Nothing Miss Henrietta would ever have allowed her to wear in public, but…
Amelia’s smile stretched even wider.Miss Henrietta isn’t here. The woman might have an apoplexy if she saw what Amelia was wearing today—although her clothing wasn’t exactly the worst of her appearance at the moment. Half her hair had escaped her braid. As far as other places on her person…
Quite frankly, Amelia was an absolute mess.
Ruined.
Glancing down at her ankles again, now smudged with grey streaks of dust, Amelia decided that, at the very least, she should go upstairs to take a bath.
She took each step slowly. There was no reason to rush.
But a tantalizing thought made her breath hitch. Tonight, perhaps,Mr. Beckworthmight come toher.
But what if he didn’t? Amelia dismissed the prickle of doubt. He had called her his “love”.
Opening the door, half-expecting to see Mr. Beckworth shuffling around at the opposite end of the foyer, conversing with some stranger at the entrance, she was met, instead, with a hushed silence.
Perhaps, she reasoned, he hadn’t expected her to wait for him to return. Perhaps he’d imagined she’d gone right back to her chamber. The notion made sense. He would have known,more than anyone, that she was more than a little undone.
The entrance to one room in particular called out like a beacon—his study. Would he be waiting for her there? Without stopping to think, she marched over to the door, turned the knob, and stepped across the threshold.
Later, she’d wonder why she hadn’t considered that he might not be alone. Later, she’d regret that she hadn’t just returned to her chamber.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t the benefit of hindsight on her side.
But oh. Oh. This was impossible.
The blood in her veins turned to ice.
Mr. Beckworth was, indeed, inside. But he was not alone. In fact, the picture was rather cozy. Her eyes shot to… familiar red hair and violet eyes. Clementine!
Amelia’s estranged cousin rested her hand on the arm of the impeccably dressed man beside her—her husband, Lord Winterhope. Amelia’s mother and Miss Henrietta were perchedon the settee across from the couple. Upon seeing Amelia, the two older women simultaneously leapt to their feet.
“My lady! What’s happened to you?” Miss Henrietta was the first to speak.
Or screech, rather.
“What have you done to her?” Lady Foxbourne demanded, shooting an accusing glare to the lone man seated in a high-backed chair.
Mr. Beckworth.
He scrubbed his hand through his hair, making it even more wild than usual, and his jaw tightened. In a moment that was all too brief, his liquidy dark eyes met hers. His expression, one that she couldn’t quite read, was almost haunted. It sent a foreboding shiver down her spine.
Before he could answer, however, a familiar piece of white and black fluff came flying through the air, landing in Amelia’s arms and digging in her claws.
“Margie?” she cried, her chin trembling. The cat’s warm body, resting in Amelia’s arms after all this time, brought joy, but also… confusion.
And then?—
Amelia burst into tears. Not the silent kind, but uncontrollable sobbing that rolled through her entire body. Standing in the open doorway, she must have looked rather tragic.
She felt more emotions than any one person ought to ever experience. Happy to see Clementine and Margie. Horrified to see her mother and Miss Henrietta. And terrified to imagine she was going to lose Mr. Beckworth.
Before her knees could give out, a handkerchief was pressed into her palm. It was Amelia’s cousin who offered support, gathering her into her arms.
Clementine, the only real friend Amelia had ever had.
“Oh, Amelia! Don’t cry. Everything’s going to be all right.”
