Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

S liding her arm across the expanse of the mattress in front of her, Amelia felt the cooler temperature of the unoccupied area. It was common for her to roll onto it in the morning, her flushed skin seeking reprieve.

Still, as more of Amelia’s mind awoke with her body, she remembered the moments before her unconsciousness and, indeed, where she actually lay. She was not in her room—the chamber she’d been using since Richard’s arrival. Amelia lay in Richard’s bed because she had been with him until moments ago it seemed.

She sat up in the bed, looking down at the empty space just before her. The Duke was gone. He had not woken her before leaving. He had not said goodbye. Richard had just…left.

Memories and unclouded thoughts freed from sleep rushed into the front of her skull with a force that created an immediate headache. Her stare rolled up to the ceiling as burning washed over her eyes. The tears were incapable of stopping, and the profound pain in her chest crushed her from within. Amelia feared she would not be capable of withstanding the horrid yearning and utter sorrow that filled her blood, rising higher like the tide sure to drown her.

As the churning storm set up shop within her torso, Amelia felt as if the world was spinning, a single thought standing out in her mind at that moment.

I wished to say goodbye…I wished to never say goodbye.

Nausea bloomed in her stomach, the likes of which were greatly exaggerated. It was far worse than even her most unyielding hangover, the number of which were few. It was even worse than the morning after Selina attempted her hand at concocting new libations. It was a similar horror to the vast chasm that had opened up within her after her mother’s passing. And in truth, that was the best comparison that she could muster.

For Amelia grieved. She grieved as if the Duke had perished, and still, it was all the worse for the reality that he lived but chose to remain far from her.

There was a gentle knock at the door, and Amelia scrubbed her hands over her face, unwilling to look a fool even in front of Jane. When she was sufficiently pleased with her work, Amelia got up from the bed and hurriedly put on her chemise, wishing she had her robe and slippers to look less like the woman left behind.

She shuffled to the door, her head pounding with her pulse as she felt dried out by the sheer volume of tears shed. Reaching for the knob, Amelia found her hands shaking as she opened the door. There stood Jane, a sympathetic smile on her face.

“Your Grace.” She curtsied slightly. “It is good to see that you have woken at last. It is long past the usual hour for breakfast. Would you like me to assist you with readying yourself for the day?”

At first, Amelia did not know how to answer, but she ducked her chin, nearly looking back at the bed but stopping herself just short of it. She swallowed down the renewed burn in her eyes.

“Yes, Jane. Thank you. Let us go to my bedroom to find a suitable outfit for the day.”

Amelia stepped out of Richard’s room—what would remain as Richard’s for she dare not sleep there again and stir the memories—and followed Jane down the hall the short distance to her room.

The act of dressing went by in a blur, Amelia not totally aware of how Jane helped her in and out of her clothes or even how she must have washed her face for the damp hair at her forehead. She was in a new chemise now, her stays and the top portion of her day dress laid out on the bed to her right.

Jane helped her with putting the layers on, pulling over the long skirt to sit over her chemise once her stockings were tied in place. Still, the room felt strangely stifling even as there was no fire going in the hearth. Amelia could scarcely breathe around the familiar squeeze of her stays, and she knew that she would be so plagued wherever she went within Heartwick manor.

I need air. A walk.

However, she was required to don the proper presentation. A lady could not simply take to her gardens without the appropriate attire and headcover. Her stomach burned, and the impolite sarcasm of her thoughts she kept to herself. More than ever before, Amelia wished to simply be left alone to exist, to shirk the ridiculous expectations of polite society.

I have been polite. I have been courteous and steadfast. I have done everything expected of me, and I am still left alone and wanting. What could the purpose of all this be? Why much it snatch away the happiness I crave?

“Your Grace?” Jane laid a gentle hand on Amelia’s shoulder. “Are you sure you are well? You have not heard a word since we began dressing, it seems.”

Amelia sighed, feeling regret over her lack of consideration for Jane. If she were honest, she was feeling regret for nearly everything in her life.

“Apologies, Jane. I am out of sorts. I wish to take in some air in the gardens to clear my head. Please let the other maids know that I will still yet be some time before I will require breakfast.”

Jane bowed her head, then met Amelia’s eyes once more as she took the Duchess’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Of course, Your Grace. I…I am sorry as well. I know that you hoped for a different outcome. I did for you as well.”

Amelia knew that Jane was only trying to be kind, but the notion that she and potentially the rest of the house were aware of how distraught she was didn’t sit comfortably in her mind. Being perceived by anyone at present indeed sounded like a torture most severe. The gardens were looking more and more appealing by the moment.

“Thank you, Jane. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be making my way to the gardens. I am in terrible need of fresh air.”

Jane at least knew better than to follow her as Amelia left her room and took the stairs down to the main level. The entrance to the gardens was near the rear of the estate, so Amelia passed through the long halls that led to the kitchens and ballroom, the garden access existing through the latter’s patio.

Her steps echoed that distinct click that sounded each time her heel struck the pristine wood flooring. The ballroom was empty, of course, and the thought of putting on another drum within it made Amelia’s stomach turn. She had no interest in the activities that usually delighted her. It all sounded so silly and pointless.

Imagine all the funds I shall save if I do not put on another party. Richard will be thrilled .

Bitterness overwhelmed her. It was a novel and unpleasant taste in her mouth. But the glimpse into such a sour existence made the terse attitudes of ape-leaders make much more sense. Amelia might have thought it was their fear of leading the gang of furry beasts in the afterlife that vexed them so, but she could now tell that it was reality itself that likely pained them.

For what joy could there be found in having that which you love stripped from you?

Sighing, Amelia opened the patio door at the back of the ballroom. It was pleasant enough outside, though gray darkened the clouds in the distance, foretelling rain. A storm sounded appropriate to Amelia, but she shook her head at herself. She could not stay a crosspatch for the remaining years of her life. The garden’s uplifting sight had better do its duty in cheering her up.

Sure enough, as Amelia walked across the large marble structure of the exterior patio and down the steps that led to the estate’s lavish greenery and flora, light did return to the darkness that had consumed her. Amelia loved the gardens, the plants she helped to tend whenever she could. They were as dear a friend to her as Charlotte or Selina or Ethel.

“It is Amelia come to see you again. I have missed you.”

She took the first step down into the lawn, her shoes sinking into the earth slightly as it remained soggy from the morning’s condensation. The smell of damp earth and fragrant leaves and flowers filled her nose, easing some of the tension in her chest.

Down from the steps, a straight path shot forward into the acres of land behind Heartwick. On either side, nature appeared to grow unchecked and untamed, the glorious buds of spring blooming with fantastic splashes of color that warmed Amelia’s cold chest. There were taller trees set to the sides along with bushes both bursting this way and that and those sculpted into spheres.

During her walks, Amelia had a set route through the gardens that she would take. It started on the left and navigated through the grounds so that she might see each of her favorite features—the fountain, the brick arches, the pond, and the private alcove created by the massive draping branches of the wisteria tree.

Today was no different, and Amelia turned left, taking the narrow path that led down another set of steps to the fountain below. The melodic sounds of water flowing into the stone basin filled the air, backed by the sunny songs of morning birds.

“To be a bird…” she sighed. “It would be truly wonderful.”

There was a bench near the fountain. Amelia had exchanged many a secret with Charlotte there. Still, she did not stop to sit today, choosing to press on toward the pond. She ducked beneath the hanging blooms of the vining plants that grew along the bricks of the archway, dusting her fingers through them.

A splash exploded with sound and movement as a frog jumped into the pond upon her approach, and the fish kept in the water darted beneath the dark liquid. More seating was scattered on either side of the water feature, but again, Amelia did not stop there. She had one location in mind, the furthest from the house.

The path wound around, circling back toward the center walkway through the gardens. Amelia followed it, cutting across the middle for the other side. With each step, her soul felt less troubled, the simple beauty of the flowers calming the torrent within her. Come what may, these silent companions remained. No matter what might drag her down, the sun would always rise again.

An annoyance or comfort, depending on my mood, I suppose.

Right this moment, it was becoming less of a stinging thought. The sun would rise. Life would go on. And so would she.

The pale gray bricks of the pathway she needed started up as she crossed behind a massive oak tree. Bright green shoots of grass stuck up between the pavers and just past another smaller fountain, this one with a small table set up nearby for meals in the garden, was the section that led beneath the enormous canopy of wisteria branches. They grew over an unseen trellis, and just at the end was a single white bench.

“Ah,” she sighed happily, “there you are.”

Smiling just a hair, Amelia walked down the narrow path to the bench, a thick hedge of green sitting behind it. The hedge was part of a little maze, which had apparently been a staple of Heartwick since its founding. It was steady and quiet as she sat down, and Amelia turned her face up to the dappled sunlight that streamed through the hanging purple flowers.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the fragrant air and letting out everything that she was keeping locked within her.

I am heartbroken, flowers. I am sorrow made flesh. And I want to hate Richard with everything I have, and still, I cannot .

A single tear slipped free from her eye and dripped down her cheek. Amelia let it sit there, feeling the coolness as a breeze washed over her. Her breathing was shaky, but it steadied as she just let herself be .

Snap.

Startling, Amelia sat up on the bench, and her eyes flew open. She looked around herself, not seeing anything out of place. Perhaps it was just a small critter attempting to sneak away. Amelia sat back against the bench again, closing her eyes once more.

Snap.

The noise was closer, and she abruptly stood up off the bench, her pulse flickering in her neck uncomfortably.

“H-Hello?”

The nervous stutter barely broke the air, and Amelia took a few steps away from the bench. She still couldn’t see anyone. God, was she just being paranoid?

Her tension slowly receded as nothing more than a gentle breeze stirred the empty space around her. Amelia sighed, dropping her head as she sucked in a breath to settle her nerves. What a fantastic time her mind had chosen to start unraveling. She was a trifle curse, it seemed.

But as she looked up and lifted her foot to start her walk back, Amelia was seized around the waist. A rough hand holding a cloth was pressed over her nose and mouth. She fought the need to breathe, knowing that foul work was at play. She trashed and struggled to pull herself free, but it was no use.

At once, a firm fist was launched into her side, and she gasped on reflex, taking in the fumes that wafted off the handkerchief. In moments, her head was filled with cotton—spinning as her vision went blurry. Amelia could no longer stand on her own, and as she toppled to the side, the person responsible caught her. She searched their faces, trying to piece together the mess of clues her unfocused eyes offered. But she could not make out what she was looking at, too jumbled from the strange concoction entering her blood.

As she began to fade into the blackness surrounding her, she whispered against the wind. “Richard…”