Page 20 of The Lyon Whisperer
Every bit the lady of the manor. They were off to a good start.
He pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat to check the time. Noon on the nose.
In a little less than two hours, they’d reach the viscountcy’s Wimbledon estate where he’d decided the two of them should reside for the present.
Amelia wanted time to get to know one another? The large manse had the feel of a country estate and would afford them ample opportunity to spend time together indoors and out—unlike his London home. The Richmond Street abode was a fine, entailed manor which had come to him along with the barony. But, situated in the heart of the fashionable district, it would leave them hemmed in on all sides.
Warren House in Wimbledon was the better call. If he had to commute into town once parliament reconvened in a week, so be it.
She reached the foyer, bringing with her the scent of jasmine and sunshine, as if she’d been frolicking in the gardens all afternoon. An enticing image arose in his mind’s eye; perhaps “frolic” was a poor choice of word.
“Good afternoon, my lady,” Chase said.
“Is it already after noon?” she asked.
“By one minute,” he replied.
She pursed her lips. “In that case, good afternoon to you.” She slid a glance toward Fallsgate. “Father.”
Fallsgate stood straight as an arrow, hands linked behind his back. He cleared his throat. “Amelia.”
An awkward pause ensued.
“Well, then,” Chase began, anxious to be underway.
“Would you be so good as to allow my daughter and me a moment to say our farewells?” Fallsgate asked.
A look of surprise crossed Amelia’s face.
“Of course. I shall wait outside by the carriage.”
Fallsgate’s butler, eyes suspiciously puffy and red, opened the door for him.
Chase crossed the threshold with the butler paying him very little heed. His mournful gaze was locked on Amelia.
“I suppose thisis goodbye, at least for a little while, Amelia.” Her father paused and his mouth twitched. “I shall miss you and your antics.”
She blinked. “I shall miss you, as well.” She would, she realized, even though she had told herself leaving would mean an end to her constant shame over her inability to meet his standards for her life.
“I know this marriage was not by your design, nor was it your desire, and you likely think the worst of me at the moment, but I want you to know I have only ever had your best interest in mind.” A sad light shone in his eyes. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted, to assure your well-being and future happiness. I know I do not do a good job of showing it. Your mother…” He broke off.
She held her breath. He rarely spoke of her mother, and she clung to every scrap of information she could obtain. If not for her mother’s journals—the few she had found packed away—she’d know practically nothing at all about the woman who birthed her.
Whatever he had intended to say, however, he evidently thought better of. “I spoke to Lord Culver—the viscount,” he clarified, “about Warren House, where you shall reside for the next six months.Six. Months.”
He articulated the last two words in an exceedingly strange manner.
“I see. I had not realized there was a set amount of time that the baron and I would reside there. He did mention the property is entailed to the viscountcy. I take it the viscount and viscountess plan on moving into the manor in six months’ time?”
“As to that, I have no notion. I only meant to assure you that the manor has been well-maintained and is situated on a fine piece of property. For the duration of your stay, I believe you shall be quite comfortable. If, however, at the end of the six-month period you do not feel…If at any time, you find Culver…” He hesitated, looking uncertain.
Her father never looked uncertain.
She bit her lower lip. “Father, are you quite all right?”
He frowned. “Never better. Why do you ask? Where was I? Mustn’t keep Culver waiting.”
She lifted her chin, her tender feelings receding at his brusque dismissal. “Something about my feelings at the end of six months,” she replied.
