Lord Norwich groaned, glancing at Amelia before looking back to the butler. A tense silence beat across the room while her husband appeared to struggle within himself. “Very well. Please show her to my book room and send for tea. I will be in shortly.”
Coombs nodded and left, and Lord Norwich returned his gaze to Amelia. “I’m afraid this cannot wait. Lady Anderson is a particular friend.”
Amelia shot to her feet, overwhelmed. With Lord Norwich’s touch, his brushing off her inquiry into his reputation, and then a woman appearing at this hour, and his leaving to see toherin the middle of their conversation, Amelia felt dizzy.
A particular friend, was she? A particular friend. How much of a friend could this woman be if this was the first Amelia heard of her? Unbidden, the image of the woman hanging on Lord Norwich’s arm in Cheapside appeared in her mind. Could that be Lady Anderson? And if not, how many particular friends did Lord Norwich have?
“Amelia, are you well?”
His hand on her arm startled her, and she flinched away. “Yes. Fine. We may speak later. Good evening, Lord Norwich.”
If she could have, Amelia would have fled to the music room to settle her wildly imaginative thoughts. Only, she could not very well bang upon the pianoforte while there was a guest in their home. Especially not aparticular friendof her husband’s. Dejected, she changed course and returned to her chambers. Perhaps she could throw a few pillows at her door. Long ago, she’d discovered that activity made for a great release of anger. Yet, it was not anger she felt just now, which was the emotion needed for such a display as throwing helpless pillows across a room.
No, no anger flooded through her. What she felt in that moment could only be described as heartache.
She paused, her hand poised to open her door. At this exact moment, her husband was entertaining another woman in her home. However hurt she may feel, she had every right to put a stop to that sort of behavior. Every right.
The safe net of anger spurred her back down the stairs to the door of Lord Norwich’s office. Laughter rang out from behind the door. Her husband’s laughter. Only minutes earlier, Amelia had been the cause of such a sound. She had thought their moments these last few days special. But here he was, laughing with another woman without a thought of the wife he was spurning at that moment.
It was painful. And that pain pierced through her anger for just long enough to make her second-guess her plan of bursting upon the couple.
“My lady, might I help you?”
Amelia met the startled eyes of one of the maids. “Yes, actually, Lucy. Do you know the lady within?”
“Oh, yes, that is Lady Anderson.” She seemed pleased to be able to provide such a certain answer.
“What is the nature of Lord Norwich’s relationship with Lady Anderson?”
Lucy’s lips pursed in thought. “They have known each other almost since Lord Norwich was born. She is a particular friend, I understand.”
It was then that Amelia noticed Lucy was holding a tray laden with tea. “Thank you, Lucy. You may go.”
She bobbed a curtsy and passed Amelia, who stepped back to remain hidden from line of sight, though she did not leave. Instead, she peered through the opening between the wall and door to see inside. Yet all she saw was the back of Lord Norwich’s head, and even that was partially obscured by Lucy.
The fight left her. Why should she care who her husband spent his evenings with? She had no intention of growing close to him, so he may do with his free time as he wished.
If she thought it with enough force, perhaps she’d believe herself.
Chapter Seventeen
Breakfast was a quiet affair.Edward knew he should bring up their conversation from the night before, but he simply couldn’t do it. He did not wish to admit his shortcomings to Amelia. He had not been untruthful; Societyhadrepeated a number of falsehoods about him and his habits, but there was more to it than that, and Edward did not wish to see Amelia’s look of pity or derision. Nor did he wish to ruin the headway he was making in wooing her.
So, as with many problems he faced, he avoided it and hoped it would go away. It was fortuitous that Lady Anderson had shown up when she did. Where Lady Cromwell was like a mother to Edward, Lady Anderson was akin to an aunt, and therefore a wholly acceptable means by which he could avoid the awkward conversation with Amelia.
“How is—how was—your meeting last night?” Amelia’s voice prompted him from his thoughts as he speared an egg with his fork. Perhaps she was trying to bridge the tension-filled gap between them. He appreciated her efforts.
“Lady Anderson is well. Her situation was not nearly as urgent as she made it seem. She is quite prone to dramatics. Did you know she once came running to me because her housekeeper refused to pair roast duck with venison for a dinner party? I believe she consideredthatan emergency as well.” This time, the gardener refused to plant a certain flower since it would not bloom due to it being the wrong season. Edward had suggested she send it to the current Lord and Lady Anderson and request the bloom be planted in the estate’s conservatory. Her nephew and his wife had recently returned to the country and doted on the woman. They would certainly see to it. And if not them, her married daughter would be willing as well.
Lady Anderson—or he supposed she was truly theDowagerCountess of Anderson, not that it mattered much with the current title-holding woman convalescing in the country—had been pacified easily by the idea.
The woman had finished her tea, chatted with Edward regarding his new marriage, then left for the night, after a proclamation that she simply must meet the new Lady Norwich. Edward wondered what Amelia would think of his mother’s old friend. She was not nearly so stiff and proper as Lady Cromwell but, rather, generally eccentric and entertaining. Perhaps the woman ought not to storm into his home at all hours of the night if she wished to make Amelia’s acquaintance.
“Lord Norwich?”
Edward jolted to attention, realizing he had missed Amelia’s response entirely. “I am sorry. I was woolgathering, it would seem. What did you say?”
“It is nothing.” And she bent her head and finished off the last of her breakfast before excusing herself.
