“And you, my lord.” She deployed her fan—another weapon in the eternal campaign. “Mother mentioned you might attend Lady Rutledge’s ball tomorrow evening. I do hope that’s true? I’ve been practicing a new waltz and should very much like a partner who can keep pace.”
The invitation was clear. The expectation clearer still. Six months ago—no, even three months ago—he might have accepted with his practiced charm, might have danced and flirted and perhaps suggested a stroll upon a darkened terrace.
Now the very thought exhausted him.
“I fear my schedule remains uncertain,” he said, infusing regret into his tone. “Estate matters require considerable attention. You understand.”
Disappointment flickered across her pretty features before training reasserted itself. “Of course, my lord. Perhaps another time.”
“Perhaps.”
He escaped before she could press further, emerging onto St. James’s Street with relief that bordered on desperation. March wind cut through his evening clothes, carrying the particular scent of London in early spring—coal smoke and horse dung and humanity packed too closely together.
He missed Kent. He missed the clean air and open spaces, the sound of birdsong rather than carriage wheels, the?—
Her.
He missedher.
The admission arrived with devastating clarity. Not the estate. Not even Henry, though he ached for the boy constantly. But Amelia herself. Her quiet strength. Her unexpected wit. The way she looked at him as though he might be someone worth knowing beneath the charm and reputation.
“There you are.”
Tobias turned to find Daniel emerging from White’s, shrugging into his greatcoat. His friend regarded him with concern that made something in Tobias’s chest constrict.
“Following me now?” He forced levity into his tone. “How very devoted.”
“Someone needs to ensure you don’t do anything spectacularly stupid.” Daniel moved to his side, both of them watching carriages rattle past. “Such as standing on street corners looking like your heart’s been carved out with a dull spoon.”
“My heart is perfectly intact, I assure you.”
“Is it?” Daniel’s voice gentled. “Because from where I stand, it looks very much like you left it in Kent six months ago.”
Tobias’s jaw tightened. “I left nothing in Kent save responsibilities temporarily discharged.”
“Right. Responsibilities.” Daniel pulled out his pocket watch, studying it with exaggerated interest. “Tell me, do theseresponsibilities include writing to your brother’s widow? Asking after her welfare beyond the perfunctory?”
“I receive regular updates about Henry.”
“About Henry. Not about her.”
“What would be the purpose?” The words emerged sharper than intended. “I departed to give Lady Amelia space. To allow her freedom to determine her own future without my presence colouring her choices.”
“And has she?” Daniel snapped the watch closed. “Determined her future?”
Tobias had no answer. Her letters spoke only of Henry, of household matters, of everything save herself. He knew nothing of how she truly fared. Whether she slept. Whether the panic that had gripped her that day in the morning room had returned. Whether she thought of him at all.
“The Season is well underway,” Daniel continued when Tobias remained silent. “Her mourning has concluded. Society expects her return. And yet I’ve heard no whisper of Lady Amelia Grant’s presence in Town. Curious, that.”
“Perhaps she prefers the country.”
“Or perhaps she’s waiting.”
“For what?” But Tobias knew. God help him, he knew precisely what Daniel implied, and the hope that surged through him was as terrifying as the horse that had nearly killed them both.
“For you, you spectacular fool.” Daniel gripped his shoulder. “For you to stop running from whatever this is and face it honestly.”
“There is nothing to face. She’s my brother’s widow. My nephew’s mother. Any feelings beyond familial concern would be?—”
