"What had happened?"
"The folks around here said Jonathan went a little mad before he died. Burned the west wing to the ground, along with the garden. He'd been quite the gardener; he'd even created a flower distinctly his own. It's in some of his sketchbooks and journals, the details about all that."
"Could I see them?" Now that she'd read Jonathan Lindsey's most intimate letters, she felt compelled to get to know the man through his work.
"I'd be delighted to show them to someone who's interested. Not many are, in these parts. Not many who understand exactly what it is I'm trying to do."
"And that is?"
"Break the curse."
That stopped her cold, but she schooled her face into acceptance and decided to give this delightful old man a chance to explain himself.
"A curse."
"The Lindsey curse. It's been hanging over this house since Jane took her life, and I'm determined to see it put to an end before I die."
She hesitated, aware that his full attention was on her.
"Come now. Tell me what you felt when you came up to this room. After the letters."
She wondered how honest she could be with John Lindsey, then decided to go for broke. The worst that could happen was that he'd pack her off on a train to London the following morning.
She swallowed, suddenly nervous. "That you all have a ton of money but can't find happiness."
"My point exactly. Now, my Hugh has started breaking the curse, though he doesn't know it. It all started when he refused to let the house go."
She'd heard of Hugh, his single-handed attempt to keep the creditors at bay, his financial work in London. He was a regular Scarlett O'Hara fighting to save Tara, but with a lot more ethics than that particular fictional character had possessed.
She didn't get to sleep until almost five in the morning, and woke at nine, the sun streaming in the large bedroom windows as a maid opened the heavy drapes.
"I didn't mean to wake you. Just thought you might like some air."
Amelia didn't want to waste a single day of her great adventure at this house. She got out of bed, showered, dressed, then headed for the kitchen. Taking a scone and a mug of tea at Mrs. Edwards's suggestion, she left the fragrant kitchen and approached the cow stalls, now dog kennels.
She found John there, working with a heartbreakingly thin, sad-eyed sheepdog.
"You have a way with them," she said, keeping her voice low. It wouldn't do to startle the poor animal.
"I do. I wanted to study veterinary medicine, but we didn't have the means. Now I simply try to do what I can."
They spent the morning exercising the dogs, then had lunch at a table by the garden. Afterward, they retired to the tower room, and Jonathan Lindsey's life. They worked nonstop for several hours, then John walked her through one of the hallways in his part of the great house.
Black-and-white photos adorned one wall, and Amelia made her interest known. John identified the various relatives, frozen in time in the photos.
One, of a little boy taking tea with his teddies and his obviously adoring mother, caught her eye.
"My daughter, Frances, Hugh's mother. That's Hugh, around three. He was an only child, though she wanted more."
"And she lives where?"
John paused, and Amelia was immediately sorry she'd asked.
“She was killed. A riding accident. Her husband was in a car accident shortly thereafter. He never got over losing her."
"And Hugh?" She thought of the little boy in the picture, with no parents or siblings to take comfort in.
"Came to live with me. I raised him, but it wasn't the same for him. He missed them terribly."
"How old was he?"
"Twelve. Not a good age to lose one's parents."
She placed her hand on John's arm, offering him comfort. "I don't think there's ever a good time for something like that."
Her days fell into a routine. Walking the dogs, exercising the two old horses that still lived in the stable. Enjoying tea every day at five. Working on the letters and journals. Enjoying Lindsey House and all that its eighty acres contained: the dovecote, the boathouse, the flower beds, the library and sitting room, the fresh herbs from the kitchen garden, Hugh's mother's watercolors, the sleepy river with its pair of swans.
The soft roll of the lawns. The beautiful misty mornings. A crackling fire on a cool day, the afternoon tea table set with beautiful china. Feeding the goats and rounding up the chickens. The distinctive scent of the lavender furniture polish the maids used. The exquisite smells of baking from Mrs. Edwards's kitchen.
She began to understand Hugh on a deeply emotional level, and why he'd fought to keep all this in his family. But nothing could have prepared her for actually meeting him.
She'd been breakfasting in the garden, throwing crumbs from her scone to one of the starlings, when she looked up and saw Hugh Lindsey in the kitchen doorway. He was studying her, and had the oddest expression on his handsome face.
He came forward quickly, offering her his hand.
"You must be Amelia. I can't thank you enough for the time you've spent with my grandfather."
She started to rise, but he gestured her back. He sat down in one of the other chairs, a mug of hot tea in his free hand. He was still holding hers.
It happened that instant. To both of them. But he was more honest than she was. She tried to deny it.
"It's fascinating work," she said quickly as she disengaged her fingers from his. She knew she was about to babble, but she didn't care. Anything to put some distance between them.
He was a glorious man, strong in both body and face. Hugh possessed the same dark coloring that had fascinated her in Jonathan Lindsey's portrait in the great hall. The two men looked rather alike, with their high, strongly defined cheekbones, fiercely intelligent blue eyes, and longish dark hair.
He seemed to read her mind.
"Yes, I do resemble him. I hope Grandfather hasn't bored you to tears with his ideas about the Lindsey curse."
"You don't believe in it?"
"No." He set his mug of tea down on the wooden table, leaned back in his chair, and studied her intently. "But I do believe we're here for a specific reason."
"I do, too." She felt slightly more relaxed with him- slightly-and took another sip of her morning tea.
"But I don't agree with Grandfather. I believe we are our own destiny. Through who we are, the choices we make day by day. What we show our children, what we pass on to them. We're constantly creating and molding the future all the time."
He fascinated her. He frightened her. She was due up in the tower room in less than fifteen minutes, yet they talked nonstop for over two hours. When Amelia finally realized the time, she glanced up toward the window of the tower room, which was clearly visible from the kitchen garden.
John, that rascal, was sitting in the window. He laughed out loud as he waved to them.
Hugh's proposal was swift in coming. Within days, he'd shipped a fax machine, several computers, and a modem to Lindsey House, telling all who would listen that he wanted to spend a little more time with his grandfather.
Unspoken was the fact that he spent most of his time with Amelia.
He could be heartbreakingly romantic, and they took long walks with the dogs over the rolling green hills. John worked on in the tower room alone, not minding this particular interruption one bit.
They were having a picnic down by the boathouse one afternoon when it happened. They'd both finished Mrs. Edwards's sumptuous repast, and were lying on the blanket Hugh had spread beneath the huge walnut tree.
"I love the swans," she said drowsily. "They're always together and they look so graceful."
"They mate for life, you know." Something in his tone made her turn toward him. The minute she saw his face, she knew.
"Hugh-"
"Marry me, Amelia."
How like Hugh. Not will you marry me, but marry me. Then she saw the uncertainty in his blue eyes, and her fear lost its edge.