“Follow me,” Christine offered, and Amelia accompanied the girl upstairs. She led her a little farther, until they were out of the earl’s earshot. Immediately, she said, “My father wasn’t supposed to marry you.”
This wasn’t exactly news to Amelia, but she decided to tread carefully. “What do you mean by that?”
“He was supposed to marry my governess, Miss Grant. I had it all arranged.”
And you spoiled everything, her eyes seemed to say.
Amelia knew she had to choose her words carefully. “I’m sorry to have disrupted your plans. You must be very close to your governess.” Or perhaps the woman had allowed the girl to do anything she pleased.
“I was.” The young girl’s face went sullen. “But Miss Grant left to marry someone else a few weeks ago. She wasn’t supposed to—I wanted her to marry my father.”
Amelia said nothing, knowing that silence was her best ally at the moment.
“My father is not going to love you,” Christine insisted. “You might as well understand that.”
The girl’s dramatic proclamation wasn’t unexpected. Even so, it was dismaying that Christine had already decided that Amelia was unworthy to be her stepmother after they had known each other only two minutes.
Amelia took a steady breath and kept her voice calm. “Whether or not the earl loves me doesn’t matter. I am his wife, and that won’t change. As for you and I, we will come to our own understanding.”
“You won’t tell me what to do,” Christine warned. “I can promise you that.” In the girl’s eyes was the promise of trouble with a capitalT.
Amelia had no desire to be enemies, but at the same time, she would not let herself be bullied by an eleven-year-old. “I think we should have a talk and draw up an agreement between us.” A truce, as it were.
Christine’s expression appeared wary, as if she had no desire to come to any sort of compromise. It didn’t bode well for either of them. Fortunately, Amelia was spared any further conversation when Lord Castledon joined them.
His daughter immediately linked her arm in his, drawing him forward so that Amelia was left behind. The message was quite clear:You aren’t wanted.
Amelia imagined she was supposed to be heartbroken by this. Perhaps the girl wanted her to cajole or coax her, spoiling her in the hopes of gaining her love. Not so. Amelia had earned the title of Unruly Daughter at an early age and was well acquainted with manipulating others to get what she wanted. Lady Christine would not be granted her every desire simply because she wanted it so.
Her new stepdaughter’s machinations were quite obvious, and whether or not Lord Castledon believed them didn’t matter a whit.
When Amelia turned the corner, she found them waiting for her. Her husband offered his other arm. “I lost you for a moment there.”
“I thought you might want a little time with Christine,” she said, ignoring the girl’s glare while she took the earl’s opposite arm. “You haven’t seen her in a while.”
“LadyChristine,” the girl corrected, as if trying to behave like a princess.
“Your stepmother can call you whatever she wishes,” the earl intervened. “And I’m certain you will like one another a great deal.”
When cats swim underwater, Amelia thought. No, this was going to take more time than she’d expected.
With one hand, Lord Castledon reached up and touched the top of his daughter’s head as if measuring her height. Then he squeezed Christine in a light hug. “You’ve grown so tall in the past few months,” he admitted.
“I missed you, Papa.” The wistful longing on the child’s face reminded Amelia of herself as a girl, when her father had gone off to war. Henry Andrews had been away for so many years, she’d felt all but abandoned.
“Soon enough, you’ll have to learn how to be a lady. Amelia can help you with that.” He smiled at her, but Christine’s answering smile was strained.
“Papa, will you come and eat supper with me in the nursery this evening?” Christine pleaded.
“I think it would be better if you dined with us downstairs,” her father said. “You’re old enough to begin learning proper behavior and manners among adults.” He continued down the hallway and opened a door.
Inside, the air smelled musty, like a grandmother’s trunk. It was clear that the bedroom hadn’t been used in many years. “I’ll have our housekeeper, Mrs. Menford, prepare this room for you.” He sent Amelia a slight smile, as if to apologize for the room he’d given her in London.
“Is your room at the far end of the hall?” She wondered if he was intending to continue their physical separation at night or whether he was willing to attempt a true marriage.
“No. It’s not far from yours,” he admitted. The sudden flare in his eyes gave her a reason to hope, and it was a small victory.
After the stolen moment in the coach last night, he hadn’t spoken a word. But the way he was looking at her now suggested that hedidintend to share her bed again.
