St. John watched him go, noting the stiffness of his posture and the anger evident in his stride. “He loves her.”
“I see that.”
Turning his head, St. John found the earl watching Mitchell with a narrowed glance. “I know why I think he should remain. I cannot collect why you do.”
“Our differences will be more obvious in direct contrast.” Ware met his gaze. “I am the best choice for her. If I doubted that for a moment, I would step aside. I want her happiness above all else. I do not think he is capable of giving it to her.”
“He is a formidable opponent in the challenge ahead. Mitchell has lived by his wits and his sword for several years.”
“I am not without skill of my own,” the earl said easily, “regardless of the civilized manner in which I acquired it.”
St. John nodded and followed Ware’s urging to move into the house. Tim was overseeing the removal of both trunks and servants from the trailing coach. Mitchell was scowling at Quinn, who was assisting a grinning Mademoiselle Rousseau down from their carriage.
For his part, St. John wondered if other men went through such difficulties when attempting to marry off a younger sibling. Shaking his head, he climbed the stairs and moved directly to the suite assigned to him where he knew he would find his wife. Together, they would strategize the events of the coming few days.
The thought made him smile.
Bathed, dressed, yet inwardly shaky, Amelia slipped out of her bedchamber and hurried down the long gallery. Maria had told her to nap in preparation for afternoon tea, but Amelia could not sleep. What she felt was the urge to roam, to stretch her legs, to breathe fresh air and clear her head. As a child, she had learned that a brisk walk was capable of alleviating many ills, and she felt in strong need of that now.
“Amelia.”
She paused at the sound of her name. Turning, she found Lord Ware exiting a room a few doors behind her. She curtsied. “My lord.”
He shot a pointed glance at her walking boots. “May I join you?”
She briefly considered voicing a kind objection, then thought better of it. As much as she wished to be alone with her thoughts, Ware deserved an explanation and the opportunity to chastise her, if he so wished. “I would be honored.”
He smiled his charming, dashing smile and came toward her. He was dressed as a country gentleman, and the more leisurely appearance suited him well. It reminded her of their meeting in Lincolnshire, and the smile she returned to him was genuine.
“How lovely you are,” he murmured, “when your smiles reach your eyes.”
“It is because you look so handsome,” she returned.
Ware lifted Amelia’s hand to his lips and his gaze beyond her shoulder, where he saw Mitchell at the end of the hall, watching them both with daggers in his eyes. Tucking Amelia’s hand around his arm, he led her away toward the stairs, which would take them to the lower floor and the rear garden.
He felt his rival’s stare burning a hole in his back for the entire way.
Colin watched Lord Ware’s proprietary handling of Amelia with something so akin to blood rage, it frightened him.
He could not bear it.
“You must find something to occupy yourself with,
“I have always thought endlessly of her,” he bit out. “I know of no other way to live.”
“She requires time. I admire your fortitude in giving it to her.”
Colin’s fists clenched. “It is not fortitude. I simply do not wish to kill a man in front of her.”
Inhaling sharply, Colin nodded. He had been set upon that end when he chanced upon Amelia with Ware. He forced himself to look away from where the couple had stood mere moments ago. “That was my intent. I was seeking you out.”
“What do you want me to do?” the Frenchman asked, looking grim as always.
“I cannot go into town. There is some concern that Miss Benbridge will follow, and while I find that highly unlikely, the request is valid, so I must stay for now.”
“I understand.”
“St. John is sending a man to rally those who work for him in Bristol. Go and direct the search. Tell them what to look for, what to expect. If you find anything of import, send for me.”
Jacques nodded and set off immediately. The Frenchman took the main staircase; Colin took the servants’. It emptied by the kitchen, and he ignored the startled glances sent his way as he exited out the delivery door and headed toward the stables.
Every step he took grew heavier, his heart weighed upon by the upcoming confrontation that would cut him nigh as deeply as the one with Amelia had.
He entered silently and inhaled deeply, finding the smells of hay and horses both familiar and soothing. The many beasts inside snorted and shifted restlessly as his scent filled the air and disturbed their equanimity. Glancing about, he looked for the groomsmen’s quarters. His stride faltered when he found the doorway. A man leaned against the jamb, watching him with wounded, angry eyes.
The years had been kind to Pietro. Aside from a slight pouch at the belly, the rest of his body was still fit and strong. Strands of silver accented his temples and beard, but his skin was smooth and free of wrinkles.
“Uncle,” Colin greeted, his throat tight with sorrow and affection.
“My only nephew is dead,” Pietro said coldly.
Colin flinched at the repudiation. “I have missed you.”
“You lie! You let me think you were dead!”
“I was offered the chance at a different life.” Colin held out his hands in a silent plea for understanding. “I had one chance to accept and no time to second-guess.”
“And what of me?” Pietro demanded, straightening. “What of my grief? Was that nothing to you?”
“You think I was not grieving?” Colin bit out, stung by the condemnation of yet another person he loved. “I might as well have been dead.”
“Then why did you do it?” Pietro came forward. “I have tried to see what would make you do such a thing, but I don’t understand.”
“I had nothing to offer anyone before. No way to create a life of comfort for those I loved.”
“Comfort from what? The only discomfort in my life has been my mourning for you!”
“What of freedom from work?” Colin challenged. “What of a life of travel and discovery? I can offer you those things now, when I could not before.”
Pain wracked Pietro’s handsome features. “I am a simple man, Colin. A roof over my head…food…family. Those are all I need to be happy.”
“I wish my needs were as simple.” Colin moved to the nearest stall and set his crossed arms along the top of it. “I need Amelia to be happy, and this was the only way I could conceive of to have her.”
“Colin…” He heard his uncle sigh. “You love her still.”
“I have no notion how
Pietro joined him at the stall door. “I should have raised you in the camp. Then you wouldn’t want things that are beyond your reach.”
Colin smiled and looked aside at him. “Amelia and I would have met at some point, at some time.”
“That is your Romany blood talking.”
“Yes, it is.”
There was a long silence, as each attempted to find the right thing to say. “How long have you been in England?” Pietro asked finally.
“A few weeks.”
“A few weeks and you didn’t come to me?” Pietro shook his head. “I don’t feel that I know you at all. The boy I
