Chapter Twenty-Eight An Apology is Offered

Meanwhile, in another part of Weston Hall

As Amelia made her way back up to her bedchamber, she hoped Violet wouldn't instantly unfriend her upon learning of the bargain she had struck with her brother.

Courtship wasn't actually marriage, after all. Violet could always beg off at the last minute. Play the shrinking violet. Claim she was too young to wed.

But what had possessed Violet to spend so much time with her brother at the Reading ball? She had done the same at the Everly's soirée as well.

What had Alfred said about riding horses in the park? About spending time in the gardens the night before?

The poor girl didn't need to sacrifice herself on Amelia's account. Especially now that Alfred seemed to harbor serious feelings for the girl. What else could explain why he felt it necessary to bargain with her in the first place?

"She's going to be so angry with me," she murmured.

"I rather doubt anyone could be angry with you, my lady."

Amelia inhaled sharply when she realized who she was about to run into on the stairs. She had glanced up—and up—to discover the Marquess of Fenwick regarding her with an expression of amusement.

"My lord," she said, her face flaming with embarrassment.

"My lady." He stepped aside and down a few more stairs so he was even with her. He took her hand to his lips. "I look forward to having you as a daughter in the near future."

Amelia's eyes rounded. "Thank you, my lord. I suppose this means your pursuit of a duchess has been successful?"

He nodded. "Marchioness, you mean."

She allowed a wobbly grin. "I fear your daughter isn't going to be as happy."

"What's this?" he asked in confusion.

"My brother… Weston... he wishes to court her," she blurted.

Michael gave a start. "We're speaking of my Violet?" he asked.

"You have others?" she asked, her eyes rounding even more.

He chuckled softly. "No. Just the one." He quickly sobered. "What's this about Weston?"

"Something must have happened during their dance together at last night's ball. He's… he's smitten with her. He wishes to court her," she said in a hoarse whisper. "She's already spent so much time in his company. As a means to prevent him from learning about Crawford and me," she continued, unaware of his look of alarm at hearing her words.

"Fear not, young lady, I'll return to Fenwick House and see what I can discover directly from her," he said.

"I was thinking of paying a call on her," Amelia said. "Might I join you?"

"Your coach has arrived, my lord," Pritchard announced from the bottom of the stairs.

Michael blinked, about to say that he hadn't ordered one. "I rather imagine it has brought Philip," he said in a voice meant only for Amelia.

She inhaled softly. "He's come to ask for permission to court me," she whispered.

"To marry you," Michael corrected her. He turned his attention to the butler. "Pray tell, is Weston in his study?"

Pritchard blinked. "He is, my lord." A knock at the front door had him giving a short bow before he hurried to open it.

Michael turned to Amelia. "Perhaps we can delay our departure a few minutes?" he suggested. "In the event our presence might be required?"

Amelia nodded vigorously. "Of course, my lord." They descended the stairs and met Philip as he stood waiting to see Weston.

"Father?" he said in surprise. "Amelia?" He rushed to bow and take her hand to his lips.

"Good morning, my love," she said, standing on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

Philip noticeably blushed. "I came to apologize to Weston," he blurted.

"Apologize?" Amelia questioned.

"Apologize?"

The three turned to discover Alfred, Duke of Weston, standing on the threshold of his study, his gaze darting between the three of them.

"Yes, apologize," Philip stated, stepping away from Amelia and his father to approach the duke. "I never should have punched you, despite how many times you hit me," he said, finally stopping a few feet in front of Alfred to bow deeply. "You obviously had your reasons for believing what you did, and until this morning, when my sister asked what had transpired betwixt us, I hadn't considered how much the truth hurt you. Hurt the both of us."

Alfred stared at him for several seconds before his gaze darted to Michael. "Is... is there another reason you've come?"

Philip inhaled and let the breath out in a huff. "I wish to marry your sister, but I'd prefer to do so with your permission."

His brow furrowing in confusion, Alfred directed his attention on his sister. "Amelia?"

"Yes?" she asked, her lower lip trembling. She took a few steps toward her brother, well aware there were now two other people listening in to the conversation. Her mother was standing on the landing at the top of the stairs, her feet frozen in place.

"Is this who you were talking about at breakfast this morning?" Alfred asked.

Amelia nodded. "He is," she affirmed. "I love him, Alfred. I have for… for almost a year now."

The duke gave a start. "Well. Then I suppose it's time you be married to him," he said.

Her eyes widening in delight, Amelia rushed to embrace her brother. "Oh, Alfred, thank you," she whispered.

"You remember our bargain?"

Her elation momentarily stilled. "Of course. I'm off to see her now," she whispered.

He gave her a watery grin. "Well, then, see to it while I speak with this bounder about your dowry," he replied.

Amelia giggled and gave Philip a beseeching glance. "I'll see you soon?"

"Sooner," he said, stepping into the study to follow Alfred.

A moment later, and the door closed.

Michael chuckled softly. "Well, that went better than I expected," he murmured. He offered his arm, but noted Amelia's attention was on the stairs. He followed her line of sight and allowed a grin. "How much did you hear?" he asked, as Helena hurried to the bottom of the stairs and into his arms.

"All of it, I think," she said, tears streaming down her face.

"One down, one to go," he said with a smirk.

"Bounder," she accused.

A few feet away, Amelia stood watching them with a look of bewilderment on her face.