Vows of Honor: Secrets of Scarlett Hall Book 6 Read online

  “That has nothing to do with you,” her mother replied. She removed a heavy coat from a peg on the wall. “Now, don this. You will be leaving soon.”

  Amelia did as her mother asked, securing the journal and letter in the inside pocket.

  Her mother placed several notes in Amelia’s hand. “This should be enough to secure your passage with enough left for food and lodgings until you reach your aunt’s home. Tell no one from where you hale. You are simply a servant traveling to her sister’s in order to find work.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Amelia replied.

  When her mother embraced her, Amelia wanted to cry, to tell her that she was worried and would prefer remaining at Chatterly Estate than to leave her mother alone. Yet, after all her mother had done for her, to speak words of concern would only increase the woman’s heartache.

  “Now, there is one more thing,” her mother said, holding Amelia at arm’s length. “You must find happiness in this world. No matter what happens, you must never give up on this one thing. Will you do that?”

  “I will, Mother. You have said as much before, and I will not let you down.”

  “I know I have said so numerous times, but it is important that you listen to me now more than ever. If the opportunity arises for happiness, promise you will take it. Do not disregard it on my account. Do you understand?”

  Tears welled in Amelia’s eyes. She understood more than her mother realized, for Amelia had shared her dreams of one day meeting a kind man and falling in love, much like her mother had with her father. The man Amelia loved, however, would not leave her.

  “I will do as you say,” Amelia said. “I promise.”

  She pulled her mother into a tight embrace, fearing it would be a very long time before she could do so again.

  “I love you,” her mother murmured in Amelia’s ear, her voice breaking. “Now, go and be safe. Stay close to the shadows and trust no one.”

  Amelia nodded. “I will.”

  She crawled through the small window and stood looking out over the darkness, her breath misting in the air. Her mother handed out her carpetbag, and Emelia tossed it to the ground below.

  “I love you, Mother,” Amelia said one last time. “I will deliver your message to Aunt Eleanor. And I will do what I can to find happiness.”

  Her mother smiled but said nothing as she pulled down the sash, although her tears spoke volumes, for they matched those which Amelia shed. Nothing more than a pane of glass separated them, yet to Amelia it felt as if it were miles.

  Without another word, Amelia found the trellis she had often used to sneak away at night and scurried down to the ground. She collected her bag and pulled her coat in tightly around her, leaving behind the only home she had ever known. Her thoughts kept her company as she made her way to the shadows of the trees that lined the drive.

  Her mother knew that one day Amelia would leave, yet why had the woman never spoken of it? And what danger was coming to Aunt Eleanor?

  One thing was certain; her mother wished for Amelia to find happiness, and although she did not know how, Amelia would see that wish fulfilled. For both herself and her mother.

  Chapter Two

  Lord Christopher Beaumont had thought he had endured enough humiliation for one lifetime on this day, but upon hearing the words the hotel clerk spoke, he realized that was untrue.

  “I am sorry, my lord,” the man said. “I would offer my own room if I had not already given that to Lord Dunsworth an hour ago.”

  Christopher let out a frustrated sigh as he squeezed the bridge of his nose. “So, I am to sleep in my carriage tonight?” he asked, doing everything possible to keep from shouting at the man. Causing a scene would only bring attention to him, and today he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in a glass – or even a bottle if possible – of brandy and drop himself into bed. “Should I also beg for alms come morning?”

  “As I said before, my lord, there is one room left among the…” The clerk cleared his throat. “Among the other guests.”

  “Do you speak of servants and highwaymen?” Christopher asked. “I am to sleep in rooms designated for the poor? Perhaps I may have the honor of cleaning my own room?” this caused more than one head to turn, and before the man could answer, Christopher sighed. “Oh, very well. I will take the room.”

  “Splendid,” the clerk said as if the previous conversation had not taken place. He entered Christopher’s name into the ledger and then turned to a wall of hooks, where no more than three keys remained. “You will be surprised at the comfortableness, my lord.”

  Christopher reached into his pocket and placed one silver coin on the counter. “I suppose this will be adequate for my lodging among the poor this evening?”

  The owner seemed to hesitate and then nodded. “Yes, my lord, that will be sufficient.” The coin disappeared and the man pointed down a hallway. “Your room is the last on the left. Shall I tell your driver…?

  “Nothing,” Christopher said, snatching the key from the man. “I have been humiliated twice today and do not wish to make it a third.” Without another word, Christopher took his bag and made his way down the hallway the clerk had indicated. What began as a journey to please his father and find happiness for himself had turned into calamity, and he wanted nothing more than to see the day end.

  Pausing at the door to the room, he closed his eyes and recalled the words spoken by Lady Lydia Pentworth, mother of the woman he was to marry.

  “My apologies, my lord,” the woman had said. “But my Sarah fell in love with Lord Nott. I must admit that I am bewildered by how quickly this all came about — a week’s time is quite a short amount of time to lose one’s heart. But the man is a marquess, and you know how young girls are often…” Her words trailed off, and Christopher had to fight off the embarrassment and anger that filled him.

  The arrangement had been simple. They would marry for convenience, allowing Sarah to join him in his home for a short period of time. Later, she would be given a country estate, complete with a large staff of servants paid by him, and a hefty allowance of four hundred pounds a year. All to please his dying father, who wanted nothing more than to see his son married before he left this earth.

  “And now I sleep with the servants,” Christopher mumbled as he inserted the key in the lock. The dampness of the room hit him as soon as he stepped through the door, and he grimaced as he dropped his bag on the bed. The mattress did not even move an inch. Was it made of brick?

  The room did have a window, and he walked over to find that it looked out over the alley. To add insult to injury, a woman of questionable morals was being ravished by a man in a coat that cost him more than the woman made in a year. At least they still had their clothes on, although where the man placed his hands said they would not remain so for long.

  His gaze moved to an older man singing as he gripped a bottle and sang a bawdy tune as he stumbled past the kissing couple.

  Disgusted, Christopher closed the raggedy curtain. He needed a brandy, perhaps five, to soothe his raveled nerves.

  He made certain to lock the door behind him as he made his way to the attached tavern. The poor had a tendency to be thieves, and he did not wish to return and find what he had brought with him gone. It may not have been much, but his extra clothing alone would bring one of those ne’er-do-wells enough money to pay for his ale, and that of all his friends, for a month.

  As Christopher walked through the main room, he ignored the clerk’s greeting and walked through the swinging door that led to the tavern. He peered about the room, surprised that it was nearly empty. The tables sat vacant, as did most of the stools at the bar. Three men sat huddled together at one end, all wearing fine coats, their words no more than murmured whispers as Christopher walked up to the bar.

  “Good evening, my lord,” the barman said, his stomach bouncing as he walked. “What ye in the mood fer this evenin’?”

  “Brandy,” Christopher replied. “The finest you have.”
r />   “That’s all I serve ‘ere,” the man said as he ran a hand across his brow. “Some say the drink ‘ere is better’n anywhere else in this fine country.”

  Christopher nodded, hoping the man would not dawdle. He doubted his patience would remain intact for much longer, and he did not want to take out his anger on the man who would see he was drunk before he stumbled back to his room.

  Turning his attention to the men at the end of the bar, he watched as one staggered over to the fireplace. A woman he had not seen upon his arrival, a servant no less, sat at a table nearby, and he could not help but smile. She had dark hair and eyes a rare shade of blue, and despite her destitute appearance, she held herself as if she were of the nobility. He wondered if beauty was a word that would do her justice.

  “That’d be Lord Frostkin,” the barman said, interrupting Christopher’s thoughts. “He’s able to buy whatever he wants, so I’m sure he’ll have that fine woman for a price. Desperate women like she in times like these won’t turn him away.”

  “She does not appear desperate,” Christopher said, more to himself than the barman. He continued to watch as the woman shook her head to whatever the man said, making the man raise his voice.

  “Ten, then,” the man said, slurring his words. “I bet you have never seen notes of this denomination before. Just think of what you can buy with this much money.”

  She shook her head again, a look of fright on her features, and Christopher had seen enough. Making an arrangement for marriage was well enough — an agreement was made in that situation — but to treat a woman, even a servant, as if she were some prostitute was despicable.

  “Have another brought to me,” Christopher said without looking at the barman. He walked over to the table where the woman and Lord Frostkin were, and when he heard the woman speak, a sweet melody if he ever heard one, he was immediately enthralled.

  “I do not mean to be rude,” she was saying, “but I wish to enjoy my wine in private, if I may. It is not meant to offend you, but please leave me be.”

  “Well, you are offending me,” Lord Frostkin said with a hiccup. “Now, let us discuss matters further in my room. I would not like to inform the local constable that you are causing trouble.”

  “Catherine,” he said, saying the first name that came to mind, “I see you have met Lord Froskin.”

  The man turned, confusion filling his features. “Do I know you?”

  Christopher gave the man a cordial laugh. “We have met in the past,” he said. “That does not matter, however. I see you have met my wife’s lady’s maid.”

  Lord Frostkin gaped. “Lady’s maid?”

  “Indeed,” Christopher said. “Thank you for keeping her engaged in conversation. Her day has been quite distressful since her belongings were stolen and she was forced to wear that dress. I will take it from here, my good man.”

  Lord Frostkin looked from Christopher to the woman and back again. Then he puffed out his chest. “Of course,” he said with much pomp and circumstance. “I was only making certain the woman was safe.” Then he turned and stumbled back to the bar.

  “Thank you, my lord,” the woman said as she turned those blue eyes on him. “He is not the gentleman he claimed to be.”

  “So I heard,” Christopher replied. He glanced at the chairs across from her. With the amount of humiliation he had been forced to endure this day, sitting across from her could not make it any worse. “May I sit?” The woman nodded, and Christopher took the chair directly across from her. “The barman did not lie. The brandy is indeed quite good. It is far better than any I have tasted in some time.” He was uncertain why he discussed brandy with the woman, but it was the first topic that came to mind.

  “It is all the same to me,” the woman replied with a shrug. “It only tastes better because it eases the burdens we carry, or makes it seem as if it eases them. In truth, it does little good.”

  What a strange thing to say, he thought. “What is your name?” he asked aloud.

  “Amelia.”

  “Amelia? Do you have a surname?”

  The woman took a drink of her wine. So, she preferred not to answer. So be it.

  “My name is Lord Christopher Beaumont.”

  She gave a polite smile, her cheeks turning a pretty pink.

  “Have you been traveling long?” he asked, refusing to surrender his line of questioning. He would get this woman to say something, anything, if it meant he could hear her wondrous voice.

  “No, I am just beginning my journey.” Her eyes went wide. “That is, what I mean to say is that I have been traveling several days now.”

  The barman came and set Christopher’s brandy on the table before him. He doubted the woman was telling the truth, but what did it matter to him?

  “Another wine for the lady,” Christopher said.

  The barman nodded and walked away.

  He then turned his attention to Amelia. “If I have offended you in some way, I can leave. It seems my questions distress you.”

  “Oh, it is not that, my lord,” Amelia replied. She glanced around the room and then looked back at him. “I am just tired from my travels. Plus, my story is quite boring.”

  Christopher chuckled and took a drink of his brandy. “My story is one of disappointment,” he said. “And therefore I will not bore you with it.”

  The barman returned with the wine, and Christopher gave him the required amount of money.

  “So, tell me, Miss Amelia, why is a young woman such as yourself journeying alone?”

  “My sister,” she blurted all too hastily, “I am going to see her.”

  “Is it far?”

  He almost laughed when the woman gulped her wine as if it were water, making his curiosity grow. She was clearly hiding something. What that was, he did not know, but he wished for company tonight and therefore hoped she would oblige.

  “I ask too many questions,” he said, hoping to ease her discomfort. “Perhaps we should talk about something else.”

  She shrugged again. “I suppose we can.” When she brought the glass to her plump lips, a stirring inside Christopher made him consider what it would be like to place his lips on hers. “Why are you traveling?”

  Her question surprised him, especially after she refused to answer the same for him. Instead of responding, he signaled to the barman to bring them another round.

  ***

  Amelia had never spent time in the company of a gentleman, and certainly not in a setting such as this. She found Lord Beaumont a bit intimidating with his dark wavy hair, gray eyes, and strong jawline. Although she tried to keep herself from looking, she could see well-defined muscles within his coat sleeves and a broad chest beneath his waistcoat.

  She was thankful Lord Beaumont had intervened when the other man — Lord Frostkin? Yes, that was his name — had propositioned her. Yet, now she was uncertain what to do. She glanced at the fireplace. Had she chosen a table too close to the fire? She felt awfully warm.

  “Why are you traveling?” she asked.

  A quick smile played on his lips and he turned to signal the barman. He said nothing until new glasses were placed before them. “I am returning home,” he replied. “Is that not why one travels? To go from one place to another?”

  Amelia could not help but smile. “I suppose that is true, but before a person returns home, he had gone somewhere else first.”

  Lord Beaumont gave a dismissive wave to his hand. “It does not matter. Let us enjoy our drinks.”

  She nodded, although she felt lightheaded. Perhaps she should not accept any more wine.

  The three men at the bar stumbled from the room, leaving Amelia and Lord Beaumont alone. Although the man had saved her, she was curious as to his intentions.

  “It is not common for a gentleman such as yourself to sit with a woman such as me.”

  “Do you wish me to leave?”

  Amelia shook her head. “Oh, no, I enjoy the company. Thank you for sending that man away. I had begun to w
orry that I was in trouble.”

  “Men such as he are cowards, and there are plenty of them in this world. You spoke clearly and did not drop your gaze. That is admirable.”

  She could not help but smile at his compliment. As she took a drink of her wine, she wondered what her mother would think about all this. This brought on a sense of worry. What if this man had hidden some foul intention behind his gallant demeanor?

  As if hearing her thoughts, he said, “Do not worry. No harm will come to you, at least not while I am here.”

  “Thank you,” Amelia said, although she hoped it was not he who meant her harm. “And thank you for the wine, as well.” She reached into an old reticule her mother had given her when she was a child. “How much do I owe you?”

  “You owe me nothing more than your company, for I find myself lonely this night.” His words slurred slightly when he spoke, and Amelia swallowed hard.

  Where exactly did he wish her to keep him company?

  Again, he seemed to know her thoughts, for he added, “Lonely for someone with whom I can share a few drinks and nothing more.”

  “I did not think otherwise,” she said haughtily.

  The man chuckled. “It was clear on your face,” he said. “I have learned over time to understand what people are thinking by little things they do. My servants lie to me quite often.” He shook his head in wonderment. “I am fair in my judgments, but those in my employ, as well as others of lower means, cannot help but lie. It is as if they live for it.”

  “I do not lie,” Amelia said. “Nor does my mother. It is unfortunate that your servants do, but I can assure you that not all are like that.” Realizing that her voice had risen, she sighed. “My apologies, my lord. I did not mean to speak to you as I did.”

  “You speak very well for a servant,” he said. “A servant girl with an education who speaks her mind without fear. You are quite unique.” He leaned forward. “In fact, I find you fascinating.”

  “Fascinating?” Amelia asked in surprise. “How so?”

  “If you worked for me, I would not allow you to leave my home. That is, I would increase your wages to convince you to stay.”