She’d enjoyed her work at the firm, more than she expected to. And she had every intention of continuing with it. But Benedict’s comment yesterday about leaving behind society had been the reminder she needed that she had two lives—there were two different parts to her—and the key to happiness was not leaving one behind but finding a way to be true to both.
A relationship with Lady Karstark, regardless of how Benedict felt about it, was essential to keeping the former part of her alive. It was the proof Amelia needed of her place in society.
She smoothed the folds in her dress, tugged on the fur edge of her kidskin gloves, and squared her shoulders.
There was no reason for the squirming in her midsection. Her father’s country homes had been as large as Karstark Place by half again. She was born to be mistress of a home like the one in front of her. She certainly was good enough to be a guest.
Swallowing, she glided forward. The door was open before she’d reached the landing. The butler bowed but didn’t move aside.
“Lady Amelia Asterly. Here to pay a call to Lady Karstark.” She handed across her card.
The butler’s face didn’t change, but the wait was overlong as he stared at it.
She was already drawn tight—the implied censure from a servant brought her close to the breaking point. “I am recently married. I haven’t yet had the opportunity for new cards,” she said sharply.
She was a fool of a woman. She didn’t need to explain herself to a butler.
“Is Lady Karstark at home?”
Surely the woman had to be “at home.” Where else was she supposed to be out here? God knew there was no other society nearby.
“I shall enquire.” He motioned for Amelia to enter and guided her to a small sitting room off the parlor.
Her dratted nerves began to work at her again. There was no reason why Lady Karstark shouldn’t see her. In fact, the woman would no doubt be thrilled to see her given the lack of good society in the area. She was doing the woman a favor by calling.
To distract herself, she began to make mental note of her surroundings. The styling was a little outdated, but that was the norm in households run by the older generation. Yet it was impeccable. The curtains were not faded; the carpet showed no wear. The brass doorknob was polished to perfection; the glass window was clean despite the recent rain and mud.
Several of the rooms in the newly opened wings of her home showed signs of previous vermin infestation. Rugs and skirting boards had been eaten away at, and the air was pungent. There would be no chance of that happening here. This was how a country home was supposed to look. It was how her home would look now that she was in charge.
“Ahem.”
Amelia stood as she turned toward the door. Lady Karstark was exactly as she had pictured. Pin-thin in heavy violet silks and brocade, a tall powdered wig atop her head. Most of society had moved past the heavy, itchy wigs, but some bastions of the old ways clung fast to the fashions of their youth. Judging by the heavy wrinkles and paper-thin skin, the woman looked a hundred.
“Lady Karstark.” Amelia sank into a deep, perfect curtsey, the kind she reserved for the king and queen.
The older woman inclined her head and moved to the armchair opposite the settee, her cane thudding with each step. It was a long journey. Truly, Amelia aged a year in the time Lady Karstark took to sit.
It was only once the older woman was seated that Amelia followed suit.
“This is quite peculiar,” Lady Karstark said. “To pay a call on a complete stranger. We have yet to be introduced.”
Amelia flushed a little at the censure in the comment. No one understood propriety like Amelia did, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And this was such a minor breach of protocol.
“Forgive my impudence. But I’ve only recently moved to the area, and I wanted to pay my respects. I believe you knew my grandmother, Lady Crofton. She spoke very fondly of you when she was alive.”
It was a wild guess, but the two women were of an age, and grandmamma had knowneveryone. Everyone who had spent time in London, that is.
Lady Karstark’s expression was skeptical. “I’m surprised. Both that Augustina had anything fond to say about anyone and that you would remember after all these years. She passed away almost fifteen years ago, did she not?”
Clearly the woman was going to make things as difficult as she could.
“You married the Asterly boy.”
Boywas hardly the word Amelia would use to describe him, but perhaps Lady Karstark hadn’t seen him recently.
“I did. We were married several weeks ago.”
“I thought you were marrying Wildeforde.” The woman squinted as she studied Amelia, who refused to flinch under the gaze. She’d been at the center of London’s social scene for years and was well used to being judged.
