As the warm ebbs of summer winds had yet to completely dissolve into crisp fall gales, Amelia delighted in taking daily walks in the extensive gardens that surrounded the manor house. It was an activity that provided her with both exercise and private contemplation. Often, she would bring along a book to read while sitting on a bench in the copse to the east of the grand fountain.   This reading spot afforded her many moments of enlightenment, as if the sun cascading through the boughs of the trees metaphorically illuminated her thoughts.  When Fordyce's Sermons felt tame and prosaic, Amelia would exchange her copy for a novel of less spiritual import.  A particular favourite was The Mysteries of Udolpho, and other such gothic novels.  Such diversions were best consumed in hermetic fashion, as proclivities towards the sensational were best kept private, especially when in mixed company.

The manor's library boasted an extensive collection of books from which Amelia could choose. She relished the ritual of seeking out the perfect tomb to occupy her mind. Her voracious appetite for literature had been encouraged by her mother at a young age, as she was desirous of presenting all her daughters as well educated ladies.  However, for all her admonishment, Amelia's mother lacked discipline in the literary arts, and would, more often than not, employ her skills at needlepoint or other decorative skills instead.  Amelia's father was the true bibliophile. He applied his recommendations frequently and with such fervour, that Amelia could not help but be enamoured with reading. This connection had created deep and lasting affection between father and daughter that could scarce be rivaled.

As the weather was fine this morning, with only a moderate breeze, Amelia left the manor house well before breakfast.  After taking a turn about the rose garden, she decided to extend her walk to include the yard as well. The wind was cool, brightening her cheeks with her efforts, but not so keen as to cut through the very fine wool fabric of her Kashmir shawl . She was thankful she had chosen her plain bonnet as the wind whipped past, blowing her curls across her face. Once reaching the top of the hill near the end of the yard, she stole a look back towards Eagleton Manor, and gazed at the glory of her new stately home. Little did I ever imagine that I should be mistress of all this, thought Amelia, as there was always a chance that John may not have chosen me as his wife. How much I have gained!

The early morning sunshine reflected perfectly on the windows and the waters of the fountain. Such a lovely prospect! I should do well to bring my watercolours tomorrow, Amelia reflected. Pausing for a moment longer, Amelia's eyes were soon drawn towards a coach that was now chauffeuring towards the house. Amelia started, having not expected any visitors to arrive before midday. Knowing full well that John was occupied in his library, Amelia immediately dashed toward the house lest the visitant be expected to apply to the housekeeper alone for admittance.

Her brisk march down the hill soon succumbed to sprinting, as she felt invigorated with the physical effort and propelled along by zephyr at her back. Catapulting forward while blithely laughing, she sprinted until her sides ached and she was within view of the main house. Pausing at the copse momentarily to catch her breath, Amelia espied the carriage passing through the gate.  Hastening anew, Amelia dashed towards the house and entered through the kitchen just as the coach halted in front of the manor.  Hastily removing her shawl and bonnet in the hallway and passing them to her lady's maid, Amelia stroked a hand through her wind-blown hair and promptly seated herself in the drawing room just at the butler opened the door to announce her guest.   Shrewdly, she placed a novel in her lap, hoping the stranger would not note the rattling of her breath and brightened colour in her cheeks spurned on by her recent calisthenics.  

"Mr. Thomas Archer."

Advantageously using the brief detainment of Mr. Archer in the doorway as he handed his top hand, gloves and walking stick to Jennings, Amelia readjusted her posture and composure.  Elegance of manners was required in welcoming him, yet she had not been married so long as to be accustomed to greeting gentleman callers without a chaperone.  She hope the fuss of his arrival would be reason enough for John to quit his affairs and come to the drawing room without her requiring to summon him formally.  Opening her book, Amelia raised it surreptitiously near her face so that she could also take in his figure without pretense.  Starting at his feet, Amelia examined his figure as he entered the room.

Hessians, newly purchased, Amelia surmised by the lack of scuffs on the finely minted leather.  Tan pantaloons made of nankin, a practical choice for traveling, showing off slim and muscular legs.  A plain black tail coat with a simple muslin shirt and cravat finished off the outfit.  A fitting and practical ensemble for a gentleman who has recently quitted his uniform.  Unable to lift her eyes further without drawing attention to her perusal, Amelia closed her book and stood to receive Mr. Archer, keeping her eyes demurely lowered to the floor.  She curtsied quickly and he returned the salutation before they both sat down.  Amelia resumed her seat, and Mr. Archer aptly applied himself to a chaise directly opposite the room from her.

How awkward, Amelia thought, that have not been formally introduced before now.  She willed John to appear immediately less this discomfiture of silence be protracted longer than either of them could endure.  As she sat, Amelia could feel her companion's eyes roving over her figure in reciprocation.  As discomforted as she felt in being the subject of his gaze, Amelia garnered no impertinence from the act.  It was if Mr. Archer was simply a studious man who was appraising his new surroundings and she happened to be in his midst.  She longed to gaze upon the visage of this newcomer, but etiquette dictated that this could not be done.  Having already challenged her ladylike deportment through her hurried return to the manor, she would not jeopardize her, or John's reputation, further.

At this juncture, John entered the room providing the reprieve Amelia so desired.  Amelia released the breathe she was unaware that she was holding in her breast, and prayed that her braying alluded Mr. Archer's apparently fastidious attention to detail.  Though, if John's sudden glance in her direction as he bowed in greeting was any indication, she suspected that believing that conclusion would be self-deception of the utmost degree.

"Mr. Archer.  How pleased I am to make your acquaintance in person.  We did not expect you before this afternoon."

"Mr. Dyer", Mr. Archer nodded.  "I am pleased to be here.  I had intended to arrive as planned this afternoon, but as my coach was not waylaid with additional passengers at out last stage, we continued on to Eagleton post-haste," Mr. Archer replied.  His voice was deep, warm and inviting, yet reserved in its pragmatic and didactic address.

"Let me have the pleasure of introducing you to my wife, and dear childhood friend, Mrs. Amelia Dyer."

Incredulous that John would consider introducing her such an informal manner, Amelia started, and looked up quickly.  John had crossed the room and was standing next to Mr. Archer, causing Amelia to have a fleeting glance of a pair of bright blue eyes centered on her face.  Regaining her composure, Amelia bowed her shoulders once more to acknowledge the introduction, and slowly lifted her eyes to fully appraise her newest family member in a more ladylike manner.

Unsure of what she had been expecting, Amelia was all astonishment as she considered the man before her.  For all of John's fairness and lightness in demeanor, Mr. Archer was the exact opposite.  His hair was dark and tightly cropped to his head in a style reminiscent of the Bedford crop without the shorn look of the Caesar. Good, thought Amelia. One could never be too prudent politically these days, and that included the sporting the latter choice at it was Napoleon's favoured coiffure. 

Mr. Archer's dark, thick sideburns extended towards a slightly pointed and strong chin.  Whereas John's whiskers softened the hardness of his square profile, Mr. Archer's seem to highlight the pleasant line between his ear and chin and the high scope of his chiseled cheekbones.  His Grecian nose was straight and perfectly centered.  His lips were full and generous, yet not prodigious.  His expression was serious and studied, but there was a lightness betrayed by his bright blue eyes where they creased in the corners.  Two, barely visible, dimples ingratiated his appearance in Amelia's eyes.  He wishes to appear saturnine, she bemused, yet I see him to be a handsome fellow.

Realizing that she had been scrutinizing Mr. Archer for too long, hinted as by this abrupt withdrawal of his gaze, Amelia caught herself and gestured openly, addressing the gentlemen.

"Welcome, Mr. Archer.  I am glad you had success on your journey.  Do please sit down.  May I offer you a refreshment?" Amelia lifted the bell to call the servants, pausing to wait for this reply.  Looking directly at Mr. Archer, she noticed his lips pucker and his countenance take on a darker quality.

"No, thank you," he replied in a clipped manner.

Mr. Archer immediately turned to John and began a deliberate tête-à-tête that she was sure had intended to preclude her.  Bristled, but determined not to exhibit her indignation precipitated by his impoliteness, Amelia deliberately picked up her book, placing it before her face, and dissimulating her vexation through prose. Perhaps my propensity to see the best in others has overestimated the geniality of his countenance, she thought to herself.  How piteous to have another odious relation!

Absorbed in her novel, Amelia failed to discern that the same pair of bright blue eyes that had so pleased her a moment ago, could now scarce tear themselves away from her face.