The Husband Campaign

Would they simply leave her standing there? “My lord?” Amelia tried.

“Good thought,” John agreed. “I can’t believe she’d eat the hemlock. She turns up her nose at apples! I’ve never seen such a picky eater.”

They were nearly to the arch. Amelia took a step forward and raised her voice. “John!”

He stopped and looked back at her as if surprised to find her in his home. “Yes, your ladyship?”

“I understand this is an emergency,” Amelia said, keeping her voice calm as she always did when her mother made unreasonable demands. “But perhaps you could show me to my room first?”

He waved a hand up the stairs beside her. “Next floor up, first door on the left. That maid should be waiting.” He disappeared under the arch with his veterinarian.

Well! Amelia shook her head, gathered her skirts and marched up the stairs to the next floor. Four doors opened off the U-shaped corridor, and she easily found the room he’d indicated. His staff must have been apprised of the arrangements, for the trunk and bandboxes she’d been able to bring with her were waiting at the foot of the bed.

So was Turner. The maid also gave Amelia a big smile before spreading her gray skirts in a curtsy. “Welcome home, your ladyship. I’m honored to be serving you again.”

She seemed so glad to see Amelia that the room felt warmer. “Thank you, Turner,” Amelia replied. “I shall have to write to your mistress to thank her as well for allowing me to make use of your skills.”

Turner’s smile faded. “My mistress was moved to London, your ladyship. And the new mistress of Rotherford Grange chose another girl for her maid.”

Amelia didn’t know the situation, but she couldn’t help thinking the mistress of Rotherford Grange had made a mistake. The maid clearly knew her job. She proved it by setting to work unpacking Amelia’s things.

As Amelia helped, she studied her new bedchamber. Like much of the rest of the house she’d seen so far, the paneling on the walls was so dark it was nearly black. The hangings on the walnut bed were navy chintz, the carpet forest-green. She felt as if she had wandered into the woods on a moonless night. It was not a promising beginning.

So she set to work to improve things. She lit all the lamps, brightening the space, and unpacked her toiletries and arranged them on the highboy dresser along one wall. The gleaming glass of the perfume bottles reflected in the polished wood.

The dark covering on the bed would have to stay until the rest of her things arrived in a few days, but she envisioned it with the white lace edging her mother had had made. Even better was the pocket door Turner discovered on the other side of the bed, leading to a decent-size dressing room with space for all Amelia’s gowns.

Having a few of her things around her made the room feel even more welcoming. Turner helped her change from her travel attire into a day dress and brushed and repinned her hair, which made her feel better, too. She could do this. She was born to do this. Mistress of Hollyoak Farm had a fine ring to it.

A protest from her stomach reminded Amelia that she hadn’t had dinner. She checked the black-lacquered ormolu clock on the serpentine marble fireplace and frowned. What sort of hours did they keep here? She’d always heard people complain of the early bedtimes in the country, but surely the members of Hollyoak Farm ate before retiring.

Knowing Turner was as new to the farm as she was, Amelia rang for the footman, who arrived at the door a short time later.

“When will dinner be served?” Amelia asked.

He shifted on the carpet. None of the men she’d met wore any standard attire. His coat was brown, his breeches gray, and his shoes had not been shined in some time. “His lordship never asked for dinner tonight, your ladyship,” he offered. “He and Dr. Fletcher will likely be too busy to eat.”

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