my sister treated you at her house. I wanted you to know that I was not party to that, not at all, and that I’m so very sorry to have been in the room at all.”

Amelia immediately warmed to the sincerity of the girl’s apology. “Apology accepted.”

“I don’t know why my sister puts on such airs. You might think she was married to a duke instead of that odorous Lord Havershaw,” she said, giving a mock shudder. “Have you
seen
him? Honestly, my sister sold her soul just so she could marry a title. Now she acts as if she’s better than everyone. But the truth is, I believe she’s simply jealous. She was jealous of you last year when Mr. Kitteridge showed such keen interest in you, and now she’s jealous because, well, because Dr. Kitteridge is simply the most handsome man any of us has ever seen.” Emily’s youthful enthusiasm was refreshing after being faced with the dour looks from her old friends. “It was so romantic the way he couldn’t keep his eyes off you while you were dancing. All of us,
my
friends at least, were enthralled. We all vowed to forgo the title hunt and marry only for love.”

Amelia looked at Emily and knew she was looking at herself a year ago, when she’d believed in romantic love, that marrying the right man could make all one’s problems go away. She felt old and weary compared to the girl standing in front of her—even though she was only a year older.

“I appreciate your coming over to tell me,” Amelia said. “And it’s wonderful to know I can have a friend in Hollings.”

“Oh, you do,” Emily said, smiling widely.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ve neglected my wonderful husband long enough. He’s been very indulgent letting me dance the night away, but I confess I’m about to expire from exhaustion.”

“I’d love to visit with you. I’ve always dreamed of going to America, of seeing a real live cowboy. I was too young to attend last year’s Christmas Ball, so I never did get a chance to see Mr. Kitteridge.” As if realizing she was entering forbidden conversational territory, Emily pressed her hand against her mouth. “I never do know when to keep my mouth closed,” she said, blushing.

“You will learn,” Amelia said, laughing goodnaturedly. “And perhaps someday I will tell you the entire sordid tale.”

Emily’s eyes widened. “Is it truly sordid?”