Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

S itting in the drawing room with her friends gathered was supposed to be a way to distract her mind. And still, Amelia could not stop dwelling on the events of the previous evening.

How could I do that?

Mortification, utter and pure, coated her like a wet gown. She’d begged Richard to allow her release, actually begged, and her own words were haunting her with every moment.

Even worse, the bliss that had followed, the way that it had been so much sweeter for the torturous teasing that had come before it, was one that Amelia was already desperate to feel again.

“Your Grace? Are you quite well? You don’t appear to be listening at all.”

Amelia turned toward Charlotte, who’d come with Magnus to hear of her complaints. It was hardly a proper arrangement with only two of her friends in tow, so Selina, Ethel, and Isaac had also come for a visit. The drawing room was a comfortable type of crowded with them all gathered, but Amelia was too stressed to find ease in their presence.

“Apologies, Lady Charlotte. I am distracted.” She pinched the bridge of her nose before continuing, offering her friend an apologetic smile. “I fear that as of yet, the attempts to dissuade Ri—the Duke’s remaining at Heartwick have been unsuccessful.”

When she looked upon her closest friend, Charlotte mirrored her sorrowful expression, and even Magnus’s brow rose up and knitted together, the only indication his stoic countenance would give of his sympathy for Amelia.

“Dearest Amelia, I am so sorry. But you should not give up.” Charlotte took her hand as Ethel and Selina walked over and took up spots on the settee surrounding her. “Your freedom means far too much to you to simply abandon your plan after only a short while. I will not see my sweet friend so miserable for the remainder of her days.”

The support warmed Amelia, and she allowed herself to be comforted somewhat by her friends. When she released a heavy sigh, standing from the small sofa to move nearer the fire, gazing into the flames, Amelia was quickly approached by Isaac.

She turned, her brows up as she regarded him, and Isaac met her stare with intensity.

“Lady Charlotte is right, Amelia.” He nodded once, and then suddenly, the man was wrapped around her in an embrace. “Oh, you must not give in. Never do such a thing for the Duke. You must try with everything you have to get His Grace to return to the countryside.”

Tension rippled through Amelia, and the feeling of soggy grime only tripled as Isaac clung to her a moment too long. The Duke would leave if her plan was successful, and the idea…

Why does it upset me so?

“Of course you are right, Isaac. I should not so hastily put my plan to the side.”

Still, her friend had still yet to let go of her arms, and Amelia looked down at where Isaac gripped her, nodding as she blinked at him—a sign that she wished to be unhanded.

Isaac cleared his throat, abruptly stepping back. “Apologies, Your Grace. I was swept up in it all.”

Offering a simple nod of her head, Amelia forced a grin. As it was, nausea clung to her, visions of the Duke’s infuriating scowl and intoxicating performance mingling together in her mind. It all swam and spun, and Amelia had to swallow down hard as she breathed through her nose.

I cannot want that again. It is insanity and likely only some Banbury tale acted out through words of seduction and yearning .

“Your Grace,” Charlotte cut in from the settee, standing and approaching Amelia with a hand extended, “may I have a word with you for a moment? I believe a bit of a walkabout might aid in your distress.”

A tremble of anxiety touched Amelia’s spine. Charlotte was a clever woman despite what others might think of her, and the Duchess had a feeling that her friend had seen something in her reaction to Isaac’s words.

“Of course, Lady Charlotte.”

Amelia stepped away from the fire, linking her arm through Charlotte’s, and the two of them stepped into the hall and down a few paces where they might talk more privately. As a servant passed by, Charlotte turned and faced Amelia head-on, waiting for the woman to be out of earshot and on her way to the kitchens.

When, at last, the moment was clear, she spoke. “Amelia, what bothers you? And do not simply put forth the notion of a foiled plot. You’ve never once been so concerned for the likes of that before, and this is obviously more important as it concerns your freedom here at Heartwick to do as you wish.”

Amelia sighed, hanging her head for a moment before glancing back up at Charlotte.

“I will not lie to you. I would never, but…this is not a truth I wish to speak. I am conflicted. I…The Duke is…ugh.”

The air rushed from Amelia’s lungs, and she slumped back against the wall. Molding along the chair rail dug into her spine, but she was perfectly content to let it press into her.

“You don’t wish for him to leave anymore, do you?”

Amelia looked straight ahead. “I don’t. I…do. I’m not sure. We…”

She glanced over her shoulder at her friend, who leaned back against the wall next to her. Charlotte smiled gently, her light eyes soft as the bouncy yellow curls piled atop her head.

“We had an encounter this previous evening. He is…intriguing, to say the least.”

Charlotte’s mouth dropped open in a surprised O-shape, and Amelia rolled her eyes, scoffing lightly at the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

“Oh, I see. So it would be fair to assume that you have a…desire for your husband, then.”

“Unfortunately.” Amelia returned her gaze to the wall across from her. “Though he still infuriates me to no end.”

“The mind and body can often be at odds, Amelia. It is not unheard of to find someone attractive but never wish to spend a single moment with them. Think of my own notion of rakes. I can see an attractive face, but I cannot stand their type.”

Amelia nodded, understanding more than ever that it was quite possible to both want to be alone with someone and also to throttle them.

“Still, this goes far beyond a superficial infatuation. You mustn’t allow your husband, who has been absent all these long years, to destroy what you’ve built here. Do you not remember how lost and alone you were when you were first wed? It would certainly not leave my mind, Amelia. The ton was unkind with their polite yet snide remarks, and despite all that, you have managed and even created a safe space for yourself.”

The words hit the Duchess like a slap, but she saw the logic and care behind Charlotte’s advice.

“I only wish for you to be happy, Amelia. But do think of the freedom of kind you’ll have if you are indeed successful at driving the Duke from Heartwick. This is a passing thing—unless there is still more you have left unsaid—and in the long term, it is your freedom, your ability to live as you have, that will grant you ongoing happiness.”

Words and doubt and desire and frustration gnawed at Amelia; she was the bone to a hungry mutt. Knowing precisely what made her happy was always something Amelia knew well, but now, she was not so confident.

She steeled herself. There was nothing dwelling over these newfound—and quite frankly useless—emotions that would serve her. Furthermore, she would not change for Richard. She would not alter who she was at her core for anyone, in point of fact.

“You’re right, Lady Charlotte.” Amelia nodded, smiling at her friend even as a twinge of pain touched her chest. “I must continue. I won’t give up what I’ve built here.”

Her friend looped her arm through Amelia’s, and together, they returned to the drawing room to finish out the remainder of the afternoon. Amelia would have her life. She would not fall for the seduction of the Duke of Blackford, who’d already stated that he would never be with her as she might have hoped, and she would not see Heartwick disrupted any further by her husband’s plotting.

Hearts are fickle and not to be trusted, Amelia. Stay the course.