Fanny gave her a funny look. “Just as always, my lady. Although, he was a little banged up after falling off the boat last night. Boss is tough as an ox, though, that man.”
She’d asked him what happened—more than once—but he’d never answered. “He fell off of a boat?”
“One of those runners knocked him with an oar. The whole crew thought he was dead. Everyone’s talking about it. And then he turns up, right as rain, just like always.” Fanny smiled and fisted her hands on her ample hips. “I best be getting on. Can I bring you anything else right now? I can run the bath for you, if you’d like.”
Amelia would have liked a bath. She certainly needed one. “Later, perhaps?” Because her need to find Mr. Beckworth was even greater.
Both of her new gowns needed laundering. Amelia glanced around the room, she would have to make do with one of the dresses left behind in the wardrobe.
“Don’t be afraid to use the bell.” Fanny pointed to the corner. “If you pull it, one of us will come.”
“Oh, thank you.” But Amelia wasn’t thinking about the bath. “Do you know where he is now? Mr. Beckworth, that is?”
Fanny, who’d been on her way out, turned and paused at the open door. Again, she had a curious look in her eyes. “If he’s not in his office, he’ll be down in the cellars. Most likely.”
She made no move to leave.
“Is there something amiss? Would you like me to send for him?”
“No. That won’t be necessary.” Fanny still hesitated, so Amelia added, “I would actually like that bath later this afternoon. Perhaps after I’ve eaten…”And after I’ve ordered Mr. Beckworth back into bed…!“Thank you, Fanny.”
Once the maid was gone, Amelia poured water into the basin and did her best to wash up. Feeling slightly more refreshed, she then opened the doors to the wardrobe and rifled through the abandoned gowns.
The gowns, which had been surprisingly well preserved, were at least a decade old. The previous owner would have been married, as the colors were all dark and bold. Not a single pastel in sight.
The one she selected had short, puffed sleeves, and was made of royal blue muslin. Navy embroidery decorated the bottom of the skirt. Although the high waist had long gone out of style, that wouldn’t matter here at Smuggler’s Manor.
Nor would it matter that the hem came up higher than Amelia would have preferred, swishing around the tops of her ankles.
Only after she’d pulled it over her head did she realize she had a problem. Unfortunately, the fasteners were all in the back, and she couldn’t reach the last two. But the bodice was snug, and likely, no one would notice.
She really didn’t want to use the bellpull. She didn’t want to be a burden.
Furthermore, she’d already wasted nearly half an hour and she needed to find Mr. Beckworth and send him back to bed.
Admittedly, she was a little embarrassed about certain things she’d done the previous night, such as waiting in his room in that silly nightrail, and then practically ogling his manhood, but her embarrassment didn’t outweigh her concern.
He might be passed out on a floor somewhere! She neededdesperatelyto see that he was well.
She knew that he’d push himself. To instill confidence in his servants—his team.
But she’d witnessed his condition firsthand. He might be fevered. Any of those wounds could easily putrefy and if that was the case, she’d insist upon calling a physician.
Her anxiety came accompanied with more than a little frustration.
Stupid, stupid man!
Thoroughly worked up, Amelia glanced in the looking glass. She’d forgotten all about her hair, but her braid had held up surprisingly well overnight.
Twisting and turning, she decided she looked proper enough—from the front, anyhow. So she slipped on her shoes and rushed out of her chamber.
He was not in the study, nor was he in either of the drawing rooms or the dining room. Coming to the conclusion that he must be in the cellar, she stared at the entrance with a grimace.
Back at Cherrywood Park, Amelia’s father’s cellars had once been filled with her grandfather’s pride and joy—an impressive stock of brandy and wine. But when times turned hard, the collection had been sold off.
In the years that followed, that wine cellar had been neglected. Amelia had ventured down only once, and that had been more than enough to satisfy her curiosity. It had beenmusty and damp, not to mention home to a significant spider population and perhaps a few other critters.
Squaring her shoulders nonetheless, she reached for the doorknob and, as she pulled it open, was surprised to feel a cool salty breeze.
