could take care of the trash.
* * *
“Aunt Jeanne, really?” Amelia lifted a glossy tabloid magazine off the coffee table where it was sitting and held it up. “I can’t believe you purchase these things.”
Her aunt’s blue eyes were wry as she sat down beside Amelia on the couch. She set the two mugs of herbal tea she was carrying on the coffee table and plucked the glossy out of Amelia’s hands. She spread it over the knees of her faded blue jeans and tapped the small picture on the upper corner of the cover. “It had a picture of you and Lucie,” she defended. “You and your sister looked so pretty. I thought I’d clip it out and put it in my scrapbook.”
Amelia was touched by the thought even though she deplored being on the magazine cover. The photo was from the dedication of one of the orphanages her mother helped establish. Amelia recognized the dress she’d worn to the ceremony. “I don’t even want to know what the article said.” Undoubtedly, it had not focused on the good works of Lady Josephine or Lucie’s latest accomplishments, but the pending nuptials of Amelia and Lord James Banning, the Viscount St. Allen and heir apparent to the Earl of Estingwood.
“No article,” Jeanne Marie corrected. “Not really. Just a small paragraph from close friends—” she sketched quotes in the air “—of ‘Jamelia’ that the wedding date had been set, but was being kept under wraps for now to preserve your and James’s privacy.”
“There is no wedding date,” Amelia blurted. She slumped back on the couch.
“Oh?” Jeanne Marie leaned forward and set the magazine on the coffee table. She picked up her tea and studied Amelia over the rim of the sturdy mug with eyes that were eerily similar to Amelia’s mother.
That was to be expected, she supposed, since Josephine and Jeanne Marie were two thirds of a set of triplets. What wasn’t the norm, was the fact that the siblings had only recently discovered one another. Amelia’s mother hadn’t even known that she’d been adopted until she’d met Jeanne Marie Fortune Jones and their triplet brother, James Marshall Fortune. He was the only reason the trio had found one another after having been separated as young children. There was even another older brother, John Fortune, to add to the new family tree.
Amelia realized her aunt wasn’t gaping at her over the news there was to be no wedding. “You don’t seem very surprised.”
Jeanne Marie lifted one shoulder. “Well, honey. You are here.” And again, even though her words were full of Texas drawl, her mild, somewhat ironic lilt was exactly the same as Josephine’s entirely proper Brit would have been.
It was still startling to Amelia, even after meeting her aunt nearly a year ago.
“I’m assuming you have a good reason for not announcing you broke things off with your young man in England?”
“It’s complicated,” she murmured, even as she felt guilty for leaving her aunt under the impression that there had ever been something to break off in the first place. James had been as much a victim of their supposed engagement as she, since the presumptuous announcement had been issued by his father. But once it had been, and Amelia hadn’t denied it, James had been doing his level best to convince her to make it a reality. Under immense family pressure to make a suitable marriage, he’d given up hope of a match with the girl he really loved—Astrid, who sold coffee at the stand in his building—and tried giving Amelia a family ring in hopes that she’d come around, though she’d refused to take it. “Jimmy and I have known each other a long time.”
While she really only knew Quinn in the biblical sense. The irony of it all was heartbreaking.
“Sometimes a little distance has a way of uncomplicating things,” Jeanne said. “And as delighted as I am to have you here, it does tend to raise a few questions. Particularly havin’ to get you from Quinn Drummond’s place practically before sunup. And havin’ you dressed like you are.”
Amelia’s fingers pleated the hem of the oversize shirt. “I was trying to avoid paparazzi.”
“So you said while we were driving here.” Jeanne Marie finally set down the mug. She was obviously as disinterested in her tea as Amelia was. “What’s going on between you and Quinn?”
“Nothing.” She felt heat rise up her throat.
“And that’s why you called me from his house at seven in the morning. Because nothing is going on between you two.” Jeanne Marie’s lips curved. “In my day, that sort of nothing usually led to a shotgun and a stand-up in front of a preacher whether there was another suitor in the wings or not.”
Amelia winced.
Her aunt tsked, her expression going from wry to concerned in the blink of an eye. “Oh, honey.” She closed her warm hands around Amelia’s fidgeting fingers. “Whatever’s upsetting you can be worked out. I promise you that.”
Amelia managed a weak smile. “I appreciate the thought, Aunt Jeanne. But I grew up with my father always telling us not to make promises we couldn’t keep.”
Jeanne Marie squeezed her hand. “I wish I’d have had a chance to meet your daddy. Your mama says he was the love of her life.”
Amelia nodded. Her father had died several years ago, but his loss was still sharp. “He was.” She couldn’t contain a yawn and covered it with her hand. Despite having slept several hours at Quinn’s, she still could hardly keep her eyes open. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m the sorry one,” Jeanne Marie said. She patted Amelia’s hand and pushed to her feet. “You’re exhausted, honey. You need to be in bed, not sitting here answering questions.”
It took all the energy Amelia possessed to stand, also. “Are you certain I’m not imposing?”
Jeanne Marie laughed. “There’s no such thing as imposing among family, honey. Deke and I raised seven kids in this house. Now they’re all off and living their own lives. So it’s nice to have one of those empty rooms filled again.”
“You’re very kind.” She followed her aunt along the hall and up the stairs to a corner bedroom with windows on two walls. Amelia remembered the room from her first visit to Horseback Hollow six months ago, though it had been her mother who’d been assigned to it then. It was obviously a guest room. Simply but comfortably furnished with a bed covered in a quilt with fading pastel stitching that was all the lovelier for its graceful aging, a side table with dried cat’s tails sticking out of an old-fashioned milk bottle, and a sturdy oak wardrobe. White curtains, nearly translucent, hung open at the square windows and moved gently in the warm morning breeze.
“This used to be Galen’s room,” Jeanne Marie said. “Being the oldest, there was a time he liked lording it over the others that he had the largest room.” She crossed to the windows to begin lowering the shades. “Would have put you in here back when you came for Toby’s wedding in April, but James Marshall and Clara were using it.”
“Leave the windows open,” Amelia begged quickly. “Please.”
“The sunlight won’t keep you awake?”
She self-consciously tugged at her ugly shirt. Light was the least disturbing thing she could think of at the moment. And better to have sunlight than darkness while the memories of the last time she’d been at her aunt’s home were caving in on her. “The breeze is too
