At some point, she had begun to lean forward and suddenly felt the absence of support at her back when the carriage ran over a pothole. It jolted her back with a thump.
Why had she leaned forward? Was the man drawing her in with some wretched magnetism or something equally ridiculous?
Instead of giving rein to these feelings, Amelia firmly shut them away, adjusting her position and folding her hands primly in her lap. A sort of clenching beneath her breastbone caught her attention. No, not a clenching. A tingling, perhaps? It rushed through her torso and into her limbs, restlessness following it. No amount of fidgeting would make it go away. When she caught Stephen’s eye across the carriage, it grew worse.
He did not look away. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The position put him slightly below her eye level, so he looked up at her. She could still smell a faint trace of horse sweat. It was not unpleasant.
How long his eyelashes are! So long and dark.
“I could offer you more help if you’d accept it,” he said, his tone serious.
Amelia’s mouth went dry. She swallowed, her tongue flicking out to moisten her dry lips. To her horror, his eyes dropped to her lips, tracing the movement of her tongue.
“Help?” she managed. “What help are you speaking of?”
He missed a beat before responding. “I am speaking about your brother.”
“Oh.”
The mention of her brother cooled her quite effectively. Outside, she spotted the gray stone gates they had passed before. They were entering the driveway, then, and the house would be just up ahead.
“He is our common enemy,” Stephen pressed on. “We both want to see him eliminated.”
“Eliminated? Do you mean to kill him?”
He chuckled mirthlessly. “No, that would not be satisfying. I could kill him, if I chose.”
“And get away with it?”
“Perhaps, if I were clever. But never mind that, I don’t want him dead. I want him dealt with, and so do you. You said before that your father was a kind man, and adored you and your mother?”
She cleared her throat. “This is a strange conversation.”
“Humor me. Your answer?”
“Yes, he did. He loved us, I’m sure of it.”
“Well, do you think it likely that he would have left you entirely unprovided for?”
Amelia frowned. “He did not provide for us. There was no money left for us. He did not even leave us the house.”
Stephen leaned back. She found herself letting out a short breath when he did, as if a weight had lifted from her chest.
“That is just the thing. I believe that your father left the house to you and your family, as well as some sort of allowance or stipend. At the very least, I believe that he would have arrangedfor you to continue living as you were, even if there was not much of an inheritance.”
“And… and you believe that my brother kept this from us?” Amelia whispered, understanding beginning to dawn on her.
Stephen nodded. “I do.”
“Well, how could he?”
“He is the new Viscount. Your existence was not known, and I imagine it would be easy enough for him to hide certain elements of your father’s will if things were not laid out correctly. Let us say, for example, that your father’s steward was tasked with ensuring you received your inheritance. Well, the steward does not approve of your father’s second family and does not like you. He is, however, keen to ingratiate himself with the new Viscount and therefore keep his post. Would it not be wise for him to go along with your brother’s wishes? Out of sight, out of mind. It would explain why your brother is so keen for you not to declare yourself. He would not want attention drawn to the fact that he was ignoring his father’s wishes.”
Amelia let out a long, ragged breath. “Well, that would… that would explain a great deal.”
“So, if I were to manage the Viscount on your behalf, you might get what should have been yours all along. Then you would not have to work for the unpleasant Mrs. Potts.”
Amelia was quiet for a moment.
