The Heiress of Winterwood

Please be home. Please be home. Please be home.

With every step, the words thumped in Amelia’s head. Faster and faster her feet carried her along the path from Winterwood’s west wall to the vicarage.

Heart pounding, she abandoned the path for a shortcut through a copse of trees that bordered the moors. More than once she almost lost her footing on wet leaves and grass. A branch caught her hair and pulled it free of her ivory comb just as she reached the clearing where the vicarage stood. She sprinted toward the house and pounded on the door.

The moment a servant opened the door, Amelia pushed her way in. “Jane!” she cried. “Jane!”

Her friend flew around the corner. “For goodness’ sake, child, whatever is—” She paused midsentence, her mouth falling agape at the sight of Amelia. “What on earth has happened to you? Come in, dearest.”

“He’s going to take her away!” Amelia gulped for breath.

“What? Who? Here, come in and sit down. Over here by the fire.” Jane wrapped her arms around Amelia’s heaving shoulders and guided her to a chair next to the fireplace. “There, there. I want to hear all about it, but you must calm down first. Fainting dead away will not help.”

Amelia stared into the fire, her tears blurring the dying embers’ light. Her teeth chattered, but she wasn’t cold. She inhaled and exhaled, willing the rapid breathing to subside.

Jane removed the comb hanging from Amelia’s hair and brushed the locks with her fingers. “There now. What is wrong?”

“Captain Sterling. He said he plans to make other arrangements for Lucy.” Amelia’s pitch elevated. “He’s taking her from Winterwood! What am I to do?”

Jane’s voice was calm and controlled. “Where is Lucy now?”

“She is still at Winterwood, but the captain was very clear. He is making other arrangements.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Amelia hesitated. “I am not certain, to be honest. The captain and his brother were visiting Lucy. While they were at Winterwood, Mr. Littleton and I had a bit of a . . . disagreement. Captain Sterling intervened. I think the captain and Edward had words.”

Jane grabbed her own lace shawl from the sofa and draped it around Amelia’s shoulders. “If that is the case, then the captain’s decision likely has more to do with Mr. Littleton than you.” She reached out to pat Amelia’s hand, but when she saw the red marks from Edward’s tight grip, she pulled the hand closer. “Mercy’s sake! How did this happen?”

Amelia drew her hand back and tucked it under the shawl. She should take this opportunity to tell Jane everything. About the changes in Edward’s personality and her doubts about his motivation. About her proposal to the captain. About her heartbreak over losing Lucy. But the words just would not form.

Jane didn’t push her. “This must be very distressing to you. I know how much you care for Lucy. But sometimes things happen that are beyond our control. But God has a plan, dearest. He has a plan for you and for Lucy.”

Amelia sniffed and shook her head. “I don’t believe it. How could that be so? God would take a child away from the one person who loves her?”

“You assume Captain Sterling doesn’t love Lucy?”

“How could he?” Amelia retorted. “He’s barely met her. Besides, he’ll be gone for months—years—at a time! Katherine knew that. That is why she had me promise—”

“This is where trust comes in. You have done everything you can possibly do. You must accept that God’s hand is in all things. He will not leave you nor forsake you, Amelia. He will not leave nor forsake Lucy.”

Amelia bolted from her chair and crossed the room. She wanted to believe Jane. She did. Her Bible reading from earlier in the day rushed to the forefront of her mind. But what if she did trust God and Lucy was still taken from her? She could not take that chance.

Jane stood and crossed after her. “Calm yourself, dearest. Things may not be as dire as you think. The captain, by all accounts, is a fine, respectable man, and he seems to be a good one as well. I feel certain he will listen to reason.” She produced a lace handkerchief from a drawer and handed it to Amelia. “Dusk will fall soon. You need to go home, get a good night’s sleep. Then we will sort this out together. All right?”

Amelia nodded and allowed Jane to fold her into an embrace.

“Have faith, dearest,” Jane whispered. “You are not alone.”




It was not a falsehood. Not exactly.

Aunt Augusta crossed her arms over her ample bosom and glared at Amelia. The last rays of the setting sun filtered through the drawing room’s west window and sparkled on the topaz pendant about her aunt’s neck. “A headache?”

Amelia nodded, resisting the urge to look at the ground.

Aunt Augusta shook her head. “I declare, I do not know what has gotten into you the past few days. You’re as flighty as I don’t know what. And sullen. Poor Mr. Littleton has traveled all this way to see you, only to be told you will not be at dinner because your head aches?”

Amelia clasped her hands behind her like a child being scolded. “I suppose nerves are getting the best of me.”

Augusta tapped her long fingers on the gossamer overlay on her sleeve. “Very well. Against my better judgment I will give Mr. Littleton your regrets.” She turned to leave but paused at the threshold. “I’ve never attempted to mother you, Amelia. Perhaps I was wrong in that. But I’d be remiss if I did not remind you what a fortunate young woman you are. Mr. Littleton is well worth having, not to mention well connected. You’re close to changing your situation for the better. Consider your actions. Do not give him cause for doubt.”

And with those final words, her aunt disappeared in the hall.

Amelia almost laughed. Consider her actions? Not give Edward cause for doubt?

She had no fear Edward would break the engagement. He would not risk the scandal . . . or the money. But her aunt’s words held truth. Whether Amelia liked it or not, time was running short. She would turn twenty-four in just shy of two months, and if she was not married by that time, Winterwood would pass to another. At this late date, she had little choice but to marry Edward.

Amelia moved to the desk, thinking of Jane’s advice. “Accept that God’s hand is in all things.” But it had never been that simple for her.

She retrieved her father’s Bible and moved to pick up her book of Psalms, but the smaller book was not in its normal place. She felt around for it deeper in the drawer but could find it nowhere. Assuming she had left it in her bedroom, she tucked the Bible under her arm and took the servants’ stairs to the second floor.

The day’s sun had warmed her bedchamber, and the warmth remained as night descended. She flung herself on the high bed and stared at its elegant draped canopy, trying to sort out all the thoughts and feelings that bombarded her. Nothing came clear, so she sat up again and picked up the Bible. The worn pages fell open, and she pictured her father sitting at his desk, poring over the same words that now stared up at her.

“Have faith, dearest.” She attempted to thrust Jane’s words from her mind. They refused to be ignored.

But hadn’t she asked God repeatedly for his help? He either had not been listening or cared not. She slapped the Bible closed and flung it down beside her. How could trusting in a plan that might or might not exist bring her anything but heartache?

Tears welled. She’d considered every detail. But was she any closer to getting her way? Fighting for control had only cinched the noose tighter. Weary of fighting and planning, she wanted rest. She wanted to feel peace. Could it really be as simple as trusting God?

A rap on the door interrupted her thoughts. She bolted upright from the bed.

“Amelia, it is Helena!” Knuckles tapped the door again. “Open the door!”

Amelia did not move.

“Whatever’s the matter with you?” Helena’s voice held urgency. “Mr. Littleton is in a terrible state. I’ve not seen him like this before.”

Amelia pressed her hand to her mouth, willing her cousin to leave.

“Amelia? Are you awake?” Helena jiggled the door’s handle. A few long seconds of silence ensued, then Amelia heard the soft pat of Helena’s slippers moving away from the door.

Amelia waited until she was sure Helena was gone before drawing the curtains for the night. Outside, clouds were gathering.

“I want to trust you, God. But I don’t know how.” Amelia’s chin trembled. “If you have a plan for me, please make it known. I cannot do this alone.”




William poured himself another glass of brandy and leaned his arm against the library mantel. “I’ll tell you what you need, Graham, and that is a distraction.”

Graham looked up from the letter he was writing and frowned. “No, what I need is to find a nurse for Lucy.”

“Doesn’t she have a nurse already? That Irish woman?”

“I can hardly hire Mrs. Dunne while she’s employed by Miss Barrett. And I need to have someone in place before I bring Lucy here. The situation at Winterwood Manor is becoming untenable.”

William took a long swig and shook his head. “Never did care for Littleton. Now I care for him even less. And to think I was even considering selling him the west fields.”

Graham lifted an eyebrow. “I think you’d be wise not to enter into any agreement with that fellow.”

“No doubt you are right.” William dragged his fingers along the fireplace’s fluted lintel, then pushed himself away from the mantel. “But back to the distraction I was speaking of. Jonathan Riley over at Wharton Park is hosting a hunting party on his grounds. Nothing extravagant, just gentlemen who like to follow the hounds and fancy some cards and a drink or two afterward. I depart in the morning and will likely stay a few days. Riley’s estate is only an hour or so away by horseback. Join us.”

Graham considered the offer. The idea of a few days spent in mindless diversion tempted him. But too much of his youth had been wasted away in “distraction.” He had left such pastimes locked in his past, and he was not about to revisit them. “Thanks, but no. I’ve things to do.”

“Suit yourself. I still think it would do you good.”

William moved to exit the room, but changed his mind and dropped into a chair. “Of course, it is none of my business, but it seems a shame that Miss Barrett’s marrying Littleton. She’s so attached to Lucy that she would probably marry you just to keep the child with her. If Littleton was as disrespectful as you claim, she’d probably be grateful for it.”

Graham turned toward William, suspicious that he might have somehow heard about Miss Barrett’s proposal. But William’s expression was innocent. “You think a woman would marry a man just for a child?”

William shrugged and propped his boot over his other leg. “Maybe not most women. But Miss Barrett is wealthy in her own right, so she has no need to concern herself with the sorts of things that motivate other women.” He brushed at his coat. “I would’ve asked her myself, but I believe at one point in the not-so-distant past, she referred to me as a self-absorbed blubbering idiot. Not exactly a match ordained in heaven.”

Graham chuckled. Miss Barrett was indeed a woman who would speak her mind. He could almost hear the words slip from her lips. “Well, she’s engaged to Littleton, and I’ve no intention of marrying. So that is that.”

William slapped his knee. “Wise man. I’ve no desire to be saddled, myself. Well, maybe for the fortune that would come with the likes of Miss Barrett, but you understand.” He stood and grabbed his riding crop from the corner of the desk. “I’m leaving after breakfast, should you change your mind about Wharton.”

“I’ve no intention of marrying.” Graham’s own words resounded in his head as his brother took his leave. Was that the truth?

He refused to leave Lucy in a questionable environment when he rejoined his crew. So far, every option he had tried had proved unsatisfactory, and he would need to report back to his ship within the month. The only person he trusted with his daughter at the moment was Miss Barrett. And she had named her price.

Graham studied the edge of a book on the desk without really seeing it. Amelia Barrett. Headstrong, determined, intriguing Amelia Barrett. Her passion was contagious, her dedication admirable. And the thought of Edward Littleton harming her sickened him.

He opened the desk for a piece of paper and grabbed the quill from its holder. He prided himself on being a man of swift, sure decisions. Once his decision was made, he would not waver.

He flexed his hand, dipped the quill in ink, and began to write.

“Dear Miss Barrett . . .”





Edward’s hot breath grazed Amelia’s cheek. “My temper got the better of me, dearest.” He cupped her shoulder, then ran his hand down her arm, smoothing the thin cambric sleeve. He paused at her wrist and then lifted it to his lips. “I’m sorry. You forgive me, do you not?”

Amelia didn’t move. His eyes, dark as coffee, bored into her, as if spying on her soul. A few months ago she would have believed his repeated attempts at contrition. Now his empty pleas echoed hollow.

“Come, let’s not quarrel.” He caressed her cheek. “We’ll be married soon, and none of these petty details will matter.”

What choice did she have? He was bigger, stronger, and would soon be Winterwood’s master. She squeezed the lie through her teeth. “I forgive you.”

A triumphant smile lit his handsome face. “Good.”

She eased away from him and pretended to study the view out the window. Sounds of the servants packing the carriage carried from the drive. “How long do you intend to stay in London?”

“Eager for me to return, are you?” His grin was almost a smirk. “I plan to be gone a fortnight, give or take a day or so. Then I shall be here for good.”

Thunder growled. “You’d best not delay here too long. I fear the heavens will open up on you.”

Uncle George’s voice entered the drawing room before he did. The older man slapped a heavy hand on Edward’s shoulder. “Are you off, my boy?”

Edward bowed slightly and then turned to acknowledge Aunt Augusta as she sauntered in behind her husband. “Yes, sir. Best be off before the rain starts and the roads get muddy, eh?”

Uncle George’s raspy laughter filled the room. “To be sure. Blasted rain.”

“We’ll miss you at the morning service, Mr. Littleton.” Aunt Augusta’s lips curved in a trite smile as she handed Edward his scarf. “Our family’s pew will not be the same without your company.”

James, the butler, stepped forward and extended a black beaver hat. Edward took it and tucked it under his arm, then led the way out to the carriage. The servants lined the drive to see their guest off. Edward barked instructions to the driver and then turned back to his soon-to-be family. He bowed. “Farewell, then.”

A sigh of relief slipped from Amelia’s lips as she watched the carriage start down the drive. She had never been quite so happy to see a carriage depart.




Graham tapped his fingertips against the oak pew. The very sight of the worn wood summoned long-forgotten memories.

White. His mother always wore white on Sundays. He shut his eyes, forcing the recollection to subside.

Cold air rushed through the window across the aisle, carrying with it the scent of impending rain, and a rare shiver shook him. He shouldn’t have come to this service. He was a relative stranger in the area. He didn’t belong to this parish. But something had drawn him to church on this November Sunday.

Something . . . or somebody.

As the vicar’s voice echoed off the stone walls and stained glass windows, his gaze drifted toward the Barrett pew. Littleton was absent. Next to Amelia Barrett sat her cousin and aunt and uncle. And nestled in Miss Barrett’s arms was his little Lucy. Her eyes were closed in slumber, and even from this distance he could see the soft flush of her cheeks and the pink of her parted lips. Downy titian hair curled from under her bonnet in bright contrast to her pale skin. There was no doubting Lucy was Katherine’s daughter.

Graham’s chest tightened. The babe did not yet recognize him as her father. The reception she’d given him during his last visit to Winterwood was evidence of that. But perhaps over time she would grow to accept him, perhaps even love him.

He should have been listening to the homily, but his eyes drifted to Miss Barrett’s face. He studied the creamy smoothness of her skin, the becoming slope of her narrow nose, and the luster of the golden curls that framed her face. A gown of buff cambric with a gossamer overlay hugged her shoulders, and a lace chemisette gathered at her neck. Her startling bright eyes were fixed firmly on the vicar. She was a beautiful woman indeed.

Not wishing to be caught in his stare, he returned his attention to the vicar as well. Graham had arrived late and barely made it to his family’s pew before the sermon started. Miss Barrett had nodded a greeting, but no smile had curved her lips, no warmth had lit her eyes.

How would she react to the letter?

He pulled out Miss Barrett’s book of Psalms from his breast pocket and set it on the pew. He slipped his finger under the cover and flipped it open, making sure his letter was still tucked inside. He would give her the book after the service, and then what would be would be.

After the dismissal, Graham stood up quickly to leave, but two elderly ladies who had been friends with his mother wanted to speak to him. By the time he said good-bye, the Barretts were gone. He wove through the pews and then, once outside, the headstones, his boots sinking into the soft turf as he hurried to catch up. Miss Barrett’s back was to him, and Lucy, now awake, eyed him warily over her guardian’s shoulder. Graham believed he saw a flash of recognition in the child’s eyes, and she waved a fist in the air. At Lucy’s movement, Miss Barrett turned around, her expression unreadable.

“Captain Sterling.”

Graham bowed to the women and nodded at Mr. Barrett. “I see Lucy is well.”

“Indeed.” Amelia adjusted the child on her hip.

Graham extended a hand toward the child and caressed her cheek with his fingers. She smiled at him, giggled, and buried her face into Miss Barrett’s neck.

Suddenly aware of all the Barrett eyes on him, he pulled the book from his pocket.

“My Psalms!” Miss Barrett’s countenance lightened, and she adjusted Lucy in her arms before reaching for it. “I have looked everywhere for this! Wherever did you find it?”

“Next to Katherine’s grave. Your name is written in it.”

She rewarded him with a smile. “Thank you for returning it. This was my mother’s. I would have missed it profoundly.”

An awkward pause followed her words, and he shifted his hat from one hand to the other. “Well then, I shall be by for a visit tomorrow. If that is agreeable to you, of course.”

He bowed, smiled at Lucy, replaced his hat, and turned back down the pebble path.

Would she notice his note tucked in the book? He had no way to know. But if all went well, he would not have to wait long to find out.




Amelia peered out through the carriage’s clear pane as Captain Sterling’s tall form cut through the cemetery toward Darbury’s main road. She’d been surprised to see him at church. His brother never attended services. She’d assumed that the captain held similar views.

Even more surprising, despite her lingering anger over his plan to remove Lucy from Winterwood, was the peculiar quivering of her heart. Part of her wanted to call out to him, “Wait! Do not go!” But a curious peace settled over her as the memory of her brief prayer the previous night filled her mind.

Her aunt’s commentary on Mrs. Mill’s Sunday attire filled the carriage on the short ride back to Winterwood Manor. Rain now fell in waves and pounded the sides of the carriage. She and Lucy had nearly pitched forward out of her seat when the storm hit and a gust of wind slammed the back of the carriage. But the rest of the ride proved uneventful. Lucy slumped comfortably against her arm while Amelia thumbed through the pages of the book of Psalms, happy to have her treasured item back. But as she did, her finger caught on something. Tucked among the pages was a folded piece of parchment.

A letter! Amelia snapped the book shut. She cast a glance to her cousin and then her aunt to see if anyone had noticed. Her ears rang. Her pulse raced.

The carriage drew to a painfully slow halt in front of Winterwood. Amelia muttered something about delivering Lucy to Mrs. Dunne, and once she had done so, hurried to her bedchamber. She flung the door closed behind her and dropped to the bed. Her fingers, cold and shaking, couldn’t work fast enough as she broke the seal and devoured the words.





Dear Miss Barrett,

Forgive my indiscretion. I must speak with you privately. Please do me the honor of meeting with me at the Sterling cemetery Sunday evening at dusk.

Respectfully, Graham Sterling





Amelia’s mind reeled as she dropped the letter to her lap. No real gentleman would dare invite a woman to a private location unchaperoned. She caught her breath. Unless, that is, he had decided to accept her offer.

Anticipation swelled within her. Could this be an answer to her feeble little prayer? She swung around her room in a sudden burst of energy as every possible scenario flew through her mind. What if Captain Sterling had found another home for Lucy and wanted to tell her in person. What if he was taking Lucy with him to Plymouth? Amelia stared at the letter for so long that his strokes no longer made sense. The words were just scratches, their fine lines and marks nothing more than the drag of a quill over the rough paper.

The hours before sunset crept by at an eternity’s pace. Amelia sought amusement, but the tasks that typically would bring distraction—reading, watercolor, needlework—failed to hold her attention. Even playing with Lucy failed to calm her restlessness. While the baby napped, she had walked through Winterwood’s dormant gardens, glad for the solitude they afforded her.

Finally the sun peeked from behind parting clouds and began its descent behind the moors, and mauve streaks painted the evening sky. If she intended to meet the captain, now was the time to take her leave.

Calm. She must stay calm. She pulled a heavy burgundy cape from her wardrobe and paused at the looking glass. She smoothed her hair and pinched her cheeks, then stopped short when she noticed her father’s Bible still lying on her desk.

She couldn’t deny the irony. Last night she had lain on her bed, all hope gone. She had cried out to God, and today hope had returned.

She hesitated. It could be coincidence. Or it could be something more.

She dragged her fingertip over the Bible’s worn cover. What if God said no?

But what if he said yes?

She let the cape fall to the bed. Today’s prayer came more easily than last night’s. God, I felt your peace today. My faith lacks strength. I fear it may never be like Jane’s or Katherine’s. But I would like to try. Please help me learn to lean on you. To trust in your plan, and not my own.





Black trees lined the east meadow, separating it from the Sterling cemetery. Their gnarled limbs, like bony fingers, reached into swirling fog. Wind whistled through their bare branches, urging Amelia on. Moisture dripped down from the branches and soaked the hem of her gown. She clutched her cape and squinted into the deepening darkness, keeping close to the tree line.

Upon reaching the cemetery gate, Amelia paused to make sure no one watched her, then pushed her way through the entrance. She spotted the captain immediately, sitting on the bench next to Katherine’s grave. His hat was pulled low over his eyes, and even through the bulkiness of his greatcoat, his shoulders created a strong silhouette.

“Miss Barrett.” He jumped to his feet and swept his hat from his head.

Had shadows not hidden his features, she might not have noticed the rich timbre to his voice. Scents of sandalwood and leather surrounded him. “Captain.”

He motioned for her to sit. “Thank you for meeting me. I know these circumstances are unusual. Forgive me.”

Amelia lifted the hood from her head and let it fall back against her cape. “It could not be helped, Captain. I was most grateful to receive your message.”

She waited for him to speak, straining to hear above the whistling wind and the wild pulsing of her heart.

“I need to speak with you about Lucy.” Captain Sterling sat down beside her. “I have decided where she will live when I return to my duties.”

Amelia held her breath.

He leaned his elbows on his knees and looked at her with intense gray eyes. “She must live with you.”

Had she heard him correctly? “Are you saying—”

He lifted a gloved hand. “Before we go any further, I need to know that you fully understand the implications.”

“What do you mean?”

He tented his fingers and stared at them. “Your uncle is a proud man, Miss Barrett. Have you considered the consequences of going against his wishes?”

She lowered her gaze, now grateful for the darkness.

He continued, his voice low. “I don’t mean to upset you, but I must, in good conscience, advise you to consider all outcomes. I must leave in a few weeks. You will be on your own to deal with any repercussions at Winterwood.”

She chose her words thoughtfully. “You must believe me that I have played this out in my mind many times. I certainly do not anticipate an easy transition. My uncle, no doubt, wishes to maintain some control of my inheritance. I imagine my aunt is more concerned with what damage this might do to Helena’s chances of finding a suitable match than with my happiness. So I do not doubt there will be uncomfortable moments between us, but I believe they will come around in time. They are, after all, my family, and Helena and I have been like sisters.”

He stepped closer to the bench, rolling his hat in his hands. “It’s not just your family, Miss Barrett. Edward Littleton is a volatile man. Are you prepared for his reaction?”

Amelia drew an unsteady breath. This, indeed, was what concerned her most. She’d once believed, despite Edward’s ambition and his unpredictability, that he was a kindhearted man. Only recently had she seen his cruel side, his selfish disregard for anyone’s desires but his own.

A sharp wind gust swept in, catching the folds of her cape in its billows. She settled her cape and wrapped it tightly. “I thought that Edward Littleton loved me, but time has opened my eyes to his true motivations. My inheritance, Captain Sterling, is no secret. Edward will be livid, to be sure, if I break our engagement, but it will be because he lost money, not because he lost me. And to answer your question, I do fear his reaction, initially at least, but he is a proud man. I believe, knowing Edward’s nature as I do, that he will prefer to avoid scandal and will not publicize the news.”

Captain Sterling studied her face. His presence did not unnerve her as it once did. But even under the cover of darkness, she feared too many of her thoughts would write themselves on her expression.

He sat down next to her on the bench, so close she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “And the money?”

Reality returned with a vengeance. The money. “What of it?”

“If we proceed with this course of action, I am well aware of what will be said. But let it be known that I do not need your money, nor do I desire the trials that can accompany a large fortune.” He lowered his voice. “I do not tell you this out of pride, Miss Barrett. My profession is a dangerous one. I may very well leave Darbury and never return, so I need to know my daughter will be cared for. That she will be loved. I trust you in this regard, but it is important that you trust me in return. Your money is yours. I will not touch it. Just care for my daughter.”

Her eyebrows shot up. Had she heard him correctly? For as long as she could remember, she’d been told her fortune was the key to finding a suitable match. She could only mutter, “Thank you.”

He stood up from the bench and looked at her for a long moment. She shifted under the weight of his stare. A smile finally crossed his face.

“Well then.” Captain Sterling knelt and picked up her hand from her lap. She jumped at the intimacy of the touch.

“Amelia Barrett, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”




Amelia closed the door without a sound and stood perfectly still, listening to make sure the servants were not about. Once certain that she was alone, she leaned her forehead against the door’s rough wood and squeezed her eyes shut.

Her body shivered from cold, and her wet cape clung uncomfortably to her limbs. Was this really going to happen? Renewed excitement surged through her body, dancing in her stomach. She would marry Captain Sterling and be free from Edward. Most importantly, Lucy would be with her always. She whirled around in the shadowed vestibule and allowed her hood to fall to her shoulders. Not even the dampness of her clothes or the chill in her bones could quench the joy in her heart.

Faint moonlight slid through a tiny window on the staircase. She gathered her skirts and started up the stairs, pausing at the narrow window and peering through the wavy glass. She watched the captain’s black silhouette stride toward Sterling Wood and disappear into the night’s murky mist. A strange sensation danced in her stomach. Despite her protests, Captain Sterling had insisted on seeing her back to Winterwood. Never before had she walked alone with a man, let alone in the quiet of dark. She knew it was improper. But it didn’t feel improper.

As quietly as she could, she continued up the servants’ staircase. Every creak in the ancient wooden stairs made her pause. Amelia considered climbing higher still to Lucy’s chamber. How she wanted to scoop the child in her arms and never let her go. Now she could be certain that Lucy would never be alone and would be loved always. She would not know the pain of a motherless childhood. Amelia just had to wait a little longer, until the captain returned from obtaining the license for them to wed. But she reminded herself to remain cautious. Much could happen in that time.

Deciding against waking the baby, Amelia stopped at the landing next to her bedchamber and peeked down the hall. Quiet. All of Winterwood was asleep. She moved to her door and cracked it open just far enough to slip through. The fire the maid had laid earlier had died down to embers, and she blinked, allowing her eyes to adjust to the faint glow. Tossing her cape on the chair next to the door, she turned around toward the bed and jumped to see a dark form sitting there.

“Where have you been?” hissed Helena. “I had a devil of a time trying to come up with a believable excuse for you. Are you even aware of the hour?”

Amelia jumped. “Helena, you frightened me. What on earth are you doing in here, sitting in the dark? You should be asleep.”

“As should you, dear Cousin.” Helena’s dry tone hinted at emotion simmering just below the surface. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You failed to answer my question. Where have you been?”

Amelia’s elation faded to discomfort. She reached for a candle on the small table next to her bed. A halfhearted excuse would not satisfy Helena, and the captain had asked her to keep their agreement secret until they could speak to her family together. “I needed some air.”

“Air?” Helena prodded. “It’s raining. It’s cold. You have been out in the weather this entire time? Alone?”

Awkward silence hovered between the women. Amelia leaned down to the fireplace to light the candle from its dying embers. “Damp air is the best.”

A flame flared on the tallow candle’s wick, and Amelia rose. As she turned to place the light on its stand, Helena lifted her hand. A small parchment letter rested between two fingers.

The captain’s note!

Amelia lunged forward and snatched it. “Where did you find this?”

“It appears you weren’t entirely alone.”

Amelia could not mask the defensive tone of her voice. “I don’t know why you act so surprised. I made you fully aware of my intentions, and now you are surprised that I am following through with them.”

“Yes, you told me your intentions, but I never in my wildest dreams expected you to act on them, especially after what happened in the drawing room the first day Captain Sterling arrived. Have you no shame, Amelia? How could you do this to Edward? He loves you, and this is how you acknowledge his regard?”

“Loves me? Quite the contrary, Helena. Edward loves Winterwood, and the fortune that goes with it.” She paused, carefully choosing her words. She’d been mistaken to take Helena into her confidence on this matter. How she missed the old Helena, her beloved companion. “This situation, and whom I choose to marry, is not your concern.”

A pained expression flashed across Helena’s delicate features, but she straightened and lifted her chin. “Is that so? Well then, I fault myself entirely for the misunderstanding. I’ll not deny our relationship has changed over the past several months, but I thought you might care to know my thoughts on something as important as your future husband.”

Helena’s argument fanned Amelia’s frustration. Nobody knew better than Helena how to twist words to their advantage. How could she make Helena see beyond Edward’s façade? “Helena, don’t be absurd. Of course I value your opinion. But you must trust that I know Edward’s character better than you do, and I am acutely aware of the possible repercussions of my actions.”

Helena tossed her russet braid over her shoulder. “Have you really considered what will be said if you cut Edward loose now? Father will be furious. Surely you don’t expect me to lie to him and pretend that—”

“I’m not asking you to lie. Can’t you see what I am trying to do? Can’t you see why this is important? I promised Katherine—”

Helena jumped up from the bed, her fists balled at her sides. “Will you stop falling back on that excuse?” Helena’s sudden passion on the subject caught Amelia off guard, rendering her almost speechless. “Are you prepared to throw away your reputation, your chance at happiness, your very future, for someone else’s child? For a promise made when your sensibilities were weakened with grief?”

Amelia took Helena’s hand in hers, half expecting her to pull it away. She did not. “I know you don’t understand what I am doing, but trust me. And as far as Edward is concerned, believe me when I say that he is not the man he professes to be.”

Now Helena jerked her hand away. “Unbelievable. How quickly you turn on those who care for you.” She pushed past Amelia and headed toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To bed.” She stopped at the threshold, placed her hand on the knob, and turned back to Amelia. “But know this, Amelia Barrett. I will no longer be party to this misguided plan of yours. You are on your own.”

Amelia put her hand on the door. “You must tell no one of this, Helena. Not yet. Please.”

Helena hesitated. “I will not, for I hope you will have a change of heart. But do not forget, Amelia, that I, too, hope to marry one day soon. What will happen when news gets out that my own cousin called off her engagement so close to the date? We—I—will be the joke of society. I’ll have little chance of an advantageous match if my family is involved in such scandal.”

Without waiting for a response, Helena left.

Amelia’s ears rang. She didn’t know whether to be angry or hurt. But as Amelia stared at the empty space where Helena had been, she realized the truth to her cousin’s words. The repercussions would certainly extend to those closest to her, and Helena might well suffer most from the consequences of Amelia’s actions. The thought of causing her cousin pain brought a pang of regret, but Amelia was too far down the path for a change of heart now. She had no choice but to marry the captain.

After returning Captain Sterling’s note to her book of Psalms, she peeled the damp dress from her body and pulled her nightdress over her head. She curled up next to her fireplace and, with her poker, prodded the fire back to life. Unease and uncertainty pushed at the joy in her heart. She stared unblinking at the leaping flames.

Dear God, I have done the right thing . . . have I not?





With buoyant steps, Graham strode out of the Doctor’s Commons building in London. His journey had been long and tiring, but well worth the effort.

The need to minimize scandal and the delicate time frame made it impractical to wait for wedding banns to be read, so a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury was the only viable option for marrying Miss Barrett. Unfortunately, Edward Littleton had announced plans to obtain a special license for himself within the next few weeks, and Littleton was currently in London on business. Concern that the man might already have applied for the license had nagged Graham every mile of the journey from Darbury. But the application process had proceeded without a hitch. He had beaten Littleton to the punch.

With the special license in hand, Graham and Miss Barrett could now be wed at any time, by any member of the clergy. He only hoped he could return to Darbury and marry Miss Barrett before Mr. Littleton paid his own visit to the Archbishop’s offices and learned what had transpired.

Graham waited for a barouche to pass before stepping into the cobbled streets, dodging a heap of straw that had fallen from a passing wagon. London’s labyrinth of avenues stretched out in unfamiliar twists, but he’d memorized the way to his hotel. It was just a short distance away. He’d walk.

Rounding the corner to Bracket Street, he nearly tripped over a small boy. Soot smudged the child’s cheek, and ragged clothes hung limp on his scrawny frame. He stopped Graham with his expressive brown eyes and extended his cap. Graham stared at him for several seconds before realizing he wanted money.

Three weeks before, Graham might have walked past the urchin with little thought. Today thoughts of Lucy made him pause. This boy was someone’s child. He fished in his pocket, pulled out some coins, and dropped them into the hat. The boy peered in, and a smile spread ear to ear. He turned and, like a shot from a cannon, disappeared into the sea of horses, carts, and people.

Graham allowed himself a gratified smile. He had helped a child and found a satisfactory arrangement for his own little one as well. All was going well. In just a short time—a week or two at most—he could return to his ship with a clear mind.

Graham wove through the throng of people who had braved the chill of the day, pausing once to allow a group of ladies to pass. His thoughts transitioned from his daughter to his soon-to-be bride and from there to his late wife.

Eighteen months had passed since he last saw Katherine, and even then, their time together had been brief. He had loved her with unequaled passion, but if he were to add up all the time he spent in her company, it came to less than six months. Indeed, the passing of time had made her seem more like a lovely memory than flesh and blood.

During those many months at sea, he had often imagined the life they would share—a life free of war and struggle. He had feared that battle might claim his life before then, never dreaming that hers would be cut short. But she was gone, along with all his hopes for their life together. Lately when he envisioned his future, he saw Lucy. And now, Miss Barrett.

As the days crept by, he was growing accustomed to the idea of marrying once again. But he still must guard himself. As Amelia had reminded him many times, this was an arrangement, not a romance. He could not—would not—begin to think of her in such an impractical way.

He straightened his hat and turned down Binkton Street. He needed to rest well tonight. It was a long way back to Darbury. And he had a stop to make along the way.




Weary from days of travel and lost in the unfamiliar streets of Sheffield, Graham almost passed Henry Carrington’s door completely. He backtracked and rapped on the door. Within seconds an elderly man appeared.

“Captain Graham Sterling to see Mr. Carrington.”

The butler ushered Graham through a narrow hallway to a small office. Graham ducked to miss the library’s low threshold and sidestepped to miss a haphazard pile of empty crates. Burgundy paper covered the walls, and thick brocade drapes blocked out the day’s light. Only a single sliver of light pressed through the curtains, illuminating tiny specks of dust hovering in the air.

At the butler’s announcement, Mr. Carrington looked up from behind an untidy stack of papers and fixed startling blue eyes on Graham. The old man’s gaze traveled from the top of Graham’s head to the brass buttons on his tailcoat to his gray pantaloons and Hessian boots. He pushed his spectacles down on his nose and squinted, making no attempt to hide his assessment. His gruff voice cracked the silence. “Captain Sterling. Come in.”

Graham stepped over a sleeping bloodhound and moved to the desk. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

Carrington nodded toward a carved chair. “Pay no heed to the crates. Moving from one town to another is maddening business. Sit down there.”

Graham followed the man’s instruction, removing a dust cloth from the back of the chair before sitting.

Carrington leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here to discuss Winterwood Manor.”

Carrington waved a dismissive hand and dropped his spectacles to his desk. “Any discussions related to Winterwood Manor will need to be addressed to George Barrett or Edward Littleton. I no longer manage its affairs.”

“Actually, Littleton is one of the reasons I am here.” Graham waited for the man to look back up from his papers before proceeding. “There’s been a change of plans regarding the future of the estate.”

The man’s unkempt eyebrows lifted. “You have my attention, Captain Sterling.”

Graham slid the letter confirming his license application from his leather satchel and held it in the air. “I’ve just applied for a marriage license.”

Carrington chuckled. “Getting married, are you?”

“Yes. To Miss Amelia Barrett.”

The old man jerked. His smirk dissolved. He pushed himself back in his chair, and a very different sort of smile crossed his round face. “Well, this is interesting. Interesting indeed. What happened to Littleton?”

Graham opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. The less said, the better. “Let us say that circumstances intervened.”

Carrington slapped his hand on the desk. “I’m glad to hear it. Littleton’s a rogue.” His proclamation echoed off the plaster ceiling and caused the bloodhound to lift his head. “A blackguard, he is, not fit to muck Winterwood’s stables, let alone be its master.”

Graham would have enjoyed nothing more than a thorough discussion of Littleton’s shortcomings, but he held his tongue and returned the letter to the satchel. “Miss Barrett and I will wed as soon as possible, and I will return to my duties shortly thereafter. We will need someone to manage Winterwood’s affairs, and Miss Barrett trusts you. I’d like to reinstate you as steward. You will, of course, be able to take up residence again at the estate cottage whenever you are in Darbury. Is that satisfactory?”

“It is, sir. I must say I am gratified to hear of these developments. You will of course let me know if there is anything I can help you with in the meantime.”

Graham stood and held out his hand. “I’ll not keep you any longer. I’ll be in touch in the next few days with further instructions.”

Carrington stood, stepped over the sleeping dog, and completed the handshake. “Of course.”

“Good.” Graham turned to leave, then turned back. “This is not public information yet. It’s crucial you keep this news to yourself for a few days.”

“Will do, Captain. I am at your service.”





Graham quickened his pace as he rounded the corner to Winterwood’s east lawn. Skeletons of rosebushes lined the walk, and his tailcoat caught on the bare, spindly branches. Shells of leaves crunched beneath each footfall as he approached the massive house. He allowed his mind to settle on a thought he had not yet dared to entertain: within the next couple of weeks, he would become master of Winterwood Manor.

The magnitude of such a role had yet to sink in. Ever since he left Eastmore Hall as a lad to make his way in the world, he had accepted that his profession would center around life at sea. He excelled at it and, yes, he enjoyed it. His plan had been to earn enough so that he and Katherine could live out their years comfortably. He had done well enough for himself, but the fortune connected with the Winterwood estate made his wages and prize money pale in comparison.

For the time being, honor and experience bound him to his ship. But should he survive the war, would he continue in his profession or return here—to Lucy, to Amelia Barrett, and to this magnificent house?

A quick glance up at the rolling sky and a threatening clap of thunder made him regret his decision to leave his oilcloth coat at Eastmore Hall. With his still-nameless horse in the care of a groomsman, Graham was eager to get inside. At the main entrance, the butler took his hat and gloves and showed him to the library. No fire blazed in the black marble fireplace—odd for this time of year.

Miss Barrett’s smile, however, more than made up for the lack of warmth afforded by a fire. “Captain Sterling!”

Graham bowed toward Miss Barrett before turning his attention to Lucy, who perched on her nurse’s hip. He smiled at Lucy, who regarded him with indifference. He straightened. At least she did not cry. Then she grinned and waved a paintbrush in the air.

He laughed. “Been painting, have you, Lucy?”

She waved it again and held it out to him. He went to take it from her, and she snatched it back, giggling and looking proudly at Miss Barrett.

“You tricked me.” He chuckled. “Will you come to your papa today, or is it still too soon for that?”

He expected the baby to grab on to Mrs. Dunne in protest, but she did not withdraw as he closed the space between them. “Well, this is progress!” He lifted her from her nurse’s arms. “See now, I’m not quite as bad as all that, am I?”

Graham bounced his daughter and kissed her cheek. He looked up, suddenly aware of the two women’s eyes on him. “Miss Barrett, I was hoping to speak with you further about Lucy’s living arrangement.”

“Oh yes, of course. Mrs. Dunne, would you be so kind as to take Lucy to the nursery? I will follow soon.”

Mrs. Dunne dropped a wordless curtsy, her prominent brown eyes assessing him boldly as she took Lucy in her arms.

Once the pair left, Miss Barrett stepped to the door, popped her head out in the hall, and then pushed the door closed before returning. She turned, her face flushed. “We shan’t be disturbed. Uncle George is out, and Helena and Aunt Augusta are calling on the Mills.”

“And Littleton?”

Her lovely smile faded. “He is still in London, or so we presume. We expect his return within the week.”

Her pink gown made her cheeks appear even rosier than normal, but that was not what first drew his attention. A baggy canvas smock protected the front of her dress, stained with paints of every shade. Was his betrothed an artist?

Her easel faced away from him, so he sidestepped her to view her work.

No, definitely not an artist.

He nodded toward her smock. “It appears you managed to get more paint on your smock than on your easel.”

She giggled, an unguarded, happy sound that he had not heard from her until now. His gaze drifted from her golden tresses to her sparkling sky-blue eyes to the curve of her neck. After months at sea with only men for company, one tended to underestimate the effect a beautiful woman could have on a man. The weight of her gaze rendered him a fool and momentarily speechless.

She frowned at the easel. “My painting leaves much to be desired, I fear.”

“Perhaps a little.”

“Captain Sterling!” she exclaimed with mock offense. “How can you tease me so?”

He laughed. It had been so long since a genuine laugh rumbled his chest that he’d forgotten its releasing power. “What is the subject of your painting?”

“You cannot tell?” She pointed out the window. “See that grove of elms and aspens just beyond the box hedge?”

“Oh. I see.” The uneven strokes on the page bore little likeness to the vast landscape framed by the window. “Hm, where’s your brush?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“Your paintbrush.” His gaze swept across her collection of watercolors and rags. A brush rested on the easel’s edge. He took it in his hand.

“Why, Captain Sterling,” she said. “I didn’t know you were a painter.”

“I’m not.”

She stood very close to him, so close that the sweet scent of lavender danced around him. He adjusted the brush. It seemed too tiny for his thick fingers to maneuver, but he dipped it in green paint and pressed the bristles against the canvas. For a brief moment, Amelia’s gaze fell on the scar on his hand. His jaw relaxed when she looked away again.

He cared little for painting. In fact, he hadn’t stood before an easel since school days. But if pretending to be interested in art kept a genuine smile on Amelia Barrett’s face, he would learn to like it.

A long, curly lock of Amelia’s hair slipped from its comb. She lifted a hand to return it to its place, and as she did her arm brushed his. The realization that he was enjoying his time with her made him almost uncomfortable, as if he were breaking a code of honor.

He was grateful for her abrupt change of topic. “How was London?”

“Productive. I stopped in Sheffield on the way back and spoke with Carrington.”

She looked up. “What had he to say?”

“He has agreed to resume his duties of steward and will change his residence—for the second time in a fortnight—back to his cottage here on the grounds. Good thing. I’d be no help in any matter related to running an estate.”

Amelia untied her smock and hung it on a small peg near the easel, her eyes diverted. “And the special license?”

“I have it in my satchel.”

She bit her lip as if calculating the significance of his statement. “So that means, um, that we can, well—”

“Be wed?” he finished her sentence.

A vibrant, becoming hue colored her cheeks.

“Yes.” He leaned down to the leather satchel at his foot, amused at her sudden display of shyness. After all, had she not been the person to suggest the union in the first place? He pulled out the document and placed it in her ungloved hand. She balanced the weightless vellum on her fingertips and read the words. Her full name, Amelia Jane Barrett, on one line. His full name, Graham Canton Sterling, on another.

“We may be married any day, anytime, by any member of the clergy. And in my opinion, the sooner the better.” Graham adjusted the satchel at his foot and then straightened. “Have you given any thought as to when we will inform Littleton?”

Her head jerked up. “We?” She lowered the license. “No, no. If it is all the same to you, I think I should be the one to tell him. Alone.”

“Nonsense.” He assessed her face, certain she must jest, but the firm set of her jaw told him otherwise. “I’ll not allow you to bear the brunt of such an interaction alone. After all, this is as much my decision as it is yours. He will be angry, to be sure, but he can take the matter up with me, not my betrothed.”

Graham snapped his mouth shut as the last word slid from his lips. Betrothed. The word echoed in the paneled room. He cleared his throat before speaking. “We’ll need two witnesses.”

Gone was the unguarded Miss Barrett. She appeared distracted, her eyes not leaving the license. “Witnesses? Yes. Of course. Mrs. Hammond, the vicar’s wife.”

“My brother can be a witness as well.” He stood up. “We’ll need to explain things to the vicar. What’s his name?”

“Thomas Hammond.”

He retrieved the license and slung the satchel over his shoulder. “I think it is best if we talk to your uncle first thing in the morning and let him know of our plans. Then we’ll go explain the situation to the vicar. We’ll deal with Littleton when the time comes.”

Graham’s eyes narrowed on her face. The sudden change in her demeanor concerned him. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“My dear Captain Sterling, I have never been more certain of anything in my life.”