George stood in the open doorway, moving aside as a footman came in with Nicholas’s belongings. His face was marked with grief as he approached, wringing his hat in his hands.
“I saw your carriage pass through town and knew I must come immediately,” George explained. The butler took his leave. “I walked with Miss Ashwood this morning, and she saidthe duchess had returned to Baron Spencer’s home with her brother.”
“You are telling me nothing I do not know,” Nicholas protested. “Why, George? Why did she leave?”
“It seems… the duchess claims that your marriage was a mistake, though she would reveal nothing more to Miss Ashwood. What did you do, Nicholas?”
That was the question, was it not?
It seemed his trip was the likely culprit—unless her brother had gotten in her head.
Nothing would be realized until he spoke to Amelia directly.
Assuming, he thought miserably,that ours is not a confidence which has been broken beyond repair by whatever transpired in my absence…
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“How I wish you would set aside your vanity and explain things to me. Amelia, it is only a matter of time before society notices your absence at Riverside Court and starts to talk. And when the duke returns from wherever he has gone—”
If the duke returns, Amelia thought, stabbing her embroidery needle into her work with much more strength than the task required.
“—he will come directly here and cause such a scene that it will never be forgotten by any who live on the road, I know it. And as fun as that would be, I fear it is in your interest to tell me the truth instead so we might have a chance at averting disaster.”
Mary-Ann batted her long coal-darkened eyelashes up at Amelia from her position by the fire. She leaned her head on the armrest of the chaise longue Amelia occupied in Beatrice’s garden room.
“Please, tell me what happened, cousin. I am such a good listener and so very smart. I know men. I will know how to help.”
“You only want another story to tell your friends.” Amelia pressed her lips together and threaded the needle through the fabric. Her roses were taking on an angry, distorted form. “There is nothing to tell. I missed Uncle and Aunt. And I wanted to spend time with Freddy. I will not be the first bride to get homesick.”
“And the duke—the great, somber Duke of Avon—permitted his brand-new wife to leave his abode with the majority of her belongings, knowingeveryonein a fifty mile-radius will hear about the development by the week’s end?” Mary-Ann laughed sardonically. “As though I would ever believe that!”
“It does not matter what you—Ah!”
Amelia had stabbed herself in the thumb. She dropped her embroidery in her lap and sucked at the injured finger. Mary-Ann sighed and stuck the needle out of harm’s way. Tears brimmed in Amelia’s eyes at the pain, and remained there for other matters entirely.
It was barely noon.
She had left Riverside Court the night prior, after having ordered the housekeeper to fix her trip to the Spencer house without providing them with an explanation.
Her uncle, naturally, had taken her in without hesitation.
But she had heard the passionate conversations coming from the drawing room that night between him and Freddy.
Benjamin, accusing Freddy of poisoning Amelia’s mind against the duke. Freddy, swearing that he had done no such thing, but that he was glad Amelia had come to her senses about the rake at last.
Neither quite grasped the truth of the situation. And so long as Amelia had her way, they never would.
When she had read that letter from S—whoever the devilSwas—it had not taken long for her to piece together what had happened.
Nicholas had, behind her back, continued to write the woman he had entertained an affair with. He would return to her the moment his marriage to Amelia was annulled. That was likely why he had not fought for Amelia to stay—that much seemed clear.
He had likely gone there now instead of heading northward to Coventry. And the thought of what might be happening in some sordid little love nest made Amelia want to be sick.
To have hoped for anything else was my first and last mistake. I love him still, but he could never love me. He has only ever been a rake and a liar.
She examined her thumb, guilty feelings rising within her.
All evidence pointed to her theory being right. And yet that estimation of Nicholas, that he was as selfish and facetious as they had claimed he was, did not sit right within her heart.
