She folded the letter carefully once finished, placing it in a drawer rather than sending it immediately, as if protecting it from a world that might try to undo her resolve.
By the time morning came, Amelia felt almost unfamiliar to herself, as though something inside her had shifted overnight into something sharper and more certain.
She was fastening the last buttons on her dress when the knock came at the door.
“Enter,” she said, expecting Mrs. Jacobs or the maid, Trixie. Instead, it was Gabriel.
Amelia turned quickly, surprised to see him accompanied by a woman she did not recognize and carrying a box with careful precision. Gabriel gave the smallest nod in greeting before speaking with his usual controlled impatience, as though the situation itself was an inconvenience he was tolerating.
“This is the modiste,” he said briefly, stepping aside as the woman curtsied.
Gabriel set the box down on a nearby table with deliberate care, as though even this small act required precision. “You will choose your own dresses,” he said, watching her reaction closely as if anticipating an argument.
Amelia blinked, momentarily unsure whether she had understood him correctly, then straightened slightly. “I… get a choice?” she asked before she could stop herself, her voice betraying more emotion than she intended.
“You are not a governess in appearance, regardless of circumstance,” he replied, his tone clipped as he moved past her toward the window. “And I do not intend to have unnecessary scandal spreading through my household because people cannot distinguish between roles.” He glanced back at her briefly, expression unreadable but firm. “There will be a ball,” hecontinued, “hosted here, to prepare Valerie for London. You will attend as a guest if you wish it.”
He added the last part almost reluctantly, as though offering choice was itself an inconvenience he would rather avoid.
Amelia stood very still, her hands tightening slightly at her sides as she tried to process what he was saying.
A guest. Not hidden. Not labeled. Not dismissed.
The idea felt almost unreal, and she fought to keep her composure from breaking into something far more visible. “Thank you,” she managed carefully, though the words felt inadequate for what she was feeling.
Gabriel merely gave a short, dismissive sound, as if gratitude was unnecessary and mildly inconvenient to acknowledge.
He opened the box on the table without ceremony, revealing a pair of gloves folded neatly inside.
“There is one more matter,” he said, taking one glove and examining it briefly before looking at her. “I wanted to ensure these fit.”
Before she could respond, he stepped closer and took her hand with surprising gentleness, sliding the glove over her fingers with deliberate precision. Amelia’s breath caught slightly, though she forced herself not to move, not trusting her ownreaction. His touch was brief, controlled, yet it left a lingering warmth that unsettled her far more than she wanted to admit.
When he finally released her hand, Amelia found that she needed to distract herself from the heat rising inside of her.
Say something, anything.
“Is David much like his father?” she asked, realizing that perhaps bringing up such a painful memory was not the best redirection.
Gabriel paused for a moment, then gave a small, almost reluctant nod. “In some ways,” he replied, his gaze distant for a fraction of a second. “He had David’s energy. Less discipline, more trouble.”
Amelia smiled faintly at that, then added, “Valerie takes after you more than you realize.”
Gabriel gave a short, almost imperceptible exhale that might have been agreement.
They spoke briefly then of David and Valerie, their voices lower, more natural than before, as though something between them had softened without permission. Amelia found herself standing closer to him than she realized, drawn in by the ease of conversation despite everything she told herself to the contrary. Gabriel’s gaze lingered on her face for a moment longer than necessary, and the air between them shifted in a way neitheracknowledged aloud. Before she could fully understand what was happening, he reached up and gently tilted her chin, studying her as though something about her required closer attention. Amelia’s heart stuttered violently at the gesture, her thoughts scattering in every direction at once.
Then, just as quickly, he let go and stepped back, turning away as though nothing had occurred at all. The abrupt distance left Amelia standing frozen, her skin still tingling where his hand had been.
“I will leave you to get your measurements done for the gown,” Gabriel said quietly, already moving toward the door as if the moment had never existed.
Amelia did not answer immediately because she was still trying to understand why the absence of his touch now felt louder than its presence. And as the door closed behind him, she realized with startling clarity.
Anticipation can be its own kind of ache.
Chapter Sixteen
“See that he is properly cared for,” Gabriel said, pressing a coin into the boy’s hand.
