Chapter 8
31 December 1815
Amelia enjoyed the return journey to Wellworth Park in Adam’s well-sprung carriage, which had followed him to Bath. It made travel on the King’s highways as comfortable as it could be. They arrived at Adam’s estate in good time to rest and change for dinner before the evening’s entertainment.
With butterflies performing an unchoreographed dance in her stomach, Amelia entered the drawing room before dinner to meet Adam’s parents and face her own parents for the first time since her flight. Surely they would be gloating because she had fled with Adam, rather than be angry with her?
Her mother gave Lady Lavinia a formal and cool reception, but hurried to Amelia and kissed her cheeks. She took Amelia’s hands and raised her arms to rake her form with her appraising eyes. “My dearest girl, what fine looks you are in! Is she not, husband?”
The Baron gave her a stern look and a forced smile. “Indeed, my love. Very up to the mark.”
High praise indeed from her father.
“Bath and good company must agree with you, dearest,” her mother said.
In an unemotional tone, Amelia replied, “I enjoyed my time with Aunt Lavinia. Is she not looking well?” Amelia drew their attention to her great-aunt on the sofa in front of the fireplace. She must have witnessed and heard her parents’ greeting from her position. Her mother sent a half-smile to Lady Lavinia, who returned a brief nod to the Baroness.
Adam stepped forward as though to relieve the frosty situation. She looked up into his eyes, hoping to convey her plea for assistance. “Adam, help me convince my parents they ought to allow me to marry whom I choose.” The imploring tone she had hoped to keep from her voice, made her sound like the child she no longer wished to be.
Adam held her gaze for a few moments, then turned to her parents. “I agree. Miss Fortescue must be permitted to make her own decision about whom she marries. To be tied for a lifetime to someone whom she does not love and respect would be cruel. I’m sure you agree.” He gave them a long, expectant stare.
Amelia’s parents looked back with haughty arrogance, tinged by open speculation about her relationship with Adam, but did not answer. They were not going to give up.
Adam drew Amelia’s hand through the crook of his arm and broke the spell. “Come meet my parents, Miss Fortescue. They have long wished to make your acquaintance.”
Heat prickled up her neck. What they must think of her, running away from their son’s generosity and leaving them to entertain her free-loading, condescending and rapacious parents for Christmas, without the support of their son?
The gray-haired couple behaved with perfect propriety, greeting her warmly, and it seemed sincerely, and expressing their hope that she would enjoy her stay in their son’s home now that she and her great-aunt were finally able to join them.
It was only a matter of minutes before the butler announced that dinner would be served directly. The group formed into couples determined by their social status, with Adam, as host, escorting Lady Lavinia.
Aunt Lavinia spent much of the dinner talking with Adam’s father and mother, who were seated on either side of her.
As soon as the final course was removed, Adam turned to Amelia. “Allow me to show you the decorations in the ballroom.” He turned to the remainder of the company. “Shall we all go down early?”
They agreed, with varying degrees of enthusiasm—from Aunt Lavinia’s decisive nod that set the feathers of her headpiece swaying, to her parents’ effusive encouragement.
Amelia rested her hand upon his arm. Beneath the black superfine material, hard muscles flexed under her fingers. A warmth suffused her, radiating from her pounding heart to her extremities. Expectation and exhilaration warred with apprehension as her mind debated the meaning of his actions.
Wellworth escorted her from the dining room. Tonight he barely leaned upon his cane. He led her downstairs to the rear of his home, a part of the vast establishment that she had missed on her arrival, and into the ballroom where she slowly turned to view the candlelit room.
Decorating the frames of all the enormous wall mirrors in the ballroom was berry-covered holly. In two massive fireplaces burned large logs that must have taken a team of servants to set in place. At her own family home, there would not be a Christmas log on the estate large enough to come close to these. All of their saleable timber had been cut down last summer to pay off their most insistent creditors. There was no lack of wealth here. Was that why he had wanted her to see home, this room—to prove that she would never need worry about money again?
Within minutes, the first guests arrived and there was no time for anything but meeting them. The clergyman, Mr Boyd, brought his wife and four daughters. Wellworth’s steward brought a similar-sized family, and soon the ballroom was filled with the expectant chatter of people ready and willing to enjoy themselves in a way that no society ball ever achieved because of the fashionable ennui that was required in more exulted society.
They danced sets of country dances until Adam ordered a waltz, handed his cane to a footman, and drew Amelia into his arms to take the floor ahead of the other couples. The laughter lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned down at her, igniting her answering smile. His hand upon her waist warmed her skin through the layers of her ballgown, sending a shiver of awareness leaping through her. Her heart raced ahead of the lilting phrases of the tune played by the local musicians.
How had this man come to mean so much to her and to bring forth so much feeling in her in such a short acquaintance?
They moved off in time with the rhythm. Whatever his background and despite his injury, Adam waltzed divinely. They followed the music as it lilted and swirled, taking her into a fantasy world where Adam and she lived happily ever after. Perhaps that dream could come true?
Too soon, the violins’ notes descended to a finale. Adam brought them to a halt. He stared down at her, as transfixed as she was herself.
He said one word, “Come,” and with her hand still in his, and an arm around her waist, swept her from the ballroom. A stunned silence followed, until, at someone’s command, a country dance started up.
Adam led her into his study—a spacious room filled with leather-bound books, the higher shelves accessed using a sliding ladder. They stood in front of the fireplace filled with crackling flames. “Is it a great cliché for me to kiss you under the mistletoe?” He pointed upwards. “I had Jennings hang it here especially.”
“You are very sure of yourself, Major Wellworth.” She gave him a severe look, but inside, her heart stumbled into a gallop. She would very much like to be kissed under the mistletoe by Adam Wellworth. And now!
