14. Chapter 14

Chapter fourteen

Amelia

I spent the next two days in terror, waiting for Sabrina to reveal she was in possession of my diary—to declare she now held more potential to ruin me. But the threats never came; at least, not any more than usual. Sabrina remained the tyrannical puppet master of my life, but the strings had not been tightened. She said nothing to make me suspect she had read my most vulnerable confessions.

This was not the relief it should have been for two distinct reasons. First, Sabrina was a strategist. I had watched her manipulate members of the ton , acquiring information and waiting to use it at the right moment. Just because she had not made me aware that she had the diary did not mean that she wasn't in possession of it. No, she would wait for the information to become useful, and until then, she would silently enjoy my discomfort.

Second, if by some miracle Sabrina had not taken the diary, then who had? I had questioned all of the maids who had attended to my sister, and none of them had confessed to having seen it. The possibility remained that one of them could have taken it and lied to me, of course, but I doubted any of them would risk their positions for a book.

After all, the first several pages were quite mundane—me prattling on about the weather and excitement for my first upcoming Season.

How I wished for those days of bliss again, when my life had not become the cage that it was now and hope for my future still burned bright as the night stars .

The morning passed in somewhat of a blur as I checked on Grace, who offered her condolences that I had not found success in my search. She did not know the extent of my distress, having no knowledge of what my book contained and believing I was merely desperate to finish the story. The romantic side of her could sympathize with that sort of torture.

"I am certain it will turn up eventually," she said. "But really, Amelia, you must tell me the title of this book. If it has captivated you so, I must read it for myself."

I smiled indulgently at my sister. "You have a full library of options to choose from. I daresay you have more than enough stories to keep you occupied for a time."

"Yes, yes." She gestured to the stack of books resting on the bedside table. "Mrs. Davis has been most accommodating. She brought me a new stack not an hour ago. I fear I shall read through their entire library if this leg does not improve."

"Is it still bothering you so severely?"

Grace grimaced, which was all the validation I was likely to receive. My sister did not enjoy making others aware of her pain nor being so handicapped by it.

She slumped against her pillow with a long groan. "What have I missed the last few days? My first house party, and I am to be confined to a bed. It is the worst sort of luck."

I shifted in the chair I had placed next to her bed. "You have not missed much of anything. The picnic has still not happened. Lord Emerson has quartered himself in his room in effort to avoid Sabrina, and the duchess spends her time devising schemes to lure him out. Thus far, Mrs. Davis has rejected her ideas. I think she realizes the earl does not wish to be near the woman."

Grace's nose scrunched. "No one can blame him for it. I would prefer not to be near her either. At least she hasn't obliged to visit me again, and since you are tending to me and my invalid form , you have not been required to be in her company. I suppose that means my leg has been helpful for once."

"We both know that you would never settle for being a permanent invalid," I teased .

Grace sat up, her chin lifted. "Of course not, but I was not about to inform the duchess of that. I may have complained about how much I needed you so she would leave you alone."

Fiercely loyal. That was Grace. I admired the quality, but it also worried me. Standing up to Sabrina took courage, but to do so was also risky. Sabrina would not hesitate to reciprocate with a matching, fierce vengeance.

"I believe she is preoccupied with scheming at present," I said. "She does not need my company."

"You mean your servitude," Grace muttered. "Always ordering you about. Speaking for you. I cannot stand it, Amelia."

"We've discussed this," I reminded. "I will not say more on the matter. Let us talk of something else."

"Very well, if Sabrina is too busy scheming, then why have you not spent time with Lord Emerson?"

"What?" I sputtered. "Why would I spend time with him?"

Grace's lips twisted into a concerning grin. I did not like that look on my sister's otherwise innocent face. She shrugged, but the gesture did nothing to erase the smugness in her expression. "The two of you got on well during our would-be picnic walk. I had a nice view of the two of you laughing and conspiring. The earl seems to enjoy your company, and not so he can boss you about."

I played with the folds of my skirts, avoiding her gaze. "You are mistaken. Lord Emerson is a kind gentleman and an easy conversationalist with anyone in his presence. Have you not said before how amiable he has been at dinner? It is simply his nature. Whether I am the one in his company or someone else, he would behave in the same manner."

One of Grace's dark brows rose. She was not easily deterred. "Does he look at everyone he speaks to that way, too?"

I stood, smoothing out my skirt. "Come now, Grace. In what way? The man is just—"

"Kind? Charismatic?" She waggled her brows. "Dashingly handsome? A man whose blue pools carry the sparkle of moonlight or a thousand burning stars when he looks at you?"

"You have been reading far too many romance novels." I crossed the room and sat down at the writing desk, absently picking up a quill and dipping it in the inkwell despite having no foolscap to write on. When I had suggested a change in discussion topic, this was not what I had in mind. "Lord Emerson does not look at me with any sort of…moonlight sparkle."

The whole idea was ridiculous.

"He does. I've seen it more than once, but until our walk, I hadn't been sure. He watches you so often. I think he is quite enamored."

I laughed. The reaction came out forceful and dry. Lord Emerson had admitted to watching me, but it had certainly not been for the reason Grace believed. "He was suspicious of me. The man could not trust me, knowing how close I am to Sabrina. She lured him here by using Mr. Davis, and he suspected I might have been part of the scheme."

Grace hesitated a moment. " Were you part of it?"

"No," I said. "And I told him as much. What Sabrina did to the man…I do not wish to see him hurt like that again. We are to be allies, he and I. Friends."

My heart pattered a little quicker at the word. Friends with Lord Emerson. We had never been friends. Not really. The prospect warmed me in a way it shouldn't, as if the connection gave me permission to dream.

To hope.

"Does that make Sabrina your common enemy?" Grace was grinning again, and I realized how much I had allowed my words to run away. Despite my sister no longer believing me, I could not cease playing the role of Sabrina's friend. But the more Grace sided with me, the more difficult it was to keep up with the act.

"Sabrina is not my enemy. I am simply helping Lord Emerson avoid falling into her trap when I can. Eventually she will realize he is simply not going to change his mind, and she will move on. Persistence can be an admirable quality when used properly. In this case, it is testing the earl's patience and is most unwelcome. You should take note of these observations before attending your first Season."

Grace folded her arms, unamused. "So I am to sit back and use my observations as lessons? Honestly, Amelia, do you not think our mother has trained me better than that? I would never pursue a gentleman who had clearly made it known he had no wish for further acquaintance."

"Of course not. I just…" I heaved a sigh. Grace had been trained on proper societal conduct as well as I had from our mother. I knew she would do well in London—that she would be polite, respectful, and a lady of virtue. But knowing my sister's character did nothing to nip the growing fears I harbored. A lady could easily be led astray, convinced to leave her morals behind in a moment of passion. No one was insusceptible. Not even the woman who had taught us proper behavior.

Perhaps my mother's follies were the true reason for my concerns.

But I could not speak to Grace frankly on the matter, therefore it was best laid to rest.

"I believe I shall check on Rowe now," I said, standing. Our guardian hadn't been confined to his bed due to his wounded hand, but he had experienced a slight fever following the doctor's visit. Despite his insistence that I need not check on him, I had done so the past few days, typically finding him in the library with a book in hand.

"He's not the only man you should pay a visit!" Grace called as I slipped from the room and closed the door.

My cheeks flooded with heat, and silent whispers of gratitude that the corridor was empty fluttered through my mind.

Indeed, most of the house seemed that way as I descended the stairs. I passed a single maid as I weaved through the parlor and down the short portrait gallery to the library. I found Rowe right where I expected—sitting in one of the high-back chairs, his nose down and eyes so focused on the words on the page that he rarely blinked.

It made me smile to observe him this way. He had been a shy boy when he visited us during the summers before Father passed. Rowe preferred the seclusion and quiet of the library, but his reserved nature in no way prevented his care and kindness from showing. He never ignored the constant questions of his female cousins when they pestered him and obliged their requests, even when those requests included turning him into a pirate or knight for their games of pretend.

Such roles would have been more suited for Russel, Rowe's older twin brother and heir to the viscountcy, who had more of a penchant for adventure and sociability.

"Good afternoon," I said when Rowe looked up at me.

A smile stretched over his lips, and he closed his book before gesturing to the armchair opposite him. "Join me? I was hoping to speak with you today. "

"You were?" I asked, taking a seat. "What about? No, no, first tell me how your hand is doing. That is why I came searching for you."

He chuckled, lifting the bandaged appendage. "As I told you yesterday, it is healing nicely. It is Grace I worry about. Did you come from her room—or your room, rather?" He grimaced. "I am sorry that I confused them."

"You needn't apologize, Rowe. I cannot be angry about it when the mistake was a result of concern for my sister. Besides, it is of no big consequence. It is only a bed."

"Yes, but your things are still there. It is rather inconvenient. Perhaps it would be better if we asked the servants to swap everything."

"Truly, it is no bother. Grace and I can switch back in a day or two." I slid to the edge of the cushion so I could reach forward and place my hand on his arm. "Now stop evading and tell me what it is you wished to speak with me about."

Rowe sighed and patted my hand, but he did not speak for another minute or two, his expression tight with thought. Our conversations often went this way. He was not a man to rush into his words, but thought them through before placing them in the open. Such quiet, slow consideration might frustrate those who did not know him well, but I found it admirable. I could trust Rowe would never say anything he didn't mean.

"You know I was surprised when your father named me his heir in his will," Rowe began. "I never expected it, but his trust has always meant a great deal to me. I vowed that day to do all I can to take care of you and your mother and sister. In my efforts to keep that vow, I must ask…"

He met my gaze, and the concern in his eyes frightened me. Had he learned something? Father had promised he would not disclose the information even to Rowe, but that had not stopped Sabrina from obtaining it.

Rowe shifted to take both of my hands, hunching forward so his elbows rested on his knees. "Amelia, you changed during your first Season. You've become so quiet and reserved. If that is who you prefer to be, then I will say nothing more on the matter, but I wonder if your inward retreat is caused by something else. Or perhaps someone else."

First Grace had confessed to noticing things, and now Rowe? Were my acting skills truly so lackluster? I concluded they must be, for even the earl had called my relationship with Sabrina into question. I could only offer reassurances for so long before people stopped believing me entirely, but what else could I do? The ground beneath me seemed so unstable—my entire life ready to shift with one wrong step. It terrified me.

"I suppose being out in society has been more trying than I expected. The pressure to act with propriety. To make no mistakes. It all weighs on me. I am certain you feel it, too?"

"We all do at times, but that is no reason to change who we are. To hide." He squeezed my hands. "Your parents never expected perfection. I certainly do not expect it. You needn't put so much pressure on yourself." He paused then, another moment of consideration. "Even if your friends expect it of you."

He could only mean Sabrina. Perhaps my acting was not so terrible, then. If Rowe believed Sabrina was simply a friend with high expectations of those in her inner circle, the true extent of our relationship remained concealed. It was the best I could hope for, and yet, disappointment pressed on me. Some part of me had hoped Rowe suspected more, that he could read my thoughts and see the truth.

It was an unfair hope to place on him.

"I will remember that when we return to London," I said.

Rowe nodded, but he held fast to my hands. The clock on the mantle ticked, counting the seconds that passed before he spoke again. "Amelia, if there is ever…what I mean to say is that if you ever find you have made a mistake that might put your reputation at risk, know that you can always come to me. I will lend you support in whatever way I can."

My heart warmed at the earnestness in his voice, and I offered my gratitude as a smile. My father could not have found a better man to take over guardianship of me and my sister.

But, even so, my guardian was incapable of undoing the past. The mistakes Mama made would forever be there—following me, haunting me—and no amount of support from Rowe, or anyone else, could change that.