JAXON- Gentlemen of War- Chapter 2!

Amelia

My toes were nearly frozen within my slippers and goose flesh tingled down my spine as I pressed further against the inner branches of a fir tree. The sheer sleeves of my angelic disguise were unmerciful for such an outing, but I had not anticipated being outdoors for so long.

With my customary places of escape taken for one reason or another, I sought the quietness of the gardens if only to keep myself out of sight from the handsome though inept Sir Howard. Though he was pleasing to peer upon, the dull conversation over the dinner dance brought me to yawn three times into my linen napkin. Thank goodness the temperature outside was chilled enough for no one in their right mind to be out in… that is, except me… and well, the two gentlemen on the veranda keeping me trapped from coming indoors. Unbeknownst to them of course.

“You were dreadfully convincing, mate.” One man chuckled. “I’m certain the whole of London will be discussing your churlish manners and banishment by sunrise.”

His comment piqued my interest. I was not naïve enough to believe an element of theatrical pretend did not occur at society events, especially in the delicate frolic of the marriage mart but, when the second man responded, it was the pain in his tone that caught my attention.

“Apparently, I am remarkably gifted in duplicity,” he said.

I groaned inwardly. A suitor bemoaning his task to partner a woman not of his choice for a dance. Woe is me. I placed my gloved hand on my forehead as a dull megrim formed. Will I truly have to be stuck here in the freezing cold listening to how difficult it is to be a gentleman of the peer in these times.

“Presumably one of the reasons I was chosen for the arduous task in the first place.” I peered around the branch again. The few lanterns on the balustrade emitted just enough firelight to expose portions of the man’s silhouette. The tormented stranger with dark hair crumpled his undone cravat in his fists. I narrowed my eyes on his face. The shadows made seeing him clearly arduous outside of his strong-angled jaw and…” I squinted my eyes. A very distinct jagged scar from the upper most part of his neck down to the exposed V of his chest where his cravat should be. A wound from battle, perhaps? The thought tugged the breath from my chest.

The image of a soldier transpired—young and hopeful—with a smile that lit up a room. I chastised myself severely for allowing his appearance after forcing it away for so long. Warm tears disobediently formed and slid down my cold cheeks. I angrily brushed them aside with my gloved fingers and muttered, “Why can they not take their conversation indoors like proper gentlemen of the ton… at least before I became a perpetual icicle on the pine.

“I wasn’t sure how much longer you were going to have to carry on with such foolishness,” The first said with a chuckle.

“Fortunately, Father had finally reached his threshold.” The second sighed. “I do not relish in such deception on intimate levels, however, my family’s safety is paramount.”

Safety? What risks could this man possibly face on the ballroom floor? A woman’s heel to his boot? I scoffed but quickly clamped my hand over my mouth for fear of being heard.

Each voice distinct in their own way, the first man continued, “Will you write to Zachary?”

“Yes, tomorrow.”

“You are certain he will come?”

I was certain I could no longer feel my toes.

“Undoubtedly.”

“Make sure to include a reference to St. Pancras Old Church, April 7th and a clue that hints at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and I will be there as planned to meet him.”

I arched a brow. Subterfuge? St Pancreas Old Church in Somers Town, Camden.

“We will thwart this threat, Jaxon. You did the right thing, mate. You must disappear.”

Disappear? Now, this conversation actually became interesting.

“Let’s just hope our efforts are enough and I particularly hope that my absence will free my family from the ill effects of my ignorance and plight.”

“One day they will thank you for your sacrifice.”

“I only hope I live to see that day.”

The first patted the shoulder of the second. “Your mates will make certain you do.”

I took a deep breath, and a chilling mouthful of cold air practically choked me. Cupping my gloved hands over my mouth, I attempted to bring warmth back, then growled.

I had had enough.

Stepping out from behind the tree with a devil-may-care attitude, I stomped through the fine layer of snow on the ground and up the steps only to find the veranda now empty. Though the safety of a masquerade ball was that they might not recognize me from behind my glittering white mask, I felt partially relieved that I would not face any sort of humiliation from my appearance and the certain fact that they would know I overheard their private conversation. But a small part of me was disappointed that I could not see more clearly the face of that man who so drew my curiosity.

Walking straight to the ladies’ retiring room, I perused cautiously about, searching for hints to the identity of either man, though I was certain the tormented man’s cravat was back properly in place. I would not be able to pick him out from any other gentleman tonight… well aside from Mr. Hemsath’s towering stature and Lord Simmons's portly belly, but it was a masquerade and the mysterious haunted one would likely be donning a mask himself by now.

Reaching the ladies’ room relatively quickly, I sighed my relief that no one else was currently present. It would take some time to induce feeling back into my limbs and I did not need some gossipmonger inventing lies about why I was chilled to the bone.

A quarter of an hour later, I emerged just as refreshed as the moment I stepped down from my carriage, but upon entering the ballroom, I should have prepared myself for the pairs of eyes dispensing daggers in my direction—the right honorable Viscount Newell, my father, and his unpleasant wife of eighteen months, Katrina.

“Amelia!” He snapped with as much of a whisper as he could manage without drawing attention. “We have been looking for you everywhere for near on one hour.”

Katarina narrowed her eyes up and down my attire as if trying to discover a reason to scrutinize me further. “One could only wish she was with a gentleman,” she jeered.

I glared in her direction. I had the only two guardians at the ball who would delight in the notion that their daughter might be compromised. Well, I truly hoped my father did not. “I was in the ladies’ retiring room,” I replied coolly.

Katrina smirked. “You most certainly were not. I checked there first.”

“I would not like to presume, dear stepmother…” a name she detested. “that you are saying I am being untruthful. I first was outside getting some fresh air before I went to the retiring room. We could have simply missed one other.”

“Outside?” She nearly shrieked. “In this weather?”

“Some of us do not blossom in the sweltering heat,” I spoke through gritted teeth.

Her mouth tightened and just before she was going to respond with a quip of her own. Father reached under my elbow and guided me off to the side. “Amelia Rose.” I braced for a lecture—the only time he used my first and middle names together. “It is high time you acknowledged your future. Stop hiding from your suitors and accept a proposal.”

My face blanched. I had no inclination to accept any of the three proposals I had received in the previous fortnight. They were all ridiculous men. Well, not all. Lord Weathersby had potential if he could just look me in the eyes.

“Father, must we speak of this here, now?”

“Yes, since you quite cleverly find ways to not speak with me at home.” He referred to our Tudor in Mayfair.

I pursed my lips long enough to find composure in my features before I spoke. “Because every conversation you and I have, Father, your prying wife must interfere.”

“She is your mother now.”

His words caught me by surprise. “She will never be my mother!” I unhinged his grasp.

“Miss Amelia!” Elizabeth called and waved me over. Perfect timing. I offered a stiff curtsy to my father and departed, joining my dear friend Elizabeth and never looked back.

When I arrived at my friend’s side, another woman tarried beside her—a beautiful, striking lady dressed as a fairy princess in a shimmering silver gown with fragile wings. I knew of Lady Helena Walsh but had never been formally introduced.

“Oh, Amelia!” Elizabeth reached for my hands and brought me to her. “I would like you to meet Lady Helena Walsh. We only recently became acquainted at the Drake Soiree.”

I smiled and curtsied and was instantly put at ease with her calm demeanor and kind eyes. “I am so pleased to meet you, Miss Amelia.” She said, “Miss Elizabeth has told me all about you.”

I arched a brow in my friend’s direction but before she could respond, a handsome man appeared at her side, asking Lady Helena for the next dance.

“This is my husband, Lord Lucas Walsh.”

“Luke, this is Miss Elizabeth Christian and Miss Amelia Newell.”

“Newell?” He rubbed his jaw. “Peter Newell?”

“Yes,” I braced for the prickling assault within my chest. It often rose at the most inopportune times. “My brother.”

His eyes softened. “I’m sorry.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

The silence between us grew until he cleared his voice, “Pardon me while I whisk this lovely lady away before another claims the waltz.”

We smiled and said our goodbyes as they departed. Lady Helena even moved with the grace of a fairy princess. A sting of envy arose over the way Lord Lucas gazed upon his wife. The love he had for her was more than I could bear. A love that I had witnessed with my own parents years ago.

“Can you imagine she gave birth to a daughter a mere three months ago?” Elizabeth’s eyes were fastened to the woman’s slim figure. “Theirs is a story of romantic intrigue, much like your gothic novels, my friend.” She sighed. “Her prince gallantly rescued her from the clutches of a wicked tyrant and they live peacefully in married bliss.”

I groaned.

“Such a daring life is not intended for you and me, Lizzy.”

“Speak for yourself, you petulant crank.”

I chuckled. Elizabeth wished for a life on the stage and often sensationalized her rather boring existence. As the daughter of a baron, who spent more time on the continent than at home, her only supervision came in the form of a former actress from the Globe Theater turned companion.

Though my own father was a viscount and held considerable power, I felt oddly misplaced in the beau monde. While I had attended Miss Mabey’s women of distinction school, was fluent in French, Latin, and conversational Italian, and passable on the pianoforte, none of these skills brought forth the happiness I sought.

“I wonder how Lord Lucas knew Peter?” Elizabeth said, still gazing longingly in their direction.

Peter.

He, Elizabeth, and my lady’s maid, Daisy, were the only ones who knew my true desires… my love for the mysteries of the ancient world. An interest I acquired quite by accident when I stumbled upon the Vestusta Monumenta and the volume that featured Thomas Amyot’s work. Subsequently, I could not get my hands upon enough of his work or the additional volumes. The Hatchards bookshop had come to know me by name, the museums were my second home, and when I could manage it without speculation, I wandered through the old Roman fort ruins off Noble Street. I spent hours with Daisy in tow, studying the stones—from the crumbling portions of the ancient wall, the architecture of the one remaining turret, and arched gate, I wistfully imagined what life must have been like centuries ago.

I loved the unknown, and unexplained history of ancient civilizations—a desire most discouraged for a woman in polite society, so my secret was kept deep within the chambers of my heart.

“What precisely did you disclose to Lady Walsh when she said she heard all about me?” I pursed my lips, bringing Elizabeth’s attention back to me.

She laughed diabolically, which matched her devilish costume substantially well. “Oh please, it’s no secret your father and stepmother are trying to sell you off as quickly as they can.”

I groaned. “But why was this a conversation meant for Lady Helena?” I loved my friend but her loose lips might be the death of me one day.

“I told her of your sudden change in circumstances and she mentioned that she has some experience with unwanted suitors. She kindly offered to give you some advice.”

“I don’t need advice…” I mumbled. “I need an escape.”

Elizabeth shook her head as if she tired of our same old argument. “Where were you earlier? Katrina was in a tirade and your father tried very hard to calm the Tigress.” A nickname we had bestowed the preposterous woman from her resemblances to a tiger in the menagerie with her bright orange hair and sharpened claws.

“I was outside,” I whispered.

She gasped and covered her mouth with her red satin glove, though I could see her eyes shining with mirth. “Only you.” She chuckled. “Only you would seek refuge in the death-defying cold to keep far from the men of London.”

“Not every man.” My eyes disobediently strayed from Elizabeth’s face and peered around once more looking for the mysterious stranger from the veranda. I had my suspicions based on height, shoulder width, and the curl of his dark hair, but other than that, I had nothing. His scar would surely be covered up by a perfectly knotted cravat by now.

“What… or who are you looking for?” Elizabeth arched a brow. “Could it be possible that a gentleman has actually captured the eye of the elusive Amelia Newell?”

My face shot back to hers. I had been too obvious, and Elizabeth knew me too well. “Never!” I smiled deviously. “There is not a man in London I could dream of tolerating longer than a turn about the room.”

“Aren’t we high in the instep,” she smirked. “There are plenty of men here I wouldn’t mind gazing across the table at or better yet, waking up next to.”

I coughed, drawing several looks our way. That is precisely why Elizabeth and I became fast friends. She did not curb her tongue like all the other women in our society circle and I loved her for it.

“Very well,” she peered around the room. “Let’s play our game.” The slight squeal of delight that followed was only hidden by the loud music introducing the quadrille.  “That man over there.” She pointed to a man dressed like a musketeer with his white ruffled shirt, purple cape, and feathered cap slanted on his rather full black wig.

“Do you recognize him?”

“No.”

“Good. Is he Nobility, gentry or usurper?”

I watched carefully the way he interacted with the woman by his side. “Nobility,” I said. “From the slight lift of his chin and the position of his shoulders, he believes he is superior, even more so than the woman he is speaking to.”

“His wife?”

I narrowed my eyes. “um, no, his mannerisms reveal attraction, but its careful coquetry. See how he touches her on the elbow and leans forward just enough to tease when he speaks. His wife must be…” I glanced around and smiled the moment I saw her. “There.” I gestured to a woman across the room dressed as Queen Anne, arms crossed and glaring.

Elizabeth laughed out loud. “Brilliant. Your attention to detail astounds me. The insufferable man is Lord Fenton, the strumpet, his mistress Lady Brookstone.” She pointed in the opposite direction. “Lady Fenton, of course, and if her husband is not prudent, the queen might bring back the guillotine.” She clapped her hands. “Another one.”

I chuckled and peered around, catching my father’s frustrated expression a few paces away. My earlier discourteousness to him and his wife would not be ignored. He waved me over. This was his customary manner of saying our merriment had concluded for the night. However, it was surprisingly early for Katrina who liked to dine and dance until the cock crowed but there was no mistaking my father’s intent.

“I must go, dear Lizzy.” I kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for saving me.”

“You know, Amelia love, you are going to meet your match one day and I hope I am present to see you thoroughly smitten.”

“Hardly.” I laughed as I walked away. That, merely was only a dream.

I joined Father and Katrina at the base of the grand staircase and retrieved my silver pelisse from one of the Byrne’s footmen. However, when I circled around toward the door, it slipped clumsily from my hands onto the floor.

A man appeared and retrieved it. “Please allow me, miss,” he said in a warm, casual tone.

He wore a black fitted suit and simple black mask but there was no dismissing the deep blue eyes that peered through. They held my attention more than propriety allowed.

“Thank you,” I replied, still flummoxed over the astounding color of his eyes as he handed my cover to me, hesitating only a heartbeat before he whispered,

“Guarded by an Angel mild, witless woe, was ne'er beguil'd!” The words flowed seamlessly as the gentleman dipped into a bow and then quickly disappeared.

I recognized the words from William Blake’s poem, The Angel. I stood mesmerized as a trace of familiarity in his voice thrummed through me. Could that have been him? Due to the darkness shrouding the upper portion of the mystery man’s face, I could not see the color of his eyes, but his voice sounded faintly familiar. I watched him until he disappeared back into the ballroom, then sighed dramatically. I suppose I will never know.

“Amelia?” Father called from the entryway.

“Yes, I’m coming.” Once I placed the coat over my shoulders, I relished the feel of the soft fur. This would have been nice to have outside when I was forced to hide in a tree. I stole one more peek toward the ballroom and the notion that the enigmatic man still remained inside, nevertheless, I wasn’t quite sure what captivated me so. Was it the clandestine lure of danger and my inclination to know what forced him to flee? Or the torment in his voice? Perhaps it was the possibility he was a soldier haunted by war. I shook my head. I had no business trying to insert myself into something that had absolutely nothing of consequence to do with me. But I could not deny that the draw was certainly there.