“I’ll take him,” one of the boys from the firm said, taking the older man by the arm. “Not to worry, boss.”
The hum and bustle of the inn began again, and Oliver shoved Benedict roughly into the booth.
“Cool down, lad. The world’s not coming to an end. Things are not as bad as you think.”
“How can it not be that bad? She’s the daughter of a bloody earl.”
Oliver shook his head. “Despite what we heard tonight, they’re not all the devil.”
Benedict went to interject but Oliver stopped him with a hand. “I’m not saying there aren’t some right bastards among them, just as there is in any group of people. And you’ve more reason to hate them than most, I know. But look at our Johnny-boy. His blood’s as blue as any of them.”
“John doesn’t count.”
“And Wildeforde. I know the two of you have had your differences lately, but you can’t deny that he looks after his people.”
“Wildeforde’s the ass that got me into this mess.”
“That he did. He has his flaws. I’m just suggesting you take a moment. Give your lady a chance before you decide to write her off.”
Benedict grunted. He could give his wife a chance, but he wasn’t expecting anything to come from it. Her type were what they were.
“Have another drink, lad.” The foreman passed him a pint. “There are things that need celebrating.”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact that you all but secured the contract we needed. The locomotive you designed is going into production.Asterly, Barnesworth & Co.is growing. It’s an achievement. One worth honoring if you refuse to celebrate your wedding.” He clicked his glass on Benedict’s.
Oliver was right. He should be rejoicing in his success. They’d worked for two years to develop a new and better-performing steam locomotive, and the Americans were ready to sign a deal for three of them.
But the knowledge didn’t spark any sense of joy. Not when it was overshadowed by the disaster of his marriage.
Amelia twisted, arms bent behind her back as she tried to undo even one of the buttons trapping her in her gown. It was no use. Ringing for help was pointless. The rope had fallen into her hands as soon as she’d yanked it. Apparently, her options were to venture downstairs or sleep in her gown.
A thud sounded on the door that separated her from her husband, and she straightened. Her heart skittered and pranced beneath her too-tight stays as she held her breath. With a lump in her throat, she trained her eyes on the brass doorknob, but it didn’t move.
Thank goodness. Her breath escaped with a loudwhoosh.
She looked around the room again. She’d attended enough house parties to become accustomed to sleeping in strange beds, but she was the daughter of the Earl of Crofton, and she was always given the best room—not one with a lumpy mattress, creaking floorboards, and a threadbare rug.
She pressed her lips together, catching them between her teeth as she realized this probablywasthe best room.
It was plain, outdated, and practicallyfrugal. Other than the bed, there was just a chair covered in last century’s fabric and a dresser that she supposed must double as a writing desk given it had both a cloudy mirror and a dusty writing set.
The only comfort that she could take was that her things would be arriving soon and then she could leave.
There was a knock at the door. One tap, an awkward pause, and then two more. Her pulse throbbed in her ears until she smothered it with a deep breath.
She was Lady Amelia Crofton. She could do this.
She stood and smoothed her dress as best she could given the wrinkles worn into it from the day. “Come in.”
The heavy wooden door opened, and Mr. Asterly—Benedict—entered. He had to duck his head to avoid hitting the frame. But as he straightened, his size once again overwhelmed her. She knew he was tall; she’d stood opposite him at the altar, but here in her bedchamber the man was a behemoth.
He clasped his hands behind his back. Despite his feet planted firmly on the floor, she got the impression that he would prefer to be anywhere else. “I thought to inquire as to whether you had what you needed,” he said.
What she needed. To reverse time. To wake up. For someone to tell her it had been an elaborate prank. “A hot bath wouldn’t go astray.” She stared pointedly at his damp curls.
He flushed, his copper cheeks taking on a reddish glow. “Of course, I should have thought. Forgive me. I’ll see to it.” He turned and turned back again, lips pursed.
