“You are no coward, Edward.” The sincerity in her expression made him lean forward and impulsively take her hand in his. Could it be possible that she did not condemn him? She did not pull away, and the warmth of her seeped up his arms toward his chest.
“And, honestly, I am mostly frustrated with myself,” she continued.
“You? What have you to be frustrated with?”
The corner of her mouth lifted a little. “I am far more intelligent than my actions have shown.” She looked exasperatedly at the ceiling. “Good heavens, I’m a ninny for allowing this to go as far as it has.”
Her eyes returned to his, fire blazing within them. “A part of me always knew the real you was not who Society said. Do not mistake me: my mind fought a hard battle against those unyielding feelings, most especially after you ruined my hair before the opera.”
“I still need to take you.”
“Or when you called metreasure.”
“You are a treasure.”
Her lips twitched. “Or those terrible letters.”
Edward cocked his head. “What letters?”
She waved her hand dismissively, and he decided not to press her now, somehow knowing that something far more important was coming.
“In the carriage, you mentioned my scars.”
He nodded.
“You are not the only one with a past you’ve been unwilling to divulge, it would seem.” Her hand came to rest atop the lace of her dress, where Edward knew the scars were.
“I hate these scars,” she whispered. Her voice was small and seemed far away. Edward inched closer, his knee knocking into hers.
“I was twelve years old when I fell. It is no special story. I was being my typical, curious self, and had wandered too far from my father’s home. And I heard something. A cry, I thought. It seemed to be coming from a ruined abbey on our lands, and so I went to investigate. A young boy, one of the tenants’ sons, had gotten himself stuck in a section of the ruins where the floor had collapsed. I followed his cries until I found him at the bottom of the stony pit. He said he’d hurt his foot falling and couldn’t climb out. I found a branch, helped him out, and then—”
Her hand clutched the lace.
“Then I lost my balance and fell over the edge. I tried to grab for the other side, but my hands slipped, and instead, I slid down the stones.”
Edward took a sharp intake of breath, imagining how rough the rocks must have been to create scars as deep as the ones he had seen. He had questions. Hundreds, it seemed. But he did not voice them, waiting instead for Amelia to speak. Watching her struggle with her next words.
“I do not remember what happened next. I am told the boy made his way home, slowly, what with his broken ankle. But as soon as he got home, he told his father about me. And his father rode immediately for the ruins, sending his son to ride to our estate and inform my father. Except my father was not home. He had taken Edith and Henrietta to visit friends, leaving me behind to recover from a cold I’d had earlier in the month.”
She shrugged, and only her hands, which had come together in her lap, showed how hard the story was to tell.
“You do not need to continue, Amelia,” he murmured, laying a hand over hers.
She shook her head. “There is not much more. The servants cared for me. My governess was by my side every day and night. They called for a surgeon, and by the time my father returned, I had passed a painful week but was on the mend.”
“How could he have taken so long?” Edward could not keep the anger from his voice, thinking on how alone and scared andhurtAmelia must have been.
“They were a three days’ journey away. He came as soon as he got the letter. He even left Henrietta and Edith with their friends. I wish they had stayed longer.”
“Why?” Though he thought he knew the answer.
“Because everything changed when they returned home. New dresses were made. I was left behind on every trip—more so than even before. I was treated as if I were diseased. To them, I think I may have been.”
Edward’s hand constricted over Amelia’s. “That is why you hide them.”
She watched their hands. “I hide them because they are flaws.”
His nostrils flared in frustration. “You have been taught to believe they are flaws. From where I am standing—er, sitting—they are reminders of a heroic act and a terrible moment in time. You are still you. With or without the scars. You are not your scars.”
