It was all she needed. “You truly have no appreciation for a woman’s place in the world, do you?” She reached for her stockings and decided against them, instead stuffing them into her valise.
“How do you mean?”
“With the Windermere reputation in shreds, how do you expect Delilah and Juliet to secure marriage proposals from gentlemen of good families?”
He was regarding her with absolute incredulity. “And what about you?” he demanded. “You’ve just received a proposal of marriage from a gentleman of good family—a duke, moreover—and you’ve refused it.”
“That is different.”
“How so?”
“It simply is.”
Tristan shot to his feet, clearly exasperated. He pointed at her. “You care too much what people think.”
Now it was her shooting to her feet. “And you care too little.”
They stood facing each other, half-undressed, like adversaries.
“Not all of us can live in infamy ever after, Your Grace,” she spat.
“But, Amelia,” he said, his tone softening and possibly thawing something inside her, “it’s the only way to live happily. What do you need the opinion of a few dried-up crones for? You’re an artist.”
Her gaze skittered away and settled unseeing on the stream. “I’m a lady who dabbles in watercolor.”
“You’re an artist,” he repeated, “and somewhere beneath the empty words you’re spouting at me, you know it. I’ve seen her.” A beat. “I’ve seenyou. Don’t give up on yourself just yet. Tear up the invitation. Live in infamy with me.”
And she saw they weren’t adversaries; they never had been.
They were twice lovers, and that was all they ever could be, for he was asking of her something she couldn’t give.
She must reenter society. For herself. For her family. She couldn’t miss the opportunity.
Yet, still, he persisted. He might even be begging. “You don’t seem to understand something about yourself that I do. You’re a passionate woman, Amelia. Tell me, when has society ever had any use for a passionate woman? Just ask Lady Caroline Lamb how she’s faring.”
He jerked on the remainder of his clothes. Amelia did the same at a slower pace, half a watchful eye on him.
Just before he stalked away, he asked, “When do you leave?”
“In two days.” That would give them enough time to pack their belongings and make it back to England a fortnight or so before Lady Sutton’s ball.
His jaw clenched, and he nodded before pivoting on his heel.
Amelia had no choice but to watch until he disappeared from view. She grabbed the invitation and read it for the dozenth time. She should feel a happy sense of accomplishment. She’d worked every single one of her friends, relatives, and even acquaintances to assist her in the procurement of this very thing. Yet, instead, she felt very close to wretched.
She gathered her things and began making her way back to Delilah and Juliet, but soon found they weren’t where she’d left them. So, she kept walking and trying to rid her mind of the last half hour of her life.
Easier said than done.
Ahead, a flurry of movement caught her eye. Juliet emerged from a small grove of olive trees looking quite unlike herself. Gone was her usual observant placidity. In its place was a face like thunder.
“Juliet!” she called out, alarmed.
Juliet’s head whipped around. Her eyes were suspiciously shiny. Were those tears? Amelia had never seen Juliet cry, not even as a small child.
“Is something the matter?” she asked, closing the distance between them and taking her cousin’s hand.
Before Juliet could reply, another figure emerged from the woods.Kilmuir.He looked slightly confused and no small bit bewildered.
