“I could never forgetyou,” she murmured, squeezing her cousin’s soft fingers. “It is only facts and numbers, dates and places, the occasional face, speeches of course...” Amelia paused, blinking. “But nothing that matters so much to me as you do.”
“Hm,” was all Mary-Ann replied, performing a little moue. She peered over Amelia’s shoulder. “Amelia, how many children live at the orphanage?”
“Thirty-two,” Amelia answered, proud of herself for remembering. She put her quill in its stand. “I know myadjustments seem excessive, but not all the children will have speaking roles, and I want them to feel included. I have adapted the play as such.
“Many of Shakespeare’s lines were repurposed, and there are a few dance scenes... Though I mainly wanted something to occupy the children once it gets cold, to keep their hands busy with props and costumes.” She gasped, turning to face Mary-Ann. “And now that reminds me—did you speak with the owner of the theatre house in town?”
“Not yet,” her cousin replied, releasing Amelia to inspect her coiffure in the mirror. Mary-Ann had the same coloring as Beatrice, her mother; auburn hair and dark brown eyes. “But I plan on catching him tonight and will ask him about borrowing the space at Christmastide. Mama knows the sister of his late wife, and I thought...”
She smiled devilishly.
Ameliaknewwhat her cousin thought.
Mary-Ann made a point of seducing any man she met. She was two years younger than Amelia, ten-and-eight, preparing for her second social season. But by far and large, she was the more popular and successful cousin.
“Well, I shan’t corrupt that delicate albeit pure mind of yours, Amelia,” her cousin joked. “You have never had such a salacious thought in your life, I am sure.”
Amelia ducked her head, pretending to review her notes again. Her cousin had no idea that Amelia had recently met Mr. Moore—had thought of no one else in the week since his visit to the orphanage. And those thoughts had been salacious and more. She shivered as she recalled, with striking clarity, the timbre of his voice, the brush of his fingers against hers...
In all likelihood, we will never cross paths again, she thought.And if we do, if he comes to the play, he may very well pretend not to know me. Yet how strange, that the one man I may as well not bother remembering is the one man who has pervaded my thoughts since our last meeting!
“Enough of that now,” Mary-Ann chided, waving at the writing desk. “You must get dressed, or else we will be late for the ball. You may no longer have aspirations of snagging a husband, but I very well do.” She cocked her shoulder, admiring her reflection once more. “And if not a husband, then at least a suitor or two, to occupy my time until Papa takes me to London.”
Having received her orders, Amelia dressed as quickly as she could. Within a quarter of an hour, the cousins piled into the Spencer carriage, where Amelia’s uncle and aunt awaited.
Benjamin affectionately tapped Amelia on the knee as she settled beside him, the other hand balancing a newspaper. Her uncle looked older than he was, with wild grey hair and a suit that had passed out of fashion five years prior.
“You will never read that in here,” Beatrice said opposite him, already preening her daughter, fixing a ringlet at the back ofMary-Ann’s head. “There isn’t any light, sir! I am sorry to say you will have to satisfy yourself with speaking to us poor women.”
In the dimly lit carriage, Amelia swore she saw her uncle roll his eyes. He was a quiet man, an amateur philosopher, a proud Whig, who much preferred the company of the learned man thantonaristocrats—and had nothing against women at all, despite Beatrice’s joke.
“Who said the broadsheet is for now?” Benjamin protested. He elbowed Amelia in the side, leaning in conspiratorially. “If I can find no amusement in the library tonight, I intend to retreat here and read in peace.”
“A ball in a library!” Beatrice exclaimed, aghast and shaking her head. “I have never heard so queer a thing in all my life!”
“I think it sounds romantic,” Amelia argued, looking out the window as the carriage departed. The windows of their small manor house were fading spots of light in the distance. “Dancing among books, the light refracting off the spines, chandeliers glittering overhead... All that history, that knowledge...”
“Pish, posh. Youreallyhave been reading too much Shakespeare,” Mary-Ann interrupted. She squirmed away from her mother. “Enough, Mama! You’ll ruin it if you keep fiddling.” She sighed and returned her attention to Amelia. “If you can tear yourself away from the books, if you can remember to, you might try to dance tonight, Amelia. It will reflect badly on me if you do not.”
“Oh, Mary-Ann,” Beatrice scolded. “Your candor is not nearly as endearing as you believe it to be.”
“I beg to differ,” said Mary-Ann, settling into her seat with a shimmy of her shoulders.
The mother and daughter quickly began discussing something else, and Amelia returned to gazing out of the window, reviewing the play in her mind.
As Broad Street came into view a little while later, their carriage slowed significantly. Benjamin pressed his nose to the glass, squinting out at the dark road.
“We’ll be stuck here in this jam for an hour,” he cried, quietly counting the shocking number of carriages ahead of them. He turned to Amelia and grinned. “More the pity...”
Beatrice gave a guttural sigh. “We shan’t survive another hour in this carriage all together!” She fell quiet for a moment, and Amelia swore she could see cogs turning in her mind. Suddenly, she grabbed her husband’s hand. “You proceed with Mary-Ann on foot,” she ordered.
“Pardon?” Benjamin cried.
“Oh, Papa, please!” Mary-Ann begged, nodding furiously. She bundled her pink satin skirts and shuffled toward the door. “Mama is right. There is no point in being trapped in here. It isonly a short walk. If we do not hurry, there will be no gentlemen left to dance with! Please, Papa!”
For all his flaws, Benjamin loved his family dearly. He offered Amelia a sorrowful look, which she returned with a laugh, and said his goodbyes as though they were parting forever. Mary-Ann slammed the door closed behind them, happily skipping up the road and dragging her father by the hand.
Amelia sighed, content to wait with Beatrice in silence.
