The sounds coming from Miss Henrietta’s bed faltered, but then returned to their even rhythm. But Amelia didn’t care. She needed…
Air!
Scrambling off the side opposite the trundle, Amelia didn’t bother with slippers or even a dressing gown. Even though she could hear her own shallow breaths, she didn’t feel the air.
If she couldn’t get outside quickly enough, she was going to die!
And she couldn’t die. Not without seeing Mr. Beckworth again. Not without telling him that she loved him. She didn’t know how she would make it happen, but that didn’t matter. It simply must.
She had experienced perhaps a fraction of this same feeling when she’d thrown herself out of Mr. Beckworth’s carriage. Her fear powerful enough to propel her into action, not allowing her to think beyond that moment. Tonight was much the same.
Frantic yet focused, she rushed to find her way out, threw open the locks, and stepped into the corridor, closing the door firmly behind her.
Standing in the hallway, which would have been completely dark if not for a hint of moonlight slanting through one window, she gulped in some air. It wasn’t enough. Before she could go any further, however, the sound of her name halted her.
“Amelia?”
Amelia blinked. She hadn’t heard the click of another door opening, but the voice was one she recognized.
“Clem?” The sound of her own voice seemed far too loud in the dark and quiet space.
The door to Clem’s chamber opened wider and the light from a single candle illuminated her cousin’s face, casting shadows that danced on the corridor walls. “What are you doing?” Clementine asked.
“I’m…” Amelia blinked. Despite their earlier conversation where they’d finally cleared the air between them, Amelia couldn’t know for certain that Clementine could be trusted. So it was risky. But she wouldn’t lie—not to Clem.
“I have to go back.” The answer bubbled out of her, a truth that she hadn’t yet acknowledged even in her own mind, but as soon as Amelia said it out loud, her chest loosened. She could breathe again.
Clementine held her gaze and then nodded and stepped to the side, opening the door wider.
Amelia hesitated. “What about Lord Winterhope?”
“Benjamin is seeing to the horses.” Clem smiled. “You know how he is…”
Amelia’s entire body sagged in relief, and she followed her cousin into her chamber with no further protest. For the first time, she found herself appreciating Lord Winterhope’s obsession.
Once inside, Clementine led her over to the bed where they both sat down beside one another. Resting one knee on the mattress, Clem faced Amelia directly. “Where do you need to go back to?” she asked gently.
Amelia turned and lifted her knee as well. Sitting together like this, it almost felt like old times.
“To… Mr. Beckworth,” Amelia admitted.
Clementine looked a little confused. “To Smuggler’s Manor? Did you forget something?”
"Not to Smuggler’s Manor,” Amelia said. “Or at least, not the place, specifically. ToMr. Beckworth. I have to go back to him.”
This time, Clem’s brows lifted. “Ah… Because?—”
“I love him, Clem. And I need to tell him that.” Even just saying the words out loud tosomebodyfelt like a burden was being lifted from her shoulders. The tightness around her chest eased; the weights that had been tied around her wrists and ankles and neck lightened.
“But what about your mother? What about Society? He isn’t?—”
“I know. I don’t care about any of that.” Amelia sagged a little. “I mean, I love my mother, I care about her, of course I do. But…” She paused, struggling to put what she was feeling into some sort of order. “I can’t do this any longer. I can’t live the life that she wants for me. I can’t be the person she wants me to be. And she would never allow for anything else; Father wouldn’t either if he was here,” she added softly.
It was painful to think of him like this, and how he would disapprove when she had no way of knowing where he was, if he was safe, if he wasalive, but it was true. Both of her parents had always been like this, always criticizing, always dictating. They loved her, at least, she believed they did, but their love had become her chains. Heavy. Constricting.
“I just—I want… I want to be…me.”
Clementine smiled. Even in the dim light, Amelia could see that it was a smile of understanding.
