What was he going to say? She was on the edge of her seat, quite literally, awaiting his confession. But it did not come. He cleared his throat.
“I came to your room when you were ill. Do you remember?”
“I do not remember much of the last week. I did not even realize it had been a week.”
He nodded once. What she said had resolved something within him. But what? He took a deep breath. “Amelia, I have to admit something.” His expression was suddenly guarded, and Amelia felt the lack of warmth acutely.
She raised questioning brows.
“I did not wait for you here only to have you play for me. I wish to speak with you.” His hand twitched, as if to reach for hers, but he did not. Instead, he gripped his legs just above his knees. “My reputation is one that—well, I am certain you know just how horrible it is.”
Her heart stopped beating altogether. The sudden change in topic was nearly as disconcerting as the new topic itself. She held her breath, waiting. She had needed to have this conversation for weeks now. But now that it was here, she feared what he would say more than she’d ever feared anything in her life.
“I need to explain to you—tell you—” He cut off with a curse, his gaze darting from hers. “There is truth in the rumors and gossip, Amelia.”
She blinked, incapable of coming up with anything to say. He shook his head and muttered a curse again.
“I apologize. I’m not explaining this well. There is truth, yes, but—”
A knock at the door stopped Edward, but if Amelia could have shaken the explanation out of him, she would have. This blasted household was forever interrupting them. The door opened, and Coombs stood there holding a silver platter. For a moment, Amelia expected him to say Edward had another female visitor, which would have been like a dagger to her already injured heart, but the butler looked toherinstead.
“An urgent missive has arrived for you, my lady. I took the liberty of bringing the rest of your mail as well.” There was a stack of four or five letters on the tray, and Amelia felt her eyes widen. She had not received so much correspondence in all her life, let alone at one time.
“Thank you, Coombs,” she said softly as she took the letters. Something stirred in her mind as she touched the foolscap paper, another letter she had seen recently. Before she was sick, perhaps? Urgent or not, she had no intention of reading these letters until after Edward had his say. As far as she was concerned, that was the most urgent thing ever to occur in her entire marriage. Maybe her entire life.
But she happened to glance down at the top missive as she returned to her seat. She froze in the action of lowering herself into the chair.
“What is it?” Edward asked.
“My father. It is from him.” She looked up at Edward, certain her shock showed. “He has never written to me. Except... except when he was in London and Mama died.”
“Open it.” He gestured toward her letter. “Would you wish for some privacy?”
“No.” She did not even think about it. Despite the wall that was necessary between her and Edward, she needed him here now—whatever the news may be.
He nodded, inching toward the end of his chair.
With slightly shaking hands, she broke the seal.
Amelia,
I am informed you are much improved of your illness. Therefore, I am sending an invitation to our family’s ball this evening. I am certain I do not need to tell you of the importance of this event. Having all my family there, without blemish or reproach, is essential. I anticipate your arrival.
Yours, etc.
The Duke of Stafford
Her brow furrowed as she stared at the missive. That was it? That was urgent? She turned the paper over. Nothing of concern over the family? An invitation to a ball. A brief mention of the sickness that had plagued her nearly a week. And something about the handwriting seemed strange. But she hadn’t much experience with her father’s handwriting, so that hardly mattered.
“What does he say?”
Amelia glanced up into Edward’s curious face. “A ball. He has invited me—us—to a ball. Tonight.”
“We cannot go.” Edward’s tone was final.
“Whyever not?” Not that she particularly wanted to, but she didn’t much like being told what she would do.
“You are not yet recovered. A ball would be too taxing. I will not risk it.”
