“It is nothing; the whole of Society shall know soon enough.” The man ran a hand through his hair, and Amelia had the distinct impression she was not the only person in great distress that evening. “Some information regarding my inheritance has come to light. I do not believe I will be accepted in polite Society much longer.”
Amelia forgot her worries for a moment as she took in the man’s clear exhaustion. “Thank you for helping me when you have your own troubles plaguing you.”
He offered a slight smile. “Sometimes the best way to chase one’s troubles away is to help another. So thankyou.”
Amelia smiled, her first genuine one of the night. The fact that she could smile at all while her world crumbled about her was bolstering.
“It appears your carriage is here. I shall send a message to Lord Norwich so he knows you’ve returned home.”
“I truly cannot thank you enough.”
He bowed, then disappeared down the hall. His absence ought to have ushered in the loneliness, but that isolation did not return with such a sting. There were still good people in London, and that gave her the strength to believe she would escape this latest scandal intact. Somehow.
The butler escorted her down the steps of the house toward the carriage.
Only, it was not the Norwich carriage at all.
“Oh.” She stopped. What else could possibly go awry this evening? “There has been a mis—”
The door to the carriage swung open, and the Dowager Countess of Cromwell waved Amelia closer. Amelia took an uncertain step forward.
“Come, child. Let us take you home.”
“How did you... ?” Amelia trailed off even as she stepped closer to the dowager countess. She glimpsed another matronly woman seated just within the carriage, beside Lady Cromwell.
“Never mind that, just come along, and we will explain all.”
By this point, Amelia was so exhausted she would willingly have driven a cart and pony home if it meant escaping the suffocating house behind her, filled to the brim with gossiping tabbies. She took a footman’s proffered hand and stepped up into the carriage.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Edward physically shook his armsas he walked as far into the card room as he could manage. As far as possible from that awful Miss Brooks.
“Norwich.”
Edward’s head swung in the direction of the voice. It was Sir Henry Ainsley, lounging in his seat with a glass of something in his hand. And beside him, for they never seemed to be far behind, were Lord Bowcott and Lord Berkeley. Edward nodded. He had no wish to open communication with that lot again.
“Norwich.”
He had nearly passed the group of men when Sir Henry called yet again, louder. His voice was lazy, taunting. Edward turned reluctantly toward him.
“Sir Henry.”
“Come. Join us.”
Edward eyed the man warily, unsure what his goal must be. But with nowhere else to go and no wish to make a scene, he joined the group.
His backside had hardly made contact with the chair when Sir Henry spoke again.
“You must be quite proud of yourself, capturing a duke’s daughter after all these years. I’d assumed you were aiming for a princess what with the discarded misses and titles you left in your wake.”
Edward clenched his jaw, and he thought he heard Lord Berkeley utter a warning word to Sir Henry. That man had always been the most discreet of the three. The most level-headed.
“I did not capture her.”
“Oh? Well, good on you regardless. That there is a fine piece of—”
Edward shot from his chair at the same moment that both Lord Bowcott and Lord Berkeley reprimanded their friend.
