“Tobias,” he corrected automatically, but she ignored him.
“You believe it’s time, then.” Her voice had gone flat, a carefully neutral tone. “Time for me to begin seeking another husband. Someone to provide for Henry. Someone to relieve you of the burden of supporting your brother’s widow and child.”
“That’s not—” He stopped, frustrated by how thoroughly she’d misunderstood. Or perhaps by how accurately she’d understood while deliberately choosing the worst possible interpretation. “You’re not a burden, Amelia. You could never be?—”
“Then what am I?” She looked at him directly now, and there was something dangerous in her eyes. Something that made hisbreath catch. “What precisely is my role here, my lord? Guest? Ward? Obligation?”
“Family,” he said desperately. “You’re family.”
“Ah. Yes. Family.” She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, the gesture utterly controlled despite the tension radiating from every line of her body. “How very kind of you to phrase it thus.”
“Amelia—”
“It’s nothing. I understand, my lord. I… am your responsibility.”
He didn’t quite understand the tone in her voice. It sounded… rather unlike the bitterness he’d seen before he’d left, but almost hurt.
“That’s not what I meant?—”
“Isn’t it?” She rose from her chair with fluid grace, though her hands gripped the table’s edge hard enough to whiten her knuckles. “You disappeared for six months, my lord. Six months during which I received polite, impersonal letters asking after Henry’s health and the estate’s management as though I were merely another servant reporting to their master. And now you return, clearly expecting to find me grateful and malleable, ready to be married off to the first acceptable suitor who’ll relieve you of responsibility.”
“No.” He stood as well, his own frustration rising to match hers. “That’s not—you’re twisting everything?—”
“Am I?” She laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Then please, enlighten me. What did you mean when you suggested it was time to begin thinking about my future? About finding Henry a father? What was I supposed to understand from that beyond the obvious—that you’ve decided six months of charity is quite enough, and it’s time I made myself someone else’s problem?”
“You’re not a problem!” The words came out louder than intended, echoing in the suddenly silent dining hall. He dragged a hand through his hair, trying desperately to find words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I only meant—you seem happy here. Settled. And I thought... I wanted...”
What had he wanted? To give her freedom? To ensure she found someone who could offer her what he couldn’t? To torture himself by facilitating her marriage to another man whilst his own heart tore itself to pieces?
All of it. None of it. Everything contradictory and impossible and utterly, devastatingly sincere.
“You wanted what, my lord?” Her voice had gone quiet now, dangerously so. “To do your duty? To ensure your brother’s widow doesn’t become an embarrassment? To fulfill your obligation so you can return to London with a clear conscience?”
“I wanted—” He stopped, every confession he’d dreamt of dying on his tongue. Because how could he tell her the truth? That he’d left because staying meant wanting what he could never have? That six months in London had taught him nothing except that she occupied every corner of his mind?
He couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. And his silence, apparently, was answer enough.
“Thank you for dinner, my lord,” she said with terrible politeness. “And for your concern regarding my future. I shall certainly give the matter appropriate consideration. Now if you’ll excuse me, I find I’m rather tired from the day’s excitement.”
“Amelia, please?—”
But she was already moving toward the door, her spine straight and her stride purposeful despite the slight tremor in her hands that betrayed how much this composure cost her.
“I’m sorry,” he called after her, the words inadequate and far too late. “I didn’t mean—I never wanted to hurt you?—”
She paused in the doorway, her back still to him. For one suspended moment, he thought she might turn around. Might give him the chance to explain, to make her understand?—
“Of course you didn’t,” she said quietly. “That’s what makes it worse. I will… return to society, my lord. As you wish.”
Then she was gone, the door closing behind her with devastating finality.
CHAPTER 16
“Ido believe that’s the infamous widow herself.”
Tobias’s hand tightened around his glass of champagne, the words drifting across the ballroom with all the subtlety of cannon fire. He didn’t turn towards the speaker—some matron whose name he’d deliberately forgotten-, but his jaw tightened as he tracked Amelia’s progress through the glittering crowd.
She looked serene. Perfectly composed. Every inch the dignified widow in pale lilac silk that caught the candlelight and made her seem to glow from within. But he’d spent enough weeks at Redmond Park to recognise the subtle tells: the tightness in her jaw, the way her fingers gripped her fan just a fraction too tightly, the careful path she charted that avoided the clusters of gossiping matrons.
