“I’m sorry,” he murmured, not sure what else he could say.
Her smile, though tremulous, was welcome. “You have nothing to apologize for.” She took his hand to hold between hers. “And I have no doubt Scotland Yard’s finest, other than you, will be hard at work to discover who did this and why.”
“Yes, they will.” The question was, when would he feel well enough to join the investigation?
Her lips parted as if to say something, but she only shook her head and smiled ruefully. “For now, we will talk of something other than work. Your cases will have to wait.”
Henry considered the remark, unable to remember what cases he’d been working on. Something to do with…no, the thought slipped away from him. The attempt to rectify that was enough to make his head throb again.
He sighed as frustration and weariness swept over him, the pain suddenly too much. “Perhaps I will take that whiskey after all.”
“Your father will be happy to hear that. He said it would mean you were already on the road toward recovery.” Despite her words, Amelia’s smile tightened as she released his hand. “I will return directly.”
Henry murmured his thanks, then watched her depart, closing the door behind her. In truth, it was a relief not to try to hide the pain and unease that gripped him, along with the queasiness, though the peppermint oil had helped to ease that.
The holes in his memory concerned him more than he cared to admit. He couldn’t help but fear the details wouldn’t return.
Thirteen
Ameliatookamomentto lean against the door, drawing in a slow deep breath. Henry’s injury had shaken her more than she cared to admit. Grief, an emotion she was all too familiar with but had no place here, nevertheless clutched her tightly once more.
Henry hadn’t been killed, yet her mind—and heart—seemed determined to mourn him. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. Perhaps it was mourning the hope that she’d paid her dues, and tragedy would not darken her door again.
Ridiculous, but her heart ached all the same.
She gathered her emotions and walked slowly down the stairs and across the hallway toward the drawing room, reminding herself that all was well. Henry would recover, though he was clearly in great pain and discomfort. Things could have been much worse. The thought was enough to have her offering a silent prayer of thanks that he was still with them. Better to focus on that rather than give in to the urge to cry. This was no time for tears. They wouldn’t help Henry or her.
“How is he?” Mrs. Field asked from where she sat in a chair by the window, needlework in hand.
“Tired and hurting but still not wanting to take the laudanum.” Amelia forced a smile as she neared, taking a moment to study the older woman.
Though Amelia had only met Henry’s mother twice before, her intelligence, good humor, and kindness had been on display each time, just as they were today. Now, however, shadows darkened her eyes.
“He sounds like his father.” A mixture of exasperation and worry laced her tone as she smoothed the stitches of her needlework.
The term squeezed Amelia’s heart, given what Henry had told her about being adopted. He surely couldn’t doubt how much both his parents loved him. “I warned him that he might need to relent if his headache doesn’t become more manageable.”
“Good.” Mrs. Field gave a decisive nod. “That will save me from having to do so.”
Amelia laughed. “He has at least agreed to some whiskey.”
“You have made excellent progress, then.” Mrs. Field set aside her work to rise. “Let us get him a glass before he changes his mind.” She walked to the sideboard, which held several decanters, before glancing at Amelia. “May I ask how you’re holding up, dear?”
Emotion welled in Amelia’s throat, and she had to swallow it back before answering. “It…it isn’t easy to see him hurting.”
“No, it isn’t.” Mrs. Field poured a generous glass and replaced the decanter’s stopper before looking at her again. “Even more so for you, given what you’ve been through.”
Amelia pressed a hand to her heart as she shook her head. “I know it’s n-not the same as when Matthew—” She couldn’t say it. Not now, when everything felt so raw again.
“No, it isn’t.” The firm tone nearly had Amelia taking a step back. “But it’s only natural that something like this would bring forth difficult memories.”
She drew a relieved breath. To have her distress described as natural reassured her in an unexpected way.
Mrs. Field smiled. “Perhaps a sip of whiskey might aid the pair of us as well.”
“Tempting, but I will be fine.” Amelia cleared her throat, hoping she wasn’t overstepping her bounds. “May I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
