Amelia, suddenly possessive, placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “Really,” she stressed, “I hope you enjoy yourself.”
“We will meet again tonight,” he replied, nodding.
He lingered a moment, seeming like he wanted to say something, before hastening through the doors after the men.
It took all of ten seconds before Mary-Ann appeared beside Amelia, occupying the chair Lady Nuffield had left vacant. Amelia tore into her brioche, ripping it into small pieces she had no intention of eating.
“I shall be frank with you, Amelia. I wagered Miss Bingley that you would arrive at Papa’s party all alone. What a surprise to find His Grace with you.”
“Is it a surprise? We are man and wife.”
“Yes, but…”
Mary-Ann paused as the last ladies exited the room, Miss Bingley, her friend, included. The air around Mary-Ann smelled strongly of patchouli, suppressing Amelia’s appetite once and for all.
“I figured he would have more important matters to attend than our little house party,” her cousin continued. “I am glad to be proven wrong. Mama performed a thorough investigation while seated beside him, I must say.”
“And what did she learn?” Amelia asked, maintaining her composure.
“Shockingly little, actually. He plays his cards close to his chest where you are concerned. His Grace mentioned one or two things about that little foundling house of yours. Said you were waiting for some play or another before you could depart on a bridal tour.” She laughed, her coral earrings swaying as she shook her head. “You are a duchess, for heaven’s sake, Amelia! Those orphanscannottake priority over your new role.”
Amelia ground a piece of brioche into crumbs between her fingers, wiping them on the serviette on her lap.
“You do not know the first thing about my new role,” she said bitterly. “And you know even less about Nicholas and me. I would encourage you to keep your opinions to yourself from now on, cousin.”
“My, my,” Mary-Ann gasped, reeling back in mock horror. “This marriage has certainly made you bold. I hear a man’s touch will do that to a woman. And it seems to me the Duke would be practiced in that regard—highly influential on an innocent mind and body, like your own.”
There was no point fighting the blush that rose to Amelia’s face, a mix of anger and arousal. Her whole body grew hot with embarrassment.
“I am only teasing you,darling cousin.” Mary-Ann patted Amelia’s hand on her lap, leaning in close. “And why should I not? When I discovered you at the Bodleian ball in His Grace’s arms, I was certain I would be rid of you for good. I told myself the scandal would ruin you, and Papa would finally send youelsewhere. I do love you, Amelia. But you must agree with me that your presence in our lives has made things more difficult than they would have been otherwise.”
Amelia hiccupped, turning so Mary-Ann would not see. She had suspected Mary-Ann was jealous of the attention afforded to Amelia by her parents. And Amelia had always felt guilty. But she thought there had been an unspoken agreement between them—that, as a family, they stood beside one another no matter what.
“This is a much better outcome for you, I think. It did not even cross my mind that the Duke should genuinely wish to marry you when he called at the house that day.” Mary-Ann rose from her seat, taking a wedge of pear from a serving dish and taking a bite. “So now you will do us all a kindness and not make a mess of things. Does that sound reasonable to you, dear one?”
Patting her on the shoulder pitifully, Mary-Ann skipped out of the room.
Pushing away her plate, Amelia stared angrily at the door, troubled most of all by Mary-Ann’s assumption that intimacy with Nicholas had made Amelia so courageous.
Troubled, because that was not the case.
And because a part of her wished that it were so.
“You should have seen the size of the beast!” Baron Spencer crowed, extending his arms wide, eyes glittering with excitement. “A monstrous thing. Antlers the size of tree trunks, and coal-black eyes that pierced right through a man’s soul.”
Nicholas smiled tepidly at Spencer’s display, standing close to Amelia in the drawing room. The guests had assembled that evening for pre-dinner drinks, giving the men enough time to boast their victories or bemoan their losses of the afternoon spent hunting in Bagley Woods.
He found his attention waxing and waning, thoughts elsewhere. He looked down at Amelia, who cringed as her uncle described the shot that had taken the stag down.
A delicate soul,he thought, edging so close to his wife, he could feel the ruffles of her skirt press against his thigh.She must be protected from all gruesome truths concerning the hunt… concerning me.
He downed the last of his lemon-flavored punch and shivered, thankful that Samuel had not been invited to the party.
Talk among their group turned to the planned activities for the rest of the house party. The cousin, Mary-Ann, took up the pianoforte and played a country song. Amelia began tapping her foot to the music.
“It occurs to me I have yet to hear you sing,” he said, causing her to look up at him. They turned from the group, creating a bubble of privacy. “Do you know this one?” he asked.
“It isThe Last Rose of Summer,” she answered wistfully. “One of Aunt Beatrice’s favorites. It was the first song I ever learned to play on the pianoforte. It is easy to sing…”
