She was too confused. There was an ache in her chest at his betrayal, but she also missed him. It didn’t make sense. Even now, whenever she thought of how he needed her money, all the time pretending to enjoy her company, she felt as if bees buzzed in her stomach. When she thought about his profession of love, it made her sick.I love you. You are more than I dreamed I could ever have in a wife.
But when she thought of his playfulness, his smile, and his touch, her heart ached to be in his company again. His words at the masquerade when he’d known it was her still haunted her.You work hard and seek perfection, but don’t feel your work is worthy. I believe you are afraid that without your work, there is no point in life. I believe you are afraid that in anything else in life, you will be mediocre at best, but I know that cannot be.
She clasped her hands together as her eyes watered. Mariel had thought her wrong to reject Andrew and was not happy with her. But Mariel was a romantic.
She stared at the door, undecided, when it suddenly opened and her father, wearing his dressing gown, halted.
“Amelia, what are you doing up and about so early?”
Caught now, she had no choice. “I wished to speak to Mother.”
Her father looked over his shoulder, keeping the door mostly closed. “Ruthie, Amelia wishes to speak with you.”
Her mother’s voice came from inside the room, but she couldn’t hear what she’d said.
Her father stepped out into the corridor, his bare feet making no noise on the wood floor. “She’ll be but a moment. Is anything wrong?”
Yes! But she knew better than to involve her father. “I just need some womanly advice.”
His bushy brows rose. “Yes, well, your mother is quite good at that. I’ll be off then and leave her to it.” With that, he brushed by her, his robe flapping about his hairy calves.
Now what was that about? Why would her father have needed to talk to her mother in such undress? Surely her parents hadn’t slept in the same bed last night. They were far too old for any of that. She frowned as she contemplated the door.
The door opened and her mother, in her own dressing gown, opened her arm. “Come in, dear. What is it? Is a painting giving you trouble?”
She walked in and slumped in one of the chairs at the small table near the fireplace where two dirty teacups and plates made it clear her parents had already eaten. And her father thoughtshewas early. “Yes and no.”
Her mother closed the door and joined her. “I know that feeling.” She chuckled. “I had many days like that, especially if I attempted images far beyond my skill. I was just too stubborn to accept that. What is it you’re painting?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Her mother frowned. “You mean nothing of great import or that you are not painting at all?”
“I’m not painting at all.”
“Oh.” Her mother studied her then reached her hand up and laid it against her cheek. “Are you not feeling well?”
She rose, walking away. “I don’t know what I’m feeling.” She turned back, throwing her hands up. “I open my sketchpad, and nothing comes. I take out my paints and stare at a blank canvas. I don’tseeanything.”
Her mother cocked her head as she contemplated. “Is it that you don’t see anything or that your mind is filled with a certain lord?”
How could her mother know? Mariel had promised not to say anything. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you mean?”
“Joanna told me of Lord Sommerset’s proposal, and I think it affected you more than you care to admit.”
Joanna, of course. She forgot that her sister had gone for her father, who luckily had been indisposed. “Does Father know?”
Her mother shook her head. “I wanted to wait until you told me why you rejected his proposal. Joanna was pleased that you had, but she simply didn’t like that he appeared to have suddenly found an interest in you. But my instinct told me he’s been interested in you for a while, correct?”
Somewhat relieved now that her mother knew that much, she dropped her hands and returned to the table, lowering herself to the chair in a more ladylike manner. “Yes, he has. Ever since he came to call for my expertise on his paintings last season.”
She shot up from the table. He wanted to sell his paintings for more funds! “That’s why.”
Her mother looked up at her expectantly, and she slumped back into the chair. “I thought Lord Sommerset was interested in me, but I discovered he only wanted to marry me for my dowry. His father left debts when he died.”
Her mother grimaced, even as she took her hand across the table. “I’m sorry that he was motivated thus. He seemed rather smitten with you.”
She pulled her hand back. “Well, he wasn’t. He just needed the money.” Even saying the word aloud had her stomach buzzing.
