Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T he icy air nipped at Amelia’s cheeks as she meandered through the countless different realms of the Westyork gardens, the sky darkening overhead with thick clouds that she hoped would not unburden themselves before she found Rebecca.

This must be the first time I have wished these gardens were less elaborate… Rebecca could have made her way out the other side without detection, and Amelia would not have known. Still, she persevered, passing through a walled square of stark apple trees, a pretty square with a fountain and a bench, a square with sparse bushes that would bloom into roses in the summer, and the square where she had helped the gardener plant the crocuses.

Near to the center there was a larger square, where a small Oriental bridge arced over a koi pond. Amelia passed by the gate leading into it, having decided that she would search all around the edges before heading into the middle, when she spotted Rebecca.

The younger woman was sitting on the bridge with her legs dangling over the edge, her feet just above the water. She stared down at the still surface, unaware that she was being observed.

Taking a deep breath, Amelia pushed through the gate and made her cautious approach.

Rebecca’s head snapped up, but her green eyes—more hazel than her brother’s—were not as angry as Amelia had anticipated. Instead, they were rimmed with red, as if she had been crying.

“I am sorry to intrude,” Amelia said, pausing at the beginning of the bridge. “I realize I am probably the last person you want to see, but… I could not let you stay out here in the cold with nothing to warm you. Here, take this.”

She shrugged the blanket from her shoulders and offered it to Rebecca.

“I am not cold,” Rebecca replied stiffly, her tone marginally less dismissive than before.

Taking a chance, Amelia edged onto the bridge and walked to the middle, sitting down at Rebecca’s side. She left a polite enough distance between them, and when Rebecca did not immediately get up or tell her to go away, Amelia draped the blanket over the both of them.

For a while, they sat there in silence, gazing down at the fish that curved slowly through the water.

“May I ask what I have done to make you dislike me?” Amelia asked, at last.

Rebecca’s brow creased, her head giving the smallest shake. “It is not that I dislike you, Amelia.” She hesitated. “I do not know you.”

“And that is a problem?”

Rebecca shrugged.

“Did you not want your brother to get married?” Amelia pressed. “I realize that you must be accustomed to a certain way of existing, to certain people in your household, and I have disturbed that… peace, I suppose.”

Rebecca mustered a tight smile. “I am not as childish as my brother said I was. I understand how I must appear to you, but… it is hard to explain.”

“Might you try?” Amelia urged. “If I have done something wrong, I would like to remedy it. If I have a gap in my knowledge, I would like to fill it.”

The younger woman put her head between the slats of the bridge. “It is not you, Amelia.” She paused again, her frustration clear in the huff and puff of her breaths. “It is my brother. It is a matter of… what he deserves, and what he is unwilling to realize he deserves.”

Amelia could not deny the sting of the younger woman’s words, flinching slightly. Yet, it stood in stark contrast to Rebecca saying that it was not about Amelia. Quite the contradiction, in truth, twisting Amelia’s already confused mind into tighter knots.

“He went away to war when he was barely one-and-twenty, just as soon as he graduated from Cambridge. He returned five years later, no doubt expecting things to be as he left them, only to find us all in disarray,” Rebecca said softly, as if she was telling the story to herself. “He fought for our country for all those years and had to fight again… for us when he should not have had to.”

Amelia kept staring downward. “What do you mean?”

I had forgotten that he went away to war. A war hero, if I am not mistaken, Her heart clenched at the thought, her mind conjuring up visions of him tossing and turning in the library, making those agonized sounds. She had read of soldiers who could not forget the horrific things they had seen on countless battlefields. Was that the root of Lionel’s nightmares?

“It is not important,” Rebecca muttered. “Just know that for the past two years—almost two years—he has given everything to ensuring that Grandmama and I are safe and secure and never have to want for anything. He has given his youth, his efforts, his health, his strength to everyone but himself.”

“And you fear I am seeking his fortune?” Amelia said, already preparing her answer.

But Rebecca shook her head. “Again, Amelia, it is not about you specifically. I am sure you are perfectly nice.” She puffed out a breath. “You see, my brother was a completely different person when he returned from war. He was not himself for… months, but his work distracted him, and… he began to recover in terms of his character, and… well, I thought we were just getting him—the old him—back, but then he informed us that he would be marrying for convenience and when I asked him why, he would not give me a true answer.”

Amelia did not interject, hoping that the silence would be enough to get Rebecca to continue.

“What is worse, Grandmama kept telling me that Lionel had his reasons, but she would not give me a true answer either, and I… feel as if I am missing some vital piece of information,” Rebecca went on, gripping the slats until her knuckles whitened. “Meanwhile, all I wanted was for him to be happy, for him to find love, and it… broke my heart to hear that he was choosing not to. That he was choosing to make himself unhappy and unfulfilled, when he deserves the entire world, and the greatest love that world can offer. It is still breaking my heart.”

With that, Amelia understood the younger woman’s outburst immediately. It was not about Amelia, but what Amelia represented: an opportunity and a hope dashed. Rebecca’s dismissal of her was the reaction of someone in anguish, and perhaps some guilt, who could not remedy either.

“Did he speak of love before he went away to war?” Amelia asked quietly, deep in her own thoughts.

Rebecca sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of the blanket. “Honestly, no. He would dismiss it then, too, but I always thought it was because he was a young man who wanted to live his life before he considered such things.” She shook her head slowly. “But what young man wants to risk his life? I have never understood that. He was already the Earl of Westyork; he did not have to fight, but he went anyway.”

“Do you think that might be why he went?” Amelia suggested, watching the tail of a koi cut through the surface of the water like a knife through butter.

Rebecca peered at her. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe, he thought that if other young men were being made to go, what right did he have not to go? He does not behave as other peers do. I would not be very surprised if he thought it unfair, so he sought to make it fairer,” Amelia explained, believing it to be the most likely reason.

Even though Lionel seemed indifferent and cold toward her, most of the time, he had tended to her finger when it was bleeding, he had run out to make sure she was not cold, and, of course, he had married her when she was in need of rescue.

Regardless of the rest of his behavior, those were the actions of a noble man. And it appeared those same noble actions were what had made him the wealthiest man in England, not for the sake of greed or fame, but to help his sister and grandmother.

Rebecca blinked. “I had not thought of that… but it does sound like him.”

“As for the other matter, I cannot profess to know why he wished to marry for convenience, or why he agreed to marry me,” Amelia said in earnest. “Maybe I shall never know, but he saved me from something dire, and I promise you, here and now, with these fish as our witnesses, that I will take care of him.”

The younger woman laughed awkwardly. “Good luck with that. He does not let anyone take care of him.”

“Nevertheless, I am making a promise to you. Even if he loathes it, even if he rejects it and protests, I will do all I can to look after him, as he deserves.” Amelia offered a smile to Rebecca, feeling some of the younger woman’s icy demeanor begin to thaw as she smiled back.

And I will begin with his nightmares. Amelia had regretted leaving him alone in the library last night, and she did not intend to feel that regret again. He could pout and pretend to sleep as much as he liked; from now on, he would be having company in whatever room he chose to make his bedchamber for the night. Whether he wanted it or not.

Indeed, she sensed it might be the only way to get some answers to the increasing list of questions that were unspooling in her head.

“I am sorry I was rude,” Rebecca said. “I took my frustration out on you, and it was unkind of me. You did not deserve it.”

Amelia shrugged. “I am sorry I asked such dull questions.”

The younger woman chuckled at that, pulling the blanket tighter around them both as their breath plumed in the wintry air. “If you are funny too, I might decide that you are worthy of him after all.”

“Oh, I can assure you, I am not the least bit amusing,” Amelia replied with a bolder smile. “But I shall read funnier books and perhaps I shall learn the art of humor to win you all over.”

Lionel included… For surely if she could gain the affection of Caroline and Rebecca, all three of them could work together to try and convince Lionel that he really ought to leave a legacy. Namely, a child or two.

“You like to read?” Rebecca asked, more brightly than before.

“ Like to read? Heavens, no.” Amelia shook her head. “I love to read. I would do nothing but read if I could, though I have often been told that is not polite.”

Rebecca grinned. “I am the same! I once made a resolution that I would make it through the entirety of the library before my debut, but I fear I am running out of time.”

“Perhaps, we could split the remainder in half, and I could give you the synopsis of my half of the collection?” Amelia offered, hardly daring to hope that she might already be making friends with Rebecca.

“That is ingenious! Cheating, perhaps, but who will know?”

Amelia tapped the side of her nose. “I certainly will not tell anyone.”

“It is bitterly cold out here and I suspect it will soon snow,” a gruff voice interrupted the glimmer of warmth.

Amelia and Rebecca turned at the same time, to find Lionel standing by the gate to that central square of walled garden. He carried two cloaks with him, his expression as stern as his voice.

“And where else would one be when it snows but outside?” Rebecca argued, getting to her feet. With a slight smile, she went to her brother and took her cloak from him. “You should not worry so much.”

“When I have you for a sister, how can I do anything but worry?” Lionel replied, as Rebecca wandered past him and out of the gate.

Amelia rose more awkwardly to her feet, gripping onto the balustrade of the bridge for support. The slats underfoot had not felt quite as slippery on the way up as they did on the way down.

Apparently noticing her struggle, Lionel stepped forward and offered out his hand to her. She was reaching for him when he suddenly jolted, his legs sliding back and forth as if he were in the midst of a peculiar dance. At the same instant, her feet went out from under her, and she felt herself falling.

Lionel lunged for her, grabbing her by the blanket she still wore like a cloak, pulling her to him as his other hand shot out and grasped the balustrade. The sharp tug and the curve of the bridge sent Amelia tumbling right into his chest, her panicked hands grabbing for the lapels of his greatcoat, until they were far closer than they ought to be.

There was nothing between them. She could feel the hurried rise and fall of his breaths, and as his arm slipped around her, she did not resist the fleeting embrace.

Instead, she peered up at him, her face flaming with heat. He gazed back down, his expression clouded, as if he did not quite know how she had managed to be so close. Yet, he did not immediately remove his arm or release her from his embrace.

“This bridge can be… treacherous in the winter,” he said softly, frowning.

She nodded. “I did not realize how icy it was.”

“Yes… terribly icy.” He cleared his throat and pulled back, leading her down from the bridge by her hand.

The moment they were back on more solid ground, he withdrew his touch and folded his arms behind his back, as though he did not trust them. “We will be attending a ball soon. I have arranged for an excellent modiste to come here.”

“A ball?” Amelia’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “But we are supposed to be enjoying our honeymoon, away from society.”

“It is a small affair,” he replied. “A neighboring Duke hosts it every year, as a winter extravaganza. Honeymoon or not, we are expected to attend.”

Amelia nodded. “Very well.”

“Now, please return inside before one of us catches our death in one way or another,” he said, offering his arm.

She took it, allowing him to guide her through the labyrinthine gardens to the manor. Although, her mind was back at the bridge, held close in his arms, gazing up into his bemused eyes, wondering what on earth was going on in that head of his.

Why do you keep showing you care, while insisting that you do not? She was not foolish enough to raise her hopes or to even daydream about love blossoming in the dead winter of their marriage, but she was beginning to think he was not nearly as cold as he made himself out to be.