“What do you think I’ve spent all night trying to do?” She hadn’t heard that tone of voice from him since he’d argued with her father—that frustrated, scornful accusation.
“Just tell me how I can help,” she said quietly.
“You can’t,” he said. “This isn’t something you can fix by rearranging furniture and making things look pretty.”
Oh.
“Well, thank you for clarifying our roles. From business partner to bauble in a day—what an exhausting transformation.”
Thankfully Cassandra entered, effectively ending their argument before it could truly develop. She and Benedict had agreed to keep the news away from his sister for as long as possible.
“Good morning, poppet,” Amelia said. There was heavy silence while Cassandra filled her plate. Benedict refused to look at Amelia, which was perfectly fine. She didn’t want to look at him either.
If Cassandra noticed the difference in their seating arrangements, she said nothing, instead turning to Amelia expectantly. “What do the papers say this morning?”
They had developed an enjoyable morning routine of social pages and gossip. It wasn’t quite the same as morning calls following each ball, but it was as close as she was going to get out here.
And if it took her mind off her bear of a husband, then she’d be glad of the distraction.
Amelia unfolded the paper and scanned the first page of the society section. “Lord Gerton is apparently looking for a new wife. He’s been seen at Almack’s twice, and lord knows no man goes there unless he’s on the hunt for a new ‘Lady Whatever’ or he’s bullied by his wife, his mother, or his daughters. As he has no wife, nor mother, nor daughters, he’s on the lookout for a new Lady Gerton.”
“What happened to his last wife?” Cassandra asked as she shoveled eggs onto a fork.
“It’s a mystery,” Amelia whispered.
“Really?” The girl’s eyes bugged open. As it turned out, a childhood full of novels turned one into a sucker for intrigue.
“It’s a mystery why it took four years for him to bore her to death. I thought she’d perish in two.” She waited for some sort of response from Benedict—his usual, self-righteous quip or a comment about how inappropriate gossip was. All she got was silence.
“You can be bored to death?” Cassandra asked.
Amelia shrugged. “Technically, she died of the ague, but no doubt she caught it deliberately—an unpleasant way to escape an unpleasant marriage.” As she said the words, she recognized the cynicism. She was sliding back into her snide, spiteful past self. She could hear it happening; she just didn’t feel like stopping it. It felt good to be snippy. Familiar.
“What else does the paper say?” Cassandra asked.
“Miss Margaret Farnsworth was spotted in a multi-hued dress at the Belford soiree. I’ve told the girl a dozen times that she looks like a peacock when she chooses her own clothes. Without me there, she’ll likely become a laughingstock.”
“Because life can’t go on in society without you?” Benedict drawled.
Amelia shot him daggers, hoping they’d land somewhere painful. “I’m sure life in London will go on. It will just be a little less well-dressed.”
Completely oblivious to the maelstrom undercurrent, Cassandra said with confidence, “When we go to London, we’ll be the best-dressed ladies there.”
“Of course we will.”
“And we’ll take tea with Lady Belford, ride through Hyde Park, dance at Almack’s, and be fine ladies of theton.”
Benedict flinched at each word Cassandra spoke. And Amelia relished it. “Precisely.”
That was clearly his last straw.
“Cassandra, you weren’t raised to be a lady. You have a brilliant mind, and I won’t have you waste it on watercolor and flower arranging.”
He could not have found words that hurt Amelia more. She couldn’t help but look to the sideboard at the flower arrangement she’d spent the previous evening creating. She’d used snowdrops—because Benedict always commented on them and she’d wanted him to start an awful day with something beautiful.
Anger dissolved into humiliation, which dissolved into grief remarkably quickly. She picked up the paper to hide the tears in her eyes.
She’d worked hard to be the perfect lady her whole life. It was the reason she got up, the focus of her days. Whether it was conversation, piano, dancing, or arranging flowers, she’d striven to be the best at it.
