Page 35 of A Necessary Wife

Chatham remained by her side. “What more did she do to you?”

Amelia’s cheeks heated.

“I never cared for your sister before, and I like her even less now, after that snide letter she wrote and the harm she did to you as a girl,” Chatham murmured, eyes lingering on her upper back. “She always pushed herself forward when I visited.”

“My family expected great things for her, and you would have been high on their list of potential husbands had you not been married before she was brought out.” Amelia chuckled softly when Chatham scowled. “I am happy to wait for the children alone by the kitchen door, if you have somewhere else to be.”

Chatham shook his head. “There is no where else I’d rather be than here protecting you.”

Amelia’s heart gave a little flip. “What about your brother? You said you wanted to speak with him today. Or have you reconsidered interfering?”

“No, I have not reconsidered, but I wondered if it would be best if my brother sees us together. I’ll not have you pushed to the background by anyone anymore, least of all me. What do you say to a long walk through the estate with me?”

Amelia glanced at him, startled by the tone of his words. She’d never had a champion before, but he seemed to want the position. She did not quite know how to respond other than to nod.

“We’ll take the children with us,” he announced. After a moment, he glanced her way. “If you agree, that is, Lady Chatham?”

She was pleased by the speed of his correction. At least he was trying to include her. “I do not disagree, Lord Chatham.”

He sighed. “Good.”

He stretched out his hand, and Amelia gave him hers. They shook, and his grip was firm around her slender fingers. His warmth seemed to seep through her glove as he kept hold of her hand.

Amelia hugged the feeling of belonging to her. It was nice, holding hands with someone she admired again. But she suspected that if there were to be any further intimacies between them, it might always be up to her to initiate the encounters.

CHAPTER TEN

Milo stopped at the edge of the clearing and adjusted his daughter on his hip. She was too big to be carried, but he had indulged her this one last time because she kept pulling at his hand so hard and wouldn’t stop.

He set Lucy down on her feet and studied the house ahead of them. The crumbling structure hadn’t changed much from this perspective, since he’d seen it last. It had never been more than a ruin to him. For years, Father had promised to do something about it but never had.

He would start his search for Samuel here.

They had often played here as boys. He glanced over at Amelia to gauge her reaction and smiled as he saw that Adam was holding her hand. He hadn’t wanted to be carried—because he was a big boy—but he wasn’t above being led around by his new mother, it seemed. He understood the attraction.

Lucy tried to clasp his hand again, but Milo evaded her clutching fingers.

“Wait here with your mother,” he told her. “I’ll see if I can find your uncle.”

“Can I come with you, Papa?”

“No, you will not—and no running off into the woods, either, without Mama, or I’ll be cross with you and send you back to the nursery to spend the rest of the day alone,” he warned.

Lucy’s bottom lip trembled, but he was not moved to give in to her threat of tears. Her reaction always reminded him of his first wife when she did that. He would not allow her to play on his sympathies. She had to learn to obey and respect Amelia, too.

He glanced at Amelia and saw her watching his—no, their—daughter. “I won’t be long.”

He left them behind and strode across the clearing, struggling through the long grass and hidden obstacles brushing against his tall boots. Limbs from a fallen tree had still not been cleared from what had once been a large lawn, blocking his path, and he climbed over them to reach the ruined house.

Something slithered away from the door, and he glanced back at Amelia to be certain she had not followed either.

Amelia stood with Adam leaning against her skirts, while Lucy stood in the lead, arms crossed over her chest and a pout on her lips still as she watched him.

He faced forward again, and grimaced to see broken tile from the chimney breast scattered on the entry steps. He moved around a bit farther, looking through windowpanes that had once been broken and dirty.

Something was being done to improve the building, albeit slowly, and it was not by Father.

Milo would tear the ruin down if he had his way. He considered it unsafe in its current condition, but Father was sentimental about the place. Great-Grandmama had spent her last years in this cottage, and the duke’s memories were fond ones.