I wonder if I would be the same if…
She hesitated only a moment before she asked, trying to sound casual.
“How is Serenity?” Anastasia said. “I have had letters, of course, but they never tell me anything useful. My mother writes as though my sister’s Season is a military campaign and I am not allowed to know the strategy.” Her mouth tightened before she could soften it. “Is she all right?”
Amelia’s expression shifted at once, her tone gentling. “She is more than all right. She is… very loved. People notice her immediately. Not because she is loud, but because she is kind, and that is rarer than it ought to be.”
Anastasia exhaled, tension leaving her shoulders.Thank God.
“Does she write to you?” Anastasia asked, and she could not help the slight note of longing in her voice.
“All the time,” Amelia said, laughing. “And she writes as if every dance will determine the rest of her life. The poor dear nearly convinced herself she had ruined everything because she had spilled lemonade on a lady’s glove.”
Anastasia’s eyes softened. “That does sound like her.” Her throat tightened. “I worry she will blame herself for… for everything that happened because of me.”
Amelia squeezed her arm, gently but firmly. “Serenity adores you. She does not blame you. She is frightened of the world, and your parents have done nothing to make it feel less sharp. Fortunately, Evangeline is there for her.”
Anastasia’s chest ached again, sharper this time.
If only I could help her.
She forced a smile, swallowing the bitterness. “Well, if she is adored, then perhaps there is hope for her yet. I want her to be married well. To a good man. Not merely a titled one.”
Amelia’s lips curved. “Then you will be pleased to know she is being courted.”
Anastasia stopped walking. “Courted? Truly?” Her eyes widened. “By whom?”
Amelia laughed at Anastasia’s sudden intensity. “By more than one gentleman, actually. And do not worry, I have been keeping an eye on them.”
Anastasia gave a shaky exhale, relief and longing mixing in her chest. “You cannot imagine how much I needed to hear that.”
They resumed walking. A brief silence fell between them, companionable rather than awkward. Then Amelia’s mouth twitched, her eyes glinting with the kind of amusement that only a happily married woman could afford.
“You do enjoy tormenting him, don’t you?” Amelia said, her lips twitching.
Anastasia smiled, feigning innocence. “Tormenting whom?”
“Benedict,” Amelia said. “I dare say I have never seen him this rattled around anybody else. It is also impossiblenotto notice the way he looks at you when he thinks no one else is watching. Or, indeed, the way he doesnotlook at you when everyone is watching. Both are equally telling.”
Anastasia gave a small chuckle. Well, it was evident now that Amelia had a rather wild imagination.
“You must be seeing things, I assure you. He cannot stand me, and he wants me out of his house as soon as possible. I also desperately need to run away from his authority, so as you understand, we are opposites in every sense.”
“It’s a front,” Amelia countered, shrugging. “Do you want to leave because the air at Frostmore chokes you, or because you are bored?”
Anastasia stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide. “A front?”
Amelia nodded. “I know Frostmore carries bad memories for you. It is too big and quiet, and still smells like the late duke. The silence here still echoes the secrets you and your aunt keep.”
“What?” Anastasia asked, startled. “How did you know about that?”
No one had told a soul about what had happened on the staircase one late night, when her aunt had taken matters into her own hands. Not even to her family. Not to anyone.
“About what?” Amelia looked confused.
No, Anastasia was merely hearing things, and that was one of the reasons Frostmore was not the best place for her. Amelia could not have known anything about that night.
“But let me give you a warning, my dear,” Amelia said gently, unaware that the other young woman was in distress. “Benedict is not a man who lets go easily when he decides he wants something or someone. And you—” she gave Anastasia a sidelong glance, which was almost conspiratorial—“you strike me as precisely the sort of woman he would decide upon.”
