Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

W hat is that sweet sound? Where is it coming from? Amelia tried to eke her eyelids open, but they were so very heavy, as if she had not slept for a week.

Yet, the sound continued: a soft, melancholic song, hummed in the back of a melodious throat. A song that seemed familiar, but she could not place it.

Is someone singing me a lullaby? She tried to open her eyes again and, slowly but surely, they cooperated.

Low light greeted her vision, flickering slightly as if it came from a candle or a lantern. Blinking to clear some of the blurriness away, she looked around her, and found the source of that beautiful sound.

She appeared to be on the settee in the drawing room at Westyork, and Lionel was lying on the floor beside it with a blanket rolled up and tucked under his head as a pillow. He was the one humming that lovely song, his bespectacled eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling while he drummed a faint rhythm on his chest with his fingertips.

“Did I… lose some time again?” she croaked, her throat sore.

Lionel sat bolt upright, turning to look at her. “You are awake.”

“Apparently so.” She winced as a dull pain throbbed from one side of her skull to the other. “What… happened to me?”

“You do not remember?” He swiveled so that his body faced her. “What is the last thing you remember?”

She raised her hand to where it hurt, wincing again as a sharper pain shot through her head. “I remember hanging onto… that sticking-up bit of the saddle as if… my life depended on it. And feeling terribly unwell.”

Horror rippled through her, chasing the bristle of pain, for though she had no memory of expelling the contents of her stomach, there was every chance that she had. And right in front of the servants too. Goodness, what must they think of me?

“You fell,” Lionel said gently. “You landed rather hard, by all accounts, and bounced a fair distance. The physician said it was a miracle you did not break any bones.”

“Did I land on my head?”

“No, but you hit it,” he replied.

She mustered a smile. “My father always said I had a particularly thick skull that nothing could hope to get through. I am grateful that, at last, it has come to some use.”

Lionel raised an eyebrow. “Are you really making jests when you almost died?”

“Is there a better time?” She peered up at him, curious to know how long he had been there at her side.

He managed a small smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Ask me again tomorrow,” she replied, her skull pounding. “But if it makes you feel reassured, I do not think I am made for riding horses. I thought it would be liberating, or a welcome distraction at least, but I was mistaken.”

“You should have asked me to teach you,” he said, reaching for her hand.

His calloused palm was rough against her smooth skin, his grasp cautious as though he did not want to hurt her.

“You were not there, Lionel,” she reminded him, though not unkindly. “I had to dine alone again, and I daresay there is nothing more depressing than eating eggs and toast by oneself.”

He nodded slowly, biting his lip. “I know. I am sorry that I was not there. I regret it, if that helps to soothe you.”

“A little.”

They fell into a peaceable sort of silence, holding hands in the gloom of the drawing room. Beyond the windows, night had fallen. She could not see clearly, but it rather looked like tiny drifts of snow had gathered in the hatches of the panes.

“Is it snowing?” she asked, struggling to sit up.

Lionel’s other hand pressed against her shoulder, forcing her to lie back down. “It is, but you can see it when you are feeling improved. I will not have you risking your life for a second time just to see the snow.”

“But I would like to see it,” she protested. “I adore the snow, especially when it is falling. It might have stopped by morning.”

Lionel pulled a face, splitting his gaze between the garden doors and her, his frustration evident. In different circumstances, she was certain that he would have refused to let her get up, but there was something unusual about him that night. He was gentler, warmer, with an undercurrent of nerves that she had not seen from him before.

“Very well,” he mumbled, sliding his arms underneath her.

She yelped in surprise as he scooped her up off the settee, carrying her in his powerful arms to the garden doors. There, holding her with just one arm while she looped her arms around his neck for purchase, he opened up the doors and took her out onto the terrace.

Fat, fluffy flakes of snow drifted down like blossoms, a thick blanket already coating the gardens beyond, the world completely silent. Warm and safe in Lionel’s arms, Amelia smiled with untold glee and stuck her tongue out to try and catch a snowflake.

“What are you doing?” Lionel asked, with some laughter in his voice.

“Clearly, I am trying to taste a snowflake,” she replied merrily, for there was so little to love about winter. Yet, snow made it feel like the very best season.

He chuckled softly and, to her surprise, joined her in sticking out his tongue. She peered up at him in quite admiration, almost forgetting what she was doing. But as a flake landed on Lionel’s tongue and a beamed down at her triumphantly, she soon remembered… and would not be beaten in one of her favorite games.

A particularly large flake finally gave her what she wanted, the cold and delicate fragment landing on her tongue. It melted immediately, a droplet of cool water running down the back of her throat.

“You see,” she said. “No harm can befall me out here, with you. As long as you are at my side, I shall always be safe and quite content.”

The amusement faded from his face, and she knew she had said the wrong thing, even if she could not explain why.

“It is too cold. You will catch your death out here,” he said abruptly, carrying her back inside.

She did not protest as he wielded her over to the settee and lay her down, though she held onto his neck as he did so. His eyes widened in surprise as he tried to pull back, realizing that she was still hanging on.

“You should let go,” he said, his voice thick.

She frowned up at him. “What did I say to make you sad? You were enjoying yourself a moment ago, and then… you were not.”

“You did not say anything to make me sad. I realized how foolish I was being, allowing you outside in that bitter weather in your condition,” he replied, though she did not believe a word. “Now, I will remain here with you for the rest of the night. So please, let go.”

Pursing her lips, she finally released him… and swallowed down a rush of disappointment as he lay back down on the floor. At least he was nearby; she could not protest against that.

“If you need anything, I am right here,” he said from below, as his hand came up and reached for hers.

Somewhat surprised, she sandwiched his hand between both of hers, and blushed furiously as she gazed up at the ceiling. Perhaps, the accident had changed something for him. Perhaps, this was the beginning of a new chapter for the two of them, where nothing was left unsaid and their marriage of convenience became something altogether more fulfilling.

There you go, raising my hopes again. She smiled and closed her eyes, sending up a prayer that when tomorrow came, things would, indeed, be different.

A few hours had passed, and still Lionel could not sleep. He lay there on the hard floor, holding onto Amelia’s hand, unable to even think of drifting off.

I cannot do this to her…

The same thought had been racing around his mind in endless circles, leading nowhere. He was relieved that she had woken up and seemed to be herself, her memory intact, but he wondered if I might have been better for her to lose some of her memory. Or, perhaps, he just wished that he could.

Hurrying back to Westyork, making promises to the heavens, had confirmed something in his head, once and for all: he loved Amelia. He was not merely falling for her—he had fallen. But it had also confirmed something else; that he did not want her to have to go through the fear, the panic, the dread of what he had just endured.

No matter what I feel, I must stop her from knowing. I must change things, make her grateful that I am nowhere near her.

He gently squeezed her hand, listening to the soft sounds of her sleeping breaths, knowing how much it was going to hurt to relinquish her. All he had to do was think of her sticking her tongue out, catching snowflakes, or the press of her lips against his, and his resolve threatened to crumble.

It will be for the best.

It had to be.