“Indeed.” Miss Brooks finally looked to Amelia. “To be the object of such censure, such disapproval. Such... condemnation. It must be horrific indeed.”
And then Amelia understood. Beneath Miss Brooks’s thinly veiled pity, she detected hatred. True, unadulterated hatred. Amelia did not know why, but she could guess. The woman hated her for marrying the man she’d wanted. She hated her for being allowed to remain in Society after her accident and supposed indiscretion when she, Miss Brooks, had been shunned. And she wished Amelia to feel the same horrific isolation and scandal that she herself had experienced.
“Oh, look, Edith is waving to me.” And then Miss Brooks swept away, with a look of elated triumph.
Amelia’s mind worked furiously. She needed to leave. She grasped for Henrietta’s hand. “Henrietta, will you—”
“Please, do not ask me, Mellie. Please.”
She had thought her shock absolute, but watching her sister take a step back while shaking her head seemed to take the very floor from beneath her feet.
Amelia’s hand fell to her side. “I only need a way to leave without being set upon, Henrietta. That is all I ask. If this scandal grows... I have to leave.”
Henrietta took another half step back again, looking around her almost as if she were a caged animal. “I am sorry,” she whispered, the words anguished. “I cannot let another scandal affect me. Not now. Not when happiness is finally within my reach.”
She turned, and at that moment, Sir Frederick stopped before both of them. He smiled widely and turned to say something to Amelia, but Henrietta grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the couples lining up in the middle of the floor.
I am sorry, she mouthed to Amelia even as she abandoned her. Amelia was alone on an island in a vast sea. And she had no boat.
The whispers intensified, so much worse than the occasional interested look or murmured comment at the last ball she had attended with Edward.
Edward.
Amelia swept the crowd but found him nowhere. Not that he was likely to help her. She was truly and utterly alone. And she needed to leave. If she could only find a way to make it to the opposite side of the ballroom without some monumental event, she could ask a footman to have her carriage brought round.
But how would such a thing even be possible?
“Lady Norwich.” A hand touched her elbow, and she startled, turning. Her heart leapt into her throat. Was she already to be publicly shamed?
The man regarding her seriously was familiar. But she could not recall his name.
“Mr. Weston,” he supplied. “We met in the park weeks ago.”
On the day she also met Edward. She recalled now—recalled how he had been the utmost gentleman, though she didn’t appreciate that then.
“Forgive me. I fear I am a little distracted.”
“I do not doubt. Ah, forgive me, I did not mean it quite that way. Only I have heard rumors, and I thought, perhaps, you may need assistance?” He looked suddenly quite abashed as if he felt he was overstepping.
But Amelia did not feel he was overstepping in the least. In fact, he was the only person in this entire room who seemed to have any desire to step toward her at all. It provided a fraction of relief, to not be so alone. And she greatly appreciated it. “Thank you, yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, will you please help me to leave?” She thought of something else. “And I need to get a message to my husband.”
He bowed slightly. “Which would you like me to accomplish first? Leaving or sending the message?”
Amelia heard the growing whispers and saw the curious and disdainful looks. “Leaving, definitely.”
“Then I am at your service.” He gave her his arm, which she gratefully took, and began leading her around the edge of the ballroom.
It took nearly a lifetime to reach the doors to the hall, but they managed to do so with no more than the whispers and looks following her. It was painful—her heart squeezing anxiously, expecting the worst to happen at any moment. She felt that she couldn’t take a full breath the entire time. But they arrived in the hall unscathed. She could not have managed it without Mr. Weston and his outward show of support to her.
“Why help me? You realize you risk your own reputation in doing so,” she asked after he had sent a footman for her carriage.
He called for the butler to grab her wrap, then turned his focus back on her. He was a handsome man, if not as striking as Edward. “My reputation is hanging by a thread as it is.”
“What do you mean?” Amelia realized her mistake immediately. “I apologize. That was terribly forward of me. You need not answer.” What a way to repay his kindness, by prying into his personal affairs.
