Then silence. Jane was asleep, or had fainted from exhaustion, she wasn't sure which. The interior of the carriage was silent as it rocked along the muddy road.
Amelia thought both of them were probably sleeping, or at least Jonathan would have his eyes closed when she chanced a peek. And that moment was the one she knew would be burned into her soul for the rest of her life. She'd remember this, even if Emma's spirit subsumed hers completely and all her former memories left her.
Jonathan rested his chin on the top of Jane's fiery hair. She was asleep, curled into his chest like an exhausted kitten, her small fingers gripping the front of his white shirt and waistcoat. What was so extraordinary about this particular scene was that Jonathan was crying.
The tears coursed down his cheeks, and it seemed as if all the pain in the world were mirrored in his eyes. A pain so deep it seemed to have shattered him.
Amelia couldn't look away. At that moment, she realized the depth of his love for Jane, that he felt her pain as if it were his own, as deeply as she had. He knew her, he could see inside to those most secret recesses of her soul. He knew what tonight had cost her, and it was tearing him apart.
He wasn't thinking about what Jane's folly had done to him, to his dreams, to their impending marriage. He simply empathized, felt her pain, knew her fears. He loved her.
She must have made a slight noise, for somehow Amelia knew she'd alerted him to her presence. His gaze swung to hers, their eyes met, a long frozen moment in time. Amelia almost shrank back, for she knew this certainly had to be a breach in behavior, a most serious offense.
She wasn't even aware of the tears running down her own cheeks.
"We will not speak of this night to anyone," Jonathan said, his deep voice breaking.
Amelia didn't say a word. Couldn't.
"Do you understand?"
She nodded her head.
"We have to protect her."
She found her voice. "Yes."
He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Tell me what happened."
With a certain sort of person, you left out the details, sugarcoated the facts. With Jonathan Lindsey, Amelia sensed that nothing could be left out. He was an extraordinarily sensitive man, but strong as well. He could and would be strong this evening, for both himself and Jane.
Briefly, but with as much detail as she could remember, Amelia recounted their evening.
"And you did not think to come to me?"
“The-this plan came up suddenly. She-she threatened to leave without me. I thought the most prudent course of action was to go with her. To protect her. I had no idea…" She faltered as tears filled her voice and her nose stung painfully. "I had no idea of what that man intended to do to her."
The silence in the rocking, creaking carriage was agonizing.
"I believe you," Jonathan said quietly. "And I thank you, for protecting Jane as best you could." His eyes welled with tears as he looked down at the bright head, nestled so trustingly against his chest. "You acted accordingly."
High praise indeed, from Jonathan Lindsey.
She'd had no idea that Jonathan would have to fight his own father before this long night was over.
The carriage took them to the main entrance of Lindsey House, and Jonathan stepped out first, then swung an exhausted Jane up into his arms. He started up the front steps after giving the driver swift, careful instructions for the grooms. He wanted his horses looked after.
Amelia followed close behind him, knowing where her protection lay. She was so very tired, but filled with the knowledge of what an extraordinary evening this had been. And it was still far from over.
"Get her out of here!" The angry voice came from an old man, sitting in a chair by the fire. Now he rose to his full height and Amelia recognized Edward Lindsey, Jonathan's elderly father.
Jonathan simply kept walking toward the staircase. Amelia followed him, practically running on her short, stubby legs to keep up with his long-legged stride.
"You, young woman. Stop. I won't have this going on in my house."
She knew he was addressing her, knew she was a mere servant and in service to this man's family, but Amelia kept her attention on Jonathan's back. If he continued to move, so would she.
"No, Jonathan!" Now Edward made his final move, and it was quite remarkable for a man of his years. He blocked Jonathan at the foot of the stairs, refusing him entry to the rooms upstairs.
"I won't welcome that whore into my house."
"Step aside, Father."
"You cannot be serious-"
"Get out of my way."
Two strong-willed men, clashing over a woman. Amelia stepped back, knowing she had no place in this particular battle. And sensing that it had been an ongoing one.
"You bloody fool, you'll never know whether your children are your own-"
"If she wasn't in my arms, I'd come after you-"
"I will not have her presence in my house!"
"It's my house as well, old man."
The silence stretched interminably, the only sound the pattering of the rain. Its force had lessened, but still it fell outside, sheeting the garden and vast lawns.
She saw the implacable strength in Jonathan's face, and already knew who the winner in this battle would be. The two men faced off, the younger already the winner in this particularly deadly game of one-upmanship.
"I'll fight you for it, old man. And I'll win. Now, let me by, or suffer the consequences of your foolish actions."
Edward struggled with it, rage apparent on his wrinkled face. He struggled, then finally stepped aside, furious in his defeat. Jonathan started up the stairs, Jane in his arms, Amelia right behind him.
"You fool! You great big bloody fool! She's got you by the bollocks and you can't even see it-"
Amelia heard the sound of another voice, a confused murmur. But she didn't look back as she followed Jonathan up the stairs and through the dark manor house toward the master bedroom.
Apparently he was already the master of Lindsey House, for he occupied its main bedchamber.
Jonathan didn't waste any time. He summoned other servants, and a hot bath was prepared in front of the massive fireplace. He undressed Jane tenderly. She fought him, seemingly caught up in remembering the earlier nightmare.
"Jane," he said as he held her. "Jane, it's all right. I'm not Robert. It's Jon, it's me, darling. You're safe."
Amelia's eyes stung as she watched him help the girl into the bath. Jane cried out in agony as the hot water touched her frozen body. She'd been barely dressed beneath her cloak, and barefoot as well, much more prone to exposure than Amelia had been. Jonathan stayed by her side, talking to her, bathing her, washing the mud and twigs, the leaves and dirt out of her glorious red-gold hair.
He dried her with linen towels, then sat her by the fire and toweled her hair. He helped her dress for bed, in a nightgown and warm wrapper. He rubbed an herbal salve one of the maids brought into the bruises on her face, his ministrations so gentle. Amelia saw a muscle jump in his jaw as Jane reacted to his touch with pain.
She'd tried to stay out of his way as he administered to Jane. Amelia had stood as close to the fire as she'd dared, attempting to get warm. Now that she had a moment in time that was relatively calm, she had to start thinking about what she planned to do with the rest of her life. Perhaps there was a way back to Hugh. She'd come forward in time, she could find a way back. It might simply have to do with the tower room…