Amelia leaned forward. “She’s veiled? Always? How fascinating. I think I’d like to meet her.”
Graham could almost chuckle at her giddy curiosity, but there was far too much weighing on him. He finished his coffee and stood. “I’ll go to the Den and look into the matter. What are the required engagements for the day?”
“Ugh, don’t say that word,” she muttered. “There are no plans. We are free to avoid each other all day. Isn’t that splendid?” Her smile was falsely cheery as she stood.
“I suppose,” Graham replied. “I have to see my man of business, and then I’ll go to the Den while it’s quiet and see if I can meet with Mr. Chase.”
“If you’re lucky, he might be right outside our door,” she teased.
“If he’s lucky, he won’t be.”
She raised a brow at him.
“I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Or don’t.” She took his leftover scone and his chair, picking up the book he’d been reading, and dismissing him with inattention.
Graham sighed and left the room. This was probably better, returning to their comfortable dislike. Safer, too. He didn’t want to broach the subject of the kiss, but he had a feeling that what had happened between them last night would fester like a wound and would need to be dealt with. Sooner or later.
Chapter Nineteen
Amelia wanted tobe brave and nonchalant about her meeting in the park yesterday morning, but in truth, she was scared. She’d spent the day locked away in Sam’s room. He’d taken broth from a spoon for her twice, but as she watched him, a cold ache began to grow in her chest, a chill she couldn’t rid from her skin, no matter how many cups of hot tea she drank or thick blankets she draped over herself. By the evening, she couldn’t take it anymore, and she’d had Fran fill a tub of scalding hot water. She sank into the steaming water, hissing as her skin adjusted to the heat. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was blue eyes looking back at her and those charming dimples. What a pretty predator he made, Mr. Tristan Chase.
Now that a new dawn had broken, she wanted to know more, but there was uncertainty in her heart. How had she not realized that the gilded cage she lived in was of her own design? She longed for freedom, so she thought, but if she’d learned anything these past few days, she’d learned that she was woefully unprepared to face the world on her own. She understood it too little.
Graham knew it. He knew the snares she’d stumble into because he was older and wiser. And what had she done?Ignored most of his advice and made things worse—or at least more complicated. So what could she do? How could she make up for her mistakes and still protect her brother’s estate, his recovery, and her inheritance? She needed help. And she had to begin to truly change her petulant attitude and listen before she acted—if only for Sam’s sake.
This wasn’t going to be easy for her, but something had to change. She had to play the part of a proper young lady and be so boring that no one would think to look twice at her.
First change? No more daring gowns. She could wear white, but perhaps that was too drastic a shift. Pastels—yes, a few pastels. She’d walk with a parasol and only with an escort—a footman and her maid. Graham would drive her around the park, where they could be seen by society but not heard.
Those were decent ideas, now that she thought about it.
And for the next two days she played the part of a demure young lady. She attempted needlework but stabbed herself too frequently. Reading was always a favorite pastime, but thoughts about her brother and Blakewood made concentration difficult. She tried writing in her journal and drawing next, but again grew bored. She was a woman of action, archery, hunting, riding. She didn’t have the ability to be still and docile for long periods of time. It wasn’t part of her makeup.
During these fruitless ladylike pursuits Graham had been exceedingly busy and absent from the house and Sam’s bedside. They had no events demanding their attention for those two days, but then that evening was one of the first significant balls of the season, and it could not be missed.
Dressed in a buttery yellow that frankly wasn’t the best for her complexion, Amelia paired it with a pale-blue shawl that matched her eyes. The dash of color, though light, helped tremendously. Graham was not yet ready when she came downstairs, but he was home according to Mrs. Keen. Ameliawaited in the drawing room. Before he entered, she heard the clip of his shoes on the tile.
He looked underfed and unrested, as evidenced by the grayish half-moons under his eyes, but still as elegant as a statue. A David dressed in evening attire, if David had had the shoulders of a blacksmith.
“Ready?” Amelia asked.
“Who is our host tonight?”
“The Duchess of Lumond. She has three daughters all out for the season. Tonight’s theme is the birth of spring.” She paused at his side, and he was frowning at her dress. Her modest yellow dress reached nearly to her throat. He couldn’t possibly find fault with it.
“Is this a new dress?” he asked.
“A gift from my aunt last year. Won’t she be pleased that I’m wearing it?”
“Will she be in attendance?” He continued his unwavering inspection of her gown.
“No.” Amelia spun in a circle so he could finish his appraisal. “She is not acquainted with the duchess.”
“But you and your brother are?” he asked as he waved for her to proceed with him into the hall.
“Of course. Sam is a titled bachelor. He’s invited to everything and, therefore, so am I,” she spoke over her shoulder.
