Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

T he carriage came to a standstill at the bottom of the porch steps. Lionel was already waiting, standing out in the cold to greet his beloved family. Meanwhile, Amelia had chosen a more reserved spot in the entrance hall, with her maid and Mrs. Scanlon flanking her.

Is she trying to hide between them? Lionel wondered, certain that all would be well after the initial introductions. Rebecca and Caroline would accept Amelia, they would all become dear friends, and he would not have to worry about what the future might look like, knowing they all had each other to rely upon.

Unsurprisingly, the glass of warm milk had not helped him to sleep last night, his mind too loud for slumber—and not merely because of his nightmares, but also the memory of seeing his wife in her nightgown. A vision that had refused to abandon him and seemed to make him clumsy every time it popped back into his head. He had already spilled his morning cup of weak coffee and dropped jam on himself because of it, forcing him to change into a different waistcoat.

Still, the prospect of seeing his sister and grandmother again had refreshed him.

“There they are!” Lionel said, heading down the steps. “Two fair maidens, safely delivered from the evil clutches of London.”

Rebecca burst out of the carriage, not bothering to wait for a footman or her brother to open the door for her. She flew the last few paces and threw her arms around Lionel, hugging him tightly.

“One would think you had been away for months, rather than days,” he teased, hugging her back in kind. Most of his life was spent being proper and restrained, but that was impossible when it came to his family.

Though I almost let her touch me… His thoughts flitted to the previous night, how Amelia’s hand had reached for his chest and his scars. He still possessed his quick reflexes, but they had been woefully slow in the face of her concerned curiosity.

“It has felt like months!” Rebecca cried, her voice pulling him out of his thoughts. “Can you believe that I was actually excited to leave London? I did not think I would ever see such a time where I was gladder to be returning here for a freezing winter than enjoying the endless delights of the city in a cozy townhouse.”

“You have never been cold here in all your seven-and-ten years,” Lionel pointed out, chuckling. “I know because Mrs. Scanlon makes complaints about your fuel consumption.”

“She does not!” Rebecca grinned. “How dare you incriminate her like that.”

Lionel smiled back. “Well, you go on and greet Mrs. Scanlon while I help our grandmother out of the carriage. It would appear you have at least left your manners behind in London.”

“Manners?” Rebecca scoffed playfully. “I never had any to begin with.”

She scampered on up the porch steps while Lionel crossed to the open carriage door, offering his hand to Caroline. She took it gratefully, grunting and groaning as she stepped down onto the gravel.

“I shall need a new spine after that journey,” she complained, wincing. “Every road from here to the Capital has gained at least twenty more ditches and runnels since we first departed. And my bones felt every one of them.”

Lionel pulled her arm through his, walking her to the entrance. “I might first suggest trying new cushions for the carriage. If that does not work, then we shall see about a new spine.”

Caroline smiled up at her grandson. “Speaking of new things, how is your mysterious wife faring? It cannot be going so well if you are this excited to see the two of us during the first week of your honeymoon.”

“It is… fine,” he replied, nearly missing the porch step as the image of Amelia in her nightgown, reaching to touch him, infiltrated his thoughts again.

“Fine?” Caroline pulled a face. “What a terrible word. If your grandfather had ever described our marriage as ‘fine,’ I would have sewn a fish into his favorite tailcoat.”

Lionel chuckled, but it echoed hollow. “Very well—it is as expected.”

“That is no better, darling,” his grandmother replied, as they reached the front doors.

In truth, I do not know what to make of it… Until Amelia had demanded a shared dinner, he had been managing well enough. He could have easily spent the rest of their honeymoon in his study, hearing about her welfare through an intermediary. But she had burst in and ruined his plan, as she seemed to have a habit of doing.

His throat tightened, a heaviness weighing upon his chest, as he thought about her in the apricot glow of the library’s fireplace: the concern knitting her eyebrows together, the worry in her eyes, the urgency with which she had called his name and, in doing so, dragged him out of the depths of a nightmare.

No one has ever managed to wake me from one before. That was the part he truly could not understand. His grandmother had attempted to wake him often, especially in the first few months after his return from war, to no avail. That was how the entire household had learned to simply ignore it, at his and Caroline’s instruction, while Rebecca had been sheltered from it entirely.

Yet, Amelia had woken him. He had heard her calling within his nightmare and, the next thing he knew, he was back in the library, gripping her arm for dear life.

“Mrs. Bishop, I have been dreaming of your custard tarts,” Rebecca crowed to the cook, making her way down the line of servants. “I purchased them from no fewer than six bakeries in London, and not one was as delicious.”

She had similar plaudits for the gardener, the maids, the footmen, while Mrs. Scanlon received some lighthearted ribbing.

“My brother told me of your secret,” Rebecca said to the housekeeper.

Mrs. Scanlon frowned. “My secret, Lady Rebecca?”

“That you told him of my insatiable greed for stoking the fire in the winter,” Rebecca replied, chuckling. “Fear not, I chided him for being such a wicked liar. I know you would never betray me like that.”

The housekeeper’s expression relaxed into a smile. “No, indeed, for if I was to tell him, I would sacrifice my opportunity to be in those toasty rooms. You have a gift for enduring the winter, Lady Rebecca. I have always said so.”

Lionel watched with hopeful interest, realizing that Amelia was next to be greeted. So, it came as something of a bitter disappointment when Rebecca walked past Amelia altogether, moving straight on to the lady’s maid beside her.

“Oh, Bea, you look even prettier than when we left. I must know your secrets, especially with your hair. Mine resembles a rat’s nest at the best of times—please, do say that you will help me,” Rebecca urged. “Having seen the ladies of London, I have realized I have a great deal of work to do before I debut.”

Lionel furrowed his brow, observing Amelia as she visibly tried to fight her obvious dismay. But it won in the end, her chin dropping to her chest, her confidence fading. It took every speck of willpower he possessed not to scold his sister then and there, but he had a feeling it would only embarrass Amelia more.

Give them time. Do not intervene; you will only make matters worse, he told himself, glancing down at his grandmother. She, too, seemed annoyed by Rebecca’s behavior. And she, too, held her tongue.

“Did you walk in Hyde Park?” Amelia asked, sipping from her cup of tea to wet her anxious, dry throat.

They had all gathered in the Sun Room for refreshments, the low winter sun half-blinding Amelia through the tall French windows. She could have moved but there was nowhere else to sit but the armchair where she was, after Rebecca had commandeered an entire settee for herself, reclining on it.

Amelia forced herself to keep looking at Rebecca, so the younger woman would know the question was directed at her.

After a minute ticked by and she had not answered, the Dowager cleared her crackly throat and replied, “We did, yes. I am surprised Lionel has not mentioned it to you, for he had a rather unexpected soaking after stepping into a puddle.”

Lionel did not elaborate, though Caroline gave him a very pointed look.

“It was practically a miniature lake,” Caroline continued. “He was being gentlemanly, allowing us ladies to use the dry part of the path, but the moment he put his foot into the puddle, half his leg disappeared! And, of course, that set him off balance, so his other leg went in too. I daresay I laughed until I nearly coughed up a piece of lung.”

Amelia could not help but chuckle, despite Rebecca’s frosty attitude toward her. It delighted her all the more as she noticed Lionel roll his eyes, the ghost of a smirk upon his lips. There was nothing more attractive than a man who knew when to laugh at himself, though Amelia did wish he had told her the story himself.

“My sister shrieked and declared that I had just ruined her chances of finding a husband,” Lionel added, at last. “Is that not so, Rebecca?”

His sister smiled sweetly at him. “I suppose we shall find out next year, but you must remember that society has a wretchedly long memory. You dripped all the way home, like some sort of pond creature.”

Seeing another opportunity, Amelia tried again. “Are you looking forward to your debut, Lady Rebecca?”

Considering her rank, Amelia did not have to use honorifics with her sister-in-law, but she felt it was prudent. For now.

The younger woman feigned a loud yawn. “Goodness, I am tired. I do not know if it is the sway of the carriage or if it is these awfully short winter days, but I feel as if I could sleep for a week.”

“Rebecca,” Caroline said sternly. “Amelia asked you a question.”

Rebecca crossed her arms behind her head. “Did she? I must not have heard it. My head feels as if it stuffed with wool.” She paused, glancing at her grandmother. “I suppose I have caught that cold of yours.”

It soothed Amelia a little to hear that Lionel had been telling the truth about his grandmother being unwell, but it was not much of a balm. Indeed, she felt as if she were back at the Lisbret Estate, in the drawing room, receiving the silent treatment from her brother and father after some tiny transgression or another.

Rebecca continued to ignore the question, an awkward silence filling the room.

“I remember being terribly nervous at my own debut,” Amelia persevered. “I danced with one gentleman and shook the entire way through. Are you nervous for the occasion, Lady Rebecca, or nervously excited perhaps?”

Rebecca reached for her cup of tea and sipped. “This is rather bitter today. Do you think they use different tea in London, Brother?”

Amelia exhaled softly, her cheeks warming. What did I do to make you dislike me? You do not even know me.

It would have been better to find out that Rebecca was always like this, but the staff had been singing her praises for days, and judging by the looks on Caroline and Lionel’s faces, this behavior was out of character.

“My wife has asked you a question twice,” Lionel replied, his voice laced with warning.

“It really must be my hearing,” Rebecca insisted. “She speaks so quietly. I have not a hope of hearing her. Indeed, I think I shall take my tea to my chambers and rest awhile. I am too weary for conversation.”

Rebecca moved to get up, but Lionel was faster, blocking his sister’s path to the door.

“You will be courteous, Rebecca,” he said coldly. “You will sit down, you will drink your tea here, and you will converse with my wife with civility. This childish behavior is beneath you, and I will not tolerate it.”

Anger flared in Rebecca’s eyes, her free hand balling into a fist. “You cannot make me speak, Brother, nor will you speak to me in such a manner. I am not a soldier to be commanded.”

“You forget yourself, Sister,” Lionel replied, his expression darkening. “Do not deign to dictate to me. You may not be a soldier, but you are my ward and my sister, and you will do as you are told. You will not like the consequences if you do not obey.”

Rebecca inhaled sharply. “I do not like any of the consequences, Brother, nor shall I pretend to. You might be content with this, but I am not. And if I must be punished for my feelings on the matter, so be it, but I will not sit here and smile and behave like a doll when I am… furious with you and what you have brought upon this household!”

She whirled around and stalked toward the French doors, slamming out onto the terrace, sloshing tea with every step. Lionel called to her, but she ignored him, storming on to the gardens. The creak and slam of the entry gate rang out the warning that she was not to be followed.

“I am sorry, Amelia,” Caroline said, heaving out a weary sigh. “She will be spoken to.”

Lionel glared at the still-open terrace door, clearly trying to decide if he should go after Rebecca and scold her now or wait and scold her later.

That will do no one any good, Amelia knew, as she rose to her feet.

“Oh, my dear, do not leave,” Caroline urged. “ We can still enjoy tea and conversation.”

Amelia offered a small smile to the Dowager. “I am not leaving, My Lady. I think it would be best if I went to speak with her. I would like to try, at least.” She took up her teacup and saucer. “Please, excuse me.”

Steeling herself, she headed out into the cold, wondering what would have her bones shivering first: the bitter weather or Rebecca’s blatant hatred for her.

She had made it to the grassy slope leading down to the gardens, when she heard footsteps thudding behind her.

“Do not try to stop me,” she said, turning.

Lionel slowed, opening out a thick, woolen blanket. He draped it around her shoulders, holding the sides for a moment, creating a peculiar bubble around them. Aside from last night, it was the closest she had ever been to him, his towering figure no more than half a step away. If he were to pull on the sides of the blanket, she would have had no choice but to close that gap.

Peering up at him, she said breathlessly, “What are you doing? Is this how you mean to drag me back inside?”

“No,” he replied, his eyes unreadable. “I told you last night that you must be appropriately attired. You keep forgetting that it is winter. I do not want you to catch your death out there.”

“If I am to catch it, I do not think it will come from the temperature,” she replied shyly, as he crossed the sides of the blanket over the front of her, swaddling her almost. The warmth was welcome indeed.

“Share this with her,” Lionel said. “And do not let her smell your fear.”

She frowned. “Was that a joke?”

“I dare not say. Ask me again when you return in one piece.” He took a step back, and with the blanket wrapped tightly around her, Amelia headed for the gardens.

Reaching the entry gate, she turned back to the terrace. Lionel was still standing there, watching her, as though he really did care about the outcome. As if he really did want his sister and his wife to get along.

But why, if I am of no importance to him?