Henry pressed his head against her shoulder. “Where is Papa?”
Amelia froze. It was no less jarring to hear her son refer to Tobias as his father than it had been the first time. Yet, she did not entirely dislike it. Simply, she had convinced herself, because it was good for him to have a father figure. He was far too young to understand death.
“He’s sleeping,” she said at last.
Her heart skipped a beat when she found herself wondering what Tobias would look like while asleep. Would the worried creases between his brows fade, or would he still have the frown he’d developed of late whilst resting?
Once Henry stilled, she lay him back down, her heart racing wildly.
When had she come to… care… for Tobias? When had she become eager at the prospect of seeing him, sad at the prospect of leaving? When had she even noticed that he was worried, and when did it start to matter?
It was entirely inappropriate—feeling this way about her brother-in-law.
Not that she was ready to explore what ‘this way’ was. Not at all.
Certain that her son was asleep, she made her way back to her own chamber—not that sleep would come easily for her, that much she had already discovered.
Had he only protected her out of duty? Or for Henry? Or had he… come to care about her?
No. She could not think about this. Not at all.
She moved to the wall where Edward’s portrait looked down at her with that same cold look she’d grown used to. Had he ever laughed spontaneously? Had there been an instance of it, she certainly could not remember it. Even whilst they were courting, he had been… serious.
No. It was more than that, she knew.
He hadn’t merely been serious, he was cold. Almost disinterested.
Still, she had tried to love him. “Forgive me,” she whispered. Though she was loath to say it out loud, there was, in all honesty, a part of her that felt… nothing but relief at the thought of his death. Her cheeks grew hot at this.
Not that she had wanted him to die.
No, not at all. It was just… that she did not miss him as a wife was meant to miss her late husband.
She had been so young when they married. Truly, she had barely been a woman. And she’d been excited. Edward had been handsome, titled, respectable. On paper, he had been everything a young lady ought to desire in a husband. And she had convinced herself that love would come with time. That affection could be cultivated through patience, through duty, through proper wifely behaviour.
And that if she loved him enough… if she tried hard enough to love him, that he would love her too.
But their marriage remained empty of love.
She sank onto the edge of her bed, twisting her hands in the fabric of her nightdress in an attempt to soothe her racing mind.
He wasn’tcruel,per se. He just… did not respect her. She could vividly remember how infuriated he had been—coldly so—when she had listened to and offered her opinion on estate matters.
“Silent, woman,”he had spat.“Do not talk of things that you know nothing about.”
His vehement reaction to her ideas had made it all the more shocking when he used them. Once, then a second time, then athird. At last, he had started coming to her for advice—not that anyone ever knew.
She had given it in the hope that this would earn his love. Or even his respect.
Nothing had worked.
Even when she discovered that she was expecting, when she had been terrified and desperate for comfort, he had remained distant. In his own way, she had to admit, he had attempted some kindness. He had ensured that she had the finest physician, instructed the cook to prepare whatever she could tolerate… but he had never held her when she wept in fear, never asked what had worried her, never offered the warmth she had hoped for.
And when Henry was born… He did not even want to hold the boy. Simply looked down on the child in her arms and nodded as though the baby was ‘passable.’
She rose abruptly and shook her head. She nearly jumped when the floorboards creaked beneath her feet. Edward would have disapproved of the sound.
A lady moves with grace, in silence,he had said more than once.
