about those poor children now—which felt better, safer, than thinking about Grenville. She took the plates from Lucas and began setting the table grimly. She was so saddened for the children. Grenville was probably grieving, as well, but she did not want to consider him or his feelings, even if he was her neighbor.
She put the last plate down on the rather ancient dining-room table and stared at the highly polished, scarred wood. So much time had gone by. Once, she had been in love, but she certainly didn’t love Grenville now. Surely she could do what was right.
In fact, she hadn’t seen Simon Grenville in ten years. She probably wouldn’t even recognize him now. He was probably overweight. His hair might be graying. He would not be a dashing young rake, capable of making her heart race with a single, heavy look.
And he would hardly recognize her. She was still slender—too slender, in fact—and petite, but her looks had faded as all looks were prone to do. Although older gentlemen still glanced at her occasionally, she was hardly as pretty as she had once been.
She felt some small relief. That terrible attraction which had once raged would not burn now. And she would not be intimidated by him, as she had once been. After all, she was older and wiser now, too. She might be an impoverished gentlewoman, but what she lacked in means she made up for in character. Life had made her a strong and resolute woman.
So when she did see Grenville, she must offer her condolences, just as she would to any neighbor suffering from such a tragedy.
Amelia felt slightly better. There was some small relief. That silly memory had been just that—silly.
“I am sure the family is reeling,” Lucas was saying quietly. “She was certainly too young to die. St. Just must be in shock.”
Amelia looked up carefully. Lucas was right. Grenville had to have loved his beautiful wife very much. She cleared her throat. “You have taken me by surprise, Lucas, as you always do! I was hardly expecting you, and you step in the door, with such stunning news.”
He put his arm around her. “I am sorry. I heard about Lady Grenville when I stopped in Penzance to change carriages.”
“I am very concerned about the children. We must help the family in every way that we can.” She meant her every word. She never turned her back on anyone in need.
He smiled slightly. “Now that is the sister I know and love. Of course you are concerned. I am sure Grenville will make the appropriate arrangements for everyone, once he can think clearly.”
She stared thoughtfully. Grenville was undoubtedly in shock. Now, deliberately, she kept his dark, handsome image at bay—remembering that he was likely fat and gray. “Yes, of course he will.” She surveyed the cheerfully set table. It wasn’t easy making up a table, not when their circumstances were so pinched. The gardens were not yet in bloom, so the centerpiece was a tall silver candelabra, left over from better times. An ancient sideboard was the only piece of furniture in the room, and their best china was displayed there. Their hall was as sparsely furnished. “Luncheon will be ready in a few more minutes. Will you go upstairs and get Momma?”
“Of course. And you did not have to go to this trouble.”
“I am thrilled when you are home. Of course we will dine as if we are an ordinary family.”
His smile was wry. “There are few ordinary families left, Amelia, not in these times.”
Her small smile faded. Lucas had just walked in the door moments ago, and she hadn’t seen him in a month or more. There were shadows under his eyes and a small scar on his cheekbone, which hadn’t been there before. She was afraid to ask how he’d gotten it, and even more afraid to ask where. He was still a dangerously handsome man, but the revolution in France and the war had entirely changed their lives.
Before the French monarchy had fallen, they had all lived simple lives. Lucas had spent his time managing the estate, his biggest concern increasing the productivity of their mine and quarry. Jack, who was a year her junior, had been just another Cornish smuggler, laughing about outracing the Revenue Men. And her younger sister, Julianne, had spent her every spare moment innocently in the library, reading everything she could and honing her Jacobin sympathies. Greystone Manor had been a busy, happy home. Although the small estate depended almost entirely upon an iron quarry and tin mine for its income, they managed well enough. Amelia had an entire family to take care of—including her mother. The only thing that the war hadn’t changed was that Momma remained entirely senile.
John Greystone, her father, had left the family when Amelia was only seven years old, and Momma had begun losing her grip on reality shortly thereafter. Amelia had instinctively stepped into the breach, helping with the household, making shopping lists and planning menus, and even ordering their few servants about. And mostly she had cared for Julianne, then a toddler. Their uncle, Sebastian Warlock, had sent a foreman to manage the estate, but Lucas had taken over those duties before he was even fifteen. Theirs had been an unusual household, but it had been a busy and familial one, filled with love and laughter, no matter the financial strain.
The house was nearly empty now. Julianne had fallen in love with the Earl of Bedford when he had been deposited at the manor by their brothers, while at death’s door. Of course, she hadn’t known who he was—he had seemed to be a French army officer at the time. It had been a very rocky road—he had been a spy for Pitt and she had been a Jacobin sympathizer. It was still rather amazing, but she had recently eloped with Bedford, and she had just given birth to their daughter in London, where they lived. Amelia shook her head, bemused. Her radical sister was now the Countess of Bedford—and madly in love with her Tory husband.
Her brothers’ lives had changed because of the war, as well. Lucas was rarely at Greystone Manor now. Because they were but two years apart in age, and because they had taken over the roles of their parents, they were close. Amelia was his confidante, although he did not tell her every detail of his affairs. Lucas had not been able to sit idly by while the revolution swept over France. Some time ago, Lucas had secretly offered his services up to the War Office. Even before the Terror began sweeping France, there had been a flood of émigrés fleeing the revolutionaries—fleeing for their lives. Lucas had spent the past two years “extracting” émigrés from the shores of France.
It was a dangerous activity. If Lucas were ever caught by the French authorities, he would be instantly arrested and sent to the guillotine. Amelia was proud of him, but she was also so afraid for him.
She worried about Lucas all of the time, of course. He was the anchor of the family—its patriarch. But she worried about Jack even more. Jack was fearless. He was reckless. He acted as if he thought himself to be immortal. Before the war, he had been a simple Cornish smuggler—one of the dozens making such a living, and following in the footsteps of too many of his ancestors to count. Now Jack was making a fortune from the smuggling of various goods between the countries at war. No game could be more dangerous. Jack had been outwitting and outrunning the Royal Navy for years. Before the war, a prison sentence had awaited him if he were ever captured. Now, however, he would be accused of treason if the British authorities caught him defying the blockade of France. Treason was a hanging offense.
And from time to time, Jack aided Lucas in smuggling people across the channel.
Amelia was grateful that, at least, Julianne was comfortably settled and preoccupied with her husband and daughter. She met Lucas’s probing regard. “I worry about you and I worry about Jack. At least I don’t have to worry about Julianne now.”
He smiled. “On that point I agree. She is well cared for and out of all danger.”
“If
