Edward glanced down the table to Amelia. She was conversing with Lord and Lady Cromwell.
“I was unaware her upbringing was much different than most,” he said in a similarly low voice, surprising himself with the intensity in his tone.
Lady Edith looked at her father, who sat on Edward’s other side, glowering at the party as a whole, then carefully set down her knife and fork. “Oh yes. Mama doted on her and quite nearly forgot Henrietta and I in her adoration.” Here, Lady Edith smiled stiffly. “Unfortunately, our dear mother died when Mellie was only nine, and I am afraid she became a rather wild child. Papa did not want anything to do with her; she looks far too much like Mama, you see. And Henrietta and I were but children ourselves, though much better behaved, so Papa focused his energies on us, knowing we would make him proud. That left poor Amelia to be raised by our governess, and that woman did not do half as good a job on her as she did on us. I swear Amelia spent half her time running about the countryside like a heathen, the poor thing. That is how she received her hideous scars, you know.”
Edward’s cutlery froze in the air. Scars? What was this?
“But I’ve done my best to prepare her for this Season. I hope she does not embarrass you.”
Her voice was pitying, her eyes lowered, but Edward did not miss the many snubs her revelations had pointed toward Amelia. His chest felt hot with indignation, but he could not very well disagree with Lady Edith. For all he knew, she was correct in her assessment of Amelia’s upbringing.
But she needn’t have shared it all so callously.
He settled with a small nod and spooned a bite of soup into his mouth to cover his lack of response.
She did not appear to notice, for she simply continued the conversation, though it was far more one-sided now. Edward was finding it hard to gather up enough positive responses. So, she regaled him with tales of her many successes in London Society, described, in detail, her latest bonnet, and complimented the meal, his servants, and his cravat.
All the while, he nodded and smiled as attentively as he could. But inwardly, he grappled with the new information he had about Amelia.
Was she truly as ill-bred as Lady Edith insisted? That would explain a great deal regarding her occasional outbursts and rude comments.
But he rather liked her outbursts, and she didn’t appear unkind. Simply spirited. Except in her father’s study and when she had entered the dinner party... and during their wedding breakfast.
He furrowed his brow at his plate. No. The woman he married was not ill-bred. There were many things he still did not know about her, and he still seemed a long way off in convincing her to love him, but she was certainly not ill-bred.
Lady Edithwas ill-bred for speaking so unkindly about her sister.
Edward chanced a glance at Amelia. Her gown was much more elegant and simpler than her others; it must have been a new creation. Yet still, it had that strangely high neckline he’d never seen a woman wear before. Another curiosity he wished to understand. Could it have anything to do with these scars Lady Edith had spoken of?
If he asked Lady Edith to explain, would that give away how very unconventional his and Amelia’s marriage was? The woman had mentioned scars as if Edward would know. She had called them hideous. But nothing about Amelia was hideous.
Lady Cromwell caught him staring at Amelia and raised her brow. He returned his attention to his dinner companion.
“And that is why I needed a new gown. Isn’t that right, Papa?”
His Grace flicked a look at his eldest daughter. “Whatever you wish.”
Lady Edith tittered, looking at Edward. “Papa certainly dotes on us, as you see.”
“Mmm.” His noncommittal response was, once again, accepted.
“I shall go to Coventon’s for the gown. She does splendid work. How do you like my gown, Lord Norwich?”
“Mmm? Oh yes. Yes, it is quite... becoming.”
She tittered, brushing at her sleeves and admiring herself a moment longer. “Thank you.” Then, without pause, she continued chatting, occasionally touching his arm with a hand or fluttering her lashes at him.
By the time the dinner drew to a close, Edward had come to learn that Amelia could not be more different than her sister, and he was grateful to see Lady Edith remove to the drawing room.
That left Edward alone with the men.
“I have not had the chance to congratulate you on your marriage. Lady Norwich seems a fine lady.” Lord Cromwell offered a genuine smile. He was near to Edward in age, and they got on fine, but Edward would not call them much above acquaintances. Edward probably would not have suggested inviting them if not for Lord Cromwell’s relationship as the son of the Dowager Countess of Cromwell.
He nodded graciously. “She is indeed. I thank you.”
“And is she well? Amelia?” His Grace’s sudden question surprised Edward. He floundered for an appropriate response. Should he mention her propensity to disagree with him? Or her distaste for compliments, pickled vegetables, and flowers in her hair? Perhaps he could say she loved his music room a great deal more than she cared for him. Eventually, he settled on the vague rather than the specific.
“As you see,” he said.
