Gone Without Goodbyes : A Historical Romance

Chapter 1: Innocent Beginnings

As the carriage rattled along the cobblestone path, young Lady Amelia peered eagerly out of the window, her hazel eyes alight with curiosity and excitement. Today marked the arrival of new neighbors at the grand estate adjacent to her family's modest rectory. She had heard whispers among the household staff as well as her father who was a rector at the local church, of a wealthy family from the city moving into the neighboring estate, and her imagination had been sparked with visions of new adventures and companionship.

Finally, the carriage came to a halt before the grand gates of the neighboring estate, and Amelia's heart quickened with anticipation. She watched with fascination as the gates swung open, revealing the sprawling grounds beyond. The carriage rolled forward, and soon they were pulling up before the grand manor house, an imposing structure of stone and ivy.

As the footman helped her down from the carriage, Amelia's eyes scanned the surroundings eagerly, searching for any sign of her new neighbors. And then, she saw him.

A young boy, perhaps around her own age of eleven, stood near the entrance to the manor, his dark hair tousled by the breeze. He wore a fine coat and trousers, indicating his status, but there was a guarded look in his eyes that caught Amelia's attention. Despite his obvious wealth and privilege, there was something about him that seemed lonely and unsettled.

Amelia's green eyes met the boy's deep brown ones for a fleeting moment, and in that instant, something stirred within Amelia's heart. It was as if she had known him her entire life, as if their souls had been intertwined since the beginning of time. She felt a rush of warmth and connection unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

But before she could approach him, the young boy turned away, his gaze sliding past her as if she were nothing more than a passing shadow. Alexander, young heir of the Wentworth estate found that the young lady with the messy flaming red hair had a rather unsettling and most peculiar manner. Confusion and hurt flickered across Amelia's features, but she quickly composed herself, straightening her shoulders and summoning a polite smile.

As the footman led Alexander towards the entrance of the manor, she stole one last glance over her shoulder, but the young boy was already gone, disappearing into the depths of the grand estate. Amelia Hamshaw, wee wain of eleven only years had just fallen in love.

Six years had passed since that fateful day when young Amelia Hamshaw first laid eyes on her neighbor, the enigmatic young master and future Duke of Wentworth. In that time, her infatuation had only deepened, blossoming into a consuming love that colored every aspect of her world. Meanwhile, Alexander Westingham, had grown into a handsome young man, with a natural magnetism that drew others to him like moths to a flame despite his quiet, aloof nature.

Alexander was the epitome of a young lord in training, with his easy confidence, sharp wit, and athletic prowess. He excelled in all manner of pursuits, from horseback riding to fencing, and his skill and charm made him popular among the children of the neighboring estates. He was the leader of their little group, the one they all looked up to and sought to emulate.

But there was one among them who seemed to shadow his every move, one who never seemed to tire of his company - Lady Amelia. She was a constant presence at his side, her adoring gaze following him wherever he went. While the other children laughed and played, Amelia hovered nearby, always eager to assist him or engage him in conversation.

Miss Amelia, a young lady of striking appearance with a cascade of red hair, a constellation of freckles upon her cheeks, and eyes of the most vibrant green, was known in her village for her manifold passions. Her days were filled with a fervent dedication to the aid of forlorn animals, often tending to wounded birds and abandoned kittens with a tenderness that spoke volumes of her kind heart. Her hands were perpetually ink-stained from her numerous writings, where she penned tales of romance and adventure, while the scent of oil paints clung to her fingers from her latest artistic endeavors, where she captured the beauty of the countryside on canvas.

Yet, amid her industrious pursuits, her heart was perpetually inclined towards one Alexander. A gentleman of esteemed reputation and distinguished bearing, Alexander had unwittingly become the center of Amelia's world. With an ardor she scarcely concealed, she sought him out with a quiet perseverance that was both touching and poignant. Amelia would contrive to pass by his residence under the guise of running errands for her mother, each step measured to maximize the chance of encountering him at his doorway or glimpsing his tall, gracious silhouette through a window.

At the market, she would linger at the stalls and bookshops he was known to frequent, her eyes darting between the fresh produce and the bustling crowd, ever hopeful for the sight of his familiar jet-back hair. The park, too, became a favored haunt; she would take the longer route through its winding paths, ostensibly to enjoy the tranquility of nature, yet her true purpose lay in the mere possibility of seeing him on his afternoon stroll or his evening gallop, enjoyment etching his sharp, adonis-like features. Her heart would quicken at the sound of approaching footsteps, her breath catching in anticipation.

In the evenings, Amelia would find herself at social gatherings she would otherwise shun, all for the sake of a chance encounter. She was not out in society yet and was not truly allowed to attend the assemblies, the balls, and the dinners but no one could stop her from spying from terraces and verandahs for a glimpse of Alexander's arrival. When their paths did cross, even if only for a fleeting moment, the exchange of a polite greeting or the brush of his coat against her hand was enough to set her heart aflutter.

Her every action seemed to dance around the hope of a mere glimpse of him, her eyes ever watchful and her heart ever yearning. Amelia's love for Alexander was not a quiet, steadfast flame but a roaring, raging, passionate one, one that she tended with care and hope, dreaming of the day when he might finally see her as more than just a familiar face in the crowd, but as a heart devoted to his own.

Despite his popularity, Alexander found himself increasingly unsettled by Amelia's unwavering attention. He cherished his freedom and independence, and her constant presence felt suffocating at times. He tried everything to shake her off - feigning disinterest, avoiding her gaze, even disappearing into the woods when he knew she would be looking for him.

But Amelia was relentless in her pursuit, finding new ways to insert herself into Alexander's life at every turn. She would bring him freshly picked flowers from her family's garden or bake him treats she had learned to make from the cook, presenting them with hopeful eyes. She would offer to accompany him on his adventures or read him stories by the fire when the day grew dark. She would chatter and ask him questions, and nothing he could say (or not) seemed to deter her from her ardent pursuit of his love.

The village was abuzz with the knowledge that Amelia, daughter of the rector and owner of a less than modest fortune bequeathed by a generous aunt, was sweet on Alexander, the heir to the Duke of the whole duchy. Despite the disparity in their social standing, Amelia's feelings were an open secret. Her unwavering devotion to Alexander was a topic of much discussion among the villagers, who watched with a mix of amusement and pity as she trailed after him with starry-eyed admiration.

Alexander's father, the Duke, was often absent, preoccupied with his duties and social engagements far from the estate. This absence left Alexander in the care of a cadre of servants and tutors who had known him since infancy. These caretakers, having grown fond of Amelia's sweet nature and genuine affection for Alexander, did little to discourage her visits. They turned a blind eye to her frequent presence, appreciating the light she brought to the often-lonely estate.

"Lady Amelia is here again," Mrs. Clarke, the housekeeper, would say with a knowing smile. "She's brought a basket of her famous tarts. Shall I take them to Master Alexander, or would you prefer to do it yourself?"

The servants and tutors often found themselves charmed by Amelia's enthusiasm and kindness. She would chat with Cook about new recipes, discuss literature with Mr. Thompson, the tutor, and share a friendly word with every maid and footman she encountered.

"She's a bright spark, that one," Cook would remark, shaking his head with a smile as he watched Amelia disappear down the hallway. "Always thinking of others, always with a kind word or a helping hand."

Even the stern Mr. Thompson, who rarely had patience for interruptions, found it hard to deny Amelia's earnest requests to borrow books or discuss the latest novels she had read. "She's a determined girl," he would say, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "And quite intelligent. It's a shame her affections are so misplaced."