She stood, and Amelia saw the moment Miss Brooks registered she had won. Her pretty mouth twisted in pleasure, and she watched Amelia through partially hooded eyes. There was no way to triumph in this house. Not for Amelia. Not when she hardly knew the basis for the war.
“If you will excuse me, I fear I must depart early.” Amelia curtsied to the room at large.
The two giggling ladies shot from their seats to return to their earlier group, immediately whispering to the other women excitedly. Henrietta stepped toward Amelia, her eyes concerned. Edith merely smiled coldly.
And Amelia spun and quit the room, her dignity trailing behind her as pathetically as a torn flounce.
But she did not get far.
A hand grasped her upper arm when she was nearly out the door. One look showed Miss Brooks to be the offender.
“It is true, and you well know it,” she hissed in a low voice only Amelia could hear. “Your husband is a philandering man, and you would do better to realize the fact. I am certain I am not the only woman he hasconversedwith without you being aware.”
“Release me or I shall have you thrown from my father’s house.” Amelia’s hands had begun to shake. With anger or fear or something else, she couldn’t determine.
“Your father invited me into his home when he ridded himself ofyouat his earliest convenience. I do not fear your empty threats.”
Amelia wrenched her arm from Miss Brooks’s grasp. The woman did not register the lost connection but pulled herself up, tilted her head, and smiled, speaking louder this time. “I do hope you feel improved after retiring early, Mellie. Some of us simply are not cut out for the rigors of London Society.”
There was a double meaning to her words, and Amelia’s stomach twisted unpleasantly at the insinuation. But she was now free of the woman’s grasp and intended to take advantage of that.
Without a word, she quit the room, struggling to control her breathing the entirety of the carriage ride home.
Chapter Thirty
By Saturday evening, Edward hadthe Bartons settled in the dower house at Drayton Hall. Both Mrs. Barton, as well as Barton’s two sisters, had been more than reluctant to accept their new living conditions, but Edward was insistent.
There was no dowager to inhabit the small manor, nor were there any appropriate, vacated cottages for him to place them in. It took the better part of the day to convince them to agree to stay in the home but had been well worth the effort. By the time Edward left them, Barton promising to follow within the week, they had been wandering the home with overwhelmed awe and gratitude. It filled Edward with pleasure, and he climbed into his carriage with a smile.
Mrs. Barton would recover, the physician was certain, especially in her new situation. The physician had traveled with them, choosing to build his practice in the small town by Edward’s estate. He was a good man, and Edward felt a sense of relief to know the Bartons would be looked after.
He banged upon the ceiling, and the carriage jolted forward. It was evening, but he intended to make as much headway in his journey as possible.
Now, he needed only to survive four days of travel. Then he would be back with Amelia, and all would be right.
***
Nothing was right.
Amelia burst from the carriage and fled up the stairs. Past Coombs, past the main hall, past even the music room. She only stopped once she reached her chambers and could fall apart without an audience.
Except Mary awaited, breathing a little fast, possibly having run here from belowstairs. Apparently, Amelia’s silence in the carriage was not enough for Mary to refrain from questioning.
“My lady?” she asked. Then she waited while Amelia pulled her gloves off and tossed them to the floor.
Amelia stared at the silken gloves, blood pounding in her ears. Small memories surfaced, unbidden.
Edith ordering her about since childhood. Edith and Henrietta never including her. Mama’s soft, comforting touch. Papa’s indifference after her death. The whole house draped in black, no one speaking. No one ever speaking to her except to yell that her playing was hurting their ears or to mutter that they did not have time to answer her questions or to inform her that they were leaving for London again. Always leaving, always wishing her away. The day she’d fallen at the ruins trying to help that young boy who’d gotten stuck... the pain and scars and only servants to tend her. The first time Edith saw the scars and the uproar she’d gone into, throwing away Amelia’s dresses and forcing Papa to send for new ones that covered the monstrosities.
And then Papa forcing her to wed. Lord Norwich’s repugnant attitude. His horrid nicknames. Then the slow transformation from Lord Norwich to Edward. Edward’s handsome jaw, his teasing eyes. Edward’s evasive responses to her questions. Laughing with Edward. The fierce look in his eyes lately. The women at the ball. The snippets of his reputation. Kate’s reassurances. Miss Brooks’s venomous lies. Were they lies? They could be truth.
Through it all, one fact was clear: she had fallen in love with her husband but hadn’t a clue who he even was or what he did when he was not with her. And he did not even knowher.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
A tap came at the door. Mary went to it and opened it a fraction. After a few seconds of whispered conversation that Amelia did not even try to overhear, the door closed. “Lady Cromwell is here to speak with you,” Mary said tentatively as she turned.
“I am not at home,” Amelia replied, her tone clipped.
