Amelia (Southern Hearts Book 2) Read online

  Amelia

  Southern Hearts Series

  By

  Felicia Rogers

  Amelia

  Southern Heart Series

  Copyright © 2014 by Felicia Rogers

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Contact Information:

  Website: http://feliciarogersauthor.weebly.com

  Email: [email protected]

  Published by:

  Felicia Rogers

  Cover Design by Dingbat Publishing

  http://dingbatpublishing.weebly.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  Author's Note:

  Cora (Excerpt)

  The Ruse (Excerpt)

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my Louisiana family.

  Chapter One

  "Two years?" asked Priscilla incredulously.

  "Indeed. And her parents are none too happy about it, either. I heard Stephen promised Millicent she could come home at least once a year, and then he up and forbade her from coming at all."

  Amelia hastened from the mercantile leaving Priscilla and her unnamed friend behind. Mother always said eavesdropping brought nothing but trouble. In this case, she was right.

  "What are you doing?"

  Cora's voice rang behind her and Amelia jumped. "Must you always sneak up on me?"

  "I wasn't sneaking up on you, Miss Prim."

  "Cora, I asked you not to call me that."

  "Well, if the shoe fits."

  "If the shoe fits? Where do you come up with these sayings? Maybe Mother should speak with your friends' parents. Clearly your influences need adjusting."

  Cora planted her hands on her hips. Tall and slender, she reminded Amelia of a bean pole. "I'm sixteen and mother trusts me. You're just jealous of how cultured my friends are."

  Amelia rolled her eyes and climbed into the family carriage. "Where are Father and Isaac?"

  "I think they're at Mr. Hopkins' place."

  "Oh." Amelia hid her curiosity. What possible reason could they have for visiting the Hopkins' family?

  Cora stood at the open door of the carriage. "While you were out and about, did you overhear any…" She paused and lowered her voice, "…talk?"

  Amelia bit the inside of her cheek. Rumors had circulated throughout the community like a wildfire on a dry hill since Millie denounced her portion of the Beaumont Plantation and moved to South Carolina. The town's inhabitants believed Millie had left in disgrace; only her family knew the truth.

  Pure as the driven snow, Millie had married Stephen Green knowing he would care for her and she would have no further need of her father's support. She had released her rights to the Beaumont fortune, which allowed Amelia and Cora to have larger inheritances.

  Avoiding Cora's question, Amelia started talking about the new fabric bolts in the mercantile. Soon, their father, Henri Beaumont, and Isaac, their household servant, returned to the carriage.

  Henri said, "Cora, climb in so we can retrieve your mother."

  "Where is she?" asked Cora, as Isaac assisted her into the coach.

  "At Miss Trudy's."

  Amelia covered her mouth to hide her shock. Trudy Turnbuckle, the old biddy, instigated most of the town's gossip. One didn't need to purchase a newspaper with her around. The young people in town had aptly nicknamed her – The Press.

  A few minutes later, Isaac pulled in front of the Turnbuckle home and Alice Beaumont stomped out. Red-faced and swinging her arms in an angry gait, she threw open the carriage door, climbed inside with her husband's help, and plopped against the leather interior with a loud thud.

  "I never!" she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Henri frowned as Isaac pulled from the driveway and set the horses on their way toward home.

  Cora fidgeted and leaned over to Amelia. She whispered, "I wonder what happened."

  Amelia lifted her hand to shush her sister, but it was too late. Her mother faced them, her face angry and as pink as a radish.

  "Do you want to know what happened?" she asked.

  Amelia shook her head. "No, I don't think–"

  Her mother cut her off. "I'll tell you what happened. That woman, oh, she makes me so angry; why, she told the entire town that Millie has stayed away because she's upset with us. She even insinuated we have an issue with Stephen! The nerve! Why would she pretend to know information concerning our family? As far as I know, we haven't spoken to Miss Trudy or any Turnbuckle since last year's Christmas dinner at church."

  Alice continued her rant without leaving an opening for response. Cora twisted her hands in the folds of her gown. Amelia arched a brow and commiserated with her mother.

  As soon as they arrived home, Cora jumped from the moving vehicle. Amelia waited until the carriage came to a halt before excusing herself and hurrying to catch her sister.

  Fists lifted into the air and mumbling, Cora stomped around the stone bench in the middle of the east garden.

  "What did you do?" asked Amelia.

  Cora froze.

  "You might as well tell me. It's obvious you feel guilty."

  Cora opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  "You know if you said something about Millie and our personal affairs, you'll only feel better if you come clean."

  "Wh-what?" she stuttered.

  Amelia shook her head. "Don't worry; I'm sure you meant no harm. Mother will forgive you. Besides, we know the rumors aren't true. Millie isn't mad at us. Perhaps she hasn't visited because she is so busy with her new life. Regardless, I'm sure there is a logical explanation for her absence–"

  "Amelia, what are you talking about? I never said a word about Millie."

  "Then why are you acting so–"

  "It wasn't me." Cora paused before adding, "It was you."

  ****

  "Stephen, you must speak with him."

  Millie's loud whisper echoed along the hallway reaching Charles' ears. The glass touched his lips and the liquor poured onto his tongue, burning like molten lava as it slid down his throat.

  Two years had passed and the betrayal still felt fresh, the wound open and raw. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have left everything in Victor's clutches?

 
The voices diminished as Millie and Stephen exited the hallway. Charles collapsed into a plush velvet chair and stared at the roaring fire before closing his eyes. The light from the flames penetrated his closed lids. Air hissed as the wood shifted. The logs popped and crackled.

  Why? That was the question he couldn't get past. Why had his uncle betrayed his trust? Why had he–

  "Charles?"

  He jerked upright and opened his eyes. Liquid sloshed from his glass and stained his shirt. He made an exasperated sound and placed the vessel on the table next to his chair. When he looked up, Stephen studied him, his lips drawn into a thin line.

  "We need to talk."

  "About what? About my living here? About my surly attitude? About how, when Millicent says jump, you do so without question?"

  Stephen stalked into the room, his shoulders rigid. He stopped in front of Charles and slapped his palm on the table. The sound echoed through the high ceilinged room. "Leave Millicent out of this; it has nothing to do with her."

  Charles jumped to his feet. "Then pray tell, what does it have to do with, because I want to know."

  Stephen's voice rose. "It has to do with you lounging around feeling sorry for yourself. You need to be a man and get out there and make your way. This person," Stephen pointed at him, "is not you. Even after your–"

  "Don't say it. Don't talk about my parents. This has nothing to do with them."

  Stephen sighed. "Look, Millie and I want to help you, but you have to be willing to help yourself."

  Defiantly, Charles crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you suggest? That I should march over to my property and demand that my uncle–"

  Stephen interrupted. "Regaining your property will not happen overnight. In fact as much as I hate to admit it, it may never happen. No, what I have in mind is something much simpler."

  Chapter Two

  The trip from Louisiana to South Carolina followed the route Millicent had shared in her letters. Scant inns, rotted food, and unsavory company littered the ever changing landscape. Amelia cringed as she passed through filthy towns filled with little more than starving farmers and wayward strangers.

  After a fortnight of uncomfortable travel, she reached Walterborough, South Carolina, a town some miles west of Charleston. The driver of the carriage deposited her in front of a worn building. A handcrafted sign in the window labeled the establishment as the Town Hotel. She grabbed her bags, thanked the driver, approached the house, and knocked on the door.

  A young girl answered. "May I help you, miss?"

  "Yes, please. I'm looking for a room for the night. Would you be so kind as to fetch the owner?"

  "I'm afraid I can't do that."

  Amelia cocked a brow and tossed her hair behind her shoulder. The urge to stomp her foot was stifled only by the thinness of her footwear.

  "And why ever not? I've traveled farther than a person should in one day's time and I wish to bed down for the night before I complete my journey."

  "Not to be rude, miss, but the hotel is all filled up."

  "All filled up?" whispered Amelia.

  "Sure is."

  The young girl went to close the door but Amelia grabbed the facing and pushed. "This can't be. You see I must have a room. My sister will be waiting for me tomorrow at this very spot, and if I'm not here then how will she find me?"

  The girl blinked.

  Releasing a pent up breath, Amelia asked, "Might you recommend another hotel?"

  "I don't reckon so," she said and shut the door in Amelia's face.

  Amelia grabbed her bags and stepped off the porch. What a sorry shape she was in. Millie wouldn't arrive until tomorrow and here she was with nowhere to stay.

  Masses of people moved through the street and jostled her along. As she approached the housing district the crowds thinned.

  Coins lined a bag tied to her thigh and hidden beneath the folds of her skirt. Perhaps she could hire a carriage to drive her to the Green Estate then she would have no need of a room.

  Drivers sat high atop uncovered buckboard wagons. Amelia approached and asked to purchase their services but they looked at her as if she'd grown horns. Either they didn't understand her speech, or they didn't know the location of the Green Estate, both of which distressed her.

  Bags in tow, she started back toward town. Boys on stilts lit lanterns on long black poles lining the streets. She called out to them and asked for directions to the nearest hotel. Most ignored her but the ones who answered sent her back to whence she'd come.

  Along her route, one building sported a covered porch and harbored tables. Amelia sat in one of the chairs and cradled her chin in her palm. Soon the sun would dip behind the mountains and the lanterns would be all that kept her from complete darkness.

  What was she going to do? For sure she couldn't stay here. She stood, breathed a hearty sigh, picked up her bags, and started to search once more. Surely a town of such size, and in such proximity to one of the oldest towns in the United States, would have more than one hotel. The idea that such was not the case seemed preposterous.

  Rutted, the cobblestone pathway wound on forever. Amelia's foot dropped into a hole; she lost her balance, and would have toppled onto her face had it not been for an unexpected hand that steadied her.

  "Whoa, there miss."

  Amelia looked up into a set of pale blue eyes. "Thank you."

  "You really should be more careful. Traveling in the city at night can be quite treacherous for one such as yourself."

  She dropped her bags, and tugged on her cloak. The gist of the man's comment hit her and she frowned and asked, "What do you mean?"

  The man smiled, showing a row of perfectly white teeth. A strand of blond hair fell across his forehead and he swept it into place with the twist of his neck. "I meant no offense. It is just that a young lady of your beauty shouldn't be walking alone through the streets at night."

  "Oh," she said, feeling heat rush to her cheeks.

  "Is there somewhere I can take you? Perhaps to a family member or a hotel?"

  Amelia sighed. "If only you could."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I'm sorry. My name is Amelia Beaumont, and you see, I've just arrived from a very long journey. I've come to visit my sister and I had plans to stay at the hotel because she will be there tomorrow to retrieve me, but unfortunately the hotel is full, and there seems to be no other place in this town to acquire a room."

  The man widened his eyes, his mouth agape.

  Her cheeks burned hotter. "Sorry, I talk when I'm nervous."

  "I see."

  Forgetting propriety, she allowed more words to burst from her like a breaking dam. "So can you help me? If you think you can that is wonderful, but if you don't think you can, I need to know now because I need to find some kind of shelter, and as you can see, the sun is lowering and darkness will soon be here, and I'm still without a roof over my head."

  "This is quite a predicament. But I believe I have a solution."

  The man ignored her crazed ramblings and offered to help her. It seemed too good to be true.

  "You do?"

  "That is if you don't mind staying at the home of a local."

  She hitched her bag higher on her arm. "Hmm, I guess it depends on who the local is."

  "I meant me."

  "You? But I d–don't even know your name."

  "I can remedy that. My name is Victor Vincent. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He offered his hand. Finished shaking, he pointed along the path. "I have a townhouse close by. There is more than enough room for you to stay."

  "I don't know. I–"

  "I understand respectability dictates that another woman is in the house. Rest assured there are a multitude of slaves within the confines of my walls. They will take care of your every need and keep every scandalous rumor at bay."

  "Slaves?"

  "But of course. Now if you will follow me I'll be glad to give you shelter."

  Amelia hesitated. The offer to stay
in the home of Victor Vincent wasn't an unwelcome one. Handsome and charming, he managed to gather her attention in a matter of minutes. And there was something about him that seemed so familiar. His name, what was it about his name? She couldn't put her finger on it.

  What other options did she have? She couldn't contact Millie. The hotel was full. No one else had bumped into her on the street and offered her room and board.

  Her mother and father would be aghast if they knew she even contemplated such an offer.

  Victor stopped a few feet away and held out his hand, maintaining the pose until she stepped forward.

  "Thank you for your kind offer. I would be delighted to stay with you."

  ****

  The arrival at the townhouse happened without fanfare. Victor opened the door and they entered. Men and women of color lined up and stood at attention until he dismissed them.

  "I'm sure you're hungry."

  "Yes."

  "I'll have the cook fix you something."

  "And you? Will you dine with me?"

  "I ate at the club, but I would be happy to converse with you while you eat."

  The attention caused heat to flush her cheeks once more. He led her to the parlor. A fire roared in the fireplace, and she moved close to warm her hands.

  "Is the weather in South Carolina always so wet?"

  "Mostly in the summer months. May I ask where you hail from Miss Beaumont?"

  "From a plantation close to Bayou Sara, Louisiana."

  "The home of the swamps," he said with a breathy tone.

  "Precisely," she said with a smile. "Of course, I live next to a swampy area so to me it is just home."

  "I can imagine." Silently he looked her up and down.

  A shiver of anticipation raced along her spine and Amelia backed closer to the fire.

  "Don't get too close to the flames, my dear, or you might get burned."

  Amelia gasped and moved away as the heat filtered through the thin fabric of her skirt. A bell rang and Victor stood and lifted his hand, indicating she should follow.