“And Mr. Beckworth, he helps you with that?”
“Oh, yes.” But picturing the last time she saw him, she grimaced. “Usually. At the very least, I need to talk with him. I need to know?—”
“How he feels.”
“Exactly.”
“What if he doesn’t feel the same?” Clementine’s voice had gentled again.
Amelia took a deep breath. She thought he did, the way he’d breathed her name down in that cellar, but… “At least then I’ll know. Regardless, I can’t beLadyAmelia anymore—not the lady my mother expects, anyhow. I won’t marry Northwoods. I need to… assert myself, I suppose.”
“Going back to Smuggler’s Manor is certainly one way of doing that.” Clementine grinned.
Amelia let out a hushed laugh, startled, but she quickly sobered again. “But I need a plan. I can’t exactly walk there, can I?”
“No, you can’t.” Clementine bit her lip. “But maybe you won’t have to.”
Thirty minutes later,wearing a simple but lovely evergreen muslin daydress from Clementine’s wardrobe—which fit Amelia perfectly even minus a corset—along with a pair of Clem’s comfortable half-boots, Amelia was staring at the empty space in the back of an old farmer’s cart.
“You don’t have to do this, you know. We can all just turn back, if you like.” Lord Winterhope was there as well, standing beside his wife.
His classically handsome face set in a scowl.
“My mother would never stand for that,” Amelia pointed out.
“Do you think I allow your mother to dictate my actions?” Winterhope’s jaw ticked.
“It will be easier this way.” Amelia wasn’t prepared for a confrontation. Not yet.
The marquess flicked the lace at the end of his sleeve.
Just as Clem had promised, they’d found Lord Winterhope in the stables, standing at one of the stalls and talking to oneof the horses who’d thrown a shoe somewhere between The Goat’s Tail and Smuggler’s Manor. The marquess had shed his jacket, looking more human without the extra layer. Amelia had never seen him in less than full formal attire before, so it was somewhat of a shock to be reminded that there was, in fact, a man under all the lace and wool and stuffiness. Clementine had pulled the marquess aside and calmly explained everything to her husband. After just a few minutes, he’d reluctantly agreed to help.
Apparently recognizing that her husband might, perhaps, be rethinking his decision, Clem turned to squeeze his arm.
“If she leaves in the cart, the deed will have already been done. Besides, Amelia wants to do this on her own.”
“I do,” Amelia said.
“For love,” Clem added.
“God help me.” Winterhope’s shoulders sagged a little, and he shook his head. “Very well, then. But I’ll have you both know that Malum is going to want my hide. As for Lady Foxbourne… God help us both, Clem. She’s going to be even more of a?—”
“Benjamin!” Clem was smiling, though. But then she turned to Amelia. “I don’t suppose we should waste any more time. It’s nearly dawn, and Mr. Beckworth’s driver could come out at any moment.”
Lord Winterhope’s plan couldn’t have been any more perfect, really. While doing whatever it was that he did with his horses, he’d overheard a few drivers conversing. The driver of this one, having delivered a shipment to London, was on his way back to Smuggler’s Manor. And although it contained a few bulky crates held in place with a large piece of canvas, it was mostly empty.
Lord Winterhope had examined the vehicle and the space where she would be hiding and deemed it safe. Clem had fetched a pillow and a blanket to make the ride more comfortable.
“I can’t thank you enough! Both of you.” Amelia blinked away a few tears. She only wished that Clementine could come with her. They’d only just reconciled, and now they would be separated again. “I’m going to miss you, Clem.”
“I’ll miss you, Amelia. But not as much now that I know you aren’t angry with me.”
Amelia’s smile was a little watery.
“My lady.” Ever the gentleman, Lord Winterhope assisted Amelia up and into the tight little place where she would stow away.
As she settled into the space, tucking her skirts down around her, Amelia felt a sort of thrill. Although she was terrified of what the future would hold, she was more excited to be doing something about it. To be taking action, taking control. A thousand bees buzzed around her stomach as she imagined what he would say.
