“This will become your home, too, one day. Papa has pestered me to return to live here for years and mentioned it again last night.”

  She stiffened at the idea of remaining here instead of going to the promised home in Devon. This was a place where she could do nothing but study the walls like any other visitor, and make herself invisible to avoid further dispute with the duke. “Was his request made before or after you mentioned our marriage?”

  “Before, but I am certain he has not changed his mind,” Chatham said quickly. “He’s also getting older. The young one has worn him out more than expected already, so I suspect he might need my help here. We could stay for the season and return to Devon near the end of summer.”

  End of summer was months away.

  Amelia shook her head. “I am sorry, but this is not what we agreed upon.”

  “Circumstances have a way of changing one’s decisions. Three months ago, I was still determined to remain a widower.”

  “And I expected to remain a virgin for all my years,” she reminded him. “Marrying you was meant to improve things for me. We agreed. My dowry and company for a place to call home and children of my own one day. You promised me, or are you as disingenuous as every other man I’ve ever met?”

  He looked at her in shock. “Amelia!”

  She glared at him, jaw clenched, but she would not take back her words. “Well, are your promises to me so easy to forget in the face of ducal disapproval?”

  “No.” He grasped her hands. “I meant every word. I know your family have treated you poorly but I have always been close to mine. My father will come around. It will get easier here with time, I swear.”

  She raised a brow. “And if it doesn’t?”

  He brought her hands to his lips and kissed the back of them. “You are my wife. I chose you. My loyalty is now and will aways be to you.”

  Amelia closed her eyes, soothed by his response.

  “Ah, looks like the children found Whitfield for us,” Chatham said, dropping her hands. “I’m sure my sister will not be too far behind him. We will talk about this later. Come with me now.”

  Chatham put a hand behind her back and pushed.

  She opened her eyes to see a tall man approaching, a babe slung across his chest in a sling. Adam and Lucy jumped up and down around him, trying to see the babe he carried.

  “Children, be careful of the baby,” Amelia warned.

  Adam stopped jumping and looked at her, but not Lucy. It took a sharp rebuke from Chatham to bring the girl to order.

  Whitfield stretched out his hand to Chatham and they shook. “I heard you were back.”

  “Yes, yesterday,” Chatham answered. “Whitfield, this is Amelia. My new wife.”

  Whitfield blinked rapidly but quickly recovered from his shock. “Welcome to Quigley Hill, Lady Chatham.”

  Amelia had not realized they’d passed into a different estate until now. There hadn’t been a wall or fence to navigate between the two properties. “Thank you.”

  “And this is Xavier Whitfield, my son.”

  Amelia made enough of a fuss over meeting the newborn that his father was beaming with pride. “What a contented child.”

  “Sleeps all day and all night, thank God.”

  Amelia took a step back as Chatham spoke of his youngest brother troubling the duke and duchess with his need to be held.

  “Jessica will be so excited to hear your news, Milo,” Whitfield said. “But a little warning that you were married might have been wise.”

  “I tried that yesterday, and it did not help with the duke’s response,” Chatham answered out of the side of his mouth.

  Whitfield pulled a face and glanced at Amelia again. “He’ll come around eventually. He did with me.”

  Amelia was not reassured by Whitfield’s words, but she smiled at her new brother-in-law. Whitfield seemed a friendly sort of gent, and she hoped he remained that way.

  “I’d better go see my sister.” Chatham strode ahead into the garden, taking the children with him.

  “Might I escort you to meet my wife, Lady Chatham?”

  Since her husband had rushed off without her, she could hardly refuse. “I should like that.”

  They walked slowly, and eventually Whitfield turned to her. “You and my wife will get along well, I think.”

  “I hope so.”

  “She’s wonderful…kind, funny,” he gushed, then laughed. “I am the most fortunate of men.”

  She glanced at him and realized the man was deeply smitten with his wife. “I am pleased to hear you say so.”

  Whitfield held back the branches of a weeping willow, and Amelia’s breath caught at the spectacular view ahead. She was surrounded by a garden unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Unruly and abundant but planned, she suspected. A fantastical world just coming to life after the winter cold eased. “My word!”

  Whitfield smiled widely. “My wife and I spend a great deal of time tending to this garden together. Something for Xavier to inherit.”

  Amelia glanced at the babe again. His little face was protected from any chill by a small scarf, but his eyes showed he was taking in his father’s every word.

  “And it has been a worthwhile endeavor indeed. I’ve never seen its equal.”

  The garden was breathtaking. Amelia had always had dreams of having a garden of her own one day, but they paled in comparison to this wonder.

  Whitfield caught her eye. “Do you enjoy the garden and tending plants, too?”

  “I do, but I was steward to my brother’s for many years.”

  “When you are settled in Devon, send word and we can dispatch any plant you desire from our greenhouses.”

  Chatham reappeared then, with a handsome young woman at his side. The family resemblance made her identity clear.

  Whitfield sighed. “Ah, there is my Jessica.”

  Mrs. Jessica Whitfield rushed toward Amelia. To her surprise, the young woman embraced her as if they’d been the closest of friends forever. “Welcome, dearest Amelia!”

  “Mrs. Whitfield.”

  “Now, now. None of that horrible formality. It is not done in our family. We are sisters, and I was just telling Milo of my relief that he chose someone I can finally talk to.”

  “Thank you,” Amelia answered, deeply touched by the first truly happy reception of her marriage, and her curiosity was stirred. Her own brother had not been this enthusiastic about Amelia’s decision to wed. But that was likely because he would now have to deal with the running of his household without her for once in his adult life.

  Jessica latched on to her arm. “Now, come along, my dear sister. I demand the honor of hosting your first tea here, and hearing how my brother finally found the courage to propose to a lady after so many years of being acquainted. Our other sisters will be so jealous of me that I’ll know the details of your courtship first!”

  Amelia winced. There wouldn’t be much to tell. “I hope only for their acceptance.”

  She glanced back for Chatham, but he was no longer there. Nor was Whitfield or the children.

  Jessica urged her toward the house, escorting her into a bright and sunny parlor, where tea and biscuits had already been set out by a pair of giggling older women. “Milo mentioned our father is being difficult. I am so sorry. He’s not usually such a grump.”

  Amelia nodded but said nothing critical of the duke.

  “I’m sure it is not you that he disapproves of,” Jessica said quickly. “It is always Milo who vexes him. I still remember the rows they used to have when he misbehaved.”

  “It’s because he married a woman he does not love this time,” she said, accepting a cup of freshly poured tea.

  Jessica’s eyes widened. “I hoped my brother was making a jest.”

  “He will never love me,” Amelia warned her sister-in-law. “I do understand that.”

  Jessica gulped. “It is difficult for me to understand how anyone could agree to such a cold arrangement. You deserve more.”

  “Your father believes your brother deserves more, too. You were lucky, Mrs. Whitfield, but some of us have to compromise to get what we want in life,” Amelia murmured.

  “What is it that you want?”

  “A home, a family, a garden, and children. That’s all,” she answered. “I care little for the title I gained.”

  Jessica reached over and squeezed her hand tightly. “Then that is what you will have, and it is Jessica, not Mrs. Whitfield, to you, sister.”

  She sipped tea, and they talked of London, Jessica’s one and only season, marriage to Whitfield, and the plans for the Quigley Hill estate.

  “I can’t wait for winter. The whole family comes together for two whole months. Father will grumble the whole time, but he secretly loves the fuss we all make when we are together.”

  “I’m not sure of our plans for the winter.”

  “Oh, but Milo said he’d be here for Xavier’s next Christmas, so you and the children will be here, too, of course.”

  Amelia blinked, wondering if Chatham had made plans for the future without telling her.

  “Amelia?”

  She startled, realizing she’d not been paying Jessica the proper attention for several minutes. She hastily put down her cup. “Forgive me. I was woolgathering.”

  “I’m told I did that a great deal during the first year of marriage to Giddy.”

  “Giddy?”

  “Giddy is my nickname for my husband. I was so in love with him that I hardly knew the dread of my first season was due to leaving him.”

  Amelia couldn’t imagine feeling that way about anyone now, or giving her husband a nickname.

  “You started without us,” Mr. Whitfield complained as he strode through the open door, leading the way for her children and husband.

  Jessica only laughed. “Well, I knew what you two were doing. Plotting how to get Papa on side about Milo’s marriage.”

  “Father will get used to us,” Chatham insisted.

  Amelia glanced down at her hands and fiddled with the wedding ring on her finger. That remained to be seen. Her own family didn’t approve of her.

  Young Xavier began to fuss, and Whitfield handed the boy over to his mother immediately.

  “Isn’t he the most beautiful baby that was ever born?”

  “Indeed, he is,” Amelia agreed, tickling the baby’s cheek.

  Xavier turned toward the touch, a sign he was hungry for his mother’s breast.

  Jessica turned him up on her shoulder and patted his bottom instead of feeding him, though. Her gaze flickered between Amelia and Milo. “Of course, when you have one of your own, Amelia, we shall say the same about your bundle of joy, too.”

  “I hope so,” she murmured, though what the duke might think of any child of hers was troubling.

  When she glanced up again, Chatham was watching her with the strangest expression on his face. One she wasn’t able to fathom.

  “We’d best be off,” he announced suddenly, snapping out of his reverie.

  Jessica pouted. “Oh, it’s too soon for you to go. Can’t you stay a little longer?”

  “No. There will be plenty of time to catch up with each other over the coming weeks of our stay. Coming, Lady Chatham?”

  “Yes, of course.” Amelia stood, surprised by the way Chatham was rushing her away from the first friendly encounter she’d had here. She bid Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield goodbye, with a promise to call again soon.

  She waited until Quigley Hill was some distance away before she let her smile drop. “Jessica tells me we’ll return to Stapleton for Christmas.”

  “Yes, I always come home for the holiday.”

  “For two whole months?”

  “Yes. Everyone does it now.”

  She stopped walking. “Do I have any say in where I go or what I do?”

  His eyes widened, and he stopped, too. “Did you expect to go to your brother’s home instead?”

  “No, of course not.” But she had dreams of a Christmas in her own home that would go unfulfilled if they returned here.

  “Good,” Chatham said, exhaling, and continued walking after his children, leaving her behind. He directed them away from the manor house and disappeared under the trees instead.

  Amelia fumed silently for a few moments and then spun on her heel.

  She should have known not to give her trust so easily, but because she thought she had known Chatham’s character well enough, she’d allowed his courtship, brief as it had been, and asked too few questions about his future plans.

  Her experience had taught her that all men lie, or at least omitted certain facts, to get what they want at all times. Chatham had seemed an open book. He’d been clear about his motives for marriage. He wanted her to mother his children…but had he lied about wanting to give her a life of her own?

  Would she have any say in anything that mattered?

  Chatham was making all the decisions and just expecting her to agree with him and not make a fuss.

  Amelia headed toward Stapleton Manor, appalled by her discovery that she might have been duped. No man had ever considered her their equal.

  “Lady Chatham?”

  She walked faster at hearing her husband call.

  “Lady Chatham! I demand you stop this minute.”

  Amelia stopped, turned, and stood still as the earl rushed toward her.

  He grasped both her arms. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Back to your room.”

  “But they are playing. My children have spent too much time in the nursery in recent weeks, so I thought it would be nice to stay outdoors since the weather is so fair.”

  She raised a brow. “Your children?”

  “I meant ours, of course.”

  “No, you didn’t,” she whispered. That was another promise he could never keep straight in his head, either.

  They stared at each other, but then a woman’s voice intruded.

  “For heaven’s sake, Milo, let the woman go and come join me for a vigorous ride across the fields like we used to do. Your father said you might need a friend to talk sense to you about some great secret.”

  Amelia glanced right to see a stunningly elegant woman seated sidesaddle on a fine chestnut horse. Her gaze was practically devouring Chatham where he stood, and the look and her words spoke of years of intimacy between them. She even used his first name.

  Chatham shook his head. “Another time, Phillipa,” he replied.

  And he used hers.

  “Oh, come now, surely you can spare a little time for a woman in need,” the lady pleaded, inching her riding gown higher. “My foot is not right in the stirrup. I fear I might slip off my horse at any moment.”

  Chatham scowled but took a few steps toward the woman, hand rising to pat her horse, and then he fiddled with her foot in the stirrup. “You should know better.”

  “An honest mishap,” she promised. “My usual horse was unavailable.”

  Amelia might have been invisible for all the notice the pair gave her presence as they continued their conversation. She wrenched herself away from the scene, heavy-hearted, her spirit battered. The likelihood that Chatham had a past lover at the house party made her feel sick to her stomach.

  She’d had such high hope for this marriage, but already she could foresee the cracks turning into chasms. He already did not consult her before he made decisions that affected her life, and he never would unless she took a stand.

  Chatham did not call after her again and she did not look back.

  Amelia returned to the manor alone, trudged upstairs, and headed directly to his bedchamber. She let herself in and immediately covered her face with her hands to hold in a scream. Two days a bride and already consigned to the background. This was no better than the behavior of her own family. She had not expected much, but she had expected a little better of Chatham.

  She crossed the room and sank into the window seat, looking out at the garden but without really seeing it. There was little she could do about him taking a lover. She’d given him permission.

  She was not certain how long she’d sat there before a knock came at the door. Amelia ignored it, imagining her husband standing about to demand she accept his decisions, however wrong they were for her.

  After a moment, the door creaked open.

  Amelia finally turned to look and found the Duchess of Stapleton creeping into the chamber.

  The woman rushed over a moment later, whipping out a handkerchief. “My dear, whatever is the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  The duchess pushed the handkerchief into Amelia’s hand. “I cannot apologize for my husband enough. Oh, I’m so cross with him I could scream!”

  Amelia knew the feeling. She stared at the handkerchief in consternation. “He has said nothing I didn’t expect, Your Grace. The duke has been kind to allow me to stay.” She was always expected to say she was grateful for everything she’d been given, but it burned even worse now.

  “Posh, Nicolas has been a beast to you, and to his son. It worries me that you are so pale. Are you unwell?”

  Amelia turned her gaze back to the view. “I am well, Your Grace. Please think of me no more.”

  The duchess sat at her side and, after a moment, took the handkerchief from her. She pressed it to Amelia’s cheeks, gently blotting under her eyes. Amelia didn’t fight or resist the fussing.

  Her Grace drew back a moment later, frowning. “Marriage can be unsettling for a woman at first.”

  “How true that is,” Amelia agreed, with a shake of her head.

  First, Chatham had to be convinced to bed her, then he would break the promises that mattered to her. “If you don’t mind, I would prefer to be alone.”

  “I’d like to stay,” the duchess replied.

  “I cannot stop you. It is your home, your family,” she whispered, and at the thought of months spent waiting to leave this unfriendly place, tears stung her eyes. Amelia refused to let them fall again, though. She had learned to hide her disappointments.

  She sat stiffly as the duchess’ handkerchief was again pressed into her hand. The woman meant well, but she was another stranger and could be almost as powerless in her marriage as Amelia seemed to be.