“This might be the worst day of my life,” she said.
“Hopefully.”
“I’m all alone now,” she said distantly. He hated the pitiful way she sounded like a wounded animal that had lost its will.
“You will be fine, it will all be fine.” He felt like he needed to say it. He could feel her nodding into his shoulder. He could feel her shivering and he held her a little closer.
Suddenly she looked up at him. “Thank you. For everything, for being there. I know you were obliged to help, but I truly do appreciate it and I will never forget this kindness.” He saw the sincerity in her eyes. They were having another moment of plain speaking—the ones that he both craved and dreaded. Her eyes just seemed to pull him in. They didn’t look at each other this way often, especially not while in such close proximity. He wasn’t entirely sure how they’d gotten here, with her in his arms, embracing him. He had been trying to protect her, do what was required of him, but now they were close and they were speaking plainly. It had a curious effect on him, leaving him unable to break the eye contact.
She reached up and kissed him and there was nothing he could make himself do to stop it. He felt the kiss throughout his body, energy of it flowed through his entire being, sedating his mind and firing his body. He was compelled to deepen the kiss as his mind was no longer engaged, driven completely by his body and its urgent need. He desperately wanted to be insider her, to find release from the torment that had dogged his every step for what seemed like forever.
He broke the kiss and sought out the tender skin on her neck, while reaching the back of his fingers down the forbidding black neckline that made her skin glow like alabaster. He pulled her tightly to him striving to get her closer, wishing the corset away—the stiff garment that kept him from fully feeling the softness of her body.
Then she pushed him away. Disappointment flared monstrously in him.
“No,” she said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry.”
He laughed at the ridiculousness of it; he’d fallen for it again. He seemed incapable of stopping himself. Any crumb of affection and he fell for it like a school boy. He growled in anger and wiped the taste of her from his lips with the back of his hand. Yet again she had humiliated him.
“I’m sorry,” she continued. “I am just so miserable and I sought comfort, and I shouldn’t have.” She was babbling, but he didn’t want to listen anymore. It was still raining heavily, but he didn’t care; he needed to be away from her, and he would brave the rain even if it meant he’d catch his death. He strode out into the rain leaving her beneath the pine. It was not gentlemanly to leave her, but he felt he had no other option lest he truly strangle her.
Chapter 15
Amelia shut her eyes and groaned. What in the world had possessed her to do that? She leaned back on the trunk of the tree and tried to wrap her mind around it. He had just been there, so close and warm.
She was not the kind of girl that toyed with men. There were plenty of those types of women around, she’d seen it first hand at dances where girls would play suitors off against each other and encourage men they had absolutely no intention of actually accepting; she’d never understood the point of those games.
She didn’t like to be thought of as someone who played games, and she could well imagine that was exactly what Lord Eldridge thought of her. She’d just felt so awful and she’d just wanted it to stop, she’d wanted a respite from the grieving and the worry. The excitement of the future felt far removed now; she was alone and she had no home. She had been desperately trying to see the future as positive, full of love and excitement, but those feeling had just evaporated leaving nothing but bleakness in their stead.
Now she felt even more awful than before. He had been very kind to her, had taken care of everything, and she felt like she had repaid him very badly—not that she was willing to engage in further intimacy because he was kind or even because she could use someone’s arms around her at the moment. She knew he wanted her to be his mistress and taking a place in his bed would only reinforce his belief that it was a viable course. More importantly, she might not want to get out again, which was a much scarier proposition. She wasn’t ready to give up on her dreams, no matter how nice the alternative felt.
She stayed under the pine tree and watched the rain drive across the lawn in curtains. She would get absolutely drenched if she tried to make her way to the house; it was better to just wait it out. She would also not encounter Lord Eldridge out here either, which was a decisive bonus.
The rain lulled a little half an hour later, so she took the risk of running back to the house before it started again. Down this part of the country, it could rain for days this time of year.
She sprinted around the corner of the house and there was a carriage and a team of horse waiting.
“Is his Lordship leaving?” she asked the footman.
“My understanding is that the carriage is to take you back to London.”
“Oh,” Amelia said. He was getting rid of her at the earliest opportunity. She couldn’t blame him considering what she’d just done. “I’ll get my things.”
“Your things have been packed,” the footman said and indicated for her to ascend the carriage. He’d had her things packed—probably so she didn’t have to go into the house again. She hesitated for a moment before she’d accepted that he would not give her a chance to apologize. It was his wish that she leave immediately and she couldn’t really do anything other than to comply. He had the right both as the injured party and the owner of the estate to which she didn’t belong anymore.
She stepped up into the carriage and the footman closed the door behind her. The carriage started and she looked out the window, back at the house that had been her home for most of her life—she was never going to see it again. This was it, she was finally done with Lord Eldridge and the rather complicated relationship they’d developed. She would collect her things from his Mayfair house and leave.
The rain started again, she could hear the patter of it on the carriage roof. It meant it was not a great time to travel and the trip would be slow and cumbersome. Part of her felt relief that she didn’t have to confront Lord Eldridge, while the other part of her hated leaving on such tense terms. Tension seemed to be the cornerstone of their dealings with one another. She wanted to walk away from this short and tumultuous period of her life without looking back. She wanted to intensely dislike him and be happy that she’d never need to deal with him again; although she was squarely to blame for this debacle.
The carriage travelled through the night, making slow progress. It was close to dawn when she arrived back in Mayfair. She’d slept very badly being knocked around by the muddy roads waking her every time they hit a rock or a rut.
It was an odd sensation when she arrived; she wasn’t used to seeing London at dawn—it felt like a strange world. Maybe the world had changed with recent events. This was definitely a closing of an old chapter for her. Even though the streets were familiar and the people were going about their business as usual, the world had changed as far as she was concerned. Maybe she was just very tired.
The carriage pulled up in front of the townhouse. The early light made it look soft and pensive. There was no one waiting at the door, so her returned was obviously unexpected. It took a while before Granson came to the door. The footman gave him a note before returning to the carriage. Amelia stepped inside ahead of Granson closing the door.
“It seems that you are to depart from us at the earliest opportunity,” Granson said. “I am sorry to hear that.”
“With Miss Hessworth gone, Lord Eldridge wants his house back,” Amelia said with a tired smile. “I shall depart immediately.”
“The carriage is available to you. All the same, a little rest might be restorative for everyone—even the horses could use a nap and some breakfast.”
“I’ll take a hack so the horses can be stabled. They’ve h
ad a long journey.”
“Perhaps a little nap would do you a world of good as well. There is no need to rush off this time of the morning. I will have breakfast brought up to your room.”
Amelia wanted to argue, but she was both famished and exhausted, and there was still the packing that needed to be done. Even if Lord Eldridge decided to return that day, he wouldn’t be there until dusk. She would be well gone by then, but it may not hurt to recuperate a bit. Amelia walked up to her room; it was bathed in sunlight, but the bed looked very welcoming.
Abigail joined her with a breakfast tray and Amelia felt her stomach lurch in hunger; she’d had nothing to eat since the scones at Reverend Hopkin’s tea. They spoke for a while about the funeral before Abigail had to go see to her chores. A full stomach only made her sleepy and she didn’t bother undressing.
The sun was much higher in the sky when she woke close to midday; she could tell by the position of the sun on her floor boards. The day was the exact opposite of the day before—being sunny like a proper spring day. Her sleep had restored her and it had chased some of the gloominess from her mind.
She wrote a note to Celeste and asked Granson to have it delivered. She had to pack now. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with Edna’s things. She had little use for the bulk of Edna’s belongings other than sentimental value. Her dresses were of a style for older women and would be completely unsuitable for her—not that she needed any for herself, her wardrobe was still generously provisioned.
She would take some of Edna’s books and her prized set of stationary and writing instruments. Edna always loved stationary and keeping them wasn’t in question; she would use them every day and think of her aunt in the process. The rest could go to a charity that supported those in need.
Abigail assisted her with the packing and the footmen carried the trunks and boxes down to the waiting carriage. It didn’t take too long to pack up her life, but she dreaded the moment of saying goodbye. She steeled herself to face it and muddled through. She had a firm lump in her throat when she said goodbye to the staff; it was an end of an era for them as well. Maybe everyone had to deal with change, she wondered.
She climbed back into the carriage and said a quiet goodbye to the house as it took off. She felt both scared and exhilarated having no safety net now. Her life was completely her own with no one to account to. She knew what she wanted and she had friends that would help her.
It only took five minutes to reach Celeste’s town house and Celeste was there waiting for her. Amelia felt like it had been a long time since she’d seen her, and her cheery face made everything seem a little less scary.
“So here you are, at last,” Celeste said. “Come have some tea. It’s such a beautiful day; perhaps we could take a walk after.”
“That would be lovely.”
“You have my deepest condolences regarding your aunt’s passing; it must have been a dreadful time for you. We will have to do something to cheer you up. Perhaps a dinner?”
“I don’t know,” Amelia said with uncertainty. She was supposed to stay clear of absolutely everything for the next month as she mourned.
Celeste gave her a quick hug. “You know you don’t have to abide by society customs now, including those awful dresses. Mourning is more social convention than actual respect for you departed aunt. Your sorrow for her passing isn’t going to change no matter what you wear.”
“I guess it just shows respect.” The rules of mourning had always been so ingrained; she’d never even considered that there was another way.
“Show respect in front of whom?” Celeste challenged. Amelia couldn’t think of a good answer, the only person that popped into her mind was Lord Eldridge and his deep disapproval for her and seemingly everything she did. “What would your aunt want?”
“I think she is too happy being reunited with her fiancé to worry about it,” Amelia said and truly hoped that was true.
“Then we shall have a party—distract you from the heavy thoughts you have. And if anyone thinks you should be stuck in black to assuage some peripheral acquaintance’s sensibilities, then they can eat charcoal for all we care.” Amelia liked the idea of thinking of Lord Eldridge as some marginal peripheral acquaintance—that way, maybe she could stop feeling his judgement so heavily.
“That would be lovely,” Amelia said remembering the first dinner she’d been to at Celeste’s house. How scared she was and how foreign everything had seemed and how woefully unprepared she’d been for that level of discourse.
Amelia settled down quickly at Celeste’s house. She’s taken one of the rooms on the second story and Celeste had quickly dispelled any worries that she was imposing. Celeste seemed to enjoy having someone to talk to during the afternoons. She wasn’t an early riser.
Amelia discovered a glass house she hadn’t noticed the previous time she’d been there. Celeste had an enthusiasm for orchids; she called them divinely gorgeous things. Her first plants had been given to her as gifts and she’d been tending them ever since—over time increasing her collection. There was apparently a society of orchid growers, of which she was one of its more notorious members—not strictly welcome by some of the female members, but their concerns were always outvoted by the more welcoming male members.
“I think we shall have a Greek evening,” Celeste said the following afternoon. “The birthplace of art and science—a fitting theme for the evening. What do you think?”
“Sounds wonderful,” Amelia said, not sure what that entailed, but she felt ready to try anything.
“We will wear ancient Greek attire, I think,”
“You mean togas?”
“The men—we will have these lovely and very flattering dresses. I have one somewhere, but we must have one made for you. Let’s get the dress maker to come this afternoon. They are simple dresses, it won’t take her long.”
There was no stopping with Celeste, she had boundless energy. The dressmaker came, measured and departed sufficiently quickly that they had time for an afternoon stroll. Amelia was getting used to them, including the differences between the type of strolls she’d been used to and these ones with Celeste.
Celeste stopped and talked throughout the walk and men flirted with her. The conversation was much more relaxed and fluid—Celeste was a fantastic conversationalist. Teasing was also a common occurrence within these more informal encounters. No one was disrespectful and they all seemed to know her name.
One man she had slight recall of meeting before asked to accompany her to the theatre, but she declined citing her recent loss. She may willingly over time have given up the black dresses, but she wasn’t about to go gallivanting about with all and sundry.
“Lord Hariston.” A beautiful older woman stopped his associate as they were riding through the park. They were on their way to the club and were passing through on the way. “Fancy encountering you in the park today. I would have thought you would be much too busy for such pleasures.”
“I had to make an exception on such a beautiful day,” Lord Hariston said and made a bow to the pair, of which one turned out to be Amelia Hessworth. His gut twisted at the sight of her. In a large city like London, how had he managed to run into her? “Who can resist when there is such lovely company. Let me introduce my friend, I’m not sure you’ve been introduced, Lord Eldridge.”
Amelia’s head shot up and sought him out. She looked away immediately once eye contact had been made. He surveyed the woman next to her, curious to see whose assistance she had drawn. Amelia looked well. There had been the odd twinge occasionally flying through his consciousness that she might be in dire need somewhere, but looking at her now that was obviously not the case. He had half expected that she would be on his doorstep begging for forgiveness and for him to again extend his kindness and care, but she had neither appeared nor been heard from.
He noted her mint green dress which showed her figure pleasingly but not provocatively—the color showed that she was not in mourning anymor
e. It had only been three week since her aunt’s funeral. While he’d never been an ardent fan of formalized mourning, in this particular case he objected like an offended puritan. He acknowledged that there was a little bit of hypocrisy in him with regards to the girl in front of him; it was just that she vexed him so completely. A part of him wondered if he argued with her just for the sake of it, that if she said it was a lovely day, he would argue just because she’d said it. She drove his patience to extinction.
The companion’s flirty nature and familiarity with Lord Hariston spoke volumes about her character and her position in the scheme of things—definitely a creature of the Demi-monde world that Miss Hessworth was starting to traverse in. He felt a stab of something, thinking that she was being groomed for a life of pleasure. He wasn’t sure of what, probably jealousy, he reasoned. He knew more than anyone how well suited she was to pleasure. He’d an irrational urge to grab her and make her state whether he was still the only one who knew her that in that sense. The thought of her with other men bit like acid. He tried to steel himself for when that moment would come, because it was likely not far away judging from the company she kept.
“This is Miss Amelia Hessworth,” Celeste said, presenting her to them.
“I knew your father,” Lord Hariston said. “Awful shame about his demise. I was most sorry to hear of it. Great man.”
Amelia nodded in acknowledgement of the statement. She wasn’t sure he was a great man, but she appreciated the sentiment. She knew full well that Lord Eldridge didn’t think so. She half expected him to argue with the man who must have been his friends. Lord Eldridge murmured a quiet, “We’ve met,” before refusing to comment further.
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