The Viscounts Missing Fiance

THE VISCOUNTS MISSING FIANCE

CHAPTER ONE

Yorkshire—England 1810

“Are you sure, love?”
Surging to his feet, Jamie’s hands ached to touch the luscious curves she exposed with each slide of satin.
“I gave you my heart and soul for safekeeping, Jamie. Now I want to give you my body.” Amanda’s smile was filled with sensual promise as the chemise slid down her body to pool at her feet. Closing the distance between them, she then placed her palm on his heart.
“Make me yours, Jamie.”
“I love you.” Jamie’s words were urgent as his eyes devoured her. “Never leave me, Amanda. I could not live in this world without you.”
“Never, Jamie. I promise we shall grow old together.”
Caressing her check, his hand slipped lower to stroke one full breast, then lower…
“We have arrived, my Lord.”
Jamie’s eyes shot open to encounter the steady gaze of his valet. Hell! Would she forever torment his dreams about the lying bitch? Shaking his head, he tried to clear the fog of lust.
“I fear the weather has worsened with the ensuing miles, my Lord.”
Grunting, a response, Jamie pulled his overcoat tighter to hide the evidence of his arousal. Composing his features, as they arrived at their destination, he was once again the emotionless Viscount Beresford.
Jamie felt his thigh give a vicious wrench of pain as he stepped from the carriage. Grabbing the door, he saved himself from falling face first into a puddle. The scowl, which had been firmly affixed to his face since the journey's onset several days ago, turned menacing as he glared at his greeting party.
“Your walking stick, my Lord.”
“I can reach the door unaided, Jackson.”
Noting the feral look on his master’s face, Jackson discreetly withdrew with the offending piece of wood.
“Lord Beresford, my name is Trental, please follow me.”
Gritting his teeth, Jamie ignored the sharp pains in his leg and headed for the front door. Before him loomed a large ivory fronted, that looked no more welcoming than the conditions he was at present suffering. Shuddering as a stream of cold water ran down his neck, he sent several vile curses his father’s way.
“I will show you to your room, my Lord, where you can freshen up before joining the family for dinner,” the butler said as they stepped inside.
Knowing if he opened his mouth, flames would surely spew forth; Jamie merely nodded.
“Here is your walking stick, my Lord.”
Glaring at his valet as he once again handed Jamie the cane, he briefly weighed up pride versus pain. Pain won, and he took the offending item with a curt nod.
He had fleeting glimpses of dark panelled walls and stuffed animal heads as he moved through the entranceway.
“This way, my lord.”
Trental indicated a set of stairs, motioning Jamie to follow.
“Thank you, Mrs Jelly. I am sure Rose will appreciate your concern.”
Amanda!
Jamie turned to the left, his eyes desperately seeking the owner of that voice. Well beyond the point of good manners, he wrenched his hat off, thus tipping a large amount of water onto the floor, which in turn made a loud plopping noise, drawing all eyes.
Had he found her? Was it possible? With chilled fingers, Jamie struggled to push damp hair from his eyes as he desperately searched the room. That voice had sounded like Amanda. There, a lady dressed entirely in black. His heart sank into the souls of his waterlogged boots as he realized that this woman was not his Amanda. Her hips were too wide and her hair too dark. Closing his eyes, he gained control of his features. Damn her! Was he to have no peace? Even here in the wilds of Yorkshire, she tormented him.
A volley of hysterical French made Jamie open his eyes. The woman, it seemed, was displeased about something. In seconds she had left with a swish of her skirts, leaving an open-mouthed maid staring after her.
“Frenchies,” Trental said, seeming to believe this one word explained everything.
Longing for a warm bath, and a large brandy, Jamie grunted his agreement, the lady in black now a distant memory.
“Would it be an imposition to have a bath drawn? I fear the chill has seeped into my bones,” Jamie asked.
“A bath, my lord?”
Dear Lord. What had he strayed into? Jamie studied the horrified expression on the man before him. “Yes, Trental, a bath.” The servant’s blank look sent a shiver of unease down Jamie’s spine, although upon reflection that could also be attributed to the goose bumps pebbling his skin. “Yes, you know, Trental, a large receptacle… holds water.” On closer inspection, Jamie noted the servant had a rather grubby air.
“I believe his lordship requested a bath. If you show me the way, I will set about procuring one.”
Heaving a blissful sigh, Jamie retreated. The cavalry had arrived in the form of Jackson. Not normally a man who liked to be pandered to. Unlike a lot of peers, Jamie could dress and wash himself, even tie a passable necktie. He only allowed Jackson’s fussing because his mother worried about him, even more so after Amanda’s defection and the accident, and he loved his mother. Therefore, he put up with his valet’s ministrations.
“We have only one bath here at Huntersly, and Miss Amelia, the children’s French governess, uses it,” Trental stated, as if the French governess was a little unsteady in the head.
One had to wonder what else was not a regular occurrence at Huntersly? His uneasiness increased.
“Viscount Beresford requests a bath every night and some mornings, Trental.”
Jamie watched as Jackson grew in stature before his eyes, and Trental seemed to wilt. Only small Jackson could quell an insubordinate with a glance. He would have applauded, but his hands were cold, and the action would cause him pain, not to mention releasing the cane would see him face first on the carpet.
“Now please show us to his lordship’s rooms, and then make haste to retrieve the bath.”
Jackson’s lips curled in an expression of pain, at the mud stains splattered over Jamie’s boots and breeches, before he continued. “I am sure he has been standing in this draftee hallway, wet through, for longer than necessary. I will deem it a miracle if it does not lay him low with the chills.”
Jamie watched Trental scurry away to do Jackson’s bidding.
“Am I so pathetic that a little rain can lay me low?” he enquired as the small party trudged on up a set of stairs, Jamie making squelching noises. “It appears your prized memory is slipping, Jackson. I believe my one and only illness, if I am not mistaken, was a trifling bullet to the leg.”

CHAPTER TWO

Sinking into the blissful warmth of his bath, Jamie sighed. He then hissed as his frozen toes thawed. Massaging the scarred flesh of his thigh, he eased the knot of muscles. Cursing his gullibility, he recalled the words that had sent him on this godforsaken journey.
‘Son, you know if it were in my power, then I would go. It’s your mother, of course. She would never forgive me if I left when there was still so much to do for your sister’s first season.’
Jamie had been duped by his father and it had taken his loving mother to point this out in her usual forthright manner.
‘Jamie, you are a muttonhead, has your father ever taken any interest in the seasons of your two elder sisters?’ She had laughed at how easily he’d been manipulated.
The Earl had merely wanted to spend the last few remaining weeks at Steeple Hill, their family estate, hunting with his cronies before he was forced to accompany his mother and daughters to London for the season. Jamie, of course, fell for it like a rat in a carefully bated trap.
And so here he was, cold and far from home, in pursuit of four black horses. Not just any horses mind you, the best in all of England according to his father.
‘For it is imperative Jamie that little Emmy have the best horses for her first season,’ his father had added this to bolster his story. ‘Won’t she be the envy of many when she promenades through the park.’
Grabbing the soap, Jamie snarled again, then scrubbed his body with vigour. He would not be fooled so easily again.
He dressed for dinner and ignored’ his valet's pitiful moans when he refused to tie his necktie in too many folds.
“It would not do to show up for dinner in the country looking like a peacock amongst a herd of mallards, Jackson.”
“I believe ducks on land form a raft, my lord.”
“It was my poor attempt at humor, Jackson. I beg you will forgive me,” Jamie replied. His valet was a literal creature.
Tweaking his cuffs, he left the room with barely a limp. His leg rarely ached these days, but the combination of hours spent in a carriage and cold, wet weather had caused his earlier discomfort.
Trental led him toward the dining room, where the Wimplestows were already seated awaiting him. Jamie had no problem with dining early. In fact, his stomach was begging for nourishment.
Loud voices greeted him as he approached the dining room. Turning a questioning look at Trental, he asked. “Do the Wimpletstows have company this evening?” The servant shook his head and moved to open the doors. Jamie put on his social smile, the fake one his sisters said made him look constipated, and entered the room.
After all, before he became Viscount Beresford, he had been the darling of the ton. Ravishing Rollersham, they called him. He could usually charm even the crotchetiest old maid when the occasion demanded it. Perhaps lately his charm had slipped. In fact, his youngest sister had called him a growling ill-tempered beast just the other day, but he could still pull it out when required.
“Lord Beresford!”
Trental bellowed in strenuous tones.
Silence descended as six pairs of eyes swung toward Jamie.
“At last, my lord, I had quite given up on you!”
This had to be Squire Wimplestow. Jamie kept his expression pleasant as his host approached. Ruddy faced and his hair stood off his head in red curls. Pantaloons cut wide at the hips and nipped at the ankle, did little for the Squire’s well-rounded figure. A gold threaded waistcoat was missing two buttons, and a once white shirt was now a grubby grey. Jamie shook hands.
“Come, you are in the country now, and as you see our manners are easy.”
Jamie allowed himself to be dragged toward the head of the table, no easy task when he stood well over six foot and carried a solid frame. He sat when a large beefy hand pushed him down.
Looking at the other members of the Wimplestow clan, he nodded and smiled. It seemed there was more food on the cloth and fronts of several Wimplesows clothing than in the selection of bowls and dishes scattered over the surface.
“My lord, to your left is my Fanny, the prettiest filly I ever saw. Bore this brood and still looks as spritely as she did that day twenty years ago when I found her knee deep in her father’s sty.”
Jamie coughed to hide his surprise as he turned to face the lady of the house. Tight grey curls surrounded a homely face, with large hazel eyes. Her smile was wide and happy.
Appearances were not everything. Jamie was not shallow enough to believe that. Good people came from all walks of life, his mother always told him.
“I shall have to watch you, my lord, most men find my Fanny irresistible.”
Loud guffaws greeted these words, and not, as Jamie had thought, from the Squire. No, they were from his filly.
“Indeed, there is little doubting her charms,” he said, which seemed to please Squire Wimplestow, who now accompanied his wife in a symphony of off-key guffaws.
“And this fine young heifer, my lord, is my eldest child, Angus. Named after my favorite breed of cow, you understand?”
Jamie studied the eldest Wimplestow child. The eager gaze of Angus Wimplestow looked wide-eyed back at him. Round apple cheeks sat in a pink face. A thatch of sandy hair stood out in every direction with not an ounce of curl.
“Good evening, Angus.”
“Evening.”
“And that,” the Squire said, pointing to another member of his progeny, “is my eldest girl, Apple blossom. You’ll not be believing how we came up with that name, I’m betting, my lord?”
Looking at the large raw-boned girl with masses of unruly red curls and freckles, Jamie had to admit to being stumped. Never had anyone looked so ill named. Sending the Squire a questioning look, he remained mute, almost agog at what would come out of his host’s mouth next.
“Copulation, my lord.”
Jamie, who had just swallowed a mouthful of surprisingly good wine, spluttered then coughed, all the while struggling valiantly not to spray it over his hosts. “I… ah. I beg your pardon, sir.”
Raising a large hand toward his guest, Squire Wimplestow said, “we do not stand on ceremony here, my lord. You may call me Rufus.”
“When my Apple-blossom was born, my lord, I was out counting my stock. Upon my return I noticed four out of five of our Apple-blossom trees were in flower, and it was then the name came to me and of course my Fanny agreed.”
“Computation, Papa, for heaven’s sake must you always get it wrong,” said an exasperated voice from the bottom of the large table.
The Wimplestows all guffawed loudly.
“And the last member of my family is our little Rose, named for no other reason than she is as sweet as her namesake,” Squire Wimplestow said bestowing a benevolent look upon his youngest daughter.
Relieved that he was to be spared a tale regarding the carnal pleasures the Squire and his wife undertook to conceive Apple-blossom, Jamie turned to study the youngest Wimplestow. She returned his look with a steady one of his own.
Smaller than her brother and sister, she shared her family’s red hair, and it fell in a long braid to her waist. She offered him a small smile as he tilted his head in her direction.
“Excellent, now fill your plate, my lord, and let us eat,” Squire Wimplestow ordered.
There followed one of the most startling displays of table manners Jamie had ever witnessed. Nothing was safe. They even ate off each other’s plates. Servants came and went with tray upon tray of food. Napkins seemed in short supply, he guessed, as his eyes tracked a dollop of gravy as it slipped down Apple-blossom’s cheek to plop onto the severely soiled tablecloth. Jamie, who himself could put a fair-sized meal away, was in awe.
“Come now, my lord, surely a strapping lad like you can eat more than a few potatoes?” the filly said.
“Please pay me no heed, madam. I fear I ate a healthy meal at our last stop.” Jamie attempted to smile as he focused on the carrot stuck between her front teeth. “I assure you by tomorrow I will have regained my appetite.”
Jamie felt he was a man of the world, and had seen his fair share of carnage, yet watching Mr. Angus Wimpletow discuss his cows’ foot rot, with his mouth open and filled with food, was a pleasure he could have easily forgone.
“We have a governess, my lord, for the girls you understand. My Fanny has great hopes of securing a successful match for our Apple-blossom next season.”
Jamie once again looked at Apple-blossom who was picking half a cow out of her teeth. He thought that perhaps the governess had quite the job ahead of her.
“Miss La Fontaine her name is, right snooty too. But she knows her stuff and is certainly making progress with our Apple-blossom.”
Images of Amanda’s slender form slipped into Jamie’s head. She had loved the works of Jean de La Fontaine and had bored him senseless spouting the French Poet’s words to all who would listen.
Amanda, dear god even her name made his body shudder.
“Yes, apparently, she comes from some French aristocratic family who have fallen on hard times. Still, their loss is our gain, aye, my lord.” Squire Wimplestow spat peas onto the table.
Regaining his feet, he offered an apologetic smile to the table at large. “Please excuse my rudeness, Squire Wimplestow, I fear the journey has taken its toll. I will retire for the evening and be fresh to view the horses at first light.” Ignoring the murmurs of protest, Jamie struck out for the door.
“Very well, my lord, I understand how hard upon some folks a long journey can be, I shall see you in the morning.”
Jamie was already in the hall as the Squire finished speaking. He heard the filly comment on Jamie’s weak disposition. And Apple-blossom aghast at his lack of appetite, vowing that no husband of hers would leave the table while a scrap still lingered on their plates. Jamie muttered under his breath that she’d be waiting a while and headed for the stairs, eager to reach the sanctuary of his bedchamber and Jackson.
The sound of piano music grew louder as he climbed. Passing his room, he walked until he located a door open slightly from which the music came. Jamie wondered if perhaps Rose Wimplestow was practising. He had seen her slip unnoticed from the room during the feeding frenzy. He thought a few minutes of listening at the door would hurt no one as he loved music, and the girl had a talent. Pressing his eye to the gap, he checked it was indeed she playing.
Light from a brace of candles allowed him to see the little girl - seated at the piano absorbed in the music as her hands flew over the keys. The Governess moved to block his view. Black hair was scraped into a tight bun. Jamie watched as she bent to talk to Rose. Righting herself, she then turned to face him and only then did she remove her thick glasses. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she then clenched her eyes shut. When she opened them, Jamie froze.
A loud buzzing sound filled his ears. Shaking his head to clear it, he then exhaled a deep breath before leaning closer once more to look into the room.
The governess lifted her left hand and stretched each finger in a series of movements that took less than a minute, but was familiar to Jamie. Amanda had done that to loosen her left hand before playing. She had injured it by falling out of a tree as a child.
Was it really her?
He must have made a sound as the governess, or should he say Amanda, looked at the door. Jamie stumbled back and quickly made his way to his room. Opening the door, he stepped inside and slammed it shut behind him.
“Mother of God, I’ve found her.” He then slumped against the wood as his legs gave way and he slid to the floor.

CHAPTER THREE

“Papa said copulation again, Miss La Fontaine.”
“Did he? Well, I’m sure, given time and your continued correction, he will one day get it right.”
Just a few more minutes and then she could go to her room and fall apart. Jamie was here. Dear Lord, how was it possible?
All Amanda had to do was control her emotions until she was alone. Lock them away deep inside like she had for two years. Rose would have too many questions if she did what she wanted too, and fell to her knees sobbing.
“I don’t think so.”
Amanda looked at the child. Rose was steady natured, and intelligent. Absolutely nothing like the rest of her family. She did not speak loudly or eat as if it was her last meal and only a single potato was left in the world to feed a family of five.
“Papa doesn’t retain things unless they are in bovine or equine terms.”
Very true.
“He is a busy man with much on his mind, Rose.”
They were cleaning away the music books and preparing to retire for the evening. She and the youngest Wimplestowe spent a great deal of time in here. It was the place they retreated too to play music and find some peace from the mayhem of family life.
“Now it is time you found your bed, young lady,” Amanda said when they were done.
“Goodnight, Miss La Fontaine.”
“Goodnight, Rose.”
She followed the girl out the door, and then, with a last goodbye, headed to her room. Reaching it, Amanda opened the door, and then shut it quietly behind her. Turning the key in the lock, she staggered to the bed draped in a hideous shade of mud puddle brown, and fell onto the edge. Missing, she ended up on the floor. Too stunned to move, she simply put her head in her hands and wept.
“J-Jamie.” She’d said his name so many times since she’d left him, but this was different. He was now here in the same house as her. She felt both ill and elated.
Ill because the danger to both of them was still real and elated because she’d seen him. Amanda had never thought to see him again. Her silly heart rejoiced in that.
“He must never know who I am,” she whispered. Her disguise must fool him as it had others.
But he is not others. He is the man who loved you.
Pushing upright, she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the toes of her ugly back boots.
What was she to do now? When she had seen Jamie in the entranceway, rain dripping from his large body, Amanda had wanted to throw herself at him as she had done many times during their courtship. She wanted to run her hands through his black curls and lose herself in his pale blue eyes.
How could this have happened? Amanda had hidden herself away in Yorkshire, sure that she was safe from contact with anyone she’d once known. Pacing back to where her small, cracked mirror hung on the wall, she studied her reflection. Surely, she was so vastly changed from the society Miss, Jamie had known just two years ago. Was it only two years? It felt so much longer.
Her hair was now died black and pulled up into a severe bun. She stuffed small rolls of wadded material into her cheeks every morning to make them seem fatter. Around her hips hung two bags filled with padding to make her look wider. Thick, black-rimmed glasses obscured her eyes and gave her a terrible headache, which usually eased as she was about to replace them in the morning. But it was because of this disguise she could hide.
Surely Jamie would see no resemblance to the Amanda Latham he’d known, dressed as she was? She had to ensure that was the case. From now until he left, where he went, she did not. This should not prove too hard, as most often she was teaching the Wimplestowe daughters.
No simple task, if she was being honest. She’d never met a family more ill-suited to enter society. Her reasons were not due alone to the fact that Apple Blossom was most happy stomping over her father’s pasture and jumping in cow pats. Or that she did not want to learn the correct etiquette to enter London society. No, it was that they were kind and generous people who would be crushed if their daughter did not receive the accolades they thought she deserved, entering society. Amanda believed that Apple Blossom would be ridiculed and teased. She knew this as once she’d been a young lady who would have tittered and sniggered over those she saw beneath her.
The Wimplestowes thought her a snooty, French woman fallen on hard times. They did not understand her, but they were kind to her, and for that she was grateful.
Undressing, Amanda washed in the cold water and pulled on her nightdress. She then slipped beneath the sheets after extinguishing her lamp. She rose early in the Wimplestowe household, so getting a good night’s sleep was imperative.
“And yet there will be no sleep for me,” she whispered into the dark.
For two years, she had looked over her shoulder and made sure no one noticed her, or suspected she was anything other than a French governess fallen on hard times. However, since arriving in Yorkshire four months ago, Amanda had felt safe from those who pursued her. But now that Jamie was here, her safety was again threatened. Unbidden, Amanda’s thoughts slipped back to that night so long ago when her life had changed beyond recognition.
She’d been happy. Truly happy, as Jamie had just asked her to marry him, and she’d said yes. He’d kissed her, and then dropped her at her parents’ townhouse, saying he would return tomorrow to speak with her father. Of course, they’d both known he should have asked him first, but she would keep the fact she knew to herself.
She’d been dancing through the halls of her father’s townhouse when her father appeared. His face had been pale and to her he’d seemed sad. She’d asked if he was ill. His next words had robbed any happiness she’d been feeling.
If only you had done your duty sooner, then I would not now be forced to do mine. Those words were etched in her memory, as they’d been the last ones her father had ever spoken to her. What followed next changed her life completely. She could still see her father walking into his study. He’d closed and locked the door, and then he’d fired a single bullet that had taken his life.
Four days after the tragic event, a letter had arrived, and Amanda had finally understood the true meaning of her father’s words.

CHAPTER FOUR

Two days after Jamie had found that Miss La Fontaine was actually Amanda, the perfidious black hearted woman who had walked away from him without a word. He was no wiser as to what he should actually do about the discovery.
He’d mulled over for hours laying in the lumpy bed in the cold room as to why she was here. What had her leaving London and running to take up a life as a governess?
Whatever it was, she should have told me. Should have come to me, the man she was supposed to love.
Anger, hurt, it was all inside him fighting for supremacy. He felt irrational and off balance just knowing she was close. The woman he’d vowed to live his life with and love until he drew his last breath was in this very house.
He’d thought about simply telling her the game was up, but then she’d likely flee in the middle of the night, and he didn’t want that. He wanted answers.
The question he kept circling back to was what did he do now?
“I have your tea ready, my lord, and those simpletons will shortly bring your bath water,” said Jackson as he bustled into Jamie’s room, balancing a tray on one hand.
“Simpletons, Jackson?” asked Jamie, while sprawled across the top of his lumpy bed.
“I am reluctant to call them servants, my lord,” replied Jackson. “It is not my place to criticize those to whom I share the bond of servitude, but the people in this house are nothing short of incompetent.”
Jackson placed the tea tray across Jamie’s legs, then moved to fold his clothes. Picking up an already neatly pressed shirt, he then snapped it with a flick of the wrist, then refolded it and placed it in the exact position it had previously occupied on the seat of a chair, which Jamie had done earlier.
“Of course it is the inbreeding,” continued Jackson.
“Miss La Fontaine is in complete agreement with me. Do you know, my lord, she is the only rose in a garden of extremely robust weeds, if I may be so forward?”
“Forward away,” muttered Jamie, taking a sip of tea and trying to ignore the thud in his heart at the mention of Amanda.
“Indeed, one wonders how a paragon like dear Miss La Fontaine has fared when faced with such… such,” stammered Jackson.
“Ill-mannered savages?” suggested Jamie as he bit into a macaroon, which he was sure was five days old.
Still, it was a testament to his hunger that he was soon reaching for another.
Jackson nodded.
“A very good analogy, my lord,” he said as he moved on to Jamie’s neckties.
Cup and macaroon in hand, Jamie once again reclined against his pillows, stretching his injured thigh out before him.
“Tell me, Jackson, do you not find Miss La Fontaine’s accent a trifle forced?” he asked casually. Of course, his valet had never met Amanda. Even so, Jamie had always believed him astute.
“A trifle forced, my lord?”
“Yes, it is almost as if French is her second language.”
“As to that, my lord, I fear only you can be the judge. As in a house of heathens, I am sure no one would be the wiser. But I will tell you one thing, my lord. That Miss La Fontaine is a lady to her toes.”
If only you knew, Jamie thought, putting the last piece of stale macaroon into his mouth.
Further conversation was halted as the two imbeciles who, it seemed, were allocated to carry his bath came in, both muttering under their breath about Jamie’s penchant for bathing being downright unnatural.
“No comment is required if you please, gentlemen. Just place the bath here before the fire, then leave the room,” directed Jackson in an imperious tone.
“Taint right is all I’m sayin, Mr. Jackson. Why, if the good Lord had wanted us to bathe every day, he’d have fitted us with bleedin gills,” said the servant.
“Out, both of you,” ordered Jackson to the servants.
With his thoughts still on Amanda, he watched his usually stoic butler chase the two men from the room while waving one of his neatly starched neckties. Knowing she was safe and alive where he could get his hands on her if necessary, had lifted a huge weight off his shoulders. Yes, he was angry with her and yes, he would never forgive her, but worry where she’d gone had plagued him right alongside the rage.
Once he was bathed and dressed, Jamie left his room in search of the Squire. As he closed the door, he glimpsed black skirts disappearing around a corner. Amanda. He followed.
“Where do you wander, Miss La Fontaine?”
He’d not seen her for two days because, according to the Wimplestows, she had a chill. Jamie thought it more likely she was avoiding him, but now he was in control, he wanted to see her face again. Squashing the trickle of unease that he should just declare himself and that her game was up, he followed, walking down the stairs, arriving in time to see Amanda leave the house.
“Can I assist you, my Lord?”
“No thank you, Trental.” The butler was sitting on the front step polishing a pair of boots. Odd? Yes. But not odd in this household, Jamie was sure.
Once outside, he followed her toward the stables. Stopping to pat horses and put some distance between them, he left a few minutes later to see her cresting the hill/ Jamie followed. Now the rains had passed. He could enjoy the beauty of the countryside that rolled on for miles.
Reaching the hill, he saw Amanda head into the trees and followed. It was cooler in here, with light filtering in through the branches. The sound of water up ahead had him slowing. He then eased branches aside.
Jamie was transfixed by the sight that greeted him. Amanda stood knee deep in water, her head thrown back in a picture of complete abandonment. She clutched handfuls of her skirt and allowed him a tantalizing view of the satin-smooth length of her legs from the knees down. He did not want to feel anything for this woman again, and yet seeing the look of delight on her face as she stood there made his chest ache. As if sensing him, she and saw him.
“My lord!” she gasped.
“Miss La Fontaine,” Jamie said with admirable calm considering the turmoil he felt. Stepping from his concealment, he walked to the edge of the water. The weak light cast shadows all around them, but Jamie could still see her rounded cheeks heat with color.
Instinctively, Amanda took several steps backward.
“It would not be advisable to step back any further, Miss La Fontaine.” His words came out cold.
She squinted, and he was sure those glasses gave her a headache by day's end.
He wanted to make her uncomfortable. It was petty and beneath him, but she’d ripped his heart from his chest and then stomped it. That did not make a man feel rational.
“Please, do not let me intrude on your privacy, Miss La Fontaine. I was out walking and stumbled across this place. I wish only to share it for a short while,” he added, wading into the water.
“What are you doing, my lord? Your boots, my Lord!”
“I do not have to clean them.”
He was fairly sure she wanted to say something about his cavalier attitude to making more work for his servants, but held her tongue. The old Amanda would not have done so.
“Your leg, my lord, you carry an injury and surely this,” Amanda said, looking down into the water, “will cause you further pain.”
He could tell that she was uncomfortable with his closeness.
“Tis nothing,” Jamie said, looking at her.
“I-ah,” she looked away from him. “How did it happen if you do not mind me asking, my Lord?”
“I was shot.” And while I lay there bleeding, all I could bloody think about was you and If I’d see you again.
She flinched. The gesture was slight, but he saw it.
“I must start back, my lord. I would hate to cause the Wimplestow family any distress by being gone too long.” Her eyes returned to him.
Had she really believed she could disguise who she was from him? Her ridiculous glasses were perched on the end of her nose while every muscle in her body was rigid.
“I believe their delicate sensibilities will cope,” drawled Jamie.
A sound like laughter had her quickly pressing a hand to her mouth.
“I fear it is your delicate sensibilities which may be in danger, Miss La Fontaine.”
She tried to stifle the laughter which his words provoked. He’d always been able to make her laugh.
“It would be wrong of me to criticize my employers, my lord.” Amanda's voice quavered.
“No, Miss La Fontaine, what is wrong is smiling politely while sitting opposite Apple-blossom, as dollop after dollop of food quivers on the edge of her chin before losing itself for all eternity in her ample cleavage.”
“I… I really must pr-protest, my lord,” Amanda said through gritted teeth.
“For a French woman, your accent is really very poor, my dear.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“I beg your pardon?” Amanda fought to keep her voice even.
Did he know who she was? Surely, if that was the case, he would have exposed her.
“We speak that way where I come from,” Amanda said quickly.
He titled his head slightly, in a gesture that said he was thinking about her words. A gesture she had seen him do many times before.
“And which province is that?”
“I’m from the south,” she lied.
He leaned closer, and she resisted the urge to lean back.
“Those spectacles are quite strong. Do they hurt your eyes by the end of the day?”
“No.” She backed up a step.
“Do you have trouble seeing distances or up close?”
“Both.”
He nodded, and then with a clipped good day, he walked away, limping slightly. Amanda knew he’d been shot in the leg while fighting for his country because Trental had told her. The thought of Jamie in pain hurt. Even worse, she hadn’t known until now that he’d suffered.
I should have been at his side when he returned home injured.
She had to avoid him from now until he departed. Amanda could not take the risk of him recognizing her. Jamie was an astute man. He would see through her disguise soon or later.
Making her way back to the house, Amanda entered the small parlor where Apple Blossom awaited her for this morning’s etiquette lessons.
“I suppose you are going to tell more of those silly rules that govern London society?” her charge said. She was sitting with her feet braced on the small table before her. At least this time she’d removed her boots.
“Put your feet down,” Amanda said with a calm she was not feeling.
The thud of feet was loud enough to signal Apple Blossom’s displeasure.
“A lady always speaks, sits, or moves with elegance and propriety,” Amanda said. “You cannot put your feet on the table. Pick your nose or your teeth. You cannot stomp about the place in London like you do here, Apple Blossom.”
“I hate London!” She looked mutinous.
“You have never been there,” Amanda said gently.
“I still hate it,” she muttered. “But at least I shall be able to gallop in that park. ”
“You cannot gallop recklessly in Hyde Park, Apple Blossom.”
“I hate London, her charge muttered again.”
“You can also not guffaw or laugh raucously,” Amanda said. She felt a headache coming on.
“I refuse to titter!”
“Not titter, just a soft laugh will suffice.”
“It’s foolish to have to behave differently simply because I am to enter society.”
She wasn’t wrong, but it was simply the way of things. Looking at the girl, Amanda thought unless she could mold Apple Blossom into what society saw as acceptable, she would have a terrible time when she arrived in London.
“I will not take some sniveling man who does not know that cows have four stomachs, and cannot gallop worth a damn.”
As far as criteria went for a husband, Amanda was fairly sure few society gentlemen would know cows had four stomachs.
“Apple Blossom,” she said calmly, “you have to let me help you or you will be extremely shocked and disappointed when you enter society. No man will discuss cows stomachs or grass to pasture ratios with you. They will want a woman who knows how to eat gracefully and discuss topics like reading and music.”
She actually gasped. Pressing a hand to her chest, Apple Blossom looked ready to expire on the spot. She grabbed the teacup before her on the table and gulped the contents down loudly.
“I need to go outside,” Apple Blossom said, getting to her feet. She then belched and left the room.
Making her way to the music room to retrieve her book, Amanda wondered if she should just tell the Wimplestows that Apple Blossom should not enter society.
Jamie was there when she arrived. She tried to back out the door she’d just walked through, but he saw her.
“I thought to borrow a book, Miss La Fontaine. Have you read this one?”
She couldn’t see the book title from there.
“What is the title, my lord?”
He didn’t speak, but studied the spine. She waited in silence.
“This one,” he held up the book, spine facing her way, but her glasses didn’t allow her to see the words. Amanda moved closer.
“Gulliver’s Travels, by Jonathan Swift,” Jamie said as she reached his side.
She stumbled on her own feet, and a large hand steadied her.
“I-ah, yes, it is a good book,” she stumbled out. He’d loved that book as a child.
“I am often awake during the night. Sometimes things that are left unanswered, and problems needing to be solved, tend to play on my mind.”
Her eyes sort his and she saw in that moment the truth in his blue eyes. He knew exactly who she was.
Run, and don’t look back.

CHAPTER SIX

Jamie had watched Amanda for two days, and while she’d carried out her duties to the Wimplestow family with her usual efficiency, he felt like something was off with her. He’d caught her looking his way a few times, and a feeling of unease had him wondering if she knew he was aware of her identity and was preparing to run again.
“Hello, Rose.” He was wandering about outside looking for Amanda, as he’d not seen her today yet. Was this his lot in life, to be forever searching for that woman?
Kicking a pile of horse manure, he filled the air with the sharp scent and immediately regretted his actions.
“What am I doing?” Jamie muttered to a cow that had absolutely nothing to say on the matter. He should just confront her and get it done. It was a smoky game he was playing, and what would the end result be?
Jamie had completed the horse negations with Squire Wimplestow. There was nothing keeping him here now but her… the woman he’d once loved and vowed to spend the rest of his life with.
Faithless woman.
And yet he knew deep inside there was more to her disappearance than that now he could think rationally. She wasn’t exactly living the life of luxury, so whatever had forced her into hiding had to have been bad.
She should have come to me.
The sound of sniffing had him searching, and Jamie found the youngest Wimplestow seated on a fallen log. When she looked at him, he saw her tears.
“What has happened, Rose?”
“Miss La Fontaine is leaving us.”
“What?” He hadn’t meant to roar, but it came out that way. “Why?” he added in a softer tone.
“Word has reached her from France that her mother is unwell. She must return at once.”
Now that’s a whopping lie.
“When does she leave, Rose?”
“Today I believe, or soon. She is packing now. We shall all miss her.”
Not this time, Amanda.
“I’m sure you will. Perhaps when you come to London, you and your family could visit with me? I can take you on a tour around the city if you like. Plus, I have a wonderful piano, which I know you will love playing.” He wanted to make her smile. Her solemn little face was making his chest hurt.
“Really?” She managed a small one.
“Really. I will show you all the wonderful sights and we can even take an ice at Gunther’s. But I warn you some flavors are terrible.”
“I would love that.” The smile was bigger now.
“Excellent, then I will ensure it happens. All will go well, Rose, and perhaps the next governess will be just as much fun as Miss La Fontaine.”
“She is so wonderful. It is my hope you are right.”
He’d once thought Amanda wonderful, too.
Jamie and Rose headed back to the house, and he left her in her favorite room, playing the piano. He then headed for his to tell his valet that they would leave soon.
“We will take the carriage to the village and then I will hire another for you return to London. I will call for you when I know where I will be, Jackson.”
“But—”
“I am more than capable of looking after myself. There is no need to fuss.”
“Your mother, my lord, she asked me to watch over you.”
He only just resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. His mother had been fussing over him since he’d been shot.
“I can look after myself, Jackson. Please, return to London,” he added in a voice those under his command usually had not hesitated to obey. His valet’s shoulders dropped, but Jamie did not have the time to deal with him. He had to find out when Amanda was leaving.
As it turned out, that was easier than expected. Apple Blossom was walking about the small front parlor with a book on her head.
“Good day to you, sir,” she dropped into a creditable curtsey, with the book still on her head.
“Good day, Apple Blossom. That was a neat trick.”
“I have promised Miss La Fontaine I will practice now she is leaving us.”
She did not look quite as upset as her younger sister. Jamie thought this was likely due to her dislike of the etiquette lessons Amanda had made her do.
“She is leaving you?”
She nodded her head, and the book fell with a thud to the floor. “Tonight. Angus is to drop Miss La Fontaine into the village where she will await the stage.”
“Well, good luck with your,” he waved a hand at the book she was picking up, and left.
He decided to leave first. Saying goodbye to the family, he and Jackson climbed into his carriage and headed to the village. Once there, he’d hired a carriage to take his valet to London. Yes, he could have caught the stage, but the moaning would not have been worth it.
He then went to the tavern and ordered a meal. Finding a table near the window, he waited for Angus and Amanda to appear. As the day rolled into night, he wondered if she had changed her mind. Angus Wimplestow's voice made him realize she hadn’t. They’d slipped into town unnoticed.
“My Lord, I had thought you would be gone by now,” the young man said when he saw him.
“Just on my way.”
Angus shot a look at the bar, behind which stood a young lady. The glances passing between them told Jamie he was not just here for the superb peas and kidney pie he’d sampled.
“I’ve dropped Miss La Fontaine off. She’s waiting with the other passengers for the stage,” Angus said, eyes over Jamie’s shoulder.
“Well, I will say goodbye to you also, Angus.”
The man pumped his hand a few times, and then headed to where the woman waited, all smiles. Jamie stepped outside. Inhaling a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, and then made his way to where the stagecoach passengers would be waiting.
It was busy, and he nodded to people as he entered. The interior was dim and smelled musty with so many bodies in the small space. Searching those seated, he found her in the last row of seats beside an elderly couple. Amanda was dozing. Eyes closed, her head was resting on the wall behind her.
Jamie hated the pain in his heart. He felt seeing her like this. Alone, vulnerable and miles away from the woman she’d been. Squashing that thought, he moved to stand before her.
“She’s sleeping,” the man said.
“I see that.”
“There are plenty of other seats, although why someone like you needs the stage, I’m unsure.”
“I don’t need the stage. This lady is a… an employee of mine,” he said, deciding that was the best course of action. He then touched her shoulder.
“Amanda, wake up.”
Her eyes opened and locked on his. The dazed expression turned to horror.
“Jamie?” she gasped. “I-I mean Lord Beresford.”
“I called you Amanda. The game is up. Get your bag and step outside now.” Jamie’s voice was hard and cold.
“No!”
He bent and retrieved her belongings, and then simply walked back out the door.
“Well, I never! Those nobles are an arrogant lot,” someone said.
Jamie stepped into the street again and moved to where he’d told the carriage to wait for him. Opening the door, he threw her bag inside. He’d tamped down his rage at the Wimplestow’s, but it was back. Seeing her like this when he could have helped her with whatever was going on in her life, had it rising.
“Give me my bag.”
She stood behind him, keeping a few feet between them.
“I have to leave, and you cannot stop me.”
“Think again. Now get inside the carriage.”
“I will not. This… what I am doing, have done, is best for everyone.”
She stood there, chin raised, attempting to look defiant in those hideous clothes. He didn’t know what had forced her from London, but he would find out, and soon.
“I suggest you do not try my patience any further, madam. Now get in the carriage, and we will finally have that talk we should have had many months ago.”
She backed up another step.
“No. You have no say in what I do. I am not who I was, my Lord, and can never go back.” He had to admire her bravado, but panic had the words tumbling from her mouth, one on top of the other.
“Go away and let me continue with my journey,” she begged him.
“Get inside now Amanda,” Jamie growled, advancing on her. If need be, he’d pick her up and put her inside. Once they were moving, she could not escape.
“You don’t understand,” insisted Amanda. “You could never understand. Please, my Lord, let me go.”
“I will have your story but—”
She’d picked up her skirts and fled before he could finish the sentence.

More soon .....