“It seems that you already intend to use me to take revenge on my brother,” she said eventually. “I’m not sure why you are going through this charade of asking my permission.”
His eyes flickered at that, his jaw twitching. “Because it would be better if you cooperated with me, my dear.”
“I’m sure it would.”
The carriage slowed down, rattling to a halt in front of the house. The smooth gray marble glistened like water.
“You believe me preoccupied with revenge and blind to all else, don’t you?” he murmured, his eyes narrowing.
“I think,” she answered carefully, “that living in the past is a dangerous thing to do.”
“You do not understand,” Stephen said, the words coming slowly as if he were speaking with effort, “what it feels like to have somebody steal your life.”
“No, I never had a life,” she countered. “I have always been a secret. Nothing more, nothing less. A secret belonging to somebody else. I got used to it.”
“And you wish to spend the rest of your life in ignominy? You wish to miss out on what is yours, on what was alwaysmeantto be yours? You choose to stay in the shadows?”
“I choose tolive,” she shot back. “And if I make an enemy of my brother, who already hates my very existence, I will not continue tolive.Nor will my sisters. If you use me in your revenge,Your Grace, then you might as well kill me.”
A footman was coming down the steps with an umbrella. In a moment, he would reach them, the door would open, and the conversation would end.
“You are being a little dramatic, I think,” Stephen murmured, leaning back and watching her.
“I am afraid not. My brother is a dangerous man. You underestimate him.”
The corners of Stephen’s mouth quirked into a smile.
“Oh, but you underestimateme, my dear.”
Then the door opened, and the conversation was well and truly over.
CHAPTER 16
“How was Mrs. Timmons?” Amelia asked, recalling the name of Letitia’s friend with effort.
“Oh, the same as always. Keen on gossip, glad for a guest, thrilled to seeme,” Letitia responded with a sigh. “I took the liberty of inviting her myself to our party, but of course, she’ll receive an official invitation, too. Oh, let me write that one out myself, my dear. The Winslows will recognize my handwriting. They do so love a personal touch.”
Amelia obediently handed over the blank card.
Letitia had returned from her visit full of energy, pulling Amelia into the writing room—a large library-like space full of desks and high-back chairs, each writing desk stuffed with all kinds of stationery—to get a start on writing out the invitations for the house party.
Gathering together the invitations they had already finished, Amelia paused, squinting at the names.
“These gentlemen are from rival clubs, aren’t they? This fellow is a member of theTon’s Devils, and this one is a member of theOrion. I’ve seen their names in the scandal sheets Marjory writes for.”
“Oh, I imagine so,” Letitia responded, unperturbed. “Some hosts care about that sort of thing, but I consider it a waste of time. These clubs are all very well, but if we allow them to create real divisions in our society, we shall pay the price soon enough. I expect my guests to bring their manners with them and leave their memberships at home.”
“I suppose you are right.”
“I am usually right,” Letitia countered, winking. “Where are the girls, by the way?”
“I believe that Marjory found the library soon after arriving,” Amelia responded. “Nancy is racing up and down the hallway with Tiny. A hapless footman has been assigned to make sure she does not slip and crack open her skull.”
“Wise.” Letitia gave a smile. “And how is your room?”
Amelia paused before answering, conjuring an image of a cavernous room, all done out in rich blush-colored silk, with a bed that was probably as large as their parlor back home.
“Large,” she managed.
