The gardener, Mr. Lowe, dabbed his mouth. “Has he gone underground again?”
“Aye, he hasn’t emerged for a few days,” the cook replied. “Taking all of his meals in his study.”
“His study?” Amelia perked up. “Could someone take me there? I do not think I have seen that room.”
An odd silence thickened across the warm and delightfully noisy kitchen, the servants avoiding one another’s gaze. Apparently, Amelia was missing something.
“It’s through the Sun Room,” Bea said, breaking the quiet. “There’s a door in the bookshelves. Used to be a door off the hallway, but it was closed up. Only Mrs. Scanlon is allowed to enter, and that’s just to deliver and remove his trays.”
“Bea!” the chamber maid hissed.
Bea threw up her hands. “What? It’s Her Ladyship’s manor too now. She should know where everything is.”
Especially my husband…Amelia offered a subtle look of gratitude to her lady’s maid, the young lady nodding in response. It was not as if Amelia was going to go there at once and batter down the door in order to have a stern word with her absent husband. But she did, at least, deserve to know that he was still in the manor somewhere.
“Speaking of knowing where everything is,” she said, “I was wondering if you might show me the gardens this morning, Mr. Lowe. I have been admiring them from my window and would relish the chance to explore them with a knowledgeable guide.”
Mr. Lowe reddened with delight. “I would be happy to, My Lady. Why, I’m just in the middle of planting some crocuses before the frost hardens the soil. You could plant some, if you’re not averse to the dirt.”
“I can think of nothing better,” Amelia replied, clapping her hands together.
At that moment, the cook brought over a hearty plate of ham, eggs, and thickly buttered toast, setting it down with a proud smile. “Nothing better on a cold day when you’re going to be out of doors, My Lady. That’ll see you warmed through until luncheon.”
Amelia had never had much of an appetite, always told that eating too much or too eagerly was bad manners, but her mouth watered as she picked up her knife and fork and began to eat. As she chewed and savored the flavors, shedidfeel somewhat warmer, though she had a feeling it had more to do with the company than the breakfast itself.
By the following day, Amelia was feeling rather good about Westyork Manor and her place within it. She had switched the dining room and breakfast room around; she had moved some paintings and ornaments around, creating vague themes in the music room, the library, the drawing room, and the Orangery. She had planted crocuses to her heart’s content, eager to see them bloom, and she had not been alone for her breakfasts and dinners since.
To her delight, the staff really were all too happy to help her, and seemed to enjoy—tolerate, at the very least—her presence and her questions and her requests.
“The ground will harden overnight,” she murmured to herself, standing out in the elaborate, extraordinary gardens.
She blew hot breath into her hands, shivering a little despite the thick cloak she wore. It was a perfectly crisp afternoon, the hazy sun sinking rapidly toward evening. Pretty as it was, she wished the winter days would last just a little bit longer, for the darkness meant another night by herself, alone in her room, where she had no one to distract her from her husband’s abandonment.
“I should at least make sure he is still alive, should I not? No one could blame me for intruding forthatreason,” she mused aloud, leaving the resplendence of the cedar tree that was still proud and green despite the season, holding onto its needles.
She took her time to return to the house, wandering through the ‘squares’ that the Westyork gardens were divided into. Through every gate, beyond every wall, there was something new to discover. She could just imagine how wonderful it would be in the summer, when everything was in bloom, though there was a hopeful charm to the winter scenery. Robins flew hither and thither, thrushes and blackbirds pecking at the flower beds for something to eat, the gardens filled with life if one looked hard enough.
Walking out of the gardens, she headed up the shallow slope to the terrace that surrounded the manor. She could have gonethrough the main doors, testing her memory to figure out where the Sun Room was, but the French doors that led into that very room were right there, calling to her.
She let herself in and paused, gazing around at the light, comforting room. There were bookcases on both sides of the room, and neither looked like they concealed a hidden doorway.
I should have asked for more details.Grimacing, she stepped back out onto the terrace and observed what lay to either side of the Sun Room. On the left side, through a window, she saw a storage room filled with old furniture. The other side had no windows at all.
Confident in her deductions, she hurried to the right side of the room and felt for any sort of crack in the wall that could be a doorway. It did not take long, a gap in the books revealing a handle.
With a breath, she pulled the door open and marched inside, ready to make her demands. What those demands were, she did not know, but she could not let Lionel go on pretending she did not exist.
However, as she opened her mouth to speak, the sight of him silenced her.
Lionel was a shadow of the man who had awaited her at the end of the aisle, with dark circles around his eyes, his mahogany hair wild and sticking up at all angles, his shirt collar unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, and stubble darkening the lower half ofhis face. She had not imagined it was possible for a respectable Earl to look so disheveled.
More surprisingly still, he wore spectacles. They suited him immensely, making him appear studious and marginally less intimidating. Endearing, almost.
Is that why he squints at me so often?Amelia had almost forgotten the purpose of her visit.
Lionel removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose, before raising his fir-green gaze to her. Judging by his stony expression, she was in deep trouble.
CHAPTER TEN
