“Are you discussing marriage?” Amelia asked.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon loves to play matchmaker, you see,” Mr. Chase answered.
“He is only two and twenty,” Amelia said in shock. “He won’t marry anytime soon.”
Mr. Chase shrugged. “I’m only here for answers, my lady. Truthful answers.”
Amelia frowned but didn’t look to Graham. She didn’t want anything other than disdain to show on her face.
“He uses an alias when he travels alone,” Graham said. “It prevents bad characters from making him a target for robbery. Either way, we know he safely made it to his estate and that is all you need to know. Alston will handle whatever business he has with the Widow once he returns, until then, do not approach Lady Amelia again.”
Mr. Chase glanced between the two of them as he stroked his chin. “Very well, it seems my concerns were unfounded. My apologies,” he said this to Amelia, “if I frightened you.”
“Accepted. But I’m not concerned. If something horrible had happened to my twin, I think I would know. He’s fine.”
Mr. Chase studied her with a pinched brow. “What an intriguing concept. I will take my leave now.”
“The footman will see you out.”
Mr. Chase stood, as did Amelia and Graham.
“I hope your brother returns soon. It would be unfortunate for him to miss out on a chance at a fated union.”
“What has fate to do with arranged marriages?” Graham asked as he herded Mr. Chase toward the door.
“You don’t believe in fate?” Mr. Chase chided. “But consider the two of you. Always at odds until something brought you together. Isn’t that correct?” He smiled slyly. “Perhaps it is my heritage, but that sounds like fate.”
Amelia watched in confused silence as Mr. Chase departed, with Graham standing at the entry until the front door was shut and locked. Now they were alone, and there were too many things to say that she didn’t want to say.
Instead, she marched past him, intent on checking on her brother. He walked behind her, seemingly aware she didn’t want to talk, even though she still expected a reprimand for allowing Mr. Chase in the house.
Opening the door, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Sam was awake and eating soup from a bowl on his chest with the help of Petrov.
Amelia covered her mouth to stifle a cry of joy. Sam raised his eyebrow at her.
Graham stood behind her. He put a hand on her lower back and whispered, “My God.”
They both rushed forward but slowed midway, as if any disturbance might shatter the illusion before them. Petrov had tears in his eyes.
“All of you need to calm down,” Sam said. His voice dripped with exhaustion. “What has it been—a day or two that I’ve been asleep?”
“Sam—” Her throat closed, and she looked to Graham to answer his questions.
“You don’t remember?” Graham asked.
Sam snorted and winced. “My damn ribs. I remember the fall and Dr. Bradley wanting you both to prepare for the worst.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
It’s been severaldays,” Graham said. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness, taking water and broth.”
Alston blinked, looking around and scrubbing his hand over his smooth jaw.
“As if I’d let you be in disarray, my lord.” Petrov chided. “We’ve been a mite worried over you.”
Alston smiled at all of them. “But now I’m getting better.” His face fell. “That long? It doesn’t feel like it.”
“How do you feel?” Amelia asked, tears glittering in her eyes. She kneeled at his side and took his hand. Alston gazed down at her fondly. He appeared younger; his cherubic curls were free of the thick pomade he used to tame them.
