thoughtfully. ‘I am glad that you are here this Christmas. I was hoping that I might have a private conversation with you concerning my daughter? I would rather like your advice.’
‘I should be delighted to help you if I am able.’ As he smiled, Amelia’s heart stopped for one moment, and then raced on madly. ‘Of course, my experience with children is limited to my orphans and the children of friends—but I am fond of them.’
‘It is your feeling as a woman of compassion that I need,’ Gerard assured her. One of the other guests was headed towards them; from her manner and gestures she was clearly intent on speaking with Amelia. ‘This is not the time, however—perhaps tomorrow we might take a walk in the gardens?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ Amelia agreed. Her smile and quiet manner continued undisturbed. Gerard had asked for help with his daughter and she was quite willing to give it if she could, even if she could not help wishing that his request to walk with her had stemmed from a very different desire. Seeing him, being close to him, had aroused feelings that were not appropriate for a woman who was unlikely to marry. She closed her mind to the tantalising visions of herself in his arms…his bed. That way lay disaster and heartbreak! She must remember her dignity at all times. As a young woman she had not hesitated to confess her love, but things were different now. ‘I am available to you at any time, my lord.’
‘Do you not think we could be Gerard and Amelia?’ he asked. ‘We are friends of some long standing, I think?’
‘Yes, indeed we are,’ Amelia agreed. For a moment the look in his eyes was so intense that she could not breathe. He should not look at her so if he wanted nothing more than friendship.
Their conversation was ended as they were drawn into the company. Susannah’s guests were of all ages and included some young people, who had been allowed to come down to dinner because it was nearly Christmas. The eclectic mix of young and old, Harry’s relatives and friends of the couple, made for a lively evening. The younger members were sent to bed after their meal, but the older guests continued in their merry way until long past midnight.
It was not until the moment that she had decided to retire that Gerard approached Amelia once more.
‘Shall we say ten o’clock for our walk?’ he asked. ‘If that is not too early for you?’
‘I am always an early riser.’
‘You must wrap up well, for I think it may be a cold morning.’
‘I enjoy walking in any kind of weather, except a downpour,’ Amelia assured him.
Their arrangements made, Amelia went upstairs to the apartment she shared with Emily. She saw that Emily was looking thoughtful and asked her if she had enjoyed the evening.
‘You did not find the young company too much, dearest?’
‘It was a delightful evening,’ Emily assured her. ‘Mr Sinclair and I joined in a guessing game with some of the young people at the dinner table. I do not know when I have had such fun.’ A wistful expression came to her eyes. ‘I was an only child and I doubt I shall have…’ She blinked hard, as if to stop herself crying. ‘I am certain Mr Sinclair means to make me an offer, Amelia. What shall I do?’
‘I believe you should tell him the truth. He will keep your confidence—Toby Sinclair is a true gentleman. If he still wishes for the marriage, he will make it clear to you.’
‘And if he does not?’ Emily lifted her head as if to seek guidance and then nodded as she answered her own question. ‘I must bear it. You are quite right, Amelia. I cannot be less than truthful, though it may make things awkward for the rest of our stay here.’
‘Perhaps if you could prevent him speaking for a few days, and then tell him just before we leave. If he needs time to consider his feelings, he would have his chance before following us to Coleridge.’
‘You are so wise and sensible,’ Emily said and looked relieved. ‘I shall do my best to avoid being alone with him until the day before we leave.’
‘Try not to brood on the outcome.’ Amelia kissed her cheek. ‘I believe it may all turn out better than you imagine, dearest.’
Having done her best to reassure her friend, Amelia went to her own room. She dismissed her maid as soon as the girl had undone the little hooks at the back of her gown, preferring to be alone with her thoughts. It was easier to settle Emily’s doubts than her own, for she had no doubt that Toby Sinclair was deeply in love. It was more difficult to understand Gerard Ravenshead’s feelings.
Sometimes his look seemed to indicate that he felt a strong emotion for her, but at others his expression was brooding and remote. They were friends, but was that all? These days it seemed that Gerard thought of her as a mature lady in whom he might confide his worries concerning his daughter. He could have no idea of the passionate and improper thoughts his nearness aroused in her. She must be careful to conceal her feelings, otherwise there might be some embarrassment.
‘No! No, Lisette…I beg you…do not do it…forgive me…’ Gerard Ravenshead’s arm twitched, his head moving from side to side as he sat in the deep wing chair in the library at Pendleton. He was dreaming…a dream he had had too many times before. ‘No, I say! Stop…the blood…the blood…’ He screamed out and woke to find himself in a room where the fire had gone cold and the candles burned out.
Unable to sleep, he had dressed and come down to read for a while and fallen into a fitful sleep. He hoped that his nightmare had woken no one. Having gone for some months without one, he had thought they were finished, but something had brought it all back to him.
Gerard rose from the chair and walked over to the window, gazing out as the light strengthened. It was dawn and another night had gone.
The library was an impressive, long room with glassfronted bookcases on three walls, a magnificent desk, occasional tables and comfortable chairs, and three sets of French windows to let in maximum light. Gerard was an avid reader and, when at home in his house in Hanover Square, often sat late into the night reading rather than retiring to his bedchamber, where he found it impossible to sleep. Indeed, he could hardly remember a night when he had slept through until morning.
Gerard was a handsome man, tall, broad in the shoulder with strong legs that looked particularly well in the riding breeches he most often wore. His coats had never needed excessive padding at the shoulder. His hair was very dark but not black, his eyes grey and sometimes flinty. His expression was often brooding, stern, perhaps because his thoughts caused him regret. At this moment he wore a pair of buffcoloured breeches and topboots and his fine linen shirt was opened to the waist. A glass of wine was to hand, but he had scarcely touched it. Gerard had long ago discovered that there was no forgetfulness in a wine bottle.
Before falling into a restless sleep, he had spent the night wrestling with his problem. His daughter was in need of feminine company, and not just that of nursemaids or a governess. He too was in need of a female companion: a woman with whom he could share his hopes and dreams, a woman he could admire and respect. In short, he needed a wife. Having made one mistake with the young French girl he had married out of pity, he did not wish to make another. Easy enough to find a mistress or even a young woman willing to become Countess Ravenshead, but there was only one woman Gerard wanted as his wife—the woman he had been denied when he was a young man and head over heels in love.
He touched the scar at his right temple, the only blemish on a strong and handsome face, his eyes darkening at the memory it aroused. Amelia’s brother had instructed his servants to beat him when he dared to ask for her hand as a young man; he had not been wealthy enough to please the proud Sir Michael Royston! However, it was not fear of Sir Michael’s displeasure that made Gerard hesitate to ask Amelia Royston if she would be his wife now. Guilt weighed heavily on his conscience, because he had not told anyone the whole truth concerning his wife’s death. It was the reason for his nightmares.
‘Damn you, Lisette. Let me be…’ His eyes were dark with memories as he relived the dream. ‘So much blood…so much blood…’