“Please present us,” Keaton said in a tone of command.
Moments later, they were being ushered into a drawing room.
“Their Graces the Duke and Duchess of Westvale, Your Ladyship,” the maid introduced.
“It is Amelia!” Georgia whispered to Keaton.
He frowned but remained silent. After the maid had been dismissed, Amelia bade them both to sit. She glanced at Keaton fearfully. Georgia went to her, giving her a hug.
“Do not be afraid. The Duke is an ally,” she reassured.
“I am not. I am only thinking of the circumstances of your marriage,” Amelia replied in a subdued voice.
“Whatever are you doing here, anyway?” she asked, taking her seat again beside Keaton.
Amelia sat in a chair opposite, hands folded in her lap neatly. Her face was schooled to stillness.
“I am recuperating from an illness,” she said quietly.
“But why can you not recuperate at home?” Georgia demanded.
“So that mother and father do not contract the same illness. You should probably not have come yourselves, Georgie,” she said.
Keaton was frowning, staring at Amelia, who seemed uncomfortable under the blind scrutiny.
“Who is the master of this house?” he asked.
Amelia looked away. Georgia went to her again, concern wrenching at her innards. She knelt on the floor before her cousin and took her hands.
“Whatever is happening, you can tell us. We are here to help you.”
Amelia pulled her hands away, tears staining her eyes. She walked away from Georgia to the nearest window. Georgia looked to Keaton, whose face was impassive.
He will be thinking that I have manufactured this crisis. Maybe he thinks this is a way of prolonging our transaction, inventing a need.
“You wrote to me, Amelia, asking for my help,” Georgia reminded.
“I am sorry about that, Georgie. I was being silly. I might have been a touch delirious, actually. From the fever—”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Amelia!” Georgia exclaimed, “You thought yourself in sufficient danger to ask me for help. That was not fever but fear!”
“Are you being held here against your will?” Keaton asked matter-of-factly.
“No, of course not. Do you see bars on the windows or manacles around my ankles?” Amelia asked.
“I see nothing. That is the main characteristic of being blind,” Keaton said in a low voice.
“I do not believe you, Amelia,” Georgia said, flatly, “I think Uncle Benjamin and Aunt Clarissa are forcing you to stay here. I think you are being threatened to say nothing to me.”
“You would be wrong, Georgie. I am content.”
“You don’t look ill to me.”
“I am recovering. I will return to Silverton soon, I think.”
“Who is the master of this house?” Keaton asked for the second time.
Amelia looked evasive. “I do not know. My father is renting it, but I do not know who it is from. I have not seen him. Or anyone for that matter.”
