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“Not ahole,Mama. Arow.That’s what you call it when you put plants in it,” Mathilda informed her.
“Mr. Puddlestone is coming today and we’re going to put the plants in,” Maisie added.
“I want plants, Mama,” Peg-leg Meg said, pouting.
“We’ll make our own row, shall we?” Blythe said to her, and Meg nodded. “But I can’t imagine him doing any such thing,” Blythe continued to Beck.
Amelia could imagine it—she’d seen his rough hands, had felt them on her skin. She could imagine him doing any number of things with them. Mostly she imagined those hands on her body. He chopped wood, he said. A better salve than whisky. She wondered what else he might find a better salve than whisky.
She shifted in her seat and glanced down.
“What have you planned today, Highness?” Beck asked as he put Birdie on the floor.
“I thought I’d write my childhood tutor and ask if he knows an educator who might like to come to Devonshire. And I want to explore raising funds for the school.”
“I am pleased you’ve taken such an interest in our school, and I should be delighted for your assistance in all things. But perhaps we ought to wait until we’ve secured the abbey. As it happens, I have a meeting with Mr. Darren today—he said he has news about ownership.”
“Wonderful,” Amelia said.
“Won’t you be traveling to London soon, Highness?” Blythe asked.
“Lila has suggested it.”
“I think you ought to take her advice. There are so many more gentlemen to choose from in London.” She smiled in that way someone might smile when they kicked you out of a house and then mockingly asked you to come again. “Oh dear, it’s time for school,” she added, looking over Amelia’s shoulder at the clock on the mantle.
Amelia could imagine Blythe pestering Lila every day about when they’d take their leave. But Blythe couldn’t pretend she hadn’t grown accustomed to Amelia escorting her daughters to school every day. “Je,look at that,” Amelia agreed.
When the girls had their hats and shawls and their slates and books, they set off down the road. Mathilda and Maisie raced each other for a time, putting themselves ahead of Amelia and Maren.
Maren slipped her hand into Amelia’s. They both looked at Hollyfield in the distance as they passed it. Funny, the grand house didn’t look so foreboding to Amelia now. She thought with a bit of cleaning and opening of windows it would look like a bucolic country estate.
“Are you going to marry someone?” Maren asked.
Amelia shifted her gaze to the girl. “What makes you ask?”
“I heard Mama talking about it. She said she didn’t know if you even wanted to marry someone.”
“Did she,” Amelia drawled.
“Do you?”
“I do.”
“Then who are you going to marry?”
Amelia glanced skyward. “That’s a very good question, Maren. I don’t know who. I’m still meeting gentlemen.”
“But do you like them? Mama said you don’t likeanyone.”
Lord, she would be happy when she was no longer Blythe’s guest. “Your mama is mistaken. I like all the gentlemen I’ve met, very much. But if I am to marry a gentleman and stay by his side for the rest of my life, well...he must be the perfect man for me, mustn’t he? That’s a very long time to be with someone who isn’t perfect for me.”
“I don’t think it will be very long,” Maren said. “You’re already old.”
Amelia laughed. “There are days I certainly feel that is true.”
One of the girls shouted at Maren to come have a look at something they’d found on the road. Maren pulled her hand free. “I hope you find the perfect man!” she said as she ran ahead.
“Thank you,” Amelia said softly. “I think I might just have.” He’d crept in when she was least expecting it. She could feel her esteem for him growing. The more she thought about him, the more she believed how perfect he was for her. Surprising, adventurous, not easily offended. Handsome and strong and astoundingly attractive. A duke, a man of the world, someone who would understand her position in life. How could anyone compare?
