Just then, Freddy appeared out of the corner of her eye.
“I am making the rounds telling the children to break a leg,” he explained, placing a reassuring hand on Amelia’s back. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No—”
“Yes,” they said simultaneously. Philippa scowled. “But it is a conversation that can wait until after we have redefined theatre with our show.”
She picked up the trunk and gave it to Freddy.
“And what do you expect me to do with this?” he arched a thick brow.
“Take it back to the closet. I will show you where it belongs.” Philippa tapped the trunk. She leaned in as she passed Amelia. “And when I return, you and I will continue this chat. In the meantime, why don’t you go out for some air?”
Amelia remained silent, returning to her tidying now that she was alone.
Done with her task, she pulled the watch on her chatelaine to inspect the time. Fifteen minutes before the play began. There was still time to take a breath as Philippa had suggested.
Exiting through the basement door, she took the stairs up to the grounds behind the playhouse. Located on the wharf, the cold river air beside the Jericho squeezed her like a fist.
She breathed a sigh of relief, stars shimmering high above. The gentle susurration of voices travelled toward her on the wind—guests coming to watch the children of St. George’s perform the play produced by the Duchess of Avon, whose madness now seemed secondary to her shiny new title.
She winced at her name, leaning on the balustrade at the river’s edge.
And though she should have known better than to walk alone in the dark, she was surprised when she sensed someone approach.
“Your Grace,” a voice spoke in the darkness.
She looked around, stunned. The stranger crept forward into the soft light of a lantern, and finally she could see who it was.
“Mr. Elston,” she greeted. “What are you doing?”
“I was stretching my legs before the play,” he gave as an unconvincing excuse. “But really… I am quite glad to have run into you.”
Amelia curled a brow, then laughed. “This was Philippa’s doing, wasn’t it? She sent me out here on purpose, expecting that we would meet. If you have come on behalf of the duke—”
“I have not,” he cut in. “Not directly, anyway. Heishere, if that matters to you…”
Amelia started.
“But,” George said immediately, “he will come nowhere near you. He fears making things worse. No one sent me as messenger.” He smiled sheepishly. “Well, no one nearby…”
“I don’t understand.”
“I wanted to speak to you about Nicholas, and I feared I could not approach you honestly, given how passionate you have been in denying him the chance to talk with you.”
Despite herself, Amelia cringed at her cold treatment of Nicholas. Her stomach clenched involuntarily at the thought of him, her skin prickling all over. Mr. Elston sheepishly settled beside her on the metal balustrade.
“Do not blame Miss Ashwood, or anyone else,” he murmured. “She was concerned for you, as am I.”
“You do not know me, Mr. Elston.”
“That is fair,” he shrugged with a small laugh. “But whatever hurts and worries Philippa has an equal effect on me.”
He fell silent, then reached into his coat pocket and extracted a small pink box.
“I plan on asking her to become my wife tonight,” he declared, eyeing it curiously.
“Oh…” Amelia felt herself smile, tears stinging her eyes. She took the box and opened it, finding two rings inside. “That is so wonderful. She will be so happy.”
