The Seduction of Miss Amelia Bell (4 page)

“Alice?” Amelia asked while she dressed. “When will my ill fortune end?”

“Everyone has a season, gel.”

“But seasons are supposed to end.”

“As will yours,” Alice promised.

Amelia smiled at her. “Aye, it will. I think I would prefer it if Sarah worked on
my hair today. She knows better than anyone how to get the tangles out.” She was in
no hurry to see her sisters and have to endure Elizabeth’s clicking tongue every time
she put a question to her, or one of Anne’s disapproving glances if Amelia dared laugh
too loudly.

She wondered if Edmund had arrived with one of her sisters’ groups. Edmund. The thought
of seeing him again today at the ceremony made her heart accelerate just a little
and she chastised herself for it. She belonged to someone else, a man who had agreed
to take her despite all her shortcomings. Mayhap she would tell her father’s bold
guest what she thought of him for frightening her senseless while she slept. Then
again, mayhap it would be more prudent not to speak to him at all, to simply forget
him, put him out of her thoughts and occupy her mind with Walter instead. Lord, if
she did that, she just might fall asleep again. It wasn’t that Walter was dull…Well,
in truth, he was. Did he care for her? She doubted it, since he had never professed
it to her.

“I’ll send for Sarah and see what I can discover about a guest called Edmund,” Alice
said, heading for the door with Amelia’s gown in her hand.

Prudence, Amelia,
she warned herself as her mother had on countless occasions.
Get your head out of the clouds and cease being so troublesome to yer poor father.

“Nae, Alice. Ferget I mentioned him. I’m to be married soon. It’s time to get my head
out of the clouds.”

T
he celebration was in its second hour, and there was still no sign of Amelia’s living
statue. There was no sign of her betrothed either. It was announced to Amelia’s father
that the roof in her soon-to-be new bedchamber in Banffshire had fallen in. The betrothal
would have to be postponed along with the announcement.

Amelia shifted in her chair at the high table and groaned softly. The sound drew a
critical glance from her sister Anne, but Amelia didn’t care. Her arse was bloody
killing her. She had a terrible ache in her temples from the pearl-encrusted pins
Sarah had woven throughout the thick knot at the back of her head. She could barely
keep her eyelids up but was too afraid of snoring to let them close, even for an instant.
Falling asleep in her chair, in front of her uncle’s noble guests, would surely send
her mother into fits. And what would the mysterious Edmund think of her if he found
her slumbering yet again, and during her postponed betrothal feast, no less?

She’d put no queries about him to her father, but she had spoken with Sarah about
him, and commissioned her friend to discover who the stranger was. Sarah was more
than happy to oblige, but so far, she had found out nothing. Edmund had not arrived
with Lord Lamont, or any guests who’d arrived thereafter.

He had to be someone! she told herself, sweeping her eyes over the myriad of faces
below. She found Sarah standing over the table of a French count visiting from Anjou.
Arching an elegant brow, Amelia shook her head playfully when Sarah shot her a whimsical
smile over her shoulder. How was it that her friend looked so alert and vivacious
after staying awake all night?

Dear Sarah, born a servant, with the freedom to behave as she chose. No one cared
how the daughter of the smith spent her days—or her nights. Amelia sighed, bringing
her cup to her lips. She envied Sarah, though had
she
been born to a serf, she still would not toss herself into the bed of any man who
smiled at her. Edmund’s sun-gilt face flashed before her. No matter how decadently
carved his lips were.

“John.” Her mother leaned forward over the empty chair at Amelia’s left. “You did
tell the chancellor to make haste at Banffshire, did you not?”

“Of course I did, Millicent.” The clip of annoyance in his voice did not deter her
mother from expelling a long-suffering sigh. And why should it? Her father scowled
more often than he smiled. Save when he caught Amelia’s eyes. Of his daughters, she
was favored. And she knew it.

“Of all the dreadful days for the roof to collapse!” Millicent huffed and sent her
husband a heated look. “I hope you’re happy, Amelia.”

“She had nothing to do with it, Millicent. Ye sound as mad as yer nephew shackled
below stairs.”

Amelia closed her eyes, wishing the night would end.

“That’s a horrible thing to say, John. Especially tonight! How could my brother allow
the chancellor to go and leave our daughter to sit here alone like a forgotten waif
at her own celebration?”

“Yer brother is not here either,” John reminded his wife. “This celebration is for
his accomplishments as well as our daughter’s betrothal. Ye would think he would have
postponed his trip to Roxburgh fer a few days at least.”

Amelia caught Sarah’s attention below and rolled her eyes, signaling that it was going
to be a torturously long evening. Her parents argued often. Amelia wondered if they
were happy together. She didn’t think so. She barely, if ever, saw them share affection.
The story her father told her this morning was only a small part of their life. Millicent
often complained about marrying beneath her station. The marriage, much like Amelia’s,
was a forced one thanks to the affection of Millicent’s father, the first Duke of
Queensberry, for the Bell family. After Robert Bell, Amelia’s grandfather and a soldier
in the Royal Army, saved the duke’s life on a hunting excursion, the duke promised
his daughter to Robert’s son. Millicent never forgave him.

“My brother is securing the last of his support of the union. He has every reason
not to be here.”

“And Seafield thought it necessary to see to the repairs himself, Millicent. The ceiling
did fall in their future bedchamber, after all.”

Amelia’s cheeks flared as red as the claret swirling around in her cup.
Please don’t let them begin a discussion of my bedchamber
, she prayed silently. Veiling her eyes beneath her dark lashes, she brushed her gaze
across the hall. No burnished-haired masterpiece come to life was in attendance.

God help her troublesome soul, she rebuked herself. How could she be so curious about
another man when her considerate husband-to-be had dashed off to prepare a safe new
home for her? And worse, why had the mention of her bedchamber instigated her curiosity?
She was reprehensible. Walter Hamilton, Earl of Seafield, Lord Chancellor of Scotland,
wasn’t so bad, really. With his raven mane and intense cobalt blue eyes, he turned
many ladies’ heads at court, just not hers. He worked hard at pleasing her uncle,
and he did so because he cared for her. He must. So what if he was dull and tedious,
not to mention sickeningly snobbish. Lord, she didn’t want to marry him. Sobbing into
her supper wouldn’t help, especially after her father had gone to so much trouble
making certain the food was all fresh and prepared by master cooks. She couldn’t run
away and she couldn’t refuse. But oh, how she wished she could.

“It could have waited a few days, John.” Her mother slapped her palm softly against
the table. “I don’t care what room it was.”

Thank God. Amelia yawned.

“Millicent, fer the love of God, do not vex me about this any longer. I have enough
to keep my mind occupied wondering how much this celebration is going to drain what
is left in the coffers.”

“’Tis my brother’s coin. Why should the cost of all this concern ye?”

Amelia slipped her hand over her father’s and gave him a sympathetic pat.

“Everyone here thinks the chancellor changed his mind,” her mother continued, lowering
her voice to a whisper when Lady Josephine Hartington glanced at the table. “They
whisper that perhaps he has decided to wait for a more sensible wife. They all know
what she’s like since that unfortunate incident at the Earl of Clare’s wedding last
spring.”

John’s crimson face proved that that particular event was scored forever in his brain.

Dear God, if Amelia hadn’t had Sarah to laugh with her about the incident when she
returned home, she would have wept for a month. Alice tried to convince her that it
wasn’t her fault, but even so, Amelia was sorry for ruining the earl’s second wedding.

It happened on the morn of the ceremony. The earl’s dashing young son, Lord Albert,
had invited her to go riding. Of course, she’d accepted, which, according to her mother,
was her first error in good judgment. The ride across the English countryside was
invigorating, innocent, and quite safe. She was an excellent rider, and Lord Albert
had been a perfect gentleman. They’d even made it back just before the wedding. But,
as circumstances often went in Amelia’s case, catastrophe was lurking somewhere just
inches from her horse’s hooves. To this day, she had no idea what had startled her
mount into a full gallop, or why the beast had refused to slow down, despite her best
efforts. She was almost thrown, and would have broken her neck if she hadn’t been
holding on for dear life, when the mad stallion vaulted over a row of slack-jawed
guests. Amelia had given the reins one more desperate yank as her wide eyes met the
earl’s horrified ones. The only thing left to do was squeeze hers shut and pray that
the earl, his bride, and their priest moved the hell out of the way.

They had. No one was injured, save for her father’s name. Thanks to her, the name
Bell had become synonymous with disaster. Amelia was sorry for it, for her father’s
sake. She was sorry for it all.

“Enough.” John’s dark gaze over Amelia’s head warned his wife that she had finally
succeeded in exhausting his patience. “Any man would count himself among the fortunate
to be given our daughter, sensible or not.”

Her dear father. He loved her despite her faults. Amelia turned to him and smiled
softly, bringing happiness to his face for the first time that evening. Whatever would
she have done without him in her life? When he leaned in and kissed her forehead,
her eyes welled up with tears. “I love ye, Papa,” she whispered softly enough for
her mother not to hear.

“And I ye, dear one.”

Content, Amelia rested her elbow on the table and dropped her chin into her palm,
oblivious to one of the pinned curls dangling from her temples plopping into her soup.
Heavens, she was beginning to lose feeling in her legs. How much longer was this celebration
going to go on? She closed her eyes. Just for a moment.

“What if the chancellor doesn’t return for her?”

John Bell swore to himself that if his wife went on about this for one more instant
he would get up and leave her sitting here alone. “The chancellor will return by morning,”
he muttered. “The guests aren’t going anywhere.”

“It is not the morning that concerns me, but tonight,” Millicent said out of the corner
of her mouth. “Tonight the betrothal was to be announced.”

“By the saints, woman! Have ye no bloody…?” His half whispered oath was cut off when
his son-in-law the Earl of Bedford stepped up to his chair and tugged his sleeve.

“What?” John asked and lifted his ear from Bedford’s lips. “Where?”

His son-in-law pointed and Amelia’s father rose to his feet to peer at a man standing
at the far end of the hall engaged in quiet conversation with another man he’d never
seen before. “Ye are certain he was introduced as Lord Huntley?”

“I heard the introduction myself. Malcolm Gordon, Earl of Huntley.”

“And the man with him?”

“Edmund Dearly, Viscount of Essex. They travel with a Campbell and a Drummond, as
well.”

John cast a glance at his wife. He didn’t recall seeing their names on the invitation
list. Lord, he hoped no one had insulted them by forgetting to add them.

“They are coming this way.” John straightened his shoulders and smoothed his coat,
readying himself for an introduction.

“Ye do know that Huntley’s family is distantly related to the queen, do ye not?” Millicent
asked, fixing her hair.

Adjusting his wig, John offered his guests an amiable smile, but the Viscount of Essex
flicked his eyes to the only person still seated in her chair at the dais.

Suddenly, sickeningly, John peered down at the top of Amelia’s head. He visibly cringed
when a small snore escaped her lips. Struggling to retain his pleasant demeanor while
his guests stared at her, he yanked her to her feet.

Amelia came awake rather sharply, but it took a moment for her head to clear completely,
and for her to realize she’d been asleep in her chair. But even that mortification
was nothing compared to what she felt when she looked at the men standing before her.

“Lord Huntley, Lord Essex,” her father’s voice cracked when he called out. “Welcome
to Queensberry House. We were not expecting ye.”

Forgetting her drooping curl, Amelia’s eyes opened wider. Her Edmund was Lord Essex?
His friend was Lord Huntley? And she’d fallen asleep in her supper? She ached to peek
up at her father, to somehow beg his forgiveness.

“Perhaps if we had been invited…” Edmund’s…Lord Essex’s voice was a deep, sensual
blend belonging to both England and Scotland. The smooth and steady sound of it danced
across her ears, invading her thoughts.

“An oversight fer which I would beg fergiveness.” Her father bowed.

Amelia flicked her gaze to Edmund as he strode forward. This was twice now she’d awakened
from her dreams to find him in her world.

He was real. But whatever she had found enticing about him before had vanished with
the dawn. He stood now, with full authority squaring his shoulders, and cool unyielding
indifference hardening his features. Was he just another power-hungry nobleman then?
Would he punish her father for his error?

He lifted his palm to her father. “No need fer apologies. Lord Huntley and I prefer
to remain discreet. Isn’t that correct, Huntley?”

“’Tis,” his friend agreed, smiling at Sarah when she appeared with a tray of wine.
Heavens but he was so roguishly handsome Sarah almost dropped her tray. With eyes
dipped in fathomless shades of blue and green and a dimpled grin that could make an
angel fall from heaven, he was temptation incarnate. Like a wolf on the hunt, his
eyes followed Sarah’s departure, forgetting, or not caring about, the conversation
going on in front of him.

Remembering that Sarah was no angel, Amelia returned her attention to Edmund.

He’d been discreet all right—a shadow skulking about the garden between night and
day. Amelia’s eyes widened with alarm. The garden! She swallowed suddenly. Her gaze
darted to her father. Would the viscount tell her father that he’d found his willful
daughter sleeping outdoors alone while the sun rose?

“Is the duke in attendance?” Essex asked, barely looking at her. “We had hoped to
offer him our well wishes on his success with the union.”

“Alas,” her father said, turning a miserable glance at his wife, “he has been called
away to Roxburgh.”

“Unfortunate,” Essex said. The frost in his eyes hardened his quick smile. “I would
give my accolades to the Earl of Seafield then, as he is the duke’s right hand.”

“Again—” Her father cringed to his bones at the sound of her mother’s slight groan.
Poor man, Amelia thought. Her mother was never going to stop complaining about this
later. “I regret that he has been called back to Banffshire to repair the roof of
his wedding chamber.”

Essex raised a golden brow. “Ah yes, I had heard rumor that the earl was to be betrothed.”

“That he is,” her father informed him. “To the most beautiful lady here, in fact.”