“Of course I’m worried,” he said. “This should never have happened.”
“I’ve fallen off a horse,” Amelia said. “More than once. I’m not given to feats of athleticism, you see. One of my sisters broke her arm on a swing. The other twisted an ankle learning to waltz. Georgiana has a scar on her temple from crashing into a windowsill during a game of blindman’s buff. Children get hurt. Sometimes it’s because of a failure of supervision, but Leontine had a groom and Keating with her, not to mention Georgiana, who could ride almost as soon as she walked. Keating taught my niece and nephew to ride when they were four and I was there to watch him do it. I’d trust him with my life.”
“There’s no need for a child of six years to be on a horse.”
“Indeed there isn’t. There’s no need for a lot of things, like books and dancing, or bridges and railways. You could keep her in a tower and she’d be perfectly safe and perfectly miserable. She’s a spirited child and frankly I’m amazed she hasn’t broken her leg before. While walking here I realized that she must have held onto the pony’s neck for nearly a mile. Can you imagine? She’ll be a fearless rider one day.”
He opened his mouth to protest then snapped it shut again. Then he tipped his head back and banged it against the wall, his eyes squeezed shut. “There has to be a way to keep the people you love safe. If you follow all the rules and take all the proper precautions, it ought to be guaranteed.”
She reached out and took his hand. “You’ll get no argument from me.”
They sat silently for a while. “I’m trying to be better. More broad-minded. But every time something goes wrong, my mind reverts to rules. If a bridge collapses, there’s a reason. Somebody miscalculated or misjudged. I know that with people it’s different, but my mind doesn’t know that.”
She squeezed his hand. “Well, you happen to be talking to the regional expert in minds that don’t know what they’re doing.”
He sighed. “I keep thinking that there’s a way for us to arrange things in a way that isn’t quite so hidebound, but I’m afraid of what will happen if things go wrong. What if I were in Manchester and you were here, and you fell ill? What if I couldn’t get to you in time?”
Amelia wanted to reassure him that this wouldn’t happen, but that would be a lie, and not the sort of lie she could countenance. “It wouldn’t be either of our faults,” she said. “Leontine fell because her pony bolted, not because you weren’t at hand.”
For a few moments they sat in silence, hands clasped, Sydney’s thumb tracing idle circles over the inside of Amelia’s wrist. “Did you really climb over hill and dale in the dark of night only to tell me all these wise things?” he asked. “Did you—Amelia,” he said, turning to her abruptly, his eyes wide, “you walked into a house in the middle of a ball. Thank you.”
“I hope never to do so again, but it seemed the most reasonable course of action at the time. And you’re welcome.” She felt anxious but sane, sitting in this strange house far away from any place she wanted to be. It was good to know that she could test the boundaries of her world and see exactly where her limits were.
“I’d never have asked you to come,” he said, bringing their joined hands to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. “Never in a million years.”
“I know. I think it’s the same as when Nan bit you—maybe worry over other people shakes my own worry out of my head temporarily. What do you mean, you’re trying to arrange things in a way that’s less hidebound?”
“Well, I love you and I want to have you in my life,” he said as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. “And if you’re at Crossbrook Cottage and I’m knee deep in muck halfway between Liverpool and Manchester, that won’t make me love you less. If the best we can do is sporadic visits, would that be acceptable to you?”
“Yes, it would be acceptable to me,” she said, trying not to laugh. “But is it acceptable to you? It seems you’re the one being done out of a proper wife and hostess and all those things people seem to want.”
“Are those things terribly important to you?”
“No,” Amelia said. “Not in the least.”
“Then to hell with all of it.” He drew her close and kissed the top of her head.
It was still dark out when Sydney woke, stiff and bleary-eyed in the hard-backed chair. Amelia slept, her head in his lap. He brushed a few strands of hair off her temple. Leontine’s eyes were shut, but he could see the steady rise and fall of her chest.
If anything ever happened to either of them, he didn’t know how he’d pick himself up and carry on. He also had the distinct impression that at some point this past summer, coincident with the moments Amelia and Leontine entered his life, his entire world had been tipped onto its side. Everything he thought he knew and believed seemed a lot hazier than it had two months ago, but in exchange he had something vaster and more sprawling. The fact that he was pleased by this was frankly terrifying.
Amelia stirred and turned her head up to face him.
“I’ve been thinking about something,” she said sleepily. “I very much enjoyed your mother’s book.”
“Good morning to you, too,” he said, smoothing her hair back. She was going to have a devil of a job trying to get the brambles out later.
“I especially enjoyed the story of Hannah and Mary, who share a house. It put me in mind of friends who have found their own happiness in unconventional domestic arrangements. If I were a man, or you were a woman, we wouldn’t count ourselves unlucky if we didn’t share a house, would we?”
“No,” he acknowledged, while marveling that he was going to have a lifetime with a woman who spoke in complete paragraphs at unconscionable hours in the morning.
“I don’t know how persuasive this will be, but my parents weren’t married and only lived together sometimes. It was still a family. You know, Georgiana and Hereford are getting married, and that’ll be a family too. The rules as we know them might work wonderfully for most people, but they’re absolute rubbish for anyone who’s a little different. We don’t need to twist ourselves around to fit the conventions of marriage and love, conventions that maybe weren’t meant to suit us anyway. And then there’s the other matter. We’ve somehow surrounded ourselves with other people who share our, shall we say, capacity for those unconventional arrangements. It’s safer for us all, but also it’s good to know that one can be oneself.”
He remained silent for the space of two breaths. “Yes. That is something I’ve found as well,” he said. His eyes were stinging and he thought he might cry from relief, but he didn’t know why. Amelia knew him, knew who he really was, and that was something he hadn’t even known he needed.
When the first rays of sunlight had barely started to shine through the lace curtains, the door was thrown open. Georgiana stood on the threshold, bearing a stack of books and briskly ordering Sydney and Amelia to go home and get changed. “And that dog! Take it away. I don’t know whether to be appalled that you brought that flea-bitten mongrel into Stanton House or relieved that you had some protection on your insane midnight ramble. I cannot believe you, Amelia. I nearly had a heart attack.” As she spoke she readjusted Leontine’s quilt, lay a hand on the sleeping child’s forehead, and pulled the cord for a servant. “You and Amelia take the carriage back to Pelham Hall, then send Lex and Carter back here in it. The carriage can ferry us back and forth in shifts until Leontine can be moved. Lady Stafford has offered us the use of her own carriages but I took it upon myself to explain that the child is the Duke of Hereford’s ward and that the duke obviously has his own carriage. Now go.”
“Your Georgiana has two modes,” Sydney said when he and Amelia were seated in the carriage. “Absolute indolence and . . . whatever that just was.”
“She’ll be a splendid duchess,” Amelia said, suppressing a yawn.
Sydney muttered something anarchical but forbore from any more pointed remarks. When the carriage stopped in front of Crossbrook Cottage, he wrapped his hand around the ba
ck of her neck and pulled her close for a kiss. “Later,” he said. “Get some rest.”
Upon entering Pelham Hall, Sydney found Lex lying on the sofa in the great hall, Fancy asleep in his lap. “She’s all right,” Sydney said as soon as he walked through the door. “Also it wasn’t your fault Leontine was injured. I’m going to repeat that to you until you believe it.”
Lex raised an eyebrow. “Thank you. I reserve the right to blame myself forevermore. Keating persuaded me not to have the horse shot. I hope I don’t regret it,” he said darkly. “I expect you’ll be whisking Leontine off to Manchester as soon as she’s healed.”
“No,” Sydney said. “You’re quite right that this is her home and I ought to have realized that weeks ago. With me, she’d be in the care of maids and governesses around the clock. Here, she has you all the time. I’ll visit as often as I can. I believe I’ve persuaded Amelia to marry me or at least to live in sin with me periodically so I’ll have even more of an incentive for frequent visits.” Lex had gone perfectly still as he listened. “So it would seem that my entire family will be in one convenient corner of Derbyshire.”
If there was perhaps a slight glistening about Lex’s eyes, it quickly passed. “That, you imbecile, is what I’ve been trying to tell you for over a month. I don’t even want to know what Miss Allenby had to do in order to persuade you of it. Never tell me. By the way, I’m marrying Georgiana. We’re never going to bed together and we’ll be raiding an orphanage at the earliest opportunity. Wish me happy.”
Sydney was not a man overly given to displays of affection, but he leaned down and wrapped his arms around his friend, holding him close until Lex finally pushed him away. “You disgust me. Take a bath.”
The sound of Lex’s cackle followed Sydney all the way to his bedroom.
Amelia had barely managed to wash and change before she heard the sound of carriage wheels below. She assumed it was someone from Pelham Hall come to fetch Keating, but then she heard a familiar voice.
“Where the devil is everybody?” somebody shouted. “Keating? Place is as empty as a plague village.”
“Robin!” Amelia called, and ran down the stairs and out the front door.
Robin—excessively dusty and wearing breeches, top boots, and a bottle-blue riding coat—dismounted the horse. “Did you murder the whole lot of them?”
“No,” Amelia laughed, embracing her friend. “They’ve all forsaken me for the Duke of Hereford. When did you get back from France?”
“A week ago,” Robin said. “Is the Duke of Hereford really in Derbyshire? We heard that he left town in the most secretive and thrilling manner. Alistair will be hideously jealous if I see him first.”
“Does Alistair know the duke?”
“They were at Eton together. Are we quite alone? I suspect they”—she lowered her voice—“were at Eton together if you understand my meaning. Alistair went to Eton with a shocking number of people, I’ll have you know. Is he handsome? I’ve never met him.”
“Very,” Amelia said, struggling to keep up with Robin’s train of thought, and distracted by a realization of her own: she and Robin were able to discuss this sort of thing without any fear of judgment or exposure. She had known that for years, of course, but now it occurred to her that it mattered: she could be open and honest with Robin and other friends who shared similar secrets in a way that she could not with anyone else. It was the same with Georgiana, Sydney, and Hereford. They were safe together in a way that bound them, and the result was something like family.
Robin laughed. “Figures Keating would find the nearest aristocrat with a handsome face.”
“I can’t imagine he’d have time, what with the curate and the butcher’s apprentice and heaven knows who else.” That would, however, explain Keating’s mysterious absences and several consecutive days of a decent mood.
“Where there’s a will,” Robin said lightly. “I suppose I’ll have to put up the horse myself. Come on, Jess,” she said, patting the animal on the rump. “Let’s get you watered.”
“It seems the entire county has paired off in the most egregious manner,” Amelia said. “If you’re correct about Keating and the duke, that’s one. Also Georgiana and Hereford are thick as thieves.”
Robin looked up. “That’s only two, which hardly seems a rash of couplings, especially since Hereford figures in two of the pairings.” Then Robin looked more closely at Amelia—possibly lingering on a bruise where Sydney had kissed her neck. “Oh, I see. Are we happy or sad? What’s their name?”
This was why Amelia loved Robin. There was no beating around the bush, no asking about intentions, no exaggerated concern. Robin let Amelia define her own emotions and then follow Amelia’s lead.
“His name is Sydney Goddard. And we’re happy,” Amelia said. “He works in Manchester but I’m staying here.”
“Good for you!”
“You don’t think it’s odd that we’d have separate homes?”
Robin looked at her carefully. “It’s a bit out of the ordinary, but so are a lot of things I happen to like very much. Heaven save me from the ordinary.”
“You don’t think it’s unfair of me to saddle him with a life that’s probably very different from what he expected?”
“No, you ninny, and neither do you or you wouldn’t be asking me. You’d ask the vicar or someone else who sets any stock in ordinary things. We don’t decide whether we’re inconveniences or beloved additions to the lives of our partners. I tore myself up about whether Alistair ought to make a proper marriage. Marrying me did tear up his peace quite thoroughly. But at the end he didn’t mind, and I realized that my minding only rained on his parade.”
“I suppose,” Amelia said.
“Oh, Amelia. Sweetheart. Is your Sydney very stupid?”
Amelia laughed. “No, quite the contrary.”
“Then give him some credit. By all means, spell out your limitations to him, if you haven’t already done so. But chances are they mean more to you than they ever will to him.”
“That’s almost exactly what he said.”
They were interrupted by footsteps on the lane.
“Keating!” Robin called. “You randy old goat, where have you been?”
“Living an honest and decent hardworking life, unlike some yellow-haired imps I know. Amelia, how’s Miss Leontine?”
Amelia decided not to ask how Keating already knew that she had been at Leontine’s bedside, just like she decided not to ask why, at this early hour, Keating was coming down the lane from Pelham Hall rather than from the carriage house. “Much better. Was Mr. Goddard abrupt with you yesterday?”
“Goddard? He thanked me for carrying the child to Stanton Hall, tried to give me five shillings, and then muttered under his breath about horseback riding being worldly nonsense and something about perdition and Babylon.” He turned his attention to the horse Robin was currying. “What’s this hack you’re riding? Tell me you didn’t buy her.”
“God no. She’s a mare I hired in Cromford when I couldn’t stand the prospect of another mile in that bloody nuisance of a curricle.”
“Aw, your arse too fine now to be jostled on the road?”
And that was a pretty characteristic reunion between Keating and Robin, Amelia reflected. A couple of insults, maybe a gruff hullo. Whereas the last time Amelia’s mother and sisters had visited, they all stood in the drawing room and cried from happiness. Amelia suspected that if more than a week passed between Amelia’s letters, her mother would drape the house in black crepe. Amelia had given those near and dear to her plenty to worry about over the years. And yet, they did love her. She had never doubted it. There were different kinds of love and different ways to express it, and what she had with Sydney was as valid as anything else. Even if they never shared a home, even if they never actually married—that didn’t mean their love was worth less than anybody else’s. For the first time in years, maybe, Amelia realized that she didn’t fear loneliness and isolation; she had built a
life for herself that let her have friendship and love.
Sydney was not shocked to discover that a bedridden Leontine was even more of a handful than usual. At the end of a week she had beaten Sydney at chess, cajoled one of Lady Stafford’s maids into bringing contraband sweetmeats, poured her medicine onto the floor, and told Lex to summon the magistrates because she was being held hostage by miscreants. Once word had gotten out that she was the Duke of Hereford’s ward, Lord and Lady Stafford insisted that her caretakers join the family at meals and treat the house as their home.
Sydney refused on principle. Lex and Georgiana accepted on principle. Amelia graciously declined and then all but barricaded herself in Leontine’s room. “There is a limit,” she announced to Sydney, her back against the door, her face slightly flushed. “And I think I have crossed it.” He went to her and told her she was brave and good and kind and reminded her that she never had to come back. And so she didn’t. Instead they exchanged letters over the course of that week, and everything felt wonderfully, impossibly simple.
After they finally brought Leontine back to Pelham Hall and got her settled in a bedroom on the ground floor, Sydney walked to Crossbrook Cottage. It was far too late for social calls, but he and Amelia had done everything backward and improperly from the start.
There was a light in her writing room, so he decided to take a chance. He picked up a small pebble and tossed it from hand to hand. He had never thrown a rock at someone’s window in the hope of getting their attention, and wasn’t certain how gently he could throw the stone to make sure it didn’t break the window. Perhaps he could aim for the wall beside the window?
Before he could puzzle that out, a dog started barking. It was Nan, and she was not pleased to see him. Mortified, he passed a hand over his beard. Likely Keating would come out and threaten him with firearms. But it wasn’t Keating who opened the door, but Amelia herself. And she wasn’t carrying a firearm, but a frying pan.
“Sydney?” she asked.
A Delicate Deception Page 21