Aunt Margaret promised the ladies she would return to help chop vegetables for luncheon, then prepared a tea tray and led the way to a nearby sitting room reserved for the staff, which allowed them a modicum of privacy.
She sent Amelia a concerned look as she poured tea. “I must say your visit this morning surprises me…and worries me.” She set down the teapot with care. “Does this have anything to do with the...well. The matter in Folkestone?”
“Oh—no. Nothing of the sort.” Dismay filled Amelia. “I’m sorry to have caused you any worry.”
The matter in Folkestone. Well, it was rather simple. Her aunt had loaned money to a gentleman friend, who had promptly left for the Continent without repaying it. The scoundrel.
Good riddance, as far as Amelia was concerned, except it had been a substantial sum, and he’d hurt her aunt’s feelings.
Henry had alerted police stations along the English Channel to be on guard for the blighter’s return. Because of this, Mr. Tinton had been detained in Folkestone a few weeks ago. Though he denied any wrongdoing, saying it was all a misunderstanding, he had begrudgingly repaid the money.
It was all sorted, then—yet clearly her aunt didn’t feel the matter was finished.
Amelia studied her for a long moment. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Aunt Margaret looked everywhere but at her, smoothing the apron she still wore with trembling hands. “No, not at all. Why would you ask, dear?”
“Has Mr. Tinton contacted you?” Amelia asked persistently, hoping that wasn’t the case.
“No.” Aunt Margaret released a quiet sigh. “Though—well, I confess I find myself looking over my shoulder far too often. I worry repaying that money has put him in financial distress.”
“His taking it did the same to you,” Amelia protested hotly. “He’s the one who should be worried that you might decide to press charges after all.” She hoped he couldn’t sleep at night.
Her aunt gave a tremulous smile, then reached for her teacup with steadier hands. “I can’t help but wonder if he truly believes it was a miscommunication. That somehowIhad it all wrong.”
“Aunt Margaret.” Amelia waited until she met her gaze. “You had the right of it. He is naught more than a charming conman. From what Henry learned, I am sorry to say you weren’t his only victim. I hope you don’t still hold any affection for him.”
Her aunt’s cheeks pinkened, and she returned her attention to her tea. “Ridiculous. How could I?”
Yet Amelia didn’t believe her. She understood her aunt’s loneliness all too well, as it was something she felt, too. Widowhood before one reached thirty was a lonely place. She’d been lucky enough to meet Henry, rather than some man intent on stealing from her.
And while she wanted to reassure her aunt that she would meet someone else, someone better than Mr. Tinton, how could she? Her aunt had been alone for decades now, and there were plenty of rogues like Mr. Tinton around. Amelia couldn’t claim to understand why her aunt had never married, although Aunt Margaret did have a strong personality compared to most ladies. Perhaps that put men off? They were an inscrutable race, after all.
“I don’t think you need to worry about him finding you,” Amelia said at last, desperate to reassure her aunt. “You moved to London since you last saw him, and a solicitor handled the repayment of the funds. It would take effort on his part to locate you—and if he ever does, I hope he starts by apologizing.”
Aunt Margaret lifted her chin. “It would take more than that to sway my opinion of him.”
“Good. As it should.” Relief filled Amelia at her aunt’s words. “There are better gentlemen out there.”
“Yes, not that I need one to make me happy.” She smiled, and though it wasn’t entirely convincing, the genuineness of her effort further reassured Amelia.
“Yes. That’s true for both of us.” Amelia had slowly learned that in the months following her husband’s death. She wasenough to keep herself company, to keep herself happy. And she now had Henry in her life, and he made her happier than she’d thought possible. She hoped the same for her aunt.
“What did you want to speak to me about?” Aunt Margaret asked as she took a sip of tea.
“Henry and I ventured to Hollowgate Heights yesterday afternoon.”
Her aunt’s eyes widened in surprise. “To see Louisa?”
“In part. A friend of Henry’s shared concerns about the sanatorium and its practices. When I mentioned I knew someone there, we decided to visit.”
“Oh. I see. And is she well?”
“Visitors aren’t allowed.” That still annoyed Amelia.
Her aunt sighed. “I do believe she mentioned that. In fact, I think correspondence of any sort is frowned upon, based on what she said. As you know, she sent me a letter upon her arrival advising me not to expect anything more from her until she completed her stay.”
“I did manage to convince an employee to pass her a message to which she replied, saying all was well.” Amelia couldn’t resist retrieving the note from her reticule, wanting reassurance that it was Louisa’s handwriting. If it wasn’t…
