“Mellie, dear.” Edith’s voice was placating, serene. It did not fool Amelia. “You are the daughter of a Duke, and you must hold yourself as such. You are fortunate to come out so soon after Henrietta and myself so that you might have the wisdom of our experiences. As such, it is vitally important that you do exactly as we tell you. That includes wearing the beautiful, expensive dresses we had created for you. They are far better than the country gowns Miss Harlow allowed you to don.” Her lip curled in distaste at the mention of Amelia’s governess before she again wiped her expression clean and leaned forward to grasp her youngest sister’s hand.
Amelia startled in surprise at the abrupt contact.
Edith did not notice. Her voice was as honeyed as her hand was cold when she spoke again. “Dear Mellie, we aresolooking forward to this Season with you. Was not your court presentation splendid? Did you not just swoon at Almack’s last night? It will be just like old times, will it not? That is, so long as youfollow the rules.” Her grip grew painful, and Amelia pulled her hand back. Edith raised her eyebrow again. “You know how important your wardrobe is for you more than for most debutantes.”
Amelia swallowed all her retorts, nearly having to draw blood from how tightly she was biting her tongue. She was following all the rules. Her old dresses covered her neck just fine. She had not played the pianoforte in weeks. And nothing in her conduct could be criticized. Except perhaps playing with Bess, but Edith did not know of that.
Still, it did not do to fight with Edith, and she wished to end their sisterly chat as swiftly as possible. “Yes. Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised Mary I would allow her ample time to prepare me for tonight’s ball.”
“Very well. And do clean your hands.”
Amelia stood to leave but not before she glimpsed Edith’s self-satisfied look. Her oldest sister was happiest when she had someone to control. She did her best with Henrietta, but Amelia secretly believed Edith would not be content unless she managed to have an entire hoard of people to boss about. Being a duke’s daughter had given her eldest sister a leg up in that regard; half of London followed Edith’s whims. But that half of London did not reside in their townhome. And so, Amelia was now the favored conquest. It was probably why Edith had finally relented to having Amelia out in Society at the same time as her and Henrietta.
She wished they had just left her at the estate. Being left behind had grown normal—comfortable. Being in this unknown city constantly scrutinized by a family that could not see past her scars was unbearable. The mansion, with its soaring ceilings and massive paintings, seemed to close in on her as she exited the drawing room. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to think. Her eyes burned, and she tightened her hands together, squeezing so hard it began to hurt. No tears. There would be no tears. She attempted to focus on the anger she felt whenever Edith belittled her so. Anger was an easy shield. It was hard to pierce through anger but not hard to pierce through sadness.
Yet it did not help. Not as it had the night before when Edith had made her return to her room to change before the ball. Not as it had when Father had furrowed his brow at her that morning but said nothing.
Why could she not maintain a better hold on her emotions now?
She reached the entry hall and grabbed a bonnet and gloves—not her own, but they would have to do—before making straight for the front door. Amelia could not stay in this smothering home for another minute.
Hands tripping over one another, she tied the bow beneath her chin, glancing over her shoulder. Should she call for Mary?
There was hardly enough time, should she wish to escape without her sisters’ notice. Miss Harlow had never minded Amelia’s occasional country walks alone, and Amelia did not intend to go far from the house.
Her sisters’ voices sounded near the door to the drawing room, and that decided it for her. No time for a maid and no need for a maid. She would return within the hour.
And with that, she slipped from the house in search of a spot she could remain hidden from Society. Or, more importantly, hidden from her family.
Chapter Three
Good heavens, this town isridiculously large.
Amelia bit her lip, looking left and then right. She’d only meant to get a bit of fresh air and clear her head. The small park she’d discovered proved the perfect setting for such a respite. If she could have stayed all day and pretended the world away, she would have. But the sun had fallen lower in the sky, so she’d left, obediently setting for home.
She let out a puff of air. She’d been so careful leaving unseen, careful to go unnoticed, yet now here she was, lost, walking in circles.
And now the situation was growing desperate. Swallowing her pride as she spotted a well-dressed woman, she approached the lady, intending to ask for directions. But the woman’s eyes widened as she came near, and she stepped away quickly.
“Whydid I not bring Mary?” she muttered under her breath, effectively making her appear crazed, and turned down a new path. What lady escapes home without a companion?
A lady who did not particularly enjoy that distinction, a lady who had not anticipated going further than forty paces from her front door.
And, mind you, a lady with an impeccable sense of direction. Which apparently did not extend to London’s confusing, sprawling, andridiculouslylarge size. In the country, she’d been able to keep her bearings without thought. How was it that here, with the towering landmarks, she’d become so easily lost? What a fool she was. Rash and impulsive. Perhaps her sisters were right and she did need to be told how to behave here.
She straightened her shoulders. Belittling herself would not help her now—there would be time later for her to scold herself for stepping out without her companion.
At least the derisive and curious looks she had been on the receiving end of were finally beginning to wane—but only because the number of people about was waning as well. The fashionable hour was over, and people were returning home to set off for various evening activities. As she should be.
Oh, Papa was going to murder her after this.
Or, more likely, her sisters would manage the job before he even noticed her absence. Perhaps he would not ever notice her absence.
A lake came into sight around a bend. It twisted across the landscape, somehow both natural and unnatural at once. And then, with a small jolt of elation, she recognized it. Not from experience but, rather, from drawings in a book of London. This was the Serpentine, the famous lake created by man. Father’s mansion in Mayfair could not be more than a few blocks from the east side of the park.
Glancing at the setting sun, she began in the opposite direction, a new spring in her step. She knew where she was; she had figured it out all on her own. A tad late, yes, but still, the success was heartening.
When the path she walked on began slanting south, she determined to make her own way. It would be far faster, not that anything could aid her in reaching the ball on time—her sisters were likely leaving now, if they hadn’t already. Something told her they would not wait to see where little Mellie had disappeared to. No, they would save those questions for later, when they could berate her properly for missing the ball.
