He rested his chin on her head, giving her a tight squeeze.
He wanted her words to be true, but after the past few days, he could no longer convince himself that Abingdale was where Amelia would be happy.
“I don’t think that’s the case, Cass. But we’ll get by in America without her.”
It was like a physical blow. Amelia struggled to breathe, sagging against the hallway wall next to Cassandra’s room.
She’d thought she’d finally found The Place. The Person. After a lifetime of having no one who truly loved her, she’d found herself with a family.
Except that family didn’t feel the same if they were planning to leave her here and go away.
After a long moment of not moving, not breathing, she quietly put down the tray with Cassandra’s dessert and left.
She fished a handkerchief from her sleeve, wiping away the tracks her tears had made. She had ten minutes before she needed to be back downstairs. Ten minutes to put a smile on her face and be the perfect hostess once again, despite the world beneath her fracturing.
Chapter30
Amelia had managed to keep a smile on her face right through dinner and dessert. Even when the Karstarks showed up uninvited once again. Even when Lady Wildeforde made sly comments as Peter served. Even when Mr. Grunt described all the things she’d love about Boston.
But inside, she was breaking.
Today had been a perfect day. Lady Luella had remained in her bedroom, Nathaniel Bradenstock had remained in the billiards room, and without their cutting influence, Amelia had been able to reconnect with her old friends like nothing had happened.
Yes, the conversation seemed rather pointless in comparison to her conversations with Fiona, but not every woman could be a chemist.
The truth was, she had managed to achieve everything she’d set out to. Her house party was a success, her friends had welcomed her back into the fold, and she’d managed to help save Benedict’s business.
But despite all of that, she still was not enough. Not for him to take her with him.
Which killed her, because against all reason, he was enough for her.
She loved him. How had she not told him that yet?
Benedict stood by the piano, turning the pages for Miss Appleby as she played. It hadn’t escaped Amelia’s notice that, despite how uncomfortable he was entertaining, he paid special attention to the debutantes clinging to the fringes of the room each night.
He was a kind man. Kinder than she deserved, if she were to be honest.
Looking at him—in his stark black and white evening clothes, his hair perfectly done—he looked every part the heir. He would make an excellent earl when the time came, one who would care for his tenants, ensure their health and well-being, and argue for their rights in the House of Lords.
In a room full of men with their bright, fashionable clothes, elegant manners, and lofty titles, Benedict stood above them all.
She was embarrassed, really, to remember how she’d once thought him beneath her.
The music ended, and he looked up from the piano. Their gazes collided, and with it, she tried to convey everything she was too proud to say in person.
I love you. Don’t leave. Please.
She could have sworn his look said all the same things. He opened his mouth as if to speak, taking a step toward her, and her pulse thrummed. But something caught his attention. He turned his head just a fraction, and their connection was lost.
And with it, her hope.
She looked to the door to see what had distracted him. Greenhill had entered. There was a sense of urgency to his movements as he strode toward Benedict. He didn’t skirt around the sides of the room trying to stay inconspicuous. He walked right through the guests to the piano and whispered into Benedict’s ear.
Benedict paled. Something was wrong.
She followed them into the foyer where Fiona stood, drumming her fingers impatiently against her skirts. Her hair was windswept, as if she’d ridden hard to get here. Her face was drawn, and she had the aura of a tightly coiled spring, ready to unleash.
“What’s wrong?” Amelia asked.
