“Nothing is amiss, Edna. I simply fixed my hair after taking a little rest. I am ready now.”
“Good heavens child, what happened to your gown?”
Amelia drew her brows together as she studied her ladies maid. “I have removed the crape is all. It’s time I go without it.”
“You will do no such thing. It is not proper. You have not been in mourning long enough to remove it.” Edna pulled a fresh gown from her wardrobe. “Come, let’s get you changed.”
Amelia’s face flushed. “I will do no such thing.” She fled the room, leaving Edna to stare after her. She did not care what anyone thought. Another crape-trimmed gown would not grace her body for as long as she lived. It proved to be as uncomfortable as it was hideous, and made everyone gaze at her with expectant stares. They all waited for her to come apart and make a spectacle. Just as they had at Papa’s funeral. She would stand for it no longer. Her grief belonged to her, not the ton.
She sailed into the dining hall without pause, and took her seat to the right of Grace. Exhaling a deep breath, her gaze caught the dukes. Of course, he would be seated across from her on Grace’s left; she should have foreseen it. Could this night get any more difficult? She forced a mask of delight onto her face and nodded a greeting. He winked, sending her body into turmoil. Heat crept across her face as she tore her eyes from his. Why did he keep doing such salacious things when he clearly did not want her?
“Have you recovered, dear?” Grace asked.
“Indeed I have, thank you, Duchess.” Amelia smiled at her. “It is a small blessing as I would have detested missing such a sumptuous meal.”
A chorus of laughter filled the room as servers set out the first course. She hadn’t embellished. The food did appear splendid. Unfortunately, she could hardly stomach a bite. If the duke’s scandalous staring were not unsettling enough, she also had the knowledge and all that came with it of what she would soon be doing.
The meal passed by, and despite her discomfort, she managed to find some enjoyment in small talk. All the same, she took delight in seeing it end. She wished to get on with her plan. Failure was not an option. She needed to get Lord Roseington alone and place herself within his arms for the guests to see.
Amelia went with the ladies into the drawing room while the duke took the men to the smoking room for drinks and cigars. She had no desire to waste precious time listening to the ladies exchange gossip. Alas, she plastered on a fake smile and nodded politely as the conversation ensued.
“Amelia, you look positively exhausted.” Lady Sarah smirked mischievously.
“I am afraid the party has been a mite too exciting for me.” She glanced at the ladies near them. “Perhaps I should bid my adieu.”
“Indeed you should. The last thing any of us wants is to have you fall ill from exhaustion.”
Lady Beatrice added, “You poor dear, it is no wonder you would be worn down. Why just to think about what you have been through these last months. It is a wonder you are holding up so well.”
“It has been a trial. Please excuse me, ladies.” Amelia curtsied before she took her leave.
* * * *
Crouching behind an ornate hand-carved bench in the entryway, Amelia watched for Lord Roseington to exit the smoking room. She had to steer him into a vacant room, throw herself into his arms, and make a great racket.
What if he did not come out alone? She had not considered the possibility. Her heart rate soared. She was running out of time. Failing again was not an option.
Raised voices attracted her scrutiny. They carried to her from the smoking room, but she could not make out what was being said. Then the door swung open and Lord Roseington exited the room. Alone.
She held her breath as she watched to make sure no one followed him. After a moment confidence swelled within her and she emerged from her hiding place. She straightened to her full height, and stretched her stiff muscles. With a shudder of anxiety she stepped out into the hall, and crept stealthily after Lord Roseington.
Near enough to touch him, she reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him into the library.
“What are you doing, Amelia?”
Good question. How should she answer it?Think, think, think!
“I simply must talk to you, Lord Roseington.” She bowed her head and hoped the correct words would come to her.
“Well, you have my attention, please go on.” He gazed at her encouragingly.
She turned, walking toward the hearth, trying to find her words. The fire dancing within it sparked an idea. She turned back to him with forced tears in her eyes.
“It is just...”
Frowning, he moved closer to her. She lowered her head, focusing on sad things--visions flooded her mind, causing the tears to flow more freely. Lord Roseington reached out, placing his hand under her chin and guided her head up. They stared into each other’s eyes. She found herself wishing she gazed into the Duke of Goldstone’s sapphire ones instead.
“My dear, Lady Amelia, please do not cry. I have little idea what to do with a weeping woman.” The corner of his lips tilted up in a lopsided grin.
