***
Amelia stood at the window of her room, the curtain pushed just inches to the side so she could watch the street below. She had been awake for over an hour but was apprehensive of leaving her room. What if she crossed paths with Lord Norwich? A man suddenly emerged on the street below. Somehow, with only a lofty view of him, she knew who it was. Her head tilted. Where was Lord Norwich off to? She squinted down at him, trying to determine what he was doing, when he suddenly looked up at her window.
Squealing, she jumped aside, burying her face in the curtains. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and her heart hammered out an uneven rhythm. Had he seen her watching him? She peeked around the curtains again, but the street was now empty.
“My lady? You rang?”
Amelia spun to face her maid. “Hmm? Ah, yes. Yes, Mary, will you help me into a dress?”
“Of course, my lady.”
Mary laid out a dress, and Amelia slipped the dressing gown from her shoulders for her maid to help her into her stays. When Mary turned back for the dress, Amelia caught sight of herself in the mirror.
As always, her eyes alighted on her scars first and foremost. Many had faded, but the crisscrossing of deep gashes were still visible across her collarbone and shoulders, disappearing beneath her stays, but Amelia knew that several more scars continued even further, some even mottling the skin on her legs. The stone she had fallen down had been particularly sharp, slicing through anything it could manage. One fateful afternoon, when she was but twelve years old, had changed the course of her future, had made her sisters even more ashamed of her, had made her chances of marriage, should thetonlearn of her scars, nearly impossible.
What would Lord Norwich say if he ever found out about them? Nothing favorable, to be sure. And therefore, he must not discover them. No one must. After last night, she dared hope that would be possible.
“Has Lord Norwich left?” Amelia asked, though she knew the answer. Mostly she wanted to know how long he would be gone.
“I believe so, my lady.”
“Do you know where he has gone to?”
Mary made a face of contemplation. “One maid mentioned he usually leaves about this time every few days. They do not know where he goes. He always returns before Parliament meets.”
Amelia nodded slowly, her gut twisting with possibilities of what would take a man from his house daily. Thankfully for her, she wanted nothing to do with her husband, so she need not wait around, desperate for an inch of her husband’s affection, while he bestowed it on everyonebuther. And it was likely he was off doing just that.
Amelia scowled, fighting off the sinking feeling that accompanied that thought. She did not care what Lord Norwich did on his own time. She didn’t even know the man, despite now sharing his name.
“Are you well, my lady?”
“Yes, yes, thank you. I believe I will go find the music room.”
Mary’s face lit. “It will be nice for you to play without fear of... well, your family.”
A rush of appreciation for this maid who had been with her for years and who truly understood her filled Amelia. “It will indeed.”
Leaving the room and descending the stairs, Amelia allowed her hand to drag along the gold-papered walls.
Were she at Stafford House, she would not have wished to remain indoors, choosing instead to explore a park or the family’s garden. If at home in the country, she would curl up in a chair in the library, being that it was the only room wherein none of her family members would sojourn. She wasn’t sure her sisters even knew it existed. But here she was able to enter the music room.
It was the only room in the whole house that was inviting to her, and she had been dismayed to only have spent under a minute in it the day before. It would be better to explore it on her own though, to give it the time it deserved.
Most London residences did not boast a music room, or if they did, it doubled as a parlor or salon. Her sisters had never had an ear for music, and Papa had said her playing reminded him too much of Mama, so upon her arrival in London this Season, she had been informed that their London music room had long ago been repurposed into yet another sitting room. For the same reasons, Amelia was only permitted to practice in their country home if her family was not at home.
She entered the well-proportioned chamber and breathed a sigh of relief. It had been far too long since she had played. The warm glow of the sun spilling in from the bank of windows facing the garden from the first floor made the room feel even more welcoming. This room was proving the only point in the earl’s favor thus far. It felt comfortable, and for once, Amelia did not need to fear Papa’s ire or her sisters’ complaints of headaches. She crossed to the pianoforte and ran her fingers nimbly up and down the keys, enjoying the familiarity.
Then she sat, her hands stilling on the instrument and the sun glinting off the polished keys.
One breath filled her lungs, then another as she soaked up the feeling of contentment washing over her.
A tune from childhood sprang into her mind, and she gave over to the feeling of it while her fingers hastened to play. Playing was more of an emotional experience for her than for anyone she had met. She did not know exactly how to explain it—had never really tried. Her eyes closed as memories flooded in. Memories of a loving mother, a present father, and sisters who played rather than scolded. The song turned melancholy without her intending, just as their life had. Mama had died when she was but nine, and Papa had withdrawn while her sisters grew up too quickly and too unkindly. They had forgotten about little Amelia, left to be raised by a governess and a household of servants.
The melody rose within her, crashing forth onto the keys as her frustration crashed within.
She tore her hands back, staring at the keys in accusation. Her chest rose and fell like an unsettled sea, and she reached a hand up to swipe back unbidden tears. Music often soothed her, but this barrage of remembrance was certainly not doing that. Tentatively, she replaced her hands on the instrument, this time forcing a playful, unburdened song to emerge. She did not wish to give in to the pain she was feeling just now. The pain of confusion and abandonment. Instead, she sought comfort and familiarity. She needed it more than anything just now.
Chapter Eight
