Not five minutes passed before faint music drifted through the door. The tone was melancholy. Just what was on the fascinating woman’s mind? Blast it all if it was their conversation from last night. He stood to follow, intent on at least taking up his position outside the music room. Her songs were becoming a sort of dependence for him.
But before he could even leave the room, Coombs intercepted him with the day’s post. Barton’s script stood out upon the first missive.
At least he could hear the music from his study.
***
The sound of voices in the drawing room informed Edward that he was late to greet the guests for their dinner party.
He forced his shoulders to relax and was prepared to open the doors when a sound behind him had him turning instead.
Amelia had just reached the foot of the staircase. She froze when she saw him.
“Amelia, I’d thought I was late.”
“It would seem we both are.”
“Perhaps we shall put off the guests a bit longer? Take a walk in the gardens? We might find another rose to replace the one that lost the fight against your hair.”
“I believe my hair lost the fight againstyou, Lord Norwich. If you simply wish to debate the merits of a pink rose to that of the yellow, I do not believe I am particularly suited to the task.”
“Ah, but if I were wishing to find which bloom most resembledme, I should believe you perfect for the task. So long as it has a large nose? Or disproportionate ears, was it?”
She pinched her lips together—either to hold back a smile or in general annoyance. He chose to believe it was the former.
“And,” he said, moving closer when she did not immediately respond, “I’ll have you know that in the last week and a half, I’ve asked every one of the staff their opinions, and not a soul believes my ears to be overlong.”
This time he was certain her lips twitched.
“I notice you don’t mention the nose. They must not have assured you on that part.”
Edward laughed loudly at the unexpected remark. “You know, come to think of it, they did not.”
She did not laugh, but he thought he saw a ghost of a smile and even a flash of confusion cross her face. After a moment in which he stared unabashedly, she cleared her throat. “Our guests are—we should probably—”
Ah. Yes.
“Of course.” He held out his arm, which she took, and they entered the room together. It felt right to have her there, but she seemed to hold herself stiffly. Could he have imagined her smile by the stairs? He certainly did not imagine her quips. Why had the lightness fled so quickly, then? But a glance at the group of people in front of them took any lightness from his own person as well.
Before they reached the first of their guests, Edward pulled Amelia to a stop. “The Bowcotts,” he muttered under his breath, “why did you invite the Bowcotts?” And why had they accepted?
“The who?” Amelia looked at the group.
“The Bowcotts,” he hissed, unease forming in his stomach. Of all the members of thetonfor her to invite, of all the people that could ruin his plans for making Amelia fall in love with him. Blast it all, why hadn’t he asked to see the guest list?
“Oh. I-I do not know a great many people, and Edith paid a call insisting I invite them, that it would be a major faux pas not to.” The inflection in her voice turned up, making her statement a question.
Edward willed his frustration to lower. But he could not manage it. It was clear Amelia was innocent in this all, but it did not change the fact that Edward had attempted to marry Lady Bowcott, and her husband loathed Edward.
“Are you quite all right?” Amelia whispered.
His head jerked down sharply in a nod, and he cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was so low she had to lean in to hear him. “I am simply regretting not having checked the guest list.”
Hurt flashed across her features. “I did not realize it mattered so very much who was invited. Have I done wrong?”
Yes. “No,” he said, glancing around at the group. Several were watching their exchange expectantly. “I simply do not have the best... history with the Bowcotts. Come. We must greet the guests, whether we wish to or not.” He could not very welluninvite them.
Amelia’s hands pulled together in front of her, her hands entwining tightly. “I am sorry,” she murmured.
