“Amelia?”
She startled at his soft touch on her arm, jerking back. He ducked his head so he could better view her face. She looked away.
“Amelia, whatever is the matter? Gads, you look unwell. Come. Sit.”
Amelia shook her head, stumbling back a step. “No. No, I am fine.”
“You do not appear so.”
“I would thank you to not make assumptions about my state.” The angry words tumbled from her mouth, having burst from her disordered mind.
Edward reeled back, his eyebrows pulling together. “I apologize. But—” He rubbed the side of his face. “Please, Amelia, what is wrong? Is it the letters? What else did they say?”
Amelia grasped the letters even tighter, terrified of their contents yet unwilling to release them to Edward. Words floated across her mind:The man is a rake... He kissed me... I pity you...
She pressed her eyes shut, stepping away blindly and running into a small table. A beautiful vase fell to the floor and shattered. Amelia stared at it in shock. “I-I am sorry.”
“It is nothing. Please sit, Amelia. Tell me what is wrong.”
Could she? Could she hand over the letters right this moment and let him tell her the truth from the lies?
Her hand pulled one of the letters out, then pressed it back against her chest. What if there was even a hint of truth in the letters? She could not hear it. Cowardly, she wished to never learn how much truth was in them. Then suddenly, as if simply waiting for the perfect opportunity to shock her to her very core, a memory resurfaced.
The memory of being in Edward’s study and seeing a letter addressed to him, one that he had opened—signed from a woman. Was he still in correspondence with other ladies in Society?
She stared unseeing at the broken glass near her feet and shook her head, partially in reaction to the horrifying recollection and partially in answer to his request. “No. No, I am fine. I merely need to rest, I believe. And I-I think we should go to the ball tonight. Henrietta has asked me to come. We needn’t stay long.”
She began to flee, but Edward’s words stopped her just at the door.
“Of course. Whatever you wish, Amelia.”
She caught the sob within her before it escaped. She wished for so many things. The most of which being that she had married someone else.
Fell in love with someone else.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Edward watched Amelia in thesemi-darkness of the carriage. Studied her. Studied the curve of her cheek—less full than a week before—the lift of her nose, the dip in her lips. She did not notice his perusal. He doubted she would notice if he stood and jumped from the carriage, what with the total lack of attention she had given him since that morning in the music room.
He narrowed his eyes at the remembrance. Their time together had been generally awkward, but that hadn’t stopped Edward from baring his soul, though he hadn’t planned such a thing. And when he had done so, she’d appeared to soften toward him. She’d come closer of her own volition, and he’d seen the care in her eyes. They had been nearly green that morning, and Edward wondered what color they were now, paired with her dress that was neither green nor blue. Some sort of silver embroidery covered the bodice and sleeves, and lace trimmed the neckline, hiding the scars he still wondered over. He’d never gotten a chance to talk to her about them.
He took a deep breath, pulling his eyes from her to see her hands twisting about in her lap.
“Are you nervous?” he asked softly.
“It is only my family.” Still, she did not look at him.
“Sometimes we feel most trepidation where our family is concerned. Besides, it is not only your family; they are essentially hosting all of London within their home.” He laughed humorlessly. “Even I admit to a level of nerves.”
She did not answer, but he saw her hands tighten further together. He hated when that was the only emotion he could see in her. He absolutely hated when her fire retreated within, and he saw only a shadow of her usual self.
It was the ball, he was sure of it, and he was beginning to believe that this shadow of Amelia was all her family saw of her. Well, that wouldn’t do. It did not sit well with him, and he determined right there to change it. He peered out the window as the carriage pulled to a stop: there was an entire line of carriages ahead of them, their inhabitants waiting to be released, and so he would have plenty of time to coax a smile from her. Or, at the very least, some conversation.
“You are very quiet tonight.”
She glanced at him but said nothing, only lifting her shoulders an inch or two.
“Your dress is very elegant. You have fine taste.” He made sure not to comment on her beauty. Shewasbeautiful, but he knew now that she found that discomfiting.
