Amelia couldn’t believe she was waking up this way again. The pain in her head persisted; the nausea in her gut hadn’t left either. Would it never end? How long had she been like this?
She tried to remember, but everything was so hazy. Tom, her father…oh, God. Where was she? The bed felt different. The room even smelled different. She wasn’t at home, that much was for certain.
The conversation she’d overheard of her father and the older gentleman came rushing back, and tears pricked the backs of her eyelids. He must have come to retrieve her. Her father had sold her, as if she were a possession rather than a human being. Now what would become of her? What kind of man had she been shackled to?
There was a shuffling in the room. A door opened, but didn’t shut.
“She’s waking up, my lord,” a woman said moments later, to which a man replied, “Oh, thank God.”
“Amelia? Can you hear me?” the man’s voice was close to her now, just above her, and a pair of gentle hands closed around her upper arms.
Amelia knew that voice, didn’t she? Did she dare to dream? Hope welled inside her, even though she didn’t believe it could possibly be true.
“Amelia, please. Please speak to me.”
Now the tears came in earnest, and she dared to open her eyes. It hurt to do so, so she squinted to see the face before her and then shut them again, having confirmed what she’d hoped to be true.
“Tom,” she cried. It was all she could say as he sat down on the bed beside her and wrapped her in his comforting embrace.
“Thank God,” he repeated again as he rocked her gently. “We thought you’d never wake up.”
Amelia pulled back to see him. He looked harried—as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. “What happened to me?”
“There will be plenty of time for explanations later.” Tom stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “When you’re stronger.”
“He was going to sell me, you know?” The tears welled up inside her again at the thought of what could have been.
Tom’s brow furrowed. “I knew he had something planned for you, though I didn’t know exactly what.” He pulled her into his embrace again, and she burrowed into him. He smelled of fresh linen, and his skin was warm and comforting. Only then did she realize he had come to her in his shirtsleeves. “But you’re safe now.”
“My head feels so foggy.” She pressed her cheek even harder against his chest. Would she ever feel close enough to him?
“It will take some time. Just rest…”
~*~
Tom waited for Amelia to fall asleep and then returned to the downstairs where Victoria waited with Miss Pickering and Ms. Denby. They’d come as soon as they heard she was at his residence again. Of course, this time they insisted on staying, for propriety’s sake. Tom’s house was too small to put all of them up comfortably, but he also couldn’t argue, so he’d agreed, setting them up in a shared room.
Now they sat with Victoria in his drawing room, sipping tea. All three of them stopped what they were doing when he entered. Tom stood there, holding a tense breath, staring back at the three women.
“Well?” Victoria prodded.
“She’s awake,” Tom said on a whoosh of air.
All three women leapt to their feet, beaming with joyful smiles.
“Can I see her?” Miss Pickering was the first to ask.
“That is to say,” Tom said, holding up a hand to stay them, “she was awake. She’s fallen back to sleep. It’s to be expected, of course. It’s obvious the man’s been drugging her for days—who knows how much of it is still coursing through her veins.”
Ms. Denby put an arm around a deflated Miss Pickering. “Yes, of course, my lord,” she said softly. “We’ll get to see her soon enough.” She led the young woman back to the settee and they both sat down again.
Victoria, however, stayed beside him. “Are you sure you won’t bring her to the hospital?” she asked for what seemed like the hundredth time since he’d brought Amelia home.
“Stop worrying so,” he said, an edge of annoyance in his voice. “She’ll be fine. I’m no stranger to an overindulgence of substance. She only needs a few days and then she’ll be right as rain.”
“And then what?”
Tom wasn’t even going to pretend that he didn’t know what his sister was talking about. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “But I won’t make any decisions for her.”
“Are you going to ask her to marry you, like you said you were?” His sister’s open expression was full of hope.
Tom took a deep breath and then shook his head. “No. I’m not.”
“Why?” Victoria persisted, and her tone drew the attention of the other two ladies.
Tom grabbed his sister by the wrist. “Ladies, if you will excuse us…” and then he dragged her out of the drawing room.
He led her toward the back of the house to his small study, and once they were inside, he shut the door.
“You promised,” she said, not allowing him a chance to speak.
“Yes, well, I lied.”
“Why?”
“To save her bloody life!” He pounded his fist on his desk, causing his sister to jump. “Why else?” he added, attempting to soften his tone.
“Do you care for her or not, Thomas?”
Tom let out a frustrated breath as he ran his fingers through his mussed hair. “Of course I care about her. Would I have risked my life for her if I didn’t?”
“But not enough to marry her?” Victoria was so rigid and stoic in that moment that she appeared far older than her twenty-four years.
Tom shook his head. “It’s not that,” he sighed, plopping into the large leather armchair. “It’s…”
“Bianca.”
He looked up at his sister and stared at her for a moment. Should he lie or tell the truth? In the end he nodded his affirmation.
Victoria’s stoic expression faded away and she gave him a pitying smile as she lowered herself to the chair on the opposite side of the desk from him. “Were you that in love with her?”
He nodded again.
“And are you still?”
Tom gave a little chuckle. “That’s the odd part, isn’t it? I’m not. To be truthful, I let her go a very long time ago. But the scars she left…well, they’re not going away anytime soon.”
“Tom,” Victoria said, her tone sad and so full of concern that even Tom thought he might cry. “I know she hurt you, but—”
He held up a hand to stop her, otherwise he would cry. He didn’t care to let anyone know he had the ability to produce tears. “Please, Vic. I’m not asking for your advice. I’m just asking you to leave me be.”
“And what about Miss Harding?”
“Her too,” he said matter-of-factly. “She has a mind of her own. Reminds me of someone else I know.”
He winked at his sister, and she, in turn, rolled her eyes.
“You know,” Tom said, leaning forward against the desk, “for a wayward debutante, such as you were, I’m surprised you aren’t more supportive of Miss Harding.”
Victoria shrugged and sat back in her chair. “I would never wish my hardships on anyone else.”
“Perhaps. But you would never trade one second of the life you’ve led for something more…conventional.”
Finally, his sister laughed and nodded. Perhaps they would finally see common ground. “Fine,” she said at long last. “I will leave the two of you alone. But please don’t come begging for me to fix things when Society starts slandering your names all over the papers.”
Victoria left the room and left Tom to his thoughts. He had his sister out of the way, it seemed, and he had a feeling Amelia’s father wouldn’t bother them again, either. However, now that the more obvious obstacles were out of his way, Tom had only his conscience to deal with. And possibly charges against him if it turned out Harding didn’t survive that fall.
Maybe his sister was right. Maybe he was making a mistake—ruining Amelia�
�s life by letting her choose him, especially when he had no actual plans to make her an honest woman. The thought of taking her as his mistress had crossed his mind more than a hundred times in recent days, but could he really do that? Could he allow her to throw away any chance at being a part of respectable society?
Tom shook his head. He was being foolish, leading her on. Wasn’t he, in fact, doing the same thing Bianca had done to him? He’d hoped and planned to marry that woman—what if Amelia was hoping for the same? Did she think becoming his mistress would lead to such an end?
He poured himself a glass of brandy, took one swig and then threw the tumbler across the room. The glass hit the wall and shattered to the floor with a loud crash. Why did he have to be so damned noble? He couldn’t make her his blasted mistress. He’d ruin her forever, and he’d never be able to live with himself with that on his conscience. Whatever he did, he had to force Amelia to see that he was not the man for her.
Eighteen
A few days later, Amelia started to feel herself again, thank heaven. It had not been an easy three days, what with all the sweating and retching, but today she felt simply wonderful. After a bath, Fanny dressed her, and then Amelia bounded down the stairs, eager to fill her belly with real food. It had been broth and biscuits for days. She smelled the eggs and savory bacon as she approached the dining room, and her stomach growled loudly, drawing the attention of the other diners.
When Ms. Denby and Meg saw her, they jumped to their feet and ran to her side.
“Are you feeling better then?” Meg asked hopefully.
“Should you be out of bed already?” Ms. Denby’s brow furrowed with concern.
“I’m fine,” Amelia assured them. “Truly.”
She looked up to meet his eyes, and her stomach flip-flopped at the sight of him. Tom stood at the end of the table, staring at her. His blond hair was smoothed down, and his cravat was in the most perfect knot she’d ever seen. There were no dark circles under his eyes and no shadow on his face. Had he turned over a new leaf? Or had he simply started sleeping better since she’d woken up?
“Good morning,” Amelia said, when it appeared he was not going to say anything.
“Indeed,” he replied. His lips spread into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, though she was far too hungry to give it much thought. “Come, sit.”
Amelia took her seat next to Meg and would have engaged everyone in conversation, but all she could think about was food—the glorious plate of it that appeared before her.
When she was nearly finished and could hardly imagine putting another bite into her mouth, she focused her attention on Tom.
“It seems like a lovely day out,” she said, hoping he might ask her for a walk.
“Mmmhmm,” he replied as he dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “You should take a turn about the square if you’re feeling up to it. I’m sure Ms. Denby and Miss Pickering will be thrilled to accompany you.”
“Oh.” Amelia tried not to let the disappointment show on her face as she looked to her headmistress and best friend.
“Yes, of course we’d love to accompany you.” Ms. Denby said, coming to her feet. “I’ll have Fanny retrieve our pelisses and bonnets.”
The headmistress left the room and, desperate to have a moment alone with Tom, Amelia gave Meg a little shooing motion under the table where he couldn’t see. It took Meg a moment, but she finally caught on.
“I had better go help Ms. Denby,” she said, and then ran from the room, her red curls bobbing up and down.
Amelia smiled up at Tom, but he only gave a tight smile in return. The kind of smile that told her something was the matter but he wasn’t willing to speak of it.
“Tom—”
“Well, I best be off.” He stood from his chair, nearly knocking its heavy wooden frame over in his haste.
Amelia was up just as quickly. “Wait!” she cried. “I had hoped to have a moment with you. I-I haven’t seen you since that first day…or whatever day that was. I only know it wasn’t recent.”
Tom’s expression shifted. His brow furrowed, and Amelia wasn’t sure if he was anguished or perturbed. “I’ve been busy.”
That was it? He was busy? It was one thing to be rejected, but to be lied to cut her to the core. She would make him tell the truth if it was the last thing she did.
“Liar.”
His eyebrows lifted. “I beg your pardon.”
“Why are you avoiding me?” she demanded.
“I’m not avoiding you,” he insisted. “I told you—”
“I heard what you told me.” Amelia moved closer to him. “I simply don’t believe it.”
Tom scoffed at her. Scoffed! After all they’d been through, it seemed they were back at the beginning. Only now, it felt as though her heart shattered into a million little pieces. What had she done to deserve this? Where was the Tom who’d found her in the streets a few nights ago and brought her home, with promises on his lips?
“I’m going to be late,” he said, and moved to leave the room, but Amelia wasn’t about to simply let him walk out the door without talking to her first.
She grabbed his hand and tugged him backward. He didn’t put up a struggle; he merely halted in his steps and heaved a sigh.
“What’s going on?” Amelia demanded.
“Amelia, please,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, as if she caused him a headache. “I don’t want to do this.”
Amelia hated the sick feeling that settled in her gut, but it was obvious what was happening. It wasn’t obvious why it was happening, but she knew, nonetheless, that Tom was attempting to rid himself of her.
Amelia stared after him, bewildered. There was so much she wanted to say, not to mention a million questions she wanted answered about what had happened to her and where her father was. Now all she wanted to know was why he was pushing her away, but she wasn’t some simpering miss who would fall at his feet and beg him to be with her. If he didn’t want her, she would leave him be.
“Fine,” she said at last, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice. “Far be it from me to force you to do something you don’t want to do.”
He looked at her, and Amelia thought for a moment that she saw regret lingering in his emerald eyes. But he turned away again before she could confirm her suspicions.
Ms. Denby and Meg appeared in the doorway.
“Are you ready, dear?” her headmistress asked.
Amelia nodded and brushed past Tom, following Ms. Denby to the small foyer.
“Your bonnet, miss,” Fanny said, a bright smile on her face.
“Thank you, Fanny,” Amelia replied, trying to match Fanny’s enthusiasm but falling horribly short. “We’ll be back shortly, and I’ll probably want to lie down.”
Fanny bobbed a curtsey and then closed the door after them as they walked into the street. The sun was bright—nearly blinding for someone who had had her eyes closed for the better part of a week—but Amelia welcomed the warmth on her face. It helped to stay the tears that threatened to spill.
The trio began their turn about the square, and finally, after regaining her composure, Amelia asked the questions she so desperately wanted to know the answers to.
“What happened to me?” she asked.
Ms. Denby stopped walking for a moment, furrowed her brow, and then started up again. “Your father drugged you, it seems, and took you back home,” she said. “He kept you drugged apparently, though we’re not certain why.”
“I know why,” Amelia put in. “He meant to sell me to a man. I heard them talking about how much easier I’d be if I were unconscious.”
Meg gasped and then squeezed Amelia’s hand even tighter.
“And what of my father?” she pressed. It wasn’t very Christian of her, but ever since she’d been a little girl, she’d prayed and wished for her father’s death. All she wanted was to be free.
Ms. Denby shrugged. “No one’s bothered to find out what happened to him, and Lord Gr
antham hasn’t spoken a word about how he came to locate and retrieve you.”
Amelia thought that peculiar, but she didn’t care to linger on the topic of Lord Grantham just then. “Then the question is, is my father still looking for me? Or this other man, perhaps? It seems they had a deal, after all.”
Ms. Denby stroked her arm gently as they walked. “Let’s not worry ourselves with that right now, Miss Harding. You’re safe here, with us and with his lordship. We must simply focus on restoring you to perfect health.”
They walked a bit more, everyone keeping their thoughts to themselves. Her teacher’s words echoed in Amelia’s head: “You’re safe here, with us and his lordship.” Then why didn’t she feel that way anymore? Why did she suddenly feel like a nuisance?
“I think I would like to call on Lady Leyburn,” Amelia blurted out, and then added, “That is, if you don’t mind.”
“Well, of course, dear. We can go this afternoon.”
“No,” Amelia corrected. “I’d like to go now.”
Ms. Denby stared at her. “You’re not well enough for such a lengthy walk, Amelia.”
“They don’t live far—at least according to Fanny—and I feel fine. Please. This is something I must do—the sooner the better.” She hoped the pleading tone in her voice would convince Ms. Denby to let her go. She had nothing to lose, after all. Lady Leyburn had offered before—it was worth a try to find out if the offer still stood.
Her headmistress looked to Meg, who only shrugged, and then back to Amelia. “Well,” she said, clearly uncertain about allowing it, “I suppose it’s all right. We’ll accompany you and wait in the foyer.”
“Thank you,” Amelia said, and then handed Ms. Denby the calling card Lord Leyburn had given her so she could turn them in the direction of their residence.
Within fifteen minutes they were standing in the foyer, waiting for the butler to announce Amelia to her ladyship. The walk had been a bit taxing, but she would never admit as much.
“Miss Harding?”
Lady Leyburn stood the doorway of the drawing room just off the foyer. She had gotten used to being Miss St. George—it was odd to hear her real name again. Nonetheless, she gave a curtsey as the countess crossed to her, arms outstretched to take Amelia’s hands in hers.
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