16. Chapter 16

Chapter sixteen

Amelia

I breathed a sigh of relief and rested my head against the door of my bedchamber. Mine. Not Grace's. I had spent the last hour helping to get her resettled in her own room. I truly did not mind having switched for a time, but it had become inconvenient for our lady's maid to move clothing back and forth between rooms. At least that issue was now resolved.

Grace's leg, though she would never admit it, continued to bother her enough that she spent most of the day in bed. She had become less grumpy about the matter as of late, a result she attributed to a new book she'd discovered. A romance, she had told me, and one she was quite excited to finish.

So, I had left her to read while I enjoyed a moment of solitude before needing to dress for dinner. Sabrina had been increasingly absent the days following Grace's injury, and I could not help but worry that the reason was she, too, had found something to read.

I had caught her gaze across the table at dinner on multiple occasions last night. Her eyes would inevitably wander between me and Lord Emerson, who sat next to me. Last night had been the first time he'd deviated in his choice of dinner companion, asking to escort me rather than Grace. I had been too surprised to respond with anything beyond a nod of acquiescence, which seemed to amuse him.

Was his attention the reason behind Sabrina's ire, compounded by the secrets she uncovered about my attachment to him? The constant worry and anticipation was exhausting. I felt like a cliff at the seaside, watching the dark clouds roll in and waiting for the impending storm. Once it was unleashed, the water would beat me until I fell into the tumultuous sea and sank beneath the waves.

A light tap sounded on my door, and I jumped away from it with a gasp. Illogically, my mind immediately believed I had summoned Sabrina with my thoughts, but I quickly discarded the idea. Sabrina never knocked unless the door was locked and hindered her ability to barge inside without permission.

I coaxed my breathing to ease just in time for it to hitch again with the voice coming through the door. "Miss Scott? It's Lord Emerson. Might I speak with you?"

Heavens, had he heard me gasp? I patted my heated cheeks, begging them to cool, and drew in a deep breath before opening the door. The earl stood there in a dark blue, striped waistcoat, black coat and gloves, and a hat that left only a few strands of his sandy hair visible.

It was unfair, really, to have someone so devastatingly handsome as a friend, especially when my heart was irrevocably his, no matter how I tried to dissuade it.

"Good afternoon," he said softly.

"Good afternoon, my lord," I answered with a curtsy, grateful the words had not come out airy. My lungs still struggled to catch a full breath.

"Mr. Apsley informed me that you had returned to your guest room. Please forgive me for my forwardness, but I was hoping you might take a walk through the gardens with me." He glanced down the corridor as if to ensure we were alone. This was not entirely proper, him standing at my door. "I learned some things during my visit to town yesterday that I think you might find interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Helpful, even."

I tilted my head. "Helpful in what regard?"

His lips tugged upward. "You will have to accompany me in order to find out." He leaned forward, his breath making one of my curls flutter. "I pray I have created enough intrigue that you will consider it, but we unintelligent pigs only possess so much charm."

I momentarily covered my mouth to keep my laughter from filling the corridor. "I have already told you I do not think you are unintelligent."

His eyes narrowed, but that did not hide the twinkle in them. "But what of being a pig? I fear that may be more insulting a characteristic than unintelligent, especially if it is my looks you refer to."

"Certainly not." I shook my head, fighting a smile. "What animal would you prefer to be compared to then? I am open to reconsidering, though I must warn that your closet noises will be difficult to forget."

He hummed as if giving it real thought. "I will have to think on it. Perhaps do some research in the library. I would not wish to choose something only to be embarrassed later due to my lack of knowledge. I would be interested to know what animal you would choose for me as well."

"Besides a pig, you mean?

"Besides a pig," he agreed. "But for now, I merely wish for you to answer my question. Will you take a walk with me?"

The amusement I'd felt during our silly conversation faded to dread. I would enjoy taking a walk with him far too much for my own good, but more than that, Sabrina's constant stare still burned in my memory. She was determined to have Lord Emerson, and while he had made it clear he would never give in to her desires, that did not mean Sabrina wouldn't seek retribution should she believe I was attempting to steal him away.

Despite how ridiculous it was for her to consider me a threat, that would not stop the consequences. Sabrina would ruin me, and no man, including the earl, could possibly want me once she did.

Not that I believed Lord Emerson wanted me now. Such a notion was a daydream—a fantasy—and nothing more.

"I appreciate your offer," I said, "but I am not certain it is a wise idea."

He stiffened, his voice quiet. "Sabrina."

"Yes, she would—"

"No." Lord Emerson stepped closer to me, lowering his voice. "Sabrina. She is coming up the stairs."

Panic surged through me. She could not see him standing at my door. If she had read my diary, and even if she hadn't, it might confirm her suspicions.

Without another thought, I grabbed the earl by the coat sleeve and tugged him into the room. He stumbled in surprise but quickly righted himself while I closed the door. "You must hide. She cannot see you here. "

He shot me an incredulous look. "And where am I to hide? In the closet again?"

I shushed him. Footsteps tapped outside the door, and my eyes widened. Sabrina did not knock. Why hadn't I locked the door?

Lord Emerson seemed to read as much in my expression and dove onto the floor with a loud thump. I winced at the sound, watching as he crawled under my four-poster bed and all but disappeared beneath it. The closet would have been better. I could see one of his boots. Sabrina would notice it, too.

My door creaked, and I kicked Lord Emerson's hard boot, leaving my toe smarting. He grunted, but it worked. The earl pulled his leg farther under the bed, his body disappearing completely just in time for Sabrina to charge into the room.

She plopped down on the edge of my bed and folded her arms. At least she would have no chance of spotting the man from that position.

"Have you seen James today?" she asked. It was then I noticed the redness in her eyes, as if she had been crying. I had never seen Sabrina cry, though there had been times I believed she had come close. Moments when her father had berated her.

But I didn't dare ask her what was the matter.

"I…he was not at breakfast. I believe he and Mr. Davis went fishing this morning."

Sabrina's expression darkened. "Mr. Davis returned nearly a half an hour ago and drew me into a conversation of the most ridiculous nature. Something about pheasants and fish. I suspect he was distracting me so James could escape."

Then it would be a miracle if Mr. Davis survived the next week. No one stood in Sabrina's way of something she wanted and came out unscathed.

Although, it was surprising that the man had managed to distract her at all. Sabrina had never paid him heed before.

I nodded with what I hoped appeared to be sympathy. "I see. Perhaps the earl has gone to his chamber to change?"

Her eyes narrowed to accompany the downward draw of her brows, and my heart rapped harder against my chest. Did she think I was hiding him? I could not fathom her reaction should she discover the man in question was currently beneath my bed .

"Perhaps," she responded slowly, "but I thought I might see if he was with you first."

"With me? Why would he be with me?" The words sounded convincing, yet I felt beads of perspiration forming on my brow.

Sabrina shifted on the bed, straightening her posture. "Well, he certainly paid you enough attention last night. And that is not the first time I've noticed. Are you intentionally turning his head, Amelia? You know I will not stand for it. Not that he could possibly choose you over me. The idea is laughable."

"Of course he wouldn't," I whispered, my cheeks heating. This was not a conversation I wished for Lord Emerson to overhear, but what could I do to prevent it? Was he struggling, even now, to contain his laughter? She wasn't wrong in her declarations.

Sabrina stood, her expression twisting into something menacing as she approached me. "Especially if he knew what I do about you. No man of title would subject himself to your company. Would even wish to be associated with you." She lifted a hand to my face and twirled one of my curls around her finger. "We wouldn't wish for that secret to get out, now would we? After all, you have so little to recommend you as is."

Her eyes swept over me, taking in the accentuated curve of my hips, the freckles on my cheeks, and the dull color of my hair. Sabrina saw all the imperfections, just as I did. Just as everyone did. I'd never hoped to claim the heart of a man of title—certainly not Lord Emerson's—but even my shallow hope to find a love match with a gentleman had slowly faded.

Perhaps that was why her insults did not puncture as deeply as they once had. I had already accepted a future as a spinster. But it still embarrassed me to have such things pointed out in the presence of the earl.

My heart lurched. The earl who had heard Sabrina's threat to reveal my secret.

Lord Emerson had made his suspicions clear before, but Sabrina's words confirmed them, even without details clarifying what she meant. The last thing I needed was for her to say more, to expose me completely.

"Please do not say anything," I pleaded. "I promise I have done nothing to encourage him, nor will I. As you've said, it would be a pointless endeavor. He could never want me. "

The statement seemed to satisfy Sabrina. She lowered her hand, the animosity draining from her expression. "Well, it seems we are on the same page, then. I expect you to help me tomorrow."

"Help you?"

Sabrina cocked her head. "Do not be daft. I cannot regain James's attention without a strategy, though it seems I may need to alter my plan given how adverse he has been to my attention."

Could the woman not simply let the earl go? I swallowed my frustration. Speaking my mind would do nothing to persuade Sabrina. She was set on having Lord Emerson, and I was beginning to wonder if anything could change her mind.

"In the library after breakfast," said Sabrina. "You will be there."

"Yes," I whispered. "I will be there."

She gave a curt nod, and I watched her march from the room, more deflated than I'd been in a very long time.

James

My fists remained clinched even after Sabrina had gone. My body felt as if I'd jumped into a roaring hearth. I'd witnessed Sabrina's cruelty toward Miss Scott before, but this…this was beyond what I'd imagined her capable of. If only I'd been privy to this sort of conversation eighteen months ago. How much easier would it have been to move on? Perhaps my heart would have never shattered. Perhaps I would not have proposed at all.

But the resentment was selfish. I could not change the past, but I had, through a great amount of pain, escaped Sabrina and her conniving ways. Miss Scott had not. She was still trapped, and with everything I had just heard, my suspicions that Sabrina held something over her was correct.

A renewed sense of determination filled me. I would find out what secret Sabrina knew and do all I could to help Miss Scott escape the woman's clutches.

Pressing my fists against the floor, I propelled my body forward, using the tips of my boots to assist me. The cuff of my shirtsleeve caught on a splinted portion of the leg of the bed, and I grunted in my attempt to remove myself from it. Miss Scott gasped, as if she had forgotten my presence entirely until she bent over to see what sort of creature was making noises beneath her bed.

It was strange to see her from this angle, with her hovering above me and basking in the sunlight from the window. The light formed an ethereal halo around her body, highlighting her golden hair and concerned blue eyes. She looked positively angelic.

Had any poet ever considered writing from beneath a bed? Had I known any personally, I might have suggested it to them. I certainly felt inspired, and I was not a man whose talent rested in penning words that would stir the soul.

"Allow me to help you." Miss Scott crouched onto her knees, and her fingers grazed over my gloves. The contact sent warmth up my arm, followed by a chill that made me shiver.

"You are quite stuck," she said, her brows furrowing as her fingers continued to prod at my sleeve.

"Quite." I tugged again, hoping to dislodge myself, but was rewarded with a ripping sound instead. If pulling back did not free me, perhaps pushing forward would. I thrust my arm toward Miss Scott, and the splintered wood cracked, flying from beneath the bed. Miss Scott jerked back with a whimper.

"Have I hurt you?" I scrambled forward and attempted to push myself up. The top of my head banged against the bed frame, and I groaned. I needed to get out from under this blasted thing.

"Are you—" Miss Scott's words were cut off when I flung myself forward. A sharp jolt of pain rippled across my forehead.

Perhaps it would be better if I simply died under this bed .

Massaging my forehead, I looked up at Miss Scott, who was mirroring my action. Her forehead was slightly red, though not nearly as red as her cheeks. A small cut on her hand pooled droplets of blood.

"It may be best if you move away from the bed until I crawl out," I said. "Apparently, I am prone to hazard at present."

She nodded, and I did not miss the twitch of her lips as she slid farther from me. I crawled forward, keeping my head low until half of my body had cleared the bed frame, and then sat with my back against the mattress, my knees pulled to my chest.

"Have you survived?" I asked, slightly breathless.

"I believe so," she whispered. "It may be best if we keep our voices down."

"Forgive me," I responded, lowering my voice. "For injuring you. Does it hurt terribly?"

She shook her head, leaning back on her heels. "Nothing to fuss over. We are fortunate the situation ended so well."

I could have scoffed given the blunders of removing myself from beneath the bed, but she was not wrong. Sabrina had not discovered me, and I understood now, better than before, why the duchess finding me alone with Miss Scott would have proven disastrous.

I wished to ask the questions, but how did I begin? Thus far, Miss Scott had avoided such inquiries. Would she do so now, after I had heard Sabrina's threats for myself? Surely she would not expect me to ignore everything I'd heard?

Perhaps Sabrina did have one thing right. Sometimes a bit of strategy was necessary.

"When did you write your poem?" I asked gently. I should insist we move to more comfortable seating, but there was something oddly comforting about both of us sitting on the floor. A strange sort of openness that propriety often constricted.

Miss Scott met my gaze. "Not long after my presentation at court. At the start of my first Season."

"When you met Sabrina," I added.

She stared at me for a long moment before nodding. "I suppose there is no point in denying the nature of our relationship any longer. You have heard too much. "

Too much or not enough? I had heard the distress in Miss Scott's voice when she begged Sabrina not to say anything. Whatever this secret was, she did not want me to hear it anymore than someone else. It stung, but without knowing what she was hiding, I could hardly blame her. Our friendship was far too new, our history too complicated, to expect anything more.

Still, part of me wished Sabrina would have revealed everything. It would make helping Miss Scott much easier.

"I won't push you to confide in me, but I wish you to know that I would keep your secrets, Miss Scott. You can trust me."

She pulled in her lower lip, and her gaze fell to her lap. Silence rested between us, and the longer it lasted, the more I realized she would not tell me anything. Not today, at least.

But that did not mean I would give up. I couldn't.

"Do you know why your poem resonates so much with me?" I asked. She didn't look up, but shook her head, so I continued. "Because I know what it feels like to be trapped. I thought that my time away from London had mended things—that I had recovered. What I didn't realize is that I had never broken free, not really. The moment I saw Sabrina in the foyer every emotion—the heartbreak, the anger, the disappointment—it all came back to me, stronger than before."

Miss Scott crawled over the floor and sat next to me. I was not blind to the impropriety of the situation. Should a maid find us this way, she would be ruined. Yet I could not bring myself to end the conversation. I needed it. Just as much as I believed Miss Scott needed it.

"You don't have to be trapped," she said.

"Are we to speak of forgiveness again?" I softened my words with a smile. "I cannot see past Sabrina's faults as easily as you can. Do you forgive her for the way she treats you? It must be exhausting to offer so much sympathy to someone who shows no desire to change."

"Exhausting perhaps, but I should think my situation would be far worse if I didn't extend her some measure of it. If I cannot escape my predicament, then I would prefer to let as much of the negativity go as I can. It will only burden me more."

"You should not have to carry it at all. You are far too accepting of her treatment. "

She considered my words, that endearing line forming between her brows. "I have little choice at present, but as I've mentioned, you do. I am not saying forgiveness is easy, but it can give us a sort of freedom. I've experienced it."

She went quiet, and I waited. If she wished to explain, to confide in me, she would.

Miss Scott drew in a deep breath. "My mother…I was rather angry with her before my father's death. She had kept something important from me, done something terribly wrong. In truth, I hated her, or at least I thought I did. That anger hurt her, of course, but it hurt me too. Perhaps more. It was like a shadow, constantly hovering over me and stealing away the sunshine I'd once felt."

"But you forgave her?" I asked.

Her lips lifted slightly. "I did, but not right away. It took months. I spent so much time trying to understand. She'd made decisions that would affect me my entire life, and I struggled to let that go. I hated the way I felt, the way anger seemed to cloud every happy memory I had with her."

A strange impulse to lean closer to Miss Scott nearly overwhelmed me. The vulnerability of her words held me captive, and while I suspected she didn't need my comfort, I wanted to give it all the same.

I pressed my shoulder lightly into hers. "What changed? How did you move past it?"

"I cannot explain it. Only that one day I made the decision to try. It took weeks to overcome completely, but offering my mother grace—forgiveness—healed me. It gave me back a small portion of the happiness I once knew."

"Only a small portion?" I asked in a teasing tone, though the statement was made in concern. I did not like the idea of this woman not being happy.

"Well," she smiled wryly. "I am still trapped. Just not by anger toward my mother."

"Sabrina."

She nodded.

I wanted to know more—to know everything. What her mother had done. What secret Sabrina held over her. I wanted Miss Scott to be free and happy, and I wanted to be those things with her .

The realization made my stomach knot. I had decided that I would no longer seek out a love match, that I could be satisfied with a marriage of mutual respect, but those plans seemed to have faded over the last two weeks and a new vision of what my future could be had taken hold.

But there was still too much uncertainty to take such a leap. Not yet, in any case. I wished to pursue a courtship with her, but I could not do so without caution. I wanted Miss Scott, that I could easily admit, but I wanted her without the cords and fear that bound her. Beyond her secrets, there were things in our shared past that bothered me. Haunted me. Perhaps if I could not have all my answers, she would be willing to part with one.

I reached into the pocket of my coat and withdrew a piece of worn foolscap. Sabrina's letter had been my constant companion since the day Miss Scott delivered it. The words were barely legible now with how many times I had folded and refolded, read and reread.

I have found someone more deserving…

Those were the words she had left me with. The same words Miss Scott herself had delivered before leaving my townhouse that morning. Perhaps that was why they had stuck with me for so long. Not one woman had used them, but two.

"You kept it?" Miss Scott whispered next to me.

I met her gaze. Her light brows were tightly drawn, and her eyes glistened with a concern that penetrated me to my core. "Sabrina said in this letter that she had found someone more deserving of her." I swallowed, blinking back a burn in my eyes I had not experienced in a long time. "The same thing you said to me that day. Did you mean it?"

Miss Scott's lips parted. "I…I did mean what I said."

Weeks ago, frustration and anger would have flooded me, but now, I knew this woman. She had helped me over the past two weeks, had offered kindness and sympathy. I had to believe those words had not been offered without reason or with genuine intent to cause me pain. Perhaps Sabrina had instructed her to say them.

Miss Scott's hand moved to my arm, her blue eyes imploring me. "The late Duke of Rochester was one of the most despicable men I have ever met," she whispered, her fingers tracing over the folds of my coat sleeve. "I saw the way he treated others—the insults, the superiority he flaunted, the lack of empathy. Sabrina did marry a man more deserving of her, because she is much like him. You are too good to be tied to her. It was she who did not deserve you ."

My chest felt as though it had expanded three-fold.

She shifted to fully face me. "You should destroy that letter. I do not know its contents, but I can imagine the jabs she must have made. I am sorry you believed I thought you unworthy of her, but it is also the truth. I should have clarified what I meant then, but…"

"But I demanded you leave," I said, finally ridding myself of the lump in my throat. "I assumed the worst of you, and for that I am sorry."

"You have no need to apologize. You were hurting, and I do not blame you for being angry with me. I did play a part in your pain, more than I ever realized."

Her grimace made me chuckle. "Well, it is all in the past, and I am glad to have the truth now. Glad that we are friends."

"Friends," she said with a smile, though I noted a bit of sadness in her eyes. Curious, that.

"How is your head?" I asked.

Her hand immediately lifted to her forehead. "Just fine. Yours?"

"Survivable, though I think it may be best if I leave you in peace." I paused, hesitant to push her more than I already had. "I understand why you've no wish to walk with me in the gardens, but should Sabrina be coaxed into a trip to town, would you reconsider my request?"

"If," she said slowly, "Sabrina were to leave Fallborn for a time, I might consider it."

The victory I felt brought a smile to my lips. "Good. I still have something I wish to tell you, but it will have to wait until then. I should leave your bedchamber before we are discovered."

She nodded, and I pushed myself from the floor before assisting her up. Miss Scott stayed by her bed as I made my way to the door. I paused, my hand resting on the knob as I turned to face her. "You don't truly believe what she said, do you?"

Her brows furrowed.

"What Sabrina said about you having nothing to recommend you. About me never choosing you?"

She shifted, her gaze dropping to her floor. Her cheeks tinted a dark red, and while I disliked having brought her embarrassment, I did not regret retracing my steps. Nor did I regret lifting her chin so I could look into her eyes. It was a bold move. Improper, even, given we were alone. But I needed her to know, even if I could not declare myself fully yet. "She's wrong on both accounts."

She gasped when I took her hand and lifted it to my lips.

"Until dinner, Miss Scott, I bid you farewell." Then I slipped quietly from the room.