“If you’re trying to get me to like you by buying me things, it won’t work,” her stepdaughter insisted.
Amelia sighed. “Frankly, Christine, I don’t care if you like me or not. Your father asked me to help you prepare for your debut in society, and you have a great deal to learn. I’m helping you out of courtesy tohim, more than anything else.”
The words were harsher than she’d intended, but it was the truth. David had rescued her from a scandal by marrying her. She’d promised to uphold her end of the bargain by taking care of his daughter—a daughter who wanted nothing to do with her.
On the journey back, Amelia drank in the sight of the green countryside with stone walls separating the land. The rolling hillsand moors were sprinkled with trees, and the big blue sky seemed to embrace the land with lacy white clouds. Here at Castledon, she could almost imagine the stories of King Arthur and Camelot. It was near Yorkshire, and sometimes, on a clear day, she could see the gray sea, dotted with stones.
“It’s beautiful here,” she said, shielding her eyes against the sun. “You must love drawing the landscape.”
“I don’t actually like to draw,” Christine admitted, dabbing at her nose. “I learned how because Miss Grant said that all young ladies must learn how to sketch and paint. But I’m not any good at it.”
“Your father thinks you are,” she said softly.
“He’s never here,” the girl admitted. “He doesn’t know anything about me.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if she was used to being left alone.
It made Amelia wonder if she’d guessed correctly about the girl’s true interests. She had arranged a surprise for Christine—a purchase the girl hadn’t known about. The brown paper parcel rested beside her, filled with different colors of ink, new quills, and paper. Amelia thought it might make a strong peace offering.
“When we’re home, I want to go up into the attic,” she said. “We might find a place for you to enjoy reading books.” She shot her a sidelong glance. “Or somewhere you could write your stories.”
“Why would I want to write stories in a dusty, hot attic?” Her stepdaughter dismissed the idea as ridiculous, but Amelia wouldn’t be deterred. Christine hadn’t denied that she liked to write, which made her think that she was on the right path.
“You never know what we might find up there. There might be more of your mother’s belongings. Let’s go and look.”
“I don’t want to. And besides—no one is allowed in the attic. Not even the servants.”
Now that piqued Amelia’s curiosity. “Why? Is your father trying to hide something up there?”
The girl paused a moment. “He says it’s not a place for children.”
“Oh, come, now. Use your imagination. Your father hasn’t gone there in years. He forbids the servants to enter.” Amelia lowered her voice in hushed excitement. “Perhaps there’s a ghost who haunts the attic at night, keening for—”
“My mother isn’t a ghost,” Christine snapped.
Amelia stopped at once, for she hadn’t been thinking of that at all. “That wasn’t what I meant, Christine. I promise you, I would never imply something so cruel.”
The girl went silent, staring outside. And now Amelia wished she’d never brought it up. “I was only trying to inspire a story, that’s all. I was imagining the ghost of someone who lived here hundreds of years ago.”
“The house isn’t that old,” Christine pointed out.
“Houses are often built on the site of an older dwelling,” Amelia said. “I know many castles were built upon the ruins of medieval fortresses.” She tried to entertain the girl on the way back with tales of history, but it seemed Christine had no interest in it.
When they were almost home, the girl interrupted her. “Why did you marry my father? Was it for his fortune?”
“No!” Amelia couldn’t believe her stepdaughter would believe such a thing. But neither did she want to tell the girl about the viscount’s attempt to elope with her. “He…needed a wife and a mother for you. And I found him to be a good man.” She softened her voice. “He loves you very much.”
Christine stared down at her shoes and dabbed at her nose again. “He might love me as his daughter. But he doesn’t like me very much.” She cast a sidelong glance at Amelia. “He’s going to leave in a few weeks, and we won’t see him until winter. You’ll see.”
The bitterness in her voice revealed a lonely girl who’d been hurt time and again. Amelia was beginning to see why she’d wanted her father to marry again. “I’ll try to change his mind.”
Christine sent her a dark smile. “If I couldn’t change his mind, what makes you think you can?”
The restless need to leave pulled at David. He often traveled south during this time of year, to Thornwyck, an estate near Wales. It was quiet, and the income was primarily from sheep and goats. There were no memories of Katherine there, for she’d never visited the property. It was the perfect place to escape, and right now, he needed a few weeks of solitude.
With each day he spent at Amelia’s side, he found himself daydreaming about her. She embraced him openly, giving so much of herself, while he felt guilty for not giving enough. Friendship would never be adequate for Amelia. She needed a husband who would love her.
The sanctuary beckoned to him, and David ordered his valet to begin packing his belongings. “At once, my lord,” the man agreed.
David stood before Katherine’s room, and the silent tread of footsteps approached. Without looking up, he knew who was standing there.
