The words escaped her before she realised the implications there for and she clapped a hand over her mouth.
“I meant…”
“I understand what you meant, my lady,” the housekeeper said as she set the tray on a small table. “And I believe he will be. Whatever loss the young master Henry may have suffered… he will not lack love, of that much I am certain.”
The housekeeper left with these words, leaving Amelia with her thoughts.
Love.
Of course, she loved her son dearly—and she knew that Tobias cared for him. Loved him perhaps, too.
Of the other love growing deep in her bosom, she would not think. She couldn’t. Never.
CHAPTER 11
“Mrs. Boldwood, might you locate the receipt for the September grain purchases? I cannot seem to find—no, never mind, I have it here. Or perhaps this is October’s. When did we last order from—”Amelia’s voice cracked mid-sentence. She pressed trembling fingers to her temple, staring at the ledger before her until the numbers blurred into meaningless ink. Three days had passed since the incident with the horse. Three days since Tobias had thrown himself between her and death without hesitation.Ever since then, she had carefully been avoiding him.The morning room had become her refuge—or perhaps her prison. Ledgers sprawled across every available surface. Correspondence lay in haphazard piles. Household accounts, tenant matters, staff schedules, and kitchen inventories. She had taken it all upon herself without as much as a word.If she kept busy enough, she would not think about how his hands had felt steadying her shoulders. How his voice had sounded when he asked if she was well. “My lady?” Mrs. Boldwood ventured from the doorway, concern etched across her weathered features. “You’ve been at this since dawn. Perhaps a respite—”“I’m perfectly well, thank you.” Amelia dipped her pen with excessive force, sending inksplattering across the page. “Simply... there is rather a great deal to manage.”Mrs. Boldwood lifted a doubtful brow, but she withdrew without further comment.Amelia bent over the ruined ledger page, attempting to blot the damage. Her hand shook so violently that the blotter merely spread the mess further. She set it down before she could make things worse.She couldn’t keep thinking about him.She reached for the next letter requiring a response. Lady Pembrook extending condolences and subtle inquiries about her return to society. The butcher requesting payment for last month’s delivery.Simple matters. Straightforward tasks. Nothing that should cause her chest to tighten this way, her breath to come in shallow gasps that provided no air whatsoever.She had to keep breathing.But she couldn’t. The room was too small, too warm. The papers multiplied before her eyes. Every task she completed revealed three more lurking beneath. Edward had made this appear effortless. Tobias seemed to manage it with barely a thought. Why could she not simply—“Amelia.”She looked up. Tobias stood in the doorway, still in his riding clothes, his hair windswept. He must have only just returned from the tenants. Her heart performed that now-familiar leap she resolutely refused to acknowledge.“My lord.” She forced her voice toward steadiness. “I did not expect you back so soon. If you require the household accounts, I have nearly finished with—”“You look ready to collapse.”The words were spoken so gently that they hurt. She straightened her spine, lifting her chin with what remained of her composure.“I’m quite capable, my lord.” Though her voice betrayed her with its tremor. “There’s simply too much to be done—”The sentence died as her chest constricted violently. She pressed a hand over her heart, feeling it race beneath her palm like a trapped bird beating against its cage. The room tilted. Air refused to enter her lungs properly.Not now. Please, not now.But panic cared nothing forpropriety or timing. It crashed over her in waves, each one stealing more breath, more control. The papers swam before her vision. Her hands were freezing. Or perhaps they were burning. She could not tell the difference.Then Tobias was there, kneeling beside her chair, his hands—warm, steady, real—on her shoulders.“Look at me,” he said softly. “Amelia, look at me.”She forced her eyes to his face. Grey eyes, filled with concern rather than judgment. A small crease between his brows that she had the wild urge to smooth away.“Inhale slowly,” he instructed, his voice low and sure. “Count with me. In for four. One, two, three, four. Good. Now hold. One, two, three, four. And release. One, two...”She allowed herself to listen to his voice, trying not to focus on his presence so close to her, but rather on breathing in time with his counts.“Forgive me.” The words emerged as barely a whisper. Tears she could no longer contain spilled down her cheeks. “I just... I don’t know how to stop.”“Stop what?”“Any of it.” She gestured vaguely at the chaos surrounding them. “The work, the thinking, the... I cannot seem to simply be, Tobias. If I stop moving, if I allow myself even a moment to feel, I fear I shall—”She broke off, pressing her hands over her face. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs she had held back for far too long. For weeks. For months. Perhaps for years.She felt him shift, sensed rather than saw him glance toward the open door. Then it clicked shut, and when he returned to her side, his movements held new determination.“Amelia.” He gently pulled her hands from her face, his thumbs brushing away tears with devastating tenderness. “This is not merely grief, is it? This compulsion to remain ceaselessly occupied?”She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. “Edward always said... he said idle hands were the devil’s workshop. That a lady of quality ought to make herself useful. That my value lay in my competence and—”“Edward was wrong.”The words struck her silent. She looked up at him through tear-blurred vision.“Your value,” Tobiascontinued, his voice rough with suppressed emotion, “does not lie in how useful you make yourself to others. You are not required to earn your place in this world through ceaseless service. You are allowed to rest, Amelia. To breathe. To simply exist without justifying that existence through labour.”“But I must prove—”“You need prove nothing.” His hands tightened fractionally on hers. “Not to me. Not to society. Not to anyone. You are worth far more than the sum of your accomplishments.”She wanted to believe him. Desperately. But years of Edward’s careful instruction had carved channels too deep to simply redirect.“I don’t know how,” she admitted. “How to stop. How to be still without feeling as though I’m failing some essential test.”Tobias was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing absent patterns across her knuckles. Then he released her hands and rose, moving to the window. Afternoon light painted him in gold, illuminating the tension in his shoulders.“You need time,” he said at last. “Space to discover who you are when no one is watching. When no one requires anything of you.”“I have time. Six more weeks of mourning, and then—”“No.” He turned back to her, something resolved settling across his features. “That is not enough. You need... months. Perhaps longer. Time without my presence reminding you of duty and expectation. Time to be utterly, completely free.”Understanding dawned with sickening clarity. “You’re leaving.”“Yes.”The single word fell between them like a stone into still water, sending ripples of panic through her chest.“For how long?”“Several months.” He crossed back to her, kneeling once more so their eyes were level. “I have business in London that I have been neglecting. Estate matters requiring attention in Town. And you...” He paused, seeming to choose his words with care. “You need to live without anyone watching you. Even me. Especially me.”“But Henry—”“Will be perfectly safe here with you and the staff. And when I return, when the Season beginsproperly, I shall help you re-enter society if you wish it. Or not, if you prefer. The choice will be entirely yours.”She ought to feel relieved. Grateful. This was exactly what she had claimed to want—independence, autonomy, freedom from male oversight.So why did the thought of his absence feel like losing something precious?“When would you depart?”“Tomorrow morning.”Tomorrow. So soon. She forced herself to nod with something approximating composure.“I understand, my lord. You have been far too patient with us already. I’m certain your own affairs require attention.”His jaw tightened at her formal tone, but he merely inclined his head. “Then it’s settled. I shall inform Pemberton and make the necessary arrangements.”He rose once more, and she felt the loss of his nearness like a physical cold. He moved toward the door, then paused with his hand upon the frame.“This is not abandonment, Amelia. I hope you understand that. I simply believe... you deserve to discover yourself without my shadow falling across your path.”Then he was gone, leaving her alone with her ledgers and letters and the uncomfortable realisation that she did not want him to leave at all. She stayed there until the sun started setting.Supper that evening held all the warmth of a funeral. They sat at opposite ends of the formal dining table—an expanse of polished mahogany that might as well have been an ocean. Amelia pushed food about her plate whilst Tobias consumed his meal with mechanical efficiency.“The venison is quite good,” he offered at last.“Yes, Cook has outdone herself.”Silence descended again, broken only by the clink of silverware against porcelain. Amelia studied him through lowered lashes. He had changed into evening dress, his cravat tied with that same careless elegance that somehow suited him far better than Edward’s rigid precision ever had.She would not see him like this for months.The thought lodged beneath her ribs like a splinter.“Amelia.”She looked up to find him watching her, hisexpression unreadable in the candlelight.“I want you to know,” he said carefully, “that my leaving has nothing to do with... with any failing on your part. You have managed the household brilliantly. Better than I could have hoped. Better than—” He caught himself. “You have done remarkably well.”Better than Edward, he had nearly said. She heard it in the pause.“You’re very kind,” she murmured.“Kindness has nothing to do with it. I speak only truth.” He set down his fork. “I have business in London that will take several months. You need time, Amelia. The staff will care for you and Henry while I’m away. When the Season begins properly, I’ll return and help you re-enter society. Or not, as you prefer.”“You would do that for us?” The question emerged smaller than intended.He nodded slowly. “You deserve to live without anyone watching you. Even me.”Her lips parted. She wanted to protest, to tell him his presence did not feel like surveillance but rather like... like safety. Like warmth. Like something she had never experienced with her late husband.Perhaps, exactly that, was why it was better for her if he left. She couldn’t… think this way. “Thank you, my lord,” she managed. “You’re very kind.”His mouth twisted into something not quite a smile. “Kindness isn’t what you need. Freedom is.”The words settled over her like a benediction and a curse in equal measure.They finished the remainder of the meal in heavy silence. When the final course had been cleared, Tobias rose and executed a formal bow.“I shall take my leave early tomorrow. Before you wake, most likely. I thought it best to avoid... protracted farewells.”“Of course.” She stood as well, her hands clasping before her. “I hope your time in London proves productive.”“And I hope your time here proves restorative.” He hesitated, then added softly, “Take care of yourself, Amelia. Not for Henry’s sake. Not for duty. For yourself.”He left before she could formulate a response, his footsteps fading down the corridor toward his study.Amelia remained just there for a fewtorturous, silent moments before she went up to her own bedchamber for another tumultuous night’s sleep.She woke before dawn, ignoring the ache that formed in her heart at the thought of his departure. Perhaps some traitorous part of her had been listening for sounds of movement, for the telltale signs of a household rousing to see off its master.She dressed quickly, eschewing her maid’s assistance, and made her way to Henry’s nursery. The boy slept peacefully, one small fist curled beneath his chin. She gathered him carefully, and he stirred only enough to burrow against her shoulder.“Come, my darling,” she whispered. “Let us bid Papa farewell.”The word slipped out before she could catch it. Papa. When had she begun thinking of Tobias thus? When had the lines blurred so completely?She descended the main stairs just as Pemberton and two footmen were loading the final trunk onto the waiting carriage. Morning mist clung to the ground, painting everything in shades of grey. And there, beside the carriage, stood Tobias.He looked up as she approached, surprise flickering across his features.“I thought you would still be asleep,” he said.“I wanted to... that is, Henry should...” She faltered, uncertain what she truly meant to say.He crossed to her, his eyes softening as they landed on the sleeping child in her arms. “May I?”She transferred Henry carefully. The boy stirred, his eyes opening to half-mast.“Papa?” he mumbled, still thick with sleep.“Yes, lad. Just Papa.” Tobias pressed a kiss to the boy’s dark curls. “You be good for your mama whilst I’m away, yes? Take care of her.”Henry’s eyes had already drifted shut again, but he managed a drowsy, “Yes, Papa.”Tobias held him a moment longer, then carefully returned him to Amelia’s arms. Their fingers brushed against each other in the transfer, and she felt that contact like a brand.“Six months,” he said quietly, for her ears alone. “By the time I return, your mourning will be complete. You will be free to make your own choices about your future, without my presence colouring thosedecisions.”“And if I wish for your counsel?”Something flashed in his eyes—hope, perhaps, or longing. But it vanished before she could name it properly.“Then write to me. I am always at your disposal, my lady.”My lady. The formality hurt more than it should.The groom called that all was ready. Tobias glanced toward the carriage, then back at her.“Take care, Amelia.”“And you, my lord.”He climbed into the carriage without looking back. She watched as it rolled down the drive, wheels crunching against gravel, until morning mist swallowed it entirely.Henry shifted in her arms, and she held him tighter.“He’ll return,” she whispered, though whether to comfort herself or her son, she could not say. “In six months, he’ll return.”But six months suddenly seemed an eternity.She stood upon the steps long after the carriage had disappeared, long after the household had returned to their duties. Stood there with her son in her arms and the uncomfortable realization settling in her chest like a stone:The house did not feel like freedom without Tobias Grant in it.It simply felt empty.Henry stirred, his small hand patting her cheek.“Mama sad?”She forced a smile she did not feel. “No, darling. Mama is perfectly well.”But as she carried her son back into the house, as she passed through corridors that seemed somehow dimmer without Tobias’s presence filling them, she knew it for the lie it was.
CHAPTER 12
“Will my foolishness ever cease?”
Tobias spoke the words aloud to the empty carriage, his voice swallowed by the steady rhythm of wheels against the road. Dawn had barely broken when he’d departed Redmond Park, and now—three hours into the journey—he could still see Amelia’s face as she’d stood upon those steps with Henry in her arms.
He still carried the emptiness in his chest when the carriage had rolled away.
Stop it. Stop thinking of her.
He shifted against the seat, attempting to find a position that did not remind him of how thoroughly uncomfortable he was—though the discomfort had little to do with the carriage’s appointments and everything to do with the gnawing sensation that he had made a terrible mistake.
No. Not a mistake. Therightdecision. Thehonourabledecision.
Amelia needed time without his presence colouring her every choice. She needed to discover who she was when no man stood watching, judging, directing. Edward had spent two years systematically crushing her spirit, and Tobias would not—could not—become another cage, however gilded.
Even if leaving her felt like tearing something vital from his chest.
It’s guilt,he told himself firmly, watching the Kent countryside roll past.Nothing more than guilt and responsibility. She is my brother’s widow. My nephew’s mother. Of course, I feel protective of her.
The wordprotectivesettled over him like an ill-fitting coat. Was that truly what he felt? This constant awareness of her presence, this acute attention to her smallest gestures, this irrational fury whenever he recalled Edward’s treatment of her?
Yes. Protective. What else could it be?
But even as he formed the thought, memory rose unbidden: Amelia in the garden, laughing as Henry chased butterflies. The way the afternoon light had painted gold across her cheeks. How his heart had seized when the boy called him Papa, and she had not corrected it, had merely watched with those luminous eyes that saw far too much.
The horse rearing. Her scream. His body moving before thought, driven by a terror so profound it had obliterated every instinct save one:She must not be harmed.
Not the viscountess. Not his responsibility. Not his brother’s widow.
Her.
He scrubbed both hands across his face, as though he could physically dislodge these dangerous thoughts. Six months, he had promised himself. Six months in London whilst Amelia found her footing. Six months to restore proper distance between them, to remember his duty, to ensure that when she re-entered society?—
His stomach twisted at the thought.
She would re-enter society. Of course, she would. A beautiful young widow of quality, mother to an heir, possessed of remarkable intelligence and quiet strength. The moment her mourning ended, every eligible gentleman in London would descend like wolves scenting prey.
Men who could offer her what Tobias never could: a respectable match, untainted by scandal or impropriety. Men who had not spent years as the ton’s favourite disgrace. Men who were not her late husband’s brother, bound by blood and honour to maintain an appropriate distance.
Good. That’s good. She deserves a proper husband. Someone who can give her the warmth Edward never did.
