Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“ M y husband must have been exceptional at hide and seek in his youth,” Amelia muttered, having no appetite for the buttery eggs and delicious toast that sat untouched on her plate.

She would have preferred to take breakfast in the kitchens with the servants, but she did not want to offend Caroline and Rebecca, who had joined her in the breakfast room. Lionel, of course, was nowhere to be seen.

“Actually, he was terrible,” Caroline said with a smile. “He used to giggle if you came into a room to look for him, giving himself away.”

Amelia glanced at the older woman, unable to hide her surprise. “I cannot imagine Lionel ever giggling.”

“He used to be much merrier,” Rebecca said, offering a sad smile. “I maintain that we can return him to his former self, though it shall take great time and effort, and so many jests and japes that it will test even the limits of my creativity.”

Caroline chuckled, but it faded as she looked at Amelia. “Has he gone underground again?”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Amelia mused aloud. “One would think he was some manner of mole.”

Rebecca laughed softly. “It is what we call it when he disappears for a few days. It is quite impressive, in many ways, for he makes it seem as if he has left the grounds of Westyork, but he never takes his horse or a carriage, and no one ever actually sees him leave. So, many of us suspect he has a hiding place that no one knows about.”

“Has something happened, dear girl?” Caroline asked gently, as she sipped her cup of weak coffee. “I know you are likely exhausted by the question by now, but did something occur at the Duke of Thornhill’s ball?”

It had been three days since that ball, and the moment that Amelia and Lionel had returned, he had made himself scarce. As if he knew that she might want to discuss what had been interrupted. She had looked for him in the day and in the night and had listened out for the telltale sounds of his nightmares, but there had been no sighting or whisper of him anywhere.

“Nothing more than I have already told you,” Amelia replied with a sigh. “My gown tore, we rode back so as not to ruin your night, the horse spooked, and then we carried on. That is all.”

She could not very well inform Caroline or Rebecca that she had thought there might be a kiss, and that she had yearned for one, especially as she did not know if he was going to kiss her. It was all speculation, and the longer Lionel remained absent from her presence, the more she doubted herself.

“Are you certain?” Caroline urged.

Amelia hesitated, remembering something. “There was a… difficult conversation.”

“About what?” Caroline set her cup down and leaned forward, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

“Well… he thinks that I am going to be unhappy, and though I tried to tell him otherwise, he would not be persuaded,” Amelia explained, uncertain of whether or not she should be saying so much about it. “I do wonder if that is why he is keeping his distance.”

Rebecca scoffed. “Goodness, he is such a pessimist! He ought to have ‘doom and gloom’ as his middle names. Why, I have tried to tell him so very often that if he thinks things are going to be bad, they will be. If he thinks things will be good, they will be. He does not believe me.”

“He has been through a lot, Rebecca,” Caroline chided softly, a strange expression on her face. Her brows were furrowed, her eyes clouded over, looking down at her plate with too much intent, as if there was something she wanted to say, but could not decide if she ought.

“I know that,” Rebecca replied defensively, “but he is not at war anymore, he has become the wealthiest man in England, he has a beautiful wife who we all adore, and he has good friends he can rely on. When is he going to be happy if he cannot be happy with so much? It is… infuriating and rather a kick in the teeth to those who have far less.”

Amelia heard what Rebecca said, but she was struggling to divert her attention from Caroline and that odd, sad expression upon her face. What do you know? What are you not saying?

She was in the midst of mustering the courage to ask, to delve deeper into the mystery of Lionel Barnet, when the breakfast room door burst open and the housekeeper, Mrs. Scanlon, came bustling inside. She had a look about her that spelled ill tidings, her cheeks flushed red, the rest of her face a deathly pale, her eyes wide to the whites.

“There is an unexpected visitor, M’Ladies,” she said in a tight rasp. “I have placed him in the drawing room.”

Caroline pursed her lips. “An uninvited guest? Well, who is it?”

Mrs. Scanlon glanced at Amelia, her expression deeply apologetic. “It is Her Ladyship’s brother.”

Nausea roiled in Amelia’s empty stomach, acid rising up her throat. Even without Lionel’s company, she had not felt alone within the walls of Westyork. There was always someone who was eager to see her, always someone to talk to, always someone who wanted her opinion or just wanted to wish her a cheery greeting. Truly, she had come to think of Westyork as her home, to the point where she had almost managed to forget where she had come from.

“And Lionel absent?” Caroline grimaced. “Oh, this will not do at all.”

Mrs. Scanlon seemed confused. “His Lordship is already in the drawing room.”

“He is?” Amelia perked up.

“Yes, My Lady,” Mrs. Scanlon replied with a sympathetic smile. “He must have seen your brother come down the driveway, for he came through the front doors not two minutes after.”

But where have you been? Amelia shelved the thought for later, when she could steal a moment alone with her husband. Surely, he would not disappear again straight away. Not unless there were other secret doorways in the manor that she did not know about.

“I fear I have a terrible headache,” Rebecca piped up. “You will forgive me if I do not join you in welcoming your brother.”

Amelia sighed. “I wish I could have a sudden headache.”

“Then have one,” Rebecca urged, smiling. “You can come and sit with me in the library instead.”

Caroline gestured down at the eggs and toast that remained on her plate. “I shall finish my breakfast and then join you, Amelia. I have heard so much about your brother that I fear I shall take one of those mackerels on the side and slap him with it before anyone can stop me. As such, I must take a short while to gather myself, putting on my ‘polite’ face even if I have half a mind to strangle the wretch.”

“Of course, but do bring the mackerel when you have finally join us,” Amelia said, feigning a playfulness she did not feel. Even without seeing him, Martin had managed to suck all of the joy and merriment out of her.

Caroline flashed a wink. “I shall bring two. One for each cheek.”

A soft but real laugh escaped Amelia’s lips, imagining such a glorious thing, but reality quickly struck again. She rose slowly to her feet, as if she were on her way to an execution, and forced herself to head out of the breakfast room to the drawing room.

At least I have the power to tell him to leave now, she encouraged herself, halting in front of the drawing room door. Be brave, Amelia; he cannot hurt you anymore.

With a breath, she stepped into the room.