She set down her fork. The click made him look up sharlpy.
“I received a visit from Lord Ashbourne.”
Something flickered across his face—too quick to catch, gone before she could name it. “Oh?”
He avoided her eyes, though his posture stiffened ever so slightly. “How pleasant.”
Pleasant. As though her heart weren’t currently attempting to claw free of her chest. As though this entire conversation weren’t balanced on a knife’s edge.
“He was very kind.” She heard herself continuing, couldn’t stop now, she’d started. “Complimentary about the household. Spoke warmly of his children, his estate in Surrey. Seems a most respectable gentleman.”
“I’m certain he is.” Tobias reached for his wine, gripped it perhaps too tightly. “Society speaks well of him.”
“Yes. They do.” She drew breath, felt it lodge somewhere between lungs and throat. “So well, in fact, that he... he asked...”
She faltered. Watched Tobias go utterly still, knuckles white against the wine glass.
“Asked what?”
Voice gone dangerous. Quiet in that way that meant fury or devastation or both.
Now. Say it now before courage fails entirely.
“He asked to court me. Formally. With a view toward marriage.”
The wine glass hit the table hard enough to make the silverware jump. Tobias surged to his feet, and for one wild moment, she thought he might overturn the entire bloody table. Instead, he just stood there—breathing hard, staring at her with an expression caught between fury and devastation.
“And?”
This was it. The moment that determined everything.
She stood slowly. Legs trembling, but voice steady. “I told him I needed time to consider.”
“Consider.” His laugh held no humour. “How exceedingly rational of you.”
“Itisrational.” She lifted her chin, refused to let him see how his dismissal shredded her. “He offers everything a widow should desire. Security for myself and Henry. Respectability. A proper home free from scandal or impropriety.”
“Then accept him.” Flat. Final. “If that’s what you want, accept him and have done with it.”
Her heart cracked clean through. “Is that your counsel? As head of this family?”
“My counsel?” His expression twisted. “What would you have me say, Amelia? That you should refuse a respectable offer in favour of... what? Remaining here indefinitely? Living on charity from your late husband’s brother?”
The cruelty of it struck like a physical blow. She actually flinched—saw him register the movement, saw something that might’ve been regret flash across his features before the mask descended again.
“I see.” Her voice had gone cold. Brittle. “Then I shall accept him. If that’s your recommendation.”
“Amelia—”
“No.” She held up a hand, stopping him. “You’ve made yourself abundantly clear. Lord Ashbourne is suitable. I should be grateful for his interest. What was it you said? Everything a widow should desire.”
She turned toward the door. Needed to escape before the tears threatening behind her eyes could fall. Before she humiliated herself by begging him to offer an alternative, he clearly had no intention of providing.
“Wait.”
The command froze her mid-step. She didn’t turn.
“I didn’t mean...” She heard him exhale sharply. Pure frustration. “That is, I only meant to suggest you deserve... that you shouldn’t feel obligated to...”
