She did not yet have access to her inheritance and, at this rate, she would never get the chance to ask Gideon to do something about her sister’s plight. Just like before, she was on her own once more, left to take care of things with little regard for her own wants.
Amelia held her head high as she fought the tears that stung her eyes—and failed. Every step she took towards the front door maimed a piece of her soul, a phantom shard left behind on the carpeted floors of Castle Stanhope. She wanted to turn back, march right into Gideon’s bedchamber, and tell him how much she loved him. Even if he did not feel the same, it pained her to know that she might never be able to confess the true feelings weighing heavily on her heart.
When she arrived at the foyer, Amelia’s steps faltered to a halt. The letter she had been holding since leaving her chambers now seemed to singe her fingertips. As bravely as she could, she turned to face Jenny.
The maid was already in tears and it tore right through Amelia’s bravado. “I’m so sorry, please ignore me, Your Grace,” Jenny sobbed. “It is just… I do not wish to see you go.”
“It is for the best,” Amelia whispered between her sniffles. Pulling a napkin from her reticule, she wiped the maid’s tears, then squared her shoulders. “But I must. And I need you to do one thing for me before I leave, Jenny. Please, you mustn’tforget. Leave this letter on the Duke’s desk in his study amidst the rest of his correspondences.”
Amelia handed the letter to Jenny and took her trunk from the maid’s hands. Jenny hardly spared it a glance, even though she clutched it protectively to her chest. “Be safe, Your Grace.”
“I will.” She gave a simple nod to Jenny. Her legs felt like lead as she turned and stepped past the threshold of the castle. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, bathing the expanse before her in a deep red hue. Amelia forced herself to keep moving as she shuffled her way across the driveway, fearing a moment’s pause might weaken her resolve.
The letter she’d left with Gideon, now in Jenny’s care, would say her farewells. She only hoped that she was long gone by the time it reached him.
CHAPTER 28
“Itrust everything is prepared, Thomas?”
“Yes, Your Grace. The carriage is ready, all that it awaits is your presence.” The butler looked like he wanted to say more, and Gideon caught his eye in the mirror, coaxing him on. “If I may speak out of turn, Your Grace. Sir Clarkeson’s solicitor, Mr. Fuller, sent word that he was ready to receive us an hour ago. It may not be wise to be tardy on such an important business deal.”
“Well, it is just as important…” Gideon slicked back his hair for the umpteenth time, “…for me to appear my best, before a boatload of fops that emphasize appearance over eligibility.”
Gideon fiddled with his snow-white cravat in the mirror sitting atop the mantle by the hearth of his study, then stopped himself, annoyed with the constant restlessness he was displaying. It was already late afternoon and the only thing he had been able to think about was Amelia, rather than the very significant meeting he had been preparing for, for the past few days.
Thomas, as if tuned into his thoughts, spoke up from behind him, “Her Grace seems to still be resting. Should I inform her of your impending departure?”
“There is no need,” Gideon dismissed with a wave. “I shall likely return early morning tomorrow if everything goes to plan. She will not even miss my presence.”
“If you worry for her, then—”
“I am not worried!” Gideon interjected, pacing away from the hearth. “Amelia is quite perfectly capable on her own. If she wishes to remain secluded in her chambers all day, that is her prerogative.”
Thomas said nothing. Even with the silence, Gideon got the feeling that Thomas did not believe a word he was saying. Frustrated with himself, Gideon marched over to his desk for the first time that day. He rounded the desk and was about to search for his matching silver pin when something caught his eye.
There was a small envelope that had pride of place at the center of his escritoire. Gideon reached for it with a frown. It had no seal or indication of who had sent it. Before he could raise the question to Thomas, a knock at the door diverted his attention.
Distracted, and a little hopeful, Gideon slipped the letter into the pocket of his navy blue tailcoat and watched as Thomas went to open the door. Rather than the small, shapely figure of his wife stepping through, a lanky footman stood at the threshold. Hemurmured something to Thomas who nodded and then closed the door.
“The horses are growing restless, Your Grace,” he advised.
Gideon sighed, annoyed with himself for hoping that Amelia had come to see him. The ongoing tension between them weighed on him, yet he was uncertain how to mend it, or even if he should. She’d shown that she wasn’t on his side, just as Lewis had. It was only right that he distanced himself from them.
The thought only deepened his gloom. He had slowly isolated himself from all of those who cared for him. Even Thomas, once a fatherly figure that Gideon could lean on, had now become an unemotional confidante who purely served the purpose of his mission.
“Then let’s not daddle,” Gideon forced a smile for the old man. With two heavy strides, he made his way toward the hatstand by the study’s door, plucked on his hat, and exited the room. In no time at all, he wound his way through the foyer, the castle’s grand hall, and onto the driveway.
A vaguely familiar footman whose name he could not quite place stood by the carriage, and swung open its door when he noticed his master’s arrival. Gideon gave him an appreciative nod and received a steely one in return.
He stepped into the carriage with a heavy heart, the door closing behind him with a definitive thud that seemed to echo the closing of a chapter in his life. He settled into the seat,the familiar leather contours offering no comfort today. The coachman snapped the reins and the carriage lurched forward.
Gideon's thoughts continued to churn as the carriage rumbled through the streets of London, its steady pace mirroring the relentless march of his own reflections. The city was alive with the hustle and bustle of daily life, but Gideon felt detached, as if he were an observer in his own life, watching from a distance. The chatter of the crowd, the clatter of hooves on cobblestone, even the occasional laughter that floated through the air – all of it seemed muffled, as though he were hearing it from underwater.
As the carriage made its way through the meandering streets, Gideon's mind wandered back to the early days of his quest. The fire of vengeance that had once burned so brightly within him had now simmered down to a dull, relentless ache. He had embarked on this path with a clear vision and a determined heart, but with each step, the cost of his mission had become increasingly apparent. And now, it was too late to turn back.
After an hour-long journey that seemed to pass by in minutes, the carriage began to slow in its approach to Bond Street. Over the rising commotion of this part of town, he heard a muffled, “We have arrived, Your Grace,” followed by two thuds against wood.
The carriage drew to a halt and Gideon took a moment to gather himself, to remind himself of what he had been working towards for all these years. Soon, this nightmare would all be over.
