by Diane Gaston
No reason why she could not rise now, put on a wrapper and sit by the window. She glanced over at Edmund, still sleeping, and moved as quietly as she could. Her legs seemed weak, and her head spun as she tried to stand. Steadying herself on the bed, she reached the trunk upon which her wrapper was folded. She sat on the trunk to put it on and then slowly rose and moved as if she were Madame Saqui, the Vauxhall Gardens tightrope walker.
She was surprisingly weak for just being in bed a day. Perhaps that was what happens when... No, she did not want to think of why she felt this way. She only wished to look outside at the street and reassure herself that carriages still rolled by, that trees and grass still grew. Her world seemed so changed, why not all of it?
She stood at the glass and discovered the same street, the same row of houses as always. A cat crossed the road and that small thing felt even more reassuring.
‘Amelie?’
She turned. Edmund had risen from the chair, his hair mussed and his face again in need of a shave.
He walked over to her. ‘Are you feeling better?’
She nodded. ‘Merely a little weak.’
‘Hungry?’ he asked.
Food seemed so utterly unimportant, but his mention of it made her stomach growl. ‘Yes. I suppose I am.’
He buttoned his waistcoat. ‘I will have some food sent up to you. Shall I summon Sally, as well?
Her heart started to race. ‘Are you leaving?’
‘I should,’ he said. ‘But I will be back. I’ll come in the afternoon and look in on you.’
She could only stare at him. He smiled, but whether it was in reassurance or apology, she could not tell. Perhaps it was pity.
He walked out the door, and she was helpless to stop him.
There was nothing in his leaving to make her bereft, she told herself, yet her throat tightened and tears pricked her eyes. She willed them away. Why should he stay? His reason to stay existed no more.
She should be happy he had stayed with her these past two nights. She’d rather he’d lain next to her.
There she went again, thinking shameless thoughts. Such thoughts had led to—to all that had happened.
Why had he spent the night in her room? She could not figure it. He stayed and he left. He seemed kind, but it felt as though a wall stood between them.
A wall erected because—because of what she had lost.
There was a knock on her door, and Sally peeked her head in. ‘Mr Summerfield said you might want me, miss—ma’am, I mean.’
Amelie smiled at the girl. ‘Good morning, Sally. Yes. I think I would like to get dressed, but before you help me, would you tell Cook that I will not need a plate of food sent up to my room? I would like to eat in the dining room.’
She did not wish to sit alone with her memories in this room.
* * *
Amelie held on to the banister but managed the stairs fairly well. The more she walked, the steadier she felt. Staines was in the hallway, and he opened the door to the dining room for her.
Marc and Tess were seated at the table.
‘Amelie!’ Tess cried.
Marc jumped to his feet to assist her to a chair. ‘What are you doing out of bed?’ he asked. ‘Where is Edmund?’
‘Edmund left.’ She did not like the frowns that appeared on both their faces. ‘He had several errands.’
‘You must be feeling better.’ Tess forced a smile. ‘But are you certain you should be up and about?’
Amelie stared past them. ‘I could not stay in that room.’
‘Well, now you are here,’ her brother broke in. ‘Shall I fix a plate for you?’
‘Thank you.’ She was not certain she could balance a plate of food and walk at the same time. ‘Some toasted bread and jam would be lovely.’
He cut pieces of bread and put them in the toasting rack and set it near the fire.
Tess poured her a cup of tea. ‘Tell us how you are feeling.’
Unhappy, confused, aching. Grieving.
‘Almost back to my old self,’ she said instead. ‘I do feel a little weak, though. Almost as though I had too much wine to drink.’
Tess handed her the cup of tea. ‘The doctor gave you laudanum to help you sleep yesterday.’
Marc turned her toast. ‘Do not exert yourself today,’ he said.
‘I promise,’ she responded. ‘But I would love to sit in the library, unless Papa needs it to work.’
Marc brought her the toast, a dish of butter and one of raspberry jam. ‘I do not know his plans.’ He paused and glanced at Tess again. ‘I must go out, but Tess may be able to keep you company.’
She actually preferred to be alone. ‘That would be lovely, but unnecessary. I do not need anyone with me all the time. I am sufficiently recovered.’
The only person she wished to have as company was Edmund. Until she saw him, talked to him, she did not even know what tomorrow would bring.
* * *
After Edmund returned to the hotel and shaved and changed clothes, he sat down to read his correspondence.
Anything to distract him.
A letter from Count von Osten detailed some possible investment opportunities Edmund could explore. He ought to look into it today. He needed to stay occupied.
He should write to the Count and Lady Summerfield. Inform them of his marriage, but then he would have to tell them about—the other. He was not ready to write those words.
He rose from his chair and picked up his hat and gloves. In the hall he told the servant where he was going, just in case he was needed. In case anything happened to Amelie.
He walked briskly to Threadneedle Street and the office of his stockbroker. When he finished with the man, though, his malaise returned. He wandered through the Exchange, watching its vendors energetically sell their varied wares.
Perhaps he should buy Amelie a gift?
What a paltry idea. As if a mere gift could compensate.
‘Summerfield!’ a voice behind him shouted. ‘I would speak with you now.’
He turned.
A few feet away, Lord Tinmore leaned on his cane, a footman in attendance. Other gentlemen in the area stared curiously. If he cut the man, likely the tongues of the ton would start to wag. Better he not add to the inevitable gossip.
He strode over to Tinmore. ‘Sir?’
Tinmore’s eyes glinted with triumph. At having one of his orders followed, probably.
‘What is your business here?’ Tinmore demanded.
Could this man be any more insufferable? Edmund leaned down to him and spoke in as mild a tone as he could muster. ‘I will not answer that question, sir.’ He bowed. ‘I hope you are well, sir. How is my sister, your wife?’
‘Hmmph,’ the man uttered. ‘She is in excellent health, of course. If you must know, I kept her from that patched-up affair of a wedding of yours.’
As Genna had told him. ‘It saddened me not to have her there.’
Tinmore grimaced. ‘I would not have her distressed.’
‘It was not a distressing event.’ Edmund did not need this. His temper was worn thin as it was.
‘And now the whole reason for it is gone. Ha! How is that?’ Tinmore’s expression turned smug.
Edmund felt the blood drain from his face. Tess! Could she not keep her mouth shut? He closed his eyes and fought for control. When he opened them again, he glared directly into Tinmore’s face. ‘You have crossed a line, sir. Our conversation is finished.’
He turned away.
‘It would be a shame for that whole mucked-up story to leak out, would it not?’ Tinmore called after him.
Edmund swung back. ‘What is your meaning?’
Triumph returned to Tinmore’s eyes. ‘I am greatly desirous that my wife
and her unmarried sister have as little contact with you as possible. I would not be so unkind as to forbid it of them, but...’ He grinned, revealing yellowing teeth.
‘You damned blackguard,’ Edmund said just loud enough for Tinmore to hear. ‘You are blackmailing me.’
‘That is it.’ Tinmore’s smile merely widened. ‘I want you gone. Leave or somehow the whole story of your sordid mess will become known to everyone.’
Tinmore hobbled away, signalling his footman to come with him.
That cursed reprobate! Threatening to expose Amelie’s secret. Edmund stood frozen with rage.
‘What did he want?’
Was he to have no peace this day? Edmund swung around. It was Glenville who’d spoken.
Edmund evaded Glenville’s question. ‘To be as unpleasant as possible.’
Glenville frowned. ‘He threatened you, didn’t he?’
Edmund’s brows rose. ‘Why should he threaten me?’
‘Because he’s a damned autocrat who enjoys manipulating people.’ Glenville snapped.
Edmund regarded him closely. ‘And how do you know this?’
His brother-in-law’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘He once threatened me.’
Indeed? ‘Well, he is still up to the same old tricks.’
Glenville did not press him to say more. ‘Where are you bound now?’ was all he asked.
Edmund’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’
‘Because I would like to talk to you,’ Glenville responded mildly.
‘You came looking for me,’ Edmund realised.
‘Yes,’ Glenville admitted. ‘The servant at the hotel said you would be at the Exchange.’
His anxiety rose. ‘Amelie! Is she ill again?’
‘No. No.’ Glenville made a placating gesture. ‘She is much improved, as a matter of fact.’
Edmund’s shoulders relaxed.
‘I merely desired to talk with you away from the house,’ Glenville explained.
Away from his parents? Tess? Or from Amelie?
‘Very well.’ Edmund was eager to be done with it.
They found a nearby tavern and sat in a secluded booth. The tavern maid brought them two tankards of ale.
Glenville took a sip of his. ‘One thing I miss about Brussels is the beer, but this will do for now.’
Edmund was in no mood for friendly chitchat. ‘What did you want to speak to me about?’
‘I want to apologise for my parents. And for myself. We have not made any of this easy for you.’ Glenville sounded sincere.
‘I understand it,’ Edmund said.
‘You are welcome to stay at the town house,’ he went on. ‘My mother and father are remiss at not making that clear to you.’
He appreciated the gesture, but Glenville was mistaken. He’d be tolerated, perhaps, but not welcome. ‘It is better I remain at the hotel, at least until Amelie is recovered and we can leave.’
‘Leave?’ Glenville’s brows rose. ‘Where will you go?’
‘I am not certain,’ Edmund responded. ‘But after this encounter with Tinmore, we’ll not stay in London.’ And risk having what Amelie would wish kept secret become the latest on dit in town.
* * *
Amelie curled up in one of the comfortable chairs in the library, using her shawl to help keep her warm. She really did not have the energy or concentration to read or do needlework, so she merely watched the glow of the coals in the fireplace.
Staines came to the doorway. ‘Miss Summerfield to see you, ma’am.’
Ma’am. She could not get used to being ma’am instead of miss, but, then, there was not much around that would remind her she was married. She glanced down at her hands. Her rings. Her lovely rings.
‘Ma’am?’ Staines asked again.
‘Yes.’ She tried to focus her mind. ‘Show her in.’
Genna breezed in. ‘Amelie! How are you?’ She came over to her and bussed her on the cheek. ‘How terrible for you.’
She knew? ‘Tess told you what happened?’
‘Of course she did,’ Genna said.
Amelie slumped in her chair. Why had Tess spoken so soon?
‘I am very well now,’ Amelie said. ‘No one need be concerned about me.’
‘Well, I am.’ Genna lifted her chin. ‘What an ordeal and the night after your wedding.’
She wished Genna would go away. ‘It is over.’
‘Did you regret it had not happened before the wedding?’ Genna’s voice was without malice and entirely sympathetic.
Still, the question jarred Amelie. It also jarred her that she did not know the answer. ‘Have you asked your brother that question?’
‘Goodness, no!’ Genna laughed. ‘He’d chew my head off if I did and would never answer me. I am half-surprised that you have not told me to go to the devil, but, then, you are much too nice.’
Was that a compliment or an insult? Amelie was unsure.
‘It is what everyone is thinking, you know,’ Genna went on. ‘How much better it would have been and all that.’
Amelie bristled. ‘Is that what you think?’
Genna sobered. ‘I think all of this must be very hard for you, Amelie, and I wish my brother would have thought of what might happen before he indulged in an indiscretion.’
Edmund was not to blame for any of it. Not even the loss—
‘I indulged in the indiscretion, too,’ Amelie said.
Genna considered this. ‘Yes, I suppose you did. How easy it must have been to be carried away by emotion that night of all nights. I confess I have never felt such emotion towards a man. They all seem like fortune hunters to me. Not that the fortune Tinmore has settled on me is all that great. It does seem the most important thing to them, though.’
It had been for Fowler. ‘At least that did not matter to Tess and Marc. They are a love match.’ It certainly hadn’t mattered to her parents either.
‘Tess and Marc?’ Genna sounded surprised. ‘I admit they seem to be devoted to each other now, but—’ She peered at Amelie. ‘Do you not know the circumstances of their marriage?’
‘They met in Lincolnshire,’ she said lamely.
‘Yes,’ Genna agreed. ‘They met in a storm. He rescued her and they took refuge in a cabin overnight. Tinmore found out about it and forced them to marry or he threatened to cause a big scandal.’ She glanced away. ‘If I had been Tess, I would have called his bluff, though. Or let the scandal happen.’
Marc and Tess had been forced to marry? That explained why Marc had left her after the wedding. Why had no one ever told her? ‘It worked out for them, though. They seem besotted now.’
‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ Genna said. ‘But they are the exception, do you not think? What other married persons do you know who truly care about each other?’
Her mother and father, although throughout most of her life they’d been at loggerheads with each other. Somehow they had reconciled in Brussels.
The clock on the mantel chimed, and Genna stood. ‘I must go. Heaven forbid I arrive home after Tinmore and need to explain where I’ve been!’
Amelie started to rise, but Genna gestured for her to remain sitting.
She walked over to Amelie’s chair and clasped her hand. ‘You continue to recover, do you hear? I will see myself out.’
Like a whirlwind zipping through a meadow, she was gone.
Amelie’s mind was spinning with what Genna had left in her wake. The idea that Edmund might wish she’d had the miscarriage a day earlier. That Marc and Tess had been forced to marry. That she could trust no one to tell her the truth.
Chapter Fourteen
Edmund and Glenville talked of other things on the walk back to Mayfair. Glenville asked about his investments. Edmund told him, even t
hough he suspected his sister’s husband worried that he’d lose everything the way their father had.
When they reached Bond Street, Glenville asked, ‘Will you come home with me?’
‘I’ll come after I change for dinner.’ He’d promised Amelie he would return.
‘Good,’ Glenville said.
They reached the entrance of Stephen’s Hotel.
Glenville extended his hand. ‘I’ll leave you here, then.’
Edmund accepted the handshake.
‘I am glad I had an opportunity to talk with you,’ Glenville said.
Edmund was still not certain of this man. Was he friend or foe?
‘I will see you shortly,’ he said.
* * *
Edmund arrived at the Northdon town house within an hour. Again he sounded the knocker like the outsider the family felt him to be.
Staines opened the door and greeted him with less surprise than the day before.
He handed Staines his hat and gloves. ‘Is Mrs Summerfield in her room?’
‘The library, sir,’ Staines responded.
‘Ah,’ Edmund remarked. ‘She must be feeling better.’
‘I believe so, sir,’ Staines said.
Edmund went to the library and knocked on the door before entering. He could not see her, and the light was low in the room. ‘Amelie?’
She peeked out from a large chair facing the fireplace. ‘I am here, Edmund.’
He crossed the room to her.
‘Please have a seat.’ She, too, spoke as if he were a visitor.
He longed to touch her, to enfold her in his arms and tell her how sorry he was, but her reserve held him back. Instead he lowered himself into a chair flanking hers. ‘I am pleased to see you up.’
‘I do not like staying in my bedchamber.’ She shuddered. ‘My mother or Tess comes in to check on me. They seem to believe I cannot be left alone too long.’
‘Likely they worry about you.’ He worried about her. Her sadness enveloped her like a shroud.
‘Your sister Genna called,’ she went on, although her conversation seemed forced. ‘Out of curiosity, I suspect. Or because Lord Tinmore would not want her to come.’