"Tell me, Miss Hathaway ... what would you do if you were invited on a midnight ride across the earth and ocean? Would you choose the adventure, or stay safely at home?"
She couldn't seem to tear her gaze from his. The topaz eyes were lit by a glint of playfulness, not the innocent mischief of a boy, but something far more dangerous. She could almost believe he might actually change form and appear beneath her window one night, and carry her away on midnight wings ...
"Home, of course," she managed in a sensible tone. "I don't want adventure."
"1 think you do. I think in a moment of weakness, you might surprise yourself."
"I don't have moments of weakness. Not that kind, at any rate."
His laughter curled around her like a drift of smoke. "You will."
Amelia didn't dare ask why he was so certain of that. Perplexed, she lowered her gaze to the top button of his waistcoat. Was he flirting with her? No, it must be that he was mocking her, trying to make her look foolish. And if there was one thing she feared in life more than bees, it was appearing foolish.
Gathering her dignity, which had scattered like bits of dandelion fluff in a high wind, she frowned up at him. "We're nearly at Ramsay House." She indicated the outline of a roof rising from the forest. "I would prefer to go the last part of the distance alone. You may tell the earl that I was safely delivered. Good day, Mr. Rohan."
He gave a nod, took her in with one of those bright, disarming glances, and stayed to watch her progress as she walked away. With each step Amelia put between them, she should have felt safer, but the sense of disquiet remained. And then, she heard him murmur something, his voice shadowed with amusement, and it sounded as if he had said, "Some midnight..."
Chapter Six
The news that they were to have supper at the home of Lord and Lady Westcliff was received with a variety of reactions from the Hathaways. Poppy and Beatrix were pleased and excited, whereas Win, who was still trying to regain her strength after the journey to Hampshire, was merely resigned. Leo was looking forward to a lengthy repast accompanied by fine wine.
Merripen, on the other hand, flatly refused to go.
"You are part of the family," Amelia told him, watching as he secured loose paneling boards in one of the common rooms. Merripen's grip on a carpenter's hammer was deft and sure as he expertly sank a handmade nail into the edge of a board. "No matter how you may try to deny all connection to the Hathaways—and one could hardly blame you for that—the fact is, you're one of us and you should attend."
Merripen methodically pounded a few more nails into the wall. "My presence won't be necessary."
"Weil, of course it won't be necessary. But you might enjoy yourself."
"No I wouldn't," he replied with grim certainty, and continued his hammering.
"Why must you be so stubborn? If you're afraid of being treated badly, you should recall that Lord Westcliff is already acting as host to a Roma, and he seems to have no prejudice?
"I don't like gadjos."
"My entire family—your family—are gadjos. Does that mean you don't like us?"
Merripen didn't reply, only continued to work. Noisily.
Amelia let out a taut sigh. "Merripen, you're a dreadful snob. And if the evening turns out to be terrible, it's your obligation to endure it with us."
Merripen reached for another handful of nails. "That was a good try," he said. "But I'm not going."
The primitive plumbing at Ramsay House, its poor lighting, and the dinginess of the few available looking glasses made it difficult to prepare for the visit to Stony Cross Manor. After laboriously heating water in the kitchen, the Hathaways hauled buckets up and down the stairs for their own baths. Everyone except Win, of course, who was resting in her room to preserve her strength.
Amelia sat with unusual submissiveness as Poppy styled her hair, pulling it back, making thick braids and pinning them into a heavy chignon that covered the back of her head. "There," Poppy said with pleasure. "At least you're fashionable from the ears upward."
Like the other Hathaway sisters, Amelia was dressed in a serviceable bombazine gown of twilled blue silk and worsted. Its design was plain with a moderately full skirt, the sleeves long and tightly fitted.
Poppy's gown was a similar style, only in red. She was an uncommonly pretty girl, her fine features lit with vivacity and intelligence. If a girl's social popularity were based on merit rather than fortune, Poppy would have been the toast of London. Instead she was living in the country in a rattletrap house, wearing old clothes, hauling water and coal like a maidservant. And she had never once complained.
"We'll have some new dresses made very soon," Amelia said earnestly, feeling her heart twist with remorse. "Things will improve, Poppy. I promise."
"I hope so," her sister said lightly. "I'll need a ball gown if I'm to catch a rich benefactor for the family."
"You know I only said that in jest. You don't have to look for a rich suitor. Only one who will be kind to you." Poppy grinned. "Well, we can hope that wealth and kindness are not mutually exclusive... can't we?" Amelia smiled back at her. "Indeed." As the siblings assembled in the entrance hall, Amelia felt even more remorseful as she saw Beatrix turned out in a green dress with ankle-length skirts and a starched white pinafore, an ensemble far more appropriate for a girl of twelve instead of fifteen.
Making her way to Leo's side, Amelia muttered to him, "No more gambling, Leo. The money you lost at Jenner's would have been far better spent on proper clothes for your younger sisters."
"There is more than enough money for you to have taken them to the dressmaker," Leo said coolly. "Don't make me the villain when it's your responsibility to clothe them."
Amelia gritted her teeth. As much as she adored Leo, no one could make her as angry as he, and so quickly. She longed to administer some heavy clout on the head that might restore his wits. "At the rate you've been going through the family coffers, I didn't think it would be wise of me to go on a spending spree."
The other Hathaways watched, wide-eyed, as the conversation exploded into a full-on argument.
"You may choose to live like a miser," Leo said, "but I'll be damned if I have to. You're incapable of enjoying the moment because you're always intent on tomorrow. Well, for some people, tomorrow never comes."
Her temper flared. "Someone has to think of tomorrow, you selfish spendthrift!"
"Coming from an overbearing shrew?
Win stepped between them, resting a gentle hand on Amelia's shoulder. "Hush, both of you. It serves no purpose to make yourselves cross just before we are to leave.'" She gave Amelia a sweet quirk of a smile that no one on earth could have resisted. "Don't frown like that, dear. What if your face stayed that way?"
"With prolonged exposure to Leo," Amelia replied, "it undoubtedly would,"
Her brother snorted. "I'm a convenient scapegoat, aren't I? If you were honest with yourself, Amelia?
"Merripen," Win called out, "is the carriage ready now?"
Merripen came through the front door, looking rumpled and surly. It had been agreed that he would drive the Hathaways to the Westcliffs' residence and return for them later. "It's ready." As he glanced at Win's pale golden beauty, it seemed his expression turned even surlier, if such a thing were possible.
Like a word puzzle that had just solved itself in her brain, that stolen glance made a few things clear to Amelia. Merripen wasn't attending the dinner that evening because he was trying to avoid being in a social situation with Win. He was trying to keep a distance between them, while at the same time he was desperately worried about her health.
It troubled Amelia, the notion that Merripen, who never displayed strong feelings about anything, might be entertaining a secret and powerful longing for her sister. Win was too delicate, too refined, too much his opposite in every way. And Merripen knew that.
Feeling sympathetic and maudlin, and rather worried herself, Amelia climbed into the carriage after her sisters.
The occupants of the vehicle were silent as they proceeded along the oak-lined drive to Stony Cross Manor. None of them had ever seen grounds so richly tended or imposing. Every leaf on every tree seemed to have been affixed with careful forethought. Surrounded by gardens and orchards that flowed into dense woods, the house sprawled over the land like a drowsing giant. Four lofty corner towers denoted the original dimensions of the European-styled fortress, but many additions had given it a pleasing asymmetry. With time and weathering, the house's honey-colored stone had mellowed gracefully, its outlines dressed with tall, perfectly trimmed hedges.
The residence was fronted by a massive courtyard—a distinctive feature—and sided by stables and a residential wing. Instead of the usual understated design of stables, these were fronted by wide stone arches. Stony Cross Manor was a place fit for royalty—and from what they knew of Lord Westcliff, his bloodlines were even more distinguished than the Queen's.
As the carriage stopped before the porticoed entrance, Amelia wished the evening were already over. In these stately surroundings, the Hathaways' faults would be magnified. They would appear no better than a group of vagabonds. She glanced over her siblings. Win had donned her usual mask of irreproachable serenity, and Leo looked calm and slightly bored—an expression he must have learned from his recent acquaintances at Jenner's. The younger girls were filled with a bright exuberance that drew a smile from Amelia. They, at least, would have a good time, and heaven knew they deserved it.
Merripen helped the sisters from the carriage, and Leo emerged last. As he stepped to the ground, Merripen checked him with a brief murmur, an admonition to keep a close watch on Win. Leo shot him a vehement glance. Enduring Amelia's criticism was bad enough—he wouldn't tolerate it from Merripen. "If you're so bloody concerned about her," Leo muttered, "then you go inside and play nanny."
Merripen's eyes narrowed, but he didn't reply.
The relationship between the two men had never been what one could describe as brotherly, but they had always maintained a cool cordiality.
Merripen had never tried to assume the role of second son, in spite of the Hathaway parents' obvious fondness for him. And in any situation which might have lent itself to a competition between the two boys, Merripen had always drawn back. Leo, for his part, had been reasonably pleasant to Merripen, and had even deferred to Merripen's opinions when he had judged them better than his own.
When Leo had fallen ill with scarlet fever, Merripen had helped care for him with a mixture of patience and kindness that had surpassed even Amelia's. Later she had told Leo that he owed Merripen his life. Instead of being grateful, however, Leo seemed to hold it against Merripen.
Please, please don't be an ass, Leo, Amelia longed to beg, but she held her tongue and went with her sisters to the brightly lit entrance of Stony Cross Manor.
A pair of massive double doors opened into a cavernous hall hung with priceless tapestries. A grand stone and marble staircase curved up to the lofty second-floor gallery. Even the most distant corners of the hall, and the entrances of several passages leading away from the great room, were lit by a massive crystal chandelier.
If the outside grounds had been well tended, the interior of the manor was nothing short of immaculate, everything swept and sparkling and polished. There was nothing of newness in their surroundings, no sharp edges or modern touches to disrupt the atmosphere of easeful splendor.
It was, Amelia thought bleakly, exactly the way Ramsay House should look.
Servants came to take hats and gloves, while an elderly housekeeper welcomed the new arrivals. Amelia's attention was immediately drawn to the sight of Lord and Lady Westcliff, who were crossing the hall toward them.
Clad in precisely tailored evening clothes, Lord Westcliff moved with the physical confidence of a seasoned sportsman. His expression was reserved, his austere features striking rather than handsome. Everything about his appearance indicated he was a man who demanded a great deal of others and even more of himself.
There was no doubt that someone as powerful as Westcliff should have chosen the perfect English bride, a woman whose icy sophistication had been instilled in her since birth. It was with surprise, then, that Amelia heard Lady Westcliff speak in a distinctly American voice, the words tumbling out as if she couldn't be bothered to think everything over before speaking.
"You can't know how often I've wished for new neighbors. Things can get a bit dull in Hampshire. You Hathaways will do nicely." She surprised Leo by reaching out and shaking hands in the way men did. "Lord Ramsay, a pleasure."
"Your servant, my lady." Leo didn't seem to know quite what to make of this singular woman.
Amelia reacted automatically as she was accorded a similar handshake. Returning the firm pressure of Lady Westcliff's hand, she stared into tip-tilted eyes the color of gingerbread.
Lillian, Lady Westcliff, was a tall, slender young woman with gleaming sable hair, fine features, and a raffish grin. Unlike her husband, she radiated a casual friendliness that instantly put one at ease. "You are Amelia, the one they fired upon yesterday?"
"Yes, my lady."
"I'm so glad the earl didn't murder you. His aim is hardly ever off, you know."
The earl received his wife's impudence with a slight smile, as if he were well accustomed to it. "I wasn't aiming at Miss Hathaway," he said calmly.
"You might consider a less dangerous hobby," Lady Westcliff suggested. "Bird-watching. Butterfly-collecting. Something a bit more dignified than setting off explosions."
Amelia expected the earl to frown at this irreverence, but he only looked amused. And as his wife's attention moved to the rest of the Hathaways, he stared at her with warm fascination. Clearly there was a powerful attraction between the two.
Amelia introduced her sisters to the unconventional countess. Thankfully they all remembered to curtsy, and they managed polite responses to her forthright questions, such as did they like to ride, did they enjoy dancing, had they tried any of the local cheeses yet, and did they share her dislike of slimy English fare such as eels and jellied hog loaf?
Laughing at the droll face the countess had made, the Hathaway sisters went with her to the receiving room, where approximately two dozen guests had gathered in anticipation of going in to supper. "I like her," she heard Poppy whisper to Beatrix as the two of them walked behind her. "Do you think all American women are so dashing?"