The Heiress of Winterwood

Uncertain if he had heard the slip of a woman correctly, Graham Sterling suppressed an incredulous chuckle. How is one supposed to respond when a lady—let alone an attractive stranger—proposes marriage?

“Are you always this direct, Miss Barrett?”

“The circumstances demand it, sir.” Miss Amelia Barrett’s gaze did not waver. “But I am sure you can see that the arrangement would be advantageous. You need someone to care for Lucy.” Her hand flew to her chest. “Who better than I, the person who has loved her since birth?”

Graham could not have torn his eyes away from the animated woman even if he wanted to. Her cheeks flushed crimson, and her sapphire eyes sparkled with brilliant intensity. Mere minutes had passed since he first encountered this young woman. But already Graham knew with certainty that Miss Amelia Barrett was a force to reckon with.

He cleared his throat. “Do you not think marriage a bit . . . drastic?”

Lucy’s whimper interrupted their conversation. Grateful for the distraction, Graham returned to his chair. Without a moment’s hesitation, Miss Barrett leaned down, picked up Lucy from the cradle, and propped the child on her hip. Lucy peered at him from over Miss Barrett’s shoulder. The child—his child—had brown eyes. Wide brown eyes.

Katherine’s eyes. The fleeting thought stole the air from Graham’s lungs. What would Katherine look like, standing there, holding their child? Guilt’s familiar sting pricked his conscience. He’d been at sea for so long that his memory of Katherine’s appearance had grown faint and grew more so by the day.

Suddenly desperate to be anywhere else, Graham jumped to his feet and wiped his palms on his buckskin breeches. What did he know about being a father? About fathering a girl?

His daughter smiled at him, drool trickling down her chin, and guilt assailed him once more. He might not be comfortable, but she still belonged to him. He reached for Lucy and forced words through a dry mouth. “May I?”

Graham did not overlook Miss Barrett’s hesitation. But after eyeing him for several seconds, the woman relented and allowed Lucy to pass from her arms to his. The baby’s mouth hung open and she stared at him, her large eyes full of wonder. Miss Barrett released the bow under Lucy’s chin and pulled off her white bonnet, unleashing an airy mass of wispy curls.

An ache settled in the pit of Graham’s stomach as the child melted against his chest. News that Katherine was with child had not reached him until she was a few months from giving birth, and by the time he’d received news of his wife’s death, the child was already three months old. Lucy cooed and looked at him with Katherine’s velvet eyes. “My dear Lucille Katherine Sterling,” he told her, “I am very pleased to meet you.”

Lucy pulled his nose.

He bounced her, and she squealed. Her tiny fingers tugged his hair.

“Curious little thing, is she not?” He scrunched his nose and squinted. The child giggled in delight. Graham smiled. Perhaps being around a child wasn’t so difficult after all.

He glanced up at Miss Barrett and sobered as his eyes met hers. “How can I even begin to repay you for your kindness to Katherine and my Lucy?”

“I can think of the perfect way to thank me, sir. Consent to marry me.”

Her pointed reply caught Graham off guard, and he stared at her for much longer than was proper. The answer was clear and staring him in the face. Miss Barrett had comforted his wife in her final days and cared for his child since birth. Surely there could be no better guardian for Lucy when he returned to his duties.

But marriage? The idea seemed preposterous.

Miss Barrett’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I know how this must sound, Captain Sterling. But I promise you my only interest is Lucy. I am determined to keep my promise to her mother and ensure that she is well cared for. And if I must endure the humiliation of asking a stranger to marry me in order to keep her with me, then so be it.”

Graham picked up the toy horse Lucy had abandoned and handed it to her, attempting to buy himself more time. Miss Barrett’s argument was persuasive. But had his experience taught him nothing?

No, he would deal with this now. “Miss Barrett, I am indebted to you, and I am at your service, but I’ve no intention of marrying again at present. I am sure we can devise some other arrangement.”

His refusal seemed only to fuel Miss Barrett’s determination. Though her chin trembled with every syllable uttered, her voice rang strong and determined. “Captain Sterling, if another arrangement were possible, I would never have proposed this one.”

Perhaps she saw him wavering. She took a step toward him. “You need help, Captain. Someone has to care for Lucy when you return to your duties. I can provide that assistance. I will love and raise her just as Katherine would have done. Upon my honor, she will want for nothing.”

Graham’s high collar seemed to tighten around his neck. Lucy’s happiness would have been Katherine’s final wish, of that he was certain. But marriage? He could not. Would not. It was too soon.

Miss Barrett’s words snapped him back to the present. “Please, at least consider the arrangement. What have you to lose? If we marry, you will be master of Winterwood Manor. You will be free to do as you choose, and you will be able to rest in the knowledge that Lucy’s future is secure, regardless of what happens. All I ask, all I need, in exchange is your name.”

Hazy thoughts raced through Graham’s mind, each fighting for dominance. He prided himself on being a man of sure decisions and swift actions, but for this, he needed time to think. He swallowed hard. “I will consider it.”

A cautious smile appeared on Miss Barrett’s face, and an awkward silence enveloped the spacious room. The fire’s warmth intensified, and Graham handed Lucy back to Miss Barrett before slipping a finger between his neck and cravat.

“What are your plans for Lucy while you are staying in Darbury?”

“I intend to take her to stay with me at Eastmore Hall. You’ve hired a nurse for her, correct? I was hoping to persuade the woman to stay on with us.”

Miss Barrett nodded and adjusted the child in her arms. “Mrs. Dunne is an excellent nurse indeed. But would you consider allowing Lucy to remain here until your decision is made? She is familiar with this house and the people in it.” Miss Barrett tucked a wayward lock behind her ear and balanced the child on her hip. “It might be difficult for her to be surrounded by new people, especially if her home might change again in a few weeks.”

The hope in Miss Barrett’s voice tugged at Graham, and he realized she was right. He might be Lucy’s father, but he was still a stranger to her. And how could he expect the child to be comfortable in a house where he himself found little comfort?

“If you are willing to allow her to stay a little longer, then—”

“Then you must visit her as often as you can.” A hint of lightness returned to her expression. “Every day, if you wish.”

Outside, a fresh gust of wind slammed against the windowpane, rattling the glass. Before retrieving his cloak and hat, Graham pressed his lips to Lucy’s curly head. He had hoped for another smile from his daughter before he left, but she snuggled up against her guardian and paid him no mind.

The unread letter in his breast pocket weighed heavily on his mind. If only there was another way.

“Good-bye, little one.” He bowed toward Miss Barrett, then donned his hat and flipped the collar of his cloak up around his neck.

There had to be another way. And he would find it.




Blast!

Graham kicked a rock, sending it tumbling through the carpet of wet leaves.

Amelia Barrett had him at a disadvantage. And he hated to be at a disadvantage.

Her outlandish offer had occupied his mind ever since he left Winterwood, and it continued to bother him now as he stomped across the grounds of Eastmore, spattering mud onto his polished boots.

What maddened him most was that the proposition almost made sense. Not only would it ensure a safe and loving home for Lucy; it would also free him to return to his duties with a clear conscience. But even so, how could he possibly agree to such an arrangement?

He shook his head. Miss Barrett’s price was far too steep. He could not accept her offer.

Not even for Lucy’s sake.

He snapped a twig from a branch and absently broke it in half as the image of his infant daughter took his mind captive. Haunting—her eyes were haunting. Pure and innocent, the child represented everything he had wanted to protect in her mother . . . but failed.

The insistent wind from the moors nipped and bit. The unread letter in his pocket smoldered. He had wanted to be alone when he read his wife’s final words, and he knew of a place where he would not be disturbed.

The cast-iron gate to the Sterling cemetery loomed just beyond the hedge of holly bushes. Even as a child, he had hated entering those gates. Ghosts seemed to linger behind every tree, and memories crept amongst the gravestones. He hesitated, put a gloved hand on the rusting metal, and pushed. It creaked in protest, but the heavy gate eventually gave way and swung on corroded hinges. Before him, graves of generations of Sterlings stretched out in uneven rows.

To the left, under the protective boughs of ancient English oaks, stood two unfamiliar markers. Gerard Sterling and Harriet Mayes Sterling. His parents.

The site whispered for him to draw closer. The graves were overgrown. Shameful. He would speak with his brother, William, about it when he returned to the main house. He knelt and pulled a faded, stubborn ivy vine away from his mother’s headstone and traced the carving of her name with his finger.

The span of eighteen years should have dulled his memory of the last time he saw her, but it had not. It had been late autumn then too. He could still feel the heated pressure of her grip on his arm as she clung to him before he left for the sea for the first time. He’d been little more than a child then—only twelve years old. The image of her tearstained face and the sound of her desperate pleas had burned themselves into his mind, never to be forgotten. The memories of his father’s hard expression were equally memorable, but very different, and haunted him with equal fervor.

His father’s decision to send him to sea had grown out of sound logic, regardless of the coldness behind it. Eastmore Hall, by law, would pass entirely to his older brother, so there had been a need for Graham to make his own way in the world, and indeed, he had done well for himself. He had grown to enjoy life at sea and excel at its requirements, achieving the rank of captain at a young age and amassing a small fortune in prize money for capturing both military and merchant vessels. At thirty years of age he had reached a level of success that few men would—and he still had the bulk of his career ahead of him. And now that England was engaged in war against America, his services to the Crown were needed even more.

A rustling nearby interrupted his thoughts. He jerked his head up and scanned the foggy landscape. Was that a sob? With silent steps he ducked below low-hanging branches to find the source. He spied the outline of a woman, shrouded in a dark cape, kneeling next to a headstone. The grave seemed fairly fresh. It had to be Katherine’s. But who was the woman?

He battled to hear her voice over the wind.

“I’m so sorry, Katherine.” Emotion broke the woman’s words. “I will not lose hope.”

The wind tugged at her gray woolen cape and pulled the hood free from her head, revealing an abundance of wild golden curls. As she reached up to re-cover her head, she turned. Graham ducked behind the tree, but it was too late. He stared straight into the eyes of Miss Amelia Barrett.

Feeling caught, Graham stepped out from behind the tree. She jumped to her feet and swiped her tears with the back of her gloved hand. Her azure eyes glowed in her pale face. Gone was the poise from earlier in the day.

“I’m sorry.” He took a step closer. “I did not see you . . . I mean, I was not aware . . .”

She did not pause for his explanation. She brushed past him so quickly that he barely had time to step out of her path. “Wait, Miss Barrett, please, I—”

But she disappeared through the gate, leaving him alone with the wind and his memories.

He considered chasing after her. If he ran, he could overtake her before she reached Eastmore’s outer walls. But if he caught up with her, what would he say?

Graham looked back to his wife’s final resting place, and the sight of her name carved in stone made him momentarily forget about the woman running from the graveyard. Katherine. All these months, he realized, something in him had clung to the hope that it was all a mistake. That the letter was wrong, and his bride still waited for him in their little cottage on the grounds of Eastmore Hall. But now all trace of foolish hope departed. He would never again see Katherine’s contagious smile or feel the warmth of her hand in his. Anger pulsed from his core. He’d always assumed that if one of them were to die, it would be he, so dangerous was his profession. How could a merciful God allow someone so pure to die so young?

He blinked away from the tombstone. He’d seen enough. But even as he turned, something caught his eye. A small book rested in the grass next to the grave. He knelt to retrieve it. The brown leather binding was smooth beneath his fingertips. He flipped it to read the spine. Psalms. Miss Barrett must have just now dropped it.

He dried the volume on his outer coat and tucked it in his pocket, where his fingers brushed Katherine’s letter. With the commotion of encountering Miss Barrett and the sting of seeing the tombstone, he’d almost forgotten about it.

The letter’s dark red wax seal broke easily as he slid a finger beneath it. He held his breath as he unfolded the letter. The strokes were wide, the letters shaky, but the script was surely Katherine’s.





My dearest husband,

My end is near. I am not frightened, for I am ready to meet my Saviour. My sadness lies in the fact that I shall never see you again nor live to see our daughter grow and thrive.

I have named the child Lucille Katherine Sterling and left her in Miss Amelia Barrett’s care. Miss Barrett has been a loving friend to me since I came to Darbury and will ensure the child is raised in the ways of God. She will love our daughter, of this I am certain.

I admit to sorrow that our time together was so brief. But this I tell you truly: I have loved you as much as any wife could love her husband, and my sincerest wish is for your happiness. Do not let your heart grow cold. Open it to loving our child, and if the Lord brings you love again, do not hesitate on my account.

Grieve not for me, my dearest, for when you read this I will be amongst angels.

All my love, Katherine





Guilt weakened his arms. He lowered the letter and stared at the engraved stone slab. Had he really been so naive as to think he could be a husband? He was a naval captain, dedicated to his ship, bound to his crew, and sworn to serve the Crown. But now the sea seemed so very far away, and long-suppressed thoughts clouded his mind. Had he even realized how precious Katherine’s love had been? He should have told her when he had the chance.

But now it was too late.

He folded the letter and tucked it away for safekeeping. Katherine’s wishes seemed clear. She had wanted Amelia Barrett to care for the child while he was gone. But in order for that to happen, he would have to marry Miss Barrett.

Blast if he was going to make the same mistake twice.





Graham leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees, and stared at his brother. William Sterling fumbled with the trigger on a pistol, attempting to polish gunpowder residue from the engraved casing. When Graham could stand it no further, he pushed himself up from the chair and stood to his full height.

“Who in blazes taught you to clean a pistol?” Graham snatched the weapon with one hand and the polishing cloth with the other. “At the rate you’re going, this will take you the entire day.”

William leaned back and balanced on the back two legs of the carved chair. “Ah, the great sea captain believes his weaponry skills are superior to those of his simpleton brother. You know I’ve always preferred horses to firearms. Annoyed Father no end.”

Graham ignored his brother’s taunt and turned the pistol over in his hand to examine the weapon’s fine craftsmanship. Smudges of gunpowder provided evidence of recent use. He closed one eye and looked down the pistol’s barrel, checking its straightness. “Where’d you get this?”

“Fine, isn’t it?” William dropped the chair to its normal position and stood next to his brother. “Father bought it off a Frenchman. Not very patriotic, if you ask me.”

Graham looked up from the pistol and studied the gilded portrait of their father hanging between two narrow windows. Even allowing for the difference in their builds, the resemblance between William and their late father was uncanny. Same cleft chin. Same sandy hair. Same light eyes, with a hint of mockery.

Graham sat down and began to polish the pistol. “Like this, see?”

William leaned over his shoulder. “I suppose you have use for a clean weapon in your line of employment, eh?”

“Indeed.”

William laughed a deep, hearty laugh and slapped Graham’s shoulder. “Good to have you home, Graham. How long has it been since you’ve been at Eastmore Hall? Fifteen years or better?”

“Eighteen.” Graham could have told him the exact number of months, but he doubted William would care. Very few of those months had been spent on land. The sea had been his home for nearly all of his youth and into his manhood, and it wasn’t until he achieved the rank of captain a few years back that he’d returned to England for any length of time. That was when he traveled to Plymouth to take command of the ship he’d been assigned—and when he met Katherine. Even now, though the Miracle had only been docked in Plymouth for a week, his life at sea seemed a thousand miles away.

He glanced up at his brother. “Place looks the same, mostly.”

“Never changes.” William flopped down into a wingback chair and propped his pointed boots up on the edge of a nearby mahogany desk. “Dull as tombs around here, most of the time.”

Graham surveyed the room. The heavy, crimson curtains still flanked the tall casement windows, and family portraits of all sizes still adorned the cream-and-gold foliage-patterned walls. The only notable difference was the absence of his mother’s portrait, which in his childhood had hung to the left of the intricate stone fireplace.

Graham nodded toward the empty space. “Where is Mother’s portrait?”

“Father had it moved to the drawing room.” William leaned his head back and folded his hands on his chest. “Why did you not return to Eastmore when you were last in England? I did not even hear of your marriage until that wife of yours arrived at Moreton Cottage. Quite a surprise, that was.”

Graham stiffened at the comment. He didn’t want to talk about Katherine, especially not with William. Their courtship had been swift and intense, the wedding quite sudden. No doubt, he should have notified his brother, his only living relative, of the union. But so many years had passed since he and his brother had spoken. Even their letters had become nothing more than a yearly update, and he’d found himself reluctant to share something so personal as his marriage in such a missive. He’d never imagined that Katherine would travel to Moreton Cottage alone and meet William without his being present to make introductions.

With all that in mind, he supposed he did owe his brother an explanation. Moreton Cottage belonged to Graham, of course, his only inheritance from the vast estate. All other assets had transferred to his brother upon his father’s death. Still, it must have been a shock when she appeared, two servants in tow.

“I assure you, Katherine’s move to Darbury surprised me as well. I met her in Plymouth when I returned to England to assume command of the Miracle, and we married shortly thereafter. When my ship sailed, the plan was for her to remain in Plymouth with her mother. But apparently her mother died unexpectedly, so Katherine left the coast to set up housekeeping at Moreton Cottage. By the time I heard of it, I was in Halifax.”

“Halifax—in Nova Scotia, right? I had wondered where you might be now, with that rogue Napoleon finally in exile.”

Graham shook his head. “Even with Napoleon conquered, brother, we are still at war, and I’ve got a battered ship to prove it.”

As if poking a festering wound, his brother’s questions continued. “What happened to your ship?”

Graham considered exactly how much to reveal. He scratched his forehead and rubbed his hand down his face before speaking. “It was a close-range battle with an American frigate. We sustained substantial damage but prevailed and sailed back to Halifax for repairs. But the resources there were sorely depleted. That is why we have returned to England. As soon as the repairs are complete in Plymouth, we will return to Halifax.”

William nodded toward the scar covering Graham’s hand. “The battle—so that is how you were . . .”

Graham followed William’s gaze, then sucked in a breath. “No.”

He said no more. William evidently understood, for he changed the subject. “What of your visit to Winterwood? They say George Barrett is in Leeds, due back tomorrow.”

Graham held the pistol up to the fire’s light to check his work, then resumed polishing. “I saw Miss Barrett and my Lucy, no one else.”

“Ah, yes, my pretty little niece and her even prettier guardian.” William removed his feet from the desk and sat up straight. “I must confess to some relief that Miss Barrett insisted on caring for your daughter. The situation seemed far more suitable, although of course I have tried—”

“No need for an explanation.” Graham waved his hand in dismissal. “Miss Barrett seems an ideal caretaker. In fact, I have arranged for Lucy to remain at Winterwood until I can make other arrangements.”

William chuckled and leaned with his forearm on his knee. “Speaking of Winterwood, do you recall how, when we were children, we would climb the stone wall separating Eastmore’s south field into Winterwood’s orchard and steal apples?”

Graham paused. A cloudy vision of himself and William climbing the gnarled elm materialized in his mind, but he could not recall an apple orchard—or climbing a wall with his brother, for that matter. “No.”

William studied the toe of his boot. “I suppose that is what happens when one is out in the world, having adventures and sailing the seas.” William’s words grew pensive. “One forgets the happenings of sleepy country life.”

Graham rested the clean pistol on his leg. Was that what William thought Graham’s life was like? An adventure? If that were indeed the case, he should be so lucky as to lead a completely unadventurous life. He changed the subject. “What do you know of Amelia Barrett?”

William shrugged and stepped over to the sideboard. He uncorked a decanter of brandy and poured the amber liquid into the trumpet-shaped bowl of a glass goblet. “Want one?” Graham waved his hand in refusal, and William indulged in a long swig. “Miss Barrett? You’ve not fallen for her charms, have you? She’d be the one to pick, I’ll tell you. Rich as Midas, that one. And lovely.”

“I find it odd that a woman of her situation is not yet wed.”

“’Tisn’t odd if you know her uncle,” William exclaimed. “Keeps her under lock and key. ’Tis no secret he handpicked the man she’s to marry.”

Graham frowned. “I don’t find that strange.”

William threw his tawny head back and laughed. “Not strange, he says. I have it on good authority that dear old Uncle George has his sights set on Edward Littleton—that’s the scoundrel’s name—joining him in the family business.” William downed another drink and pointed his finger toward Graham. “I bet you ten to one that once the money from the Winterwood inheritance starts flowing into Barrett Trading Company coffers, things will suddenly get a little brighter for ol’ George Barrett.”

William’s words simmered in Graham’s mind. An engagement to a man of her uncle’s choosing? The possibility of her inheritance being used to support her uncle’s business ventures? No wonder Miss Barrett was dismissive about her engagement. And yet another reason why she might be eager to be free of it. A seed of suspicion planted itself in his mind. Could Miss Barrett have other motives for wanting to marry him besides her love for Lucy?

Graham resumed polishing. “Have you met Mr. Littleton?”

William nodded. “He visited here a fortnight past to inquire about Eastmore’s west fields. Seems that once he’s master of Winterwood Manor he plans to make a few, ahem, improvements.”

Graham stopped polishing. “What did you tell him?”

“What do you think I told him? ‘Sorry, my friend. Can’t risk Winterwood getting any larger, nor Eastmore any smaller.’” William finished off his brandy and grabbed his coat off the chair. “I’m off for a ride. Care to join me? I just bought a new stallion in Birmingham last month. Capital animal—fast as blazes. Runs as if the devil himself is at his heels and takes a fence like a dream.”

Graham shook his head. He needed to be alone. He needed to think. “Thank you, no. I need to see to some correspondence.”

William shrugged. “If you want to meet Mr. Littleton, there’s a dinner tomorrow night at Winterwood Manor. Did Miss Barrett mention it? I believe it is to celebrate their upcoming nuptials. I received an invitation. Wasn’t planning to attend, but now I think the evening could prove entertaining. What do you say?”

Curiosity prevailed. Graham took the pistol by the barrel and extended the handle to his brother. “I would not miss it.”




The sun had set, and night had descended upon Winterwood Manor. Flickering candles and a freshly stoked fire provided ample illumination for the expansive dining room, the yellow glow glittering off the silver service and gilded frames adorning the olive-green walls. Aunt Augusta and Helena sat near Amelia at the mahogany table, their upcoming move to London the topic of discussion for most of the dinner. But their cheery excitement just aggravated the heaviness of Amelia’s heart.

The captain’s refusal burned fresh in her memory, and every second that slipped past reaffirmed the consequence. Still, she harbored no regret for her actions. In fact, if she thought asking again could in some way sway the captain’s decision, she would ask him one thousand times. But with pointed melancholy she recalled the firm set of his square jaw and the determination in his gray eyes. He did not wish to marry, not even to secure a new mother for Lucy or the fortune that would come from being the master of Winterwood Manor.

She studied the lamb fricassee and sweetbreads on her plate and pushed at the food with her fork. Her aunt and cousin’s chatter continued. The sounds of their voices were so familiar, so much a part of her home. Ever since her father died twelve years past and named her Uncle George guardian over both her and the estate, Amelia had lived here at Winterwood with her aunt, uncle, and cousin. But in little more than a month, all that would change. Once she and Edward wed, her uncle’s family would move to their new residence in London, and she would continue her life here at Winterwood—only as Mrs. Edward Littleton.

Aunt Augusta’s head of fading hair bobbed with each word. The woman’s words always spilled forth in a rush, like a waterfall of unchecked thoughts. “Five weeks, dearest! Can you fathom it? I am counting down the days. Perhaps we should consider having new gowns made before departing—although of course the London seamstresses are far superior. By my word, Helena, this will be the season. Amelia has her match, and now you shall have your pick of suitors.”

Helena’s golden eyes flicked toward Amelia.

Now that Amelia has made her match. Amelia knew the words must have stung, and her heart went out to her cousin. When Uncle George first invited his colleague Edward to visit Winterwood Manor, he’d no doubt regarded him as a suitable match for either his daughter or his niece, and Helena’s interest in him had been evident. But Helena, for all of her charm and beauty, lacked the single asset Amelia possessed and the one quality that would catch Edward Littleton’s eye—a substantial inheritance.

Helena quickly turned her attention back to her mother. “I am eager for Father and Mr. Littleton to return.”

“I, too, look forward to Mr. Barrett’s return tomorrow, but I daresay our feelings are nothing to Amelia’s anticipation for the return of her Mr. Littleton.”

The weight of her aunt’s attention shifted to her, and Amelia turned to see her aunt smiling at her as proudly as any guardian could. “Dear Mr. Littleton. You must be eager to see him.”

Amelia’s spine stiffened at the sound of her future husband’s name. She pressed her napkin to her lips before returning it to her lap, refusing to look at Helena. “Indeed.”

Her aunt continued. “I have instructed Cook to make pigeons en compôte for dinner. I have it on good authority that Mr. Littleton is fond of the dish.”

Amelia forced words. “That is very considerate of you, Aunt.”

Her aunt lowered her spoon to the table, surprise crossing her pointed features. “Why, Amelia, I should think you might show more enthusiasm. It has been more than two weeks since he last was here, has it not?”

Amelia nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, Aunt. A fortnight.”

“Two weeks is a long time to be separated from one’s love.”

Separated from one’s love?

Did she love Edward?

At the beginning of their engagement, she had believed so. But now? So much had changed in the span of the past year that made her question the wisdom of her choice. And now, with Edward’s refusal to allow Lucy to remain at Winterwood once they wed, she realized he was not the man she’d thought she knew.

“And what of the child?”

Amelia jerked her head up at her aunt’s indifferent reference to Lucy. Immersed in her own thoughts, she had lost track of the discussion.

But before Amelia could formulate a response, Helena spoke. “Have you not heard? Captain Sterling has returned just yesterday. He is at Eastmore Hall with his brother.”

Augusta dropped her fork and turned to face Amelia. “What is this? Oh, my dears, how did I miss this news?”

Amelia would have kicked her cousin under the table if the ornate table had not been so large. “Captain Sterling returned to Darbury yesterday, I believe. He paid us a visit this morning to meet Lucy.”

Aunt Augusta pushed herself to her feet in a rustle of burgundy taffeta. “You girls should have told me of this immediately!”

Amelia thought she saw a hint of a smile flash on Helena’s lips before her cousin looked down at her plate. “I am sorry, Mother. I thought you were aware.”

Aunt Augusta tapped her forefinger to her lips. “I suppose no harm is done. After all, this is good news, is it not? Lucy’s father will make arrangements for her, and you and Mr. Littleton will be left alone, as newlyweds should be.”

Amelia felt faint at the words. She did not want her aunt—or anyone—thinking that Lucy would be leaving. She straightened her shoulders. “It is my desire that Lucy should remain here, even after we wed.”

“Here? At Winterwood Manor?” Aunt Augusta’s laugh echoed from the high plastered ceilings. “My dear Amelia, you need to focus on starting your own family now. Besides, has Mr. Littleton not forbidden it? You cannot go against his wishes. ’Twould not be right.”

Amelia shook her head. “I am sure I can persuade him. Winterwood is a large estate. He need never even know she is here.”

“I declare, Amelia, I do not understand you. Why can you not just enjoy your life with Mr. Littleton? The child’s father has returned. He will see to her.”

Her aunt gave a firm nod, calling a close to the conversation.

Amelia glanced at her cousin, who continued to stare down at her plate. She had hoped that Helena would come to her defense, help convince Aunt Augusta that she was right. It would hardly be the first time the cousins had allied themselves in such a fashion. But this time Helena remained silent.

Whether the room was indeed suffocating or it just felt that way, Amelia managed to survive dinner. It was clear she had more difficult decisions ahead of her. Her family might not understand her now, but she could only pray they would come to share her perspective. She still cared for Edward. But his refusal to allow Lucy to remain at Winterwood was forcing Amelia to choose between a future with him and her commitment to Lucy.

And that was really no choice at all.