Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

T he weight of the ages remained perched on Richard’s shoulders as he stepped into the front hall of Heartwick estate. Rain had started up during the last hours of his time at White’s, and Richard shook his waistcoat to fling the lingering droplet off the dampening fabric.

To bed. I have no more use for this dreadful day.

Richard’s time at White’s had not been as successful as he’d hoped. While he was in hand of renewed information regarding the rumblings surrounding his wife, he was also several pounds short of what he’d arrived with. His betting and play had been a terrific failure, and Richard required the comfort of a soft bed beneath his weary head.

The smell of the evening’s dinner still lingered in the air as he proceeded toward the stairs. What’s more, there was a circle of chairs set up within the drawing room. He was aware that Amelia had invited her friends to dine with her, and they no doubt retired to the room to enjoy drinks following supper.

A cadre of lords and ladies at Amelia’s side for nearly every event was evidently the typical manner of things. She was hardly without Lady Charlotte and her brother, the Duke of Aldworth. It was odd to consider that Amelia also had the Dowager Duchess of Soulden and the daughter of the Viscount Mayfield in tow at all times as well.

After all, Richard retained Frederick as his sole acquaintance of importance. Oh, lest I not forget the Earl of Ellingham .

In truth, something in the way of Lord Isaac’s comportment sat uneasily with Richard. He could not place a finger on the pulse of his motivations. Still, a spark of disinclination touched him whenever he witnessed the Lord interact with Amelia.

A foul mood, Richard. Get to sleep.

As he set foot on the steps, a faint trickle of laughter whispered from the other room. Richard turned over his shoulder to see Amelia draped across the settee in the drawing room, her cheeks flushed and her leg kicked up reprehensibly on the armrest.

“What on earth?”

He could not keep himself from going to her, looking down the hall for any sign of her friends or a servant who might have words to explain what he was seeing.

“Amelia?”

She sat up, albeit sloppily, and Richard’s eyes flared wide, his brows shooting up at the display.

“Your Grace!” She called out overloudly. “You’ve been to White’s and returned before one! I am most impressed.”

Amelia’s words slurred at the edges, and he feared that she was dreadfully foxed. How much had the troupe imbibed while he was out? Indeed, they could not have done more than Frederick and himself, and still, Amelia looked as if she might collapse at any moment.

“You are drunk as a wheelbarrow, Amelia. How much of the blue ruin did you take in? Ugh, you must know that there is no way to make a proper duchess out of you if you are spending all your time with Old Tom.”

Amelia giggled, tipping back on the couch clumsily. The ruffles of her skirt fluttered up, revealing more of her delicate white stockings, and Richard swallowed hard. It was an act of God that the woman was inside the home and not out of doors or hosting a drum of hers. This was not the state in which she should be comporting herself in public.

“It is a strangeness! I have been known to dip deep on occasion, even securing Isaac well-foxed before I was a trifle disguised. But this…I had but two!”

The boasting of Amelia’s claims was certainly a falsehood, and Richard was confident that his wife had had much more to drink than a simple two cups of choice. This was not the behavior of anyone with so little within them.

“Besides, why would I deign to have Old Tom filling me up when your fine performance still lingers heavy in my thoughts?”

Richard’s mouth fell open, the shock of Amelia’s words reaching the very heart of him. His wife had not so much as spoken about any of the interests between them, and now she was propositioning him for a return to their torrid affairs?

“Christ, woman, have you gone mad from the drink in your system?”

He shook his head, turning to leave Amelia to her device. He would retrieve a servant to look after her, but Richard would not entertain these ridiculous feats a moment longer. A foxed wife was hardly the sight to return home to.

The clicking of his steps on the floor was swiftly followed by Amelia’s pattering approach, however, and Richard sighed, freezing steps away from the staircase.

“I’ve not felt as such before,” Amelia mumbled. “The kitchen’s recipe has certainly changed.”

Ignoring her claims, Richard reached out as Amelia nearly fell forward, catching her by the shoulders. She wobbled terribly, and he ground his molars, his mind turning back to the fact that Amelia had hardly been alone.

“Did your friends honestly allow you to drink so much that you might become a mess of yourself? Where have they carried off to?”

Amelia’s eyes struggled to remain open, and when Richard could get a solid glimpse of them, her pupils were pinpoints, nearly invisible in the chocolatey brown of her stare. Having never seen the woman so foxed before, it was difficult to tell if Amelia somehow still lacked the head to take much drink or if she’d been consuming much more than she believed.

“I became terribly tired, Your Grace,” she spoke, a yawn stretching her mouth as if to prove her point, “and began to fall asleep during the middle of our conversation.”

Amelia careened forward, her head landing on Richard’s chest.

“Lady Charlotte—I do so love her; she is a true sister to me if not by blood—dragged the others away. I was to sleep the drink away, but it has not worked.”

Holding onto her to keep Amelia from crashing down onto the floor, Richard clenched his jaw. She was as unfortunate as any he’d seen. His wife could scarcely stand, of course, but she also struggled to remain conscious at all, her breathing short and thready as she wavered in his grip like a reed in the breeze.

“You have attempted to sleep? I have found you on the settee in the drawing room, Amelia. Why have you not called for someone to help you to your room?”

A sniffling sound bubbled up from her, and Amelia fought to look into Richard’s critical stare. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, and her full bottom lip trembled.

“I have attempted to alert someone, but…” she dropped her head again onto his chest, “I am so tired, and the room spins dreadfully. My guts can hardly stand it.”

“It is your own doing, Amelia.” Richard worked to straighten her, forcing his wife to stand on her own, which only served to draw the miserable tears from her eyes. “You should not have carried on as you did.”

A choked sob tore from her, but it quickly shifted into a pained laugh. As Richard glanced down at her, regarding her by ducking his head so that he might see beneath the swath of fallen hair at her forehead, Amelia smirked with one side of her mouth.

“I carried on? Bah. I sat on a blasted settee while straining to force images of your prick from my head. I see now why they refer to it as a matrimonial peace-maker. Even I would be less likely to rage upon you with it seated so firmly.”

Richard snorted. He’d never heard a woman go on about intercourse as Amelia did now. It was nearly impossible for him to hold back the laughter contained in his chest. But it was not the time. His wife would not be seated anywhere on him when she was in such a state.

It will do no good, Richard. You are to keep your distance from Amelia. Encounters are to be avoided, particularly when she’s so ape-drunk that she’s as likely to fall asleep during it as call out for him.

“You are standing now, so I trust that you can manage yourself to bed. Take to the settee if you cannot climb the stairs.” He raised his brows at Amelia, pinning down an expression of indifference over the worry that threatened to wrinkle his brow. “Good evening, Amelia.”

As he turned and started up the stairs, Richard could hear Amelia stumbling up behind him. He would not look back over his shoulder. It was evident that, in a consistent fashion, Richard could not keep the woman from doing whatever she wished. But he would not give in to the situation. This was indeed a blessing in disguise, a feat performed by fate so that he might at last retrieve himself from his wife’s clutches.

They proceeded down the hall, Amelia mumbling to herself that she did not drink this much and then realizing at last that she must be wrong. Richard could hear her yawning, and it was obvious that she did not look in the direction of her walking. When he reached his bedroom, he opened things up, only for Amelia to attempt to follow him inside.

“No, your room is there.” He pointed down the hall, and as Amelia turned, he shut the door and turned over the lock.

“Ugh, damn you.” She pounded on the door. “It’s too far.”

A whine bled through the door, and Richard could hear dulled shuffling as Amelia bumped into the walls of the hall. At once, a thud sounded, and he could pinpoint it to the floor. It did not sound hurried, but Richard had to wonder if Amelia had fallen.

Dammit, woman. Can I not finally rest?

When the sound of her indistinct mumblings ceased, Richard had no choice but to open the door once more and peer out into the hall, looking after her.

“Amelia?”

As he somewhat expected, she was lying on the floor, but she’d made it a few paces down the hallway before slumping against the wall. Her breathing was shallow but slowed, and Amelia’s eyes were closed as she employed the baseboard as a pillow.

“Oh, hell.”

He couldn’t leave her like that, and despite how it looked, Richard had heard Fredericks’s other words at White’s. Amelia hosted extravagant parties and attended many a ball with her close-knit friends. But there had been no reports of her being exceedingly foxed in public. Loose words spread with little footing but nothing concrete enough that Richard, or Frederick for that matter, could bring himself to think true.

Had something more happened during her evening? Richard had seen Amelia handle two and more glasses at the ball the other night, and the woman continued to be a dreadful liar. Was it possible that?—

But the sound of Amelia’s hearty snoring cut through his thoughts, and Richard rolled his eyes before landing on a tiny smile. He walked over to her, scooping Amelia up into his arms as if on their wedding night. He brought her to the other end of the hall where her room lay and managed to get the door open.

Bringing her inside, he deposited Amelia on her bed and sat down at her side as she fell deeper into her drunken slumber.

“You really must improve your choice of sleeping places, dear.”

She hummed gently, nuzzling into the bed as more and more consciousness was driven away. Shaking his head, Richard reached out, tucking a lock of brown curls behind her ear. Tension fled from Amelia’s shoulders at his touch, and he could not keep his fingers from gently sweeping over her cheek.

“Dream well, Amelia. Perhaps you’ll have a clearer story to tell in the morning.”

It was another long moment before Richard could pull himself up and move toward the door. Even still, as he reached it, Richard looked back over his shoulder at the sleeping form of his wife. She looked so small against the large bed and canopy, curled up into herself on her side. Amelia still wore her slippers, and before leaving at last, Richard freed her feet of them.

“Good night, Amelia.”

With that, he exited the chamber, closing the door behind him. Richard returned to his bedroom for the evening. The conflict that burned in his blood that had kept him awake these past nights was renewed, the glowing embers stoked into flames.

For the majority of his life, Richard had been a man of logic, ruled by the direction of his brain and upbringing. As he readied himself for bed and lay down, it was a heavy heart that fought against his higher reasoning—a wholly unfamiliar experience that Richard did not enjoy.