“The pleasure is all mine, I’m sure.” He beamed at her, and while his teeth were slightly crooked, it lent an attractive air of joviality to his appearance.
Amelia could not help her returning smile as she retook her seat and Sir Frederick took a chair near Henrietta’s other side.
He only had eyes for Henrietta as he asked after Papa’s health and then proceeded to spend a quarter of an hour in quiet conversation with her.
Amelia poured herself some tea, as none had been offered, and settled into her chair.
“I am sorry we have not met before now, Lady Norwich,” Miss Fawcet offered.
“I as well. I am sure we will have many opportunities to see each other in the future though, what with your relationship with Henrietta.”
Miss Fawcet smiled, her hands folded primly in her lap, and her attention turned to the couple to their left. “They truly are well matched, are they not?” she murmured. “I certainly hope your father does not forbid the match.”
“I wonder how he could with how happy they make each other.”
“That is not always a father’s first consideration though, is it?” Miss Fawcet met Amelia’s eyes, her own both sad and understanding.
“No. Not always.”
A small, commiserating smile was offered before Sir Frederick turned to include them in a discussion on the merits of St. James Park over Hyde Park.
When the appropriate amount of time had passed, Amelia bid the ladies farewell, promising that she would attend a dinner her family was hosting that Saturday. Supposedly, she had been sent an invitation that must have gone astray.
Amelia shook her head as she closed the door to the sitting room. Edith may believe her to be a simpleton, but she was not. Frankly, if Henrietta had not expressly said she desired her to come to the dinner, Amelia would not wish to attend at all.
Her mind was so distracted that she did not notice the figure crossing the hall at the foot of the stairs.
“Amelia?”
Her head flew up. “Papa. Ah—I do apologize. I was woolgathering.”
“It is nothing. I... well... were you visiting with your sisters?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Good.” He looked to the side distractedly. He had a newspaper tucked beneath his arm.
“I was just leaving.”
His gaze returned to hers. “I see. I will not keep you, then. Only...”
“Yes?”
His weight shifted, which was a strange sight. Her father was hardly ever uncomfortable. He was always stoic and sure. But he seemed entirely unsure now as he cleared his throat. “I have been meaning to speak with you, but I have been quite busy.”
He looked to her then, seemingly for some sort of response.
“That is understandable.” She tucked her hands behind her back, grateful no servants had appeared during this painful exchange. “Did you wish to speak now?”
“Yes, actually. You may join me in my study.” His commanding presence returned for a moment, before it slipped away as his gaze darted to the side again.
Good heavens, what could he have to speak with her about?
She nodded and followed him to the room in question. Once they were seated—she in a chair in front of his desk, he in his large chair behind—he regained his composure, as if the heavy piece of furniture lent him strength.
“I wished to know how you are faring.”
Amelia’s eyebrows raised of their own accord. “I am well. Thank you.”
