“Your mother and I have…grown apart during the years I was at war. And even though I’ve been home these past few years, things are different between us. I don’t know—” His face reddened, and he stiffened his posture. “That is, I’ve been trying to—”
Awareness dawned upon her. “You want to court Mother again.”
“Not with flowers or confections,” he said hastily.
“No,” Amelia agreed. “But you could try being thoughtful. Do nice things for her that she doesn’t expect.”
Her father thought a moment. “The town house does need a few repairs to the windows. Her room has a draft.”
Amelia stared at him in disbelief. “Papa, do you honestly believe that fixing her window is romantic?”
He let out a sigh. “I have no idea what she would consider romantic.”
“Anything that involves repairing the house isnotromantic,” she assured him. “Why don’t you take her out driving? Or perhaps boating. You could take a short trip together somewhere.”
“She might not go,” he confessed.
In that moment, he appeared utterly lost. Never before had Amelia seen him this way. Her father had always been a soldier, stern and foreboding in his demeanor. To be frank, she knew her mother, Beatrice, had wedded him because she’d had no other offers. There had never been much in the way of love between them. They took care of each other, but her mother had struggled during the war years.
“Start small,” Amelia suggested. “But for Heaven’s sake, donotfix something or give her doorknobs as a gift.” Her father had oncegiven them to her mother when he’d forgotten her birthday. It was little wonder her mother had been frustrated. He’d made matters worse when he’d forbidden Beatrice to help with Aphrodite’s Unmentionables. Although her mother didn’t sew, she had loved organizing the crofters’ wives, managing the orders, and ensuring that the work was completed on time.
“You could take her back to Scotland,” she added. “I think she liked having a purpose, helping the women with their sewing.”
Henry frowned, as if he didn’t want that at all. “But she does have a purpose. She’s helping you and Margaret to find husbands.”
“But what aboutherlife?” Amelia pointed out. “What is it thatshewants?”
He looked utterly mystified by this, and she wondered if he’d ever taken the time to get acquainted with Beatrice. “I don’t even know how to begin.” Her father stared across the room in contemplation.
“Just try,” Amelia urged. “And if you give her a gift, give her jewels or something extravagant. Something she would never buy for herself.”
With a smile, she squeezed her father’s hand and left the parlor. Before she reached the staircase, she saw that a ninth bouquet of flowers had arrived. This time it was five purple irises, bound in matching purple ribbon.
The butler, Mr. Culpepper, cleared his throat. “Lord Lisford asked if you would consider speaking to him. He’s waiting outside in his landau.”
Amelia suppressed a groan. “I don’t think so, no.”
Mr. Culpepper appeared pained at her refusal. “He warned that he would continue sending flowers until you did.”
“And our home will become a hothouse in the meantime.” She sighed. “I suppose I could speak to him for a few moments.”
The butler shook his head. “He’s afraid of your father, Miss Andrews. He asked if you would join him for an outing, perhaps a stroll or a drive.”
Which would be utterly foolish after the way he’d behaved the other night. Amelia walked past the butler to the front door. He opened it for her, but asked, “Would you like me to send a footman to accompany you, Miss Andrews?”
“I’m going nowhere,” she said. “If Lord Lisford wishes to speak to me, he’ll have to march forward on his own two feet.”
The carriage was indeed waiting outside. Amelia stepped forward so the viscount would undoubtedly see her. She waited, glaring at the landau. A minute passed, and the viscount did not disembark.
“So be it,” she muttered, turning around to leave.
At last, the viscount emerged from the carriage and called out, “Miss Andrews, if you please—”
She paused a moment, and he hurried toward the steps. “Forgive me, but I just wanted a word.”
“Whatever you have to say can be said here or not at all. And stop sending flowers,” she said firmly.
He looked abashed at her words, and then climbed a few of the steps. “Miss Andrews, I owe you an apology for the other night. I had no right to—” He eyed the butler and cleared his throat, saying, “that is, I beg your forgiveness. What I did was reprehensible, and it will not happen again.”
