“Good day, Lord Norwich, Lady Norwich.” Mr. Charleton bowed at the waist, and his friends followed suit before they continued farther down the path.
It took nearly ten minutes of silently walking before Amelia felt the last of the tension release from Lord Norwich. Eventually, he looked down at her, all traces of emotion, except for benign pleasantness, gone from his expression.
“Well. Shall we return and relieve young Henry of his charges?”
“Yes, let’s.” But in reality, she wished to stay and capture some of their lost camaraderie.
They began retracing their steps to Lord Norwich’s gig, silence still forming a heavy aura about them. Amelia felt hollow, though it hardly made sense. By all accounts, they had accomplished everything she could have wished. Various members of thetonhad seen them together, passing an enjoyable sojourn and even sharing in a level of intimacy—though that may set tongues wagging in its own way.
And that was the problem, for her relationship with her husband felt far more intimate than she wished. Despite being the one to pull away, she deeply felt the loss of that moment by the lake. Though she would never have admitted it, she ached to know what might have happened had she not stepped back. Would their kiss have been as truly monumental as she suspected?
Yet all her questions still beat at her bruised heart and confused mind. If only she could have some solid indication of the goodness she had glimpsed in Lord Norwich. As Henry came into view ahead, still far in the distance, Amelia decided it was time to dig her heels in and see what she could learn.
“Who is Lady Anderson?”
Lord Norwich slowed his pace. “A friend of my mother’s. Why?”
Amelia stumbled over her own feet. “Your mother? That would mean she is... older?”
“Yes,” he dragged the word out, peering at her. “Why?”
Oh, good heavens, she was an imbecile. “Why did you not invite me to meet her then?” A very valid point.
“I would have except you ran from the room—wait a moment, did you think she was a young lady?”
Well, when he used that tone, she felt rather silly for thinking exactly that.
“Amelia.” His tone was exasperated. “Is this why you have been distant? You thought I was entertaining a young woman in our home that late at night?”
Amelia opened and closed her mouth a few times. “Perhaps.”
“You did! Gads, you must have a very low opinion of me. I swear to you, I would never allow such a thing.”
He was in earnest and offended. She could tell. And she could also tell that bright red was climbing up her neck and into her cheeks.
“I will introduce her to you. Soon. If only to force you to believe me when I say I am not philandering with other women in our home.” Lord Norwich raked a hand through his hair, resuming walking to the gig. Amelia hurried after him.
“I apologize, I did not mean—”
He cut her off, turning to her and grasping both her upper arms. “No. Do not apologize. This is not your fault but mine. I swear it to you, Amelia, I will convince you of my honesty.”
Amelia nodded jerkily, still unbelievably embarrassed. And sad that she had made him feel so badly.
“Come.” He released her arms, then took her hand. “Let us return home.”
So distracted was she by the knowledge that she had been so very wrong, Amelia did not even remember the letters on his desk until she was ensconced in her room yet again. Was she similarly wrong about those? She could not ask him and risk being wrong yet again. Because if she were wrong, he would be hurt. It would drive a wedge between them. And dangerously, she was starting to hope. Hope that he was as good as she believed he was. Hope that they could have a real marriage. Could have love.
But she could not continue not knowing.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Why did I ever letyou talk me into this?” Amelia hissed into her husband’s ear later that night. She kept doing that—finding small ways to be close to him since she’d learned how wrong she was about Lady Anderson. It was a dangerous game.
The infuriating man only chuckled softly, shifting in his chair so he was better able to see the front of the room. Their hosts must be incredibly proud of themselves; this musicale was nearly as terrible a crush as a ball might have been.
Or perhaps musicales were generally this large.
Regardless, it seemed excessive.
