Page 1 of A Necessary Wife

CHAPTER ONE

Amelia Reynolds glanced up from the garden bed she was contemplating, sensing a presence directly behind her. She twisted around and almost fell onto her bottom at discovering Lord Milo Westfall or rather the newly elevated Lord Chatham, her brother Anthony’s best friend, standing there.

Slightly embarrassed at being taken by surprise, she adopted a haughty expression as she struggled to her feet. “Can I help you, my lord?”

Chatham, an earl she was long acquainted with, winced. “I hope so.”

Then he looked her over from head to toe—and smiled.

Amelia glanced down at her attire and blanched at the state of her gown. She had been in the garden since first light, though even this state of grubbiness was unusual. The faded blue muslin usually hid spoiling, but she had two highly visible dirty spots where her knees had rested on the ground as she added new plants to the garden bed.

It had rained last night but usually no one was awake this early to see her, and she was surprised that Chatham was. Her brother and his guests usually kept very late hours.

When she glanced across at Chatham, her cheeks grew warmer from embarrassment as she hadn’t paid much attention to her appearance that morning. Chatham was resplendent, as always. Dark green velvet coat, buff breaches that hugged his thighs, and glossy high-top riding boots. He only lacked a riding crop and a horse to complete the image of Corinthian splendor. He was every inch an earl today.

By unspoken agreement they usually avoided each other, because she remained unmarried and he was a widower with no need for a second wife. They were of similar ages though, him slightly older. He spoke only to her in her brother’s presence and that suited Amelia perfectly. She much preferred to remain in the background of her brother’s busy life and go about her usual solitary routine. Something must be wrong if Chatham sought her out.

“Are you in need of my brother?” She gestured toward a distant manor house. “He’s likely still asleep, I’m afraid.”

“He is indeed which is why I concluded this was the perfect time to speak with you,” he said, glancing around the garden.

Amelia studied the man with disappointment. A widower of some four years, she wisely took a step back in case he was feeling lonely. He was handsome but troubled, and she knew exactly why that was, not that she would dare attempt to offer sympathy—or her companionship.

Amelia was no mouse, frightened of men, but she was wise. She harbored an abundance of distrust for men in general. She made an effort not to show it while she discreetly dusted off her fingers a little more, hoping he would leave with no encouragement.

Still Chatham lingered, and she glanced around, looking for rescue from any direction.

He cleared his throat. “Are you done here?”

She faced him. “Done, my lord?”

He sighed. “With your brother’s estate. You’ve been tending the Upper Folly garden for all the years I’ve known you, and it has never looked more perfect.”

She blinked in surprise for the unexpected compliment. “You’ve been watching me?”

“Not for the last few days, of course, since you were abed with…a regular illness,” he said.

Amelia struggled not to blush. She’d kept to herself for the usual few days of her monthly cycle, as she always did, despite her brother’s pleas that he had an important guest to entertain and she couldn’t be absent from the dining room for so many nights in a row.

Well, Anthony should have consulted her calendar before he’d issued an invitation to anyone beyond family. But as usual, she’d managed the household and her own needs without giving the newly elevated earl much thought beyond ensuring his stay was a pleasant one.

Apparently, she’d been missed by more than her brother.

Amelia couldn’t be more surprised.

Chatham tipped his head toward the manor. “I’ve admired your diligence to your brother’s concerns for some time, and of course, noticed your influence extends far and wide on the estate. I expect both your thumbs are green.”

She was halfway to checking the state of her thumbs when she caught a hesitant smile playing upon his lips. He had made a jest…or was making sport of her, as others in her brother’s circle often did.

She narrowed her gaze on him, annoyed because she could not determine the intent behind his smile immediately.

Lord Chatham was not given to levity very often, at least not around her. But he often said things in a way that could have two meanings, and it amused her that everyone else seemed oblivious to the alternative meanings.

“I enjoy tending my brother’s estate,” she admitted in the end. “I spend half my time out here in the garden.”

“Yes. Even in inclement morning weather, too. You fearlessly trudge outdoors to bring order to the grounds. Well done.”

Cautiously, she decided he was complimenting her. A flush of pleasure filled her and brought more warmth to her face. She was usually immune to flattery from handsome men. She inclined her head, accepting the praise.