Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

A melia stirred to morning light caressing her eyelids, blinking awake.

“Good morning, My Lady,” Bea’s voice greeted her, snapping her attention toward the nearby armchair.

It took Amelia a moment to get her bearings. She gazed down at her hand, running her fingertips across it, certain that when she had fallen asleep, Lionel had been holding it. She glanced down at the spot on the floor where he had lain, but there was no rolled up blanket and no Lionel.

“He had to tend to some business,” Bea explained, as if reading her mind. “He told me to sit here and stay here until you woke up. I was more than happy to do so. I rarely get to sit in the nice chairs.”

Amelia frowned. “Was he here all night?”

“He was, My Lady. He left just after dawn,” Bea replied.

Technically, Lionel had not broken his promise, yet it still felt like he had bent the parameters somewhat. He must have known that she would be expecting to see him there in the morning: the first face she might actually want to see, although Bea was not unwelcome.

“Did he mention whether or not he would join me for breakfast?” Amelia asked, her head foggy with sleep and frustration. There was still a faint, dull ache in her skull, but it was not nearly as bad as it had been last night.

Bea tilted her head to one side. “I believe he said he would. Lady Rebecca and the Dowager will likely be there too. They’ve been so worried about you, My Lady. We all have.” She gestured back at the drawing room door. “Mrs. Bishop has been praying for you while baking her buns and bread through the night, and I don’t think a one of us got much sleep.”

That, at least, was a reason to smile. “I am sorry for worrying you all,” Amelia said shyly. “I doubt that Mrs. Scanlon will allow me within fifty miles of a horse, ever again, and I cannot blame her.”

Bea chuckled. “You’re made of stern stuff, My Lady, and I’m mightily glad that you’re in one piece. I don’t know what any of us would have done without you.” She paused. “You’ve brought a feeling to this manor that I can’t quite explain. It’s like… hope, I suppose.”

“You are just saying that because I am in this sickbed,” Amelia insisted, forever uncomfortable with compliments. She had never received enough to know how to contend with them.

Bea shook her head. “I’m not, My Lady. I wasn’t here when the former Lord and Lady were living, but Mrs. Scanlon was—she says things were different then, that there was so much love and hope in the house that, sometimes, it was overwhelming. Then, after the Lord and Lady were gone, it got all sad. And the less said about that uncle of His Lordship’s, the better. Mrs. Scanlon isn’t quick to anger, but I think she wanted to wring his neck by the time His Lordship came back.”

“And… you think that love and hope could happen here again?” Amelia asked haltingly, holding her own hand, daydreaming of being carried out into the snow, watching Lionel catch a snowflake on his tongue.

Bea cast her mistress a pointed look. “You should’ve seen the way His Lordship flew back to get to you! He didn’t hesitate. If he hadn’t had his horse, I’d wager he would have run faster than any man living to be at your side. If that’s not an act of love and hope, I need new eyes.”

Letting the encouraging words sink in, Amelia’s heart began to lighten, her own hopes beginning to rise up once more.

She thought of Isolde and Edmund, a couple so hopelessly, enviably in love with one another that it was almost too much. In the same situation, Edmund would have moved heaven and Earth to reach Isolde, and he would not have left her side until he was certain she was all right. Lionel was behaving in much the same way.

I dare not believe it, in case I am wrong, but… I do not think this love is as unrequited as I suspected. Lionel’s actions, if not his words, told her everything she needed to know.

“I hope you are right,” she said to Bea, as she gingerly sat up. “If it is not too much trouble, I think I should like to bathe before breakfast.”

The lady’s maid jumped to her feet. “Of course, My Lady. After all, you’ve still got a lot of lawn on you.”

Glancing down at her torn dress and scraped arm, Amelia had no choice but to laugh. “Why, indeed I do.”

Bathed and refreshed and feeling altogether more normal, Amelia descended the stairs with a new spring in her step. Lionel would be waiting for her, and perhaps she would be able to convince him to take a turn about the gardens with her before he tended to any more business.

He would not deny me after all I have been through, she told herself, smiling with delight. Things were going to be different from now on; she could feel it in the air, like snowflakes falling.

At the door to the breakfast room, she took a moment to smooth down the front of her dress before confidently stepping inside.

“Amelia!” Rebecca cried, leaping up from her chair and running to greet her sister-in-law.

Amelia hugged the girl warmly, while her worried eyes surveyed the breakfast table. “I am sorry to be so late to breakfast.”

“Not at all, Amelia,” Rebecca urged, pulling back. “Goodness, if I were in your position, I would stay in my bed for a week. I am surprised, and rather impressed, that you are up and about. Are you feeling well? How is your head? Mercy, that is a mean-looking bruise.”

Amelia mustered a brave smile. “You should see the lawn.”

Rebecca laughed and pulled Amelia toward one of the places that had been set at the table. There were four in total, and three were now occupied. A good sign, or so Amelia hoped. Yes, Lionel was not yet at the breakfast table, but he would come if there was a place for him.

“I must look like an old crone,” Caroline chimed in, pouring a cup of tea for Amelia, fussing over her. “I did not sleep a wink last night, fretting about you. You cannot give us the perfect Lady Westyork and then take her away due to a riding mishap.”

Rebecca nodded. “You should have told me that you wished to learn how to ride. I would have been glad to teach you and, in return, you could have taught me how to be an elegant lady of society.”

“Heavens, I am afraid I cannot teach things I know nothing about,” Amelia quipped, her attention split between the two women and the door.

“Nonsense,” Rebecca insisted. “You are exactly the sort of lady that I hope to be, and when you are ready, I shall teach you to ride. And I shall keep bothering you about your end of the bargain until you relent and teach me all of your enchanting ways.”

Caroline cleared her throat in a pointed manner. “Rebecca, darling, perhaps we ought to let Amelia eat and drink something before you start making demands of her.”

“You see,” Rebecca said with a smile. “I am utterly mannerless.”

Still, Rebecca retreated to her own chair and allowed Amelia a moment of quiet to take a bite of toast, a sip of tea, and to gather her thoughts.

“I do not suppose you know when Lionel will be joining us, do you?” she asked, a short while later.

Caroline raised her gaze from the morning papers. “He has eaten already, my dear. He had a tray taken to his study about an hour ago.”

“What?” The word left Amelia’s mouth as a croak.

Caroline lowered the papers. “Did he tell you that he would be joining you for breakfast?”

“No, but…” Amelia grabbed her cup of tea and took a deep gulp, hoping to conceal the crack in her voice.

“I confess, I was equally surprised,” Caroline said, a look of determination upon her face. “You have had a nasty fright and a near miss. The least he could do is eat breakfast with you.”

Amelia’s cheeks burned, not with embarrassment but with anger. She agreed wholeheartedly with Caroline’s sentiments but, more than that, she was tired of having her heart flung back and forth as if it were a toy to be played with.

Either I am missing something important, or I have been so very blind and foolish… She took another gulp of tea, almost choking on the warm mouthful.

Why did he lie beside her makeshift sickbed all night if he did not care? Why had he taken hold of her hand, when he had not had to? Why had he carried her out to enjoy the snow? Why had he raced to her aid when he heard that she had fallen? Why had he kissed her, what felt like forever ago? Why had he carried her to her bed from the library, instead of just leaving her there?

The list of bitter questions was endless, each one whirling through Amelia’s mind in a violent maelstrom. The answers, however, were evasive, hidden behind a fog of utter chaos.

“Excuse me,” Amelia said, rising to her feet. “I fear I no longer have much of an appetite and must retire for a while.”

Caroline gave a discreet nod. “If you are feeling better this afternoon, let us take a walk in the gardens—just you and me. I do not walk fast these days, but I listen well.”

“I will… let you know in due course,” Amelia replied, realizing that the older woman knew exactly where she was headed. It was not to her bedchamber, but straight to the source of her turmoil.

Five minutes later, she stood in front of the bookcase that hid the entrance to Lionel’s private study. It took a minute more for her to muster all of her anger and exasperation and hurt and bewilderment, and push open that secret door to her husband’s inner sanctum.

Lionel sat in his chair, leaning back in a casual posture, a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. He was not busy at all, and his guilt showed on his face as their eyes met across the room.

“Amelia, this is… unexpected,” he said coolly, sitting straighter in his chair. “You should be resting.”

Amelia stepped further into the room. “Is that why you were not at breakfast? Did you think I would be resting?”

“It is what the physician instructed,” he replied without feeling, setting his teacup and book down. “You should adhere to it. I have seen plenty of head injuries. They are dangerous.”

She faltered at that, trying to imagine all of the horrors he must have seen on countless battlefields. A moment later, she shook her sympathy away, for if she backed down now, she had a feeling she would not be able to stoke up enough furious fire for a confrontation again.

“I feel perfectly fine,” she told him. “You would have known that if you had been there when I woke up, as you alluded to last night. Yes, I know you said you would stay with me until morning, but you are no idiot—you knew what I would think when you said that; that you would be there until I was awake.”

“I had things to tend to,” he said, his voice so hollow that it was like speaking to a different man entirely.

“Your tea and books? You could not have had them brought to the drawing room?” she countered defiantly.

“I was taking a brief respite before I began my work again,” he explained indifferently, stifling a yawn. “Not that how I arrange my schedule is of any concern to you.”

“No, Lionel, but having you nearby when that is what you promised is of concern to me,” she rasped, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest.

He shrugged. “I left your lady’s maid with you. I would have been summoned if there was any trouble.”

She stared at him in abject disbelief, trying to find the man she was falling for beneath the cold mask he wore. He would not look at her in return, picking up a letter from his desk and reading through it absently, as if she were not even there.

I know this game, Lionel, and I do not care for it. He was pushing her away again, further than before, and if she let him, that would be it. She would have no fight left for someone who did not want to fight with her, for the future of their marriage, for the happiness she was certain they could have together.

“I do not know why you are so determined to keep me at arm’s length, Lionel, nor why you are so mercurial with your affection toward me,” she said with every fiber of her strength, holding her sore head high. “If you were a rake, it would make sense, but you are not. You have shown, time and again, that you care for me. You are pushing me away for a reason, but I should like to give you a reason to stop.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Clearly you are still suffering from your head injury,” he said. “Let me send for someone to return you to your bedchamber.”

“No, Lionel. I will not be silenced, and I will not have you use my bruised head as an excuse. I am not in my father’s house anymore; I will speak without fear.” She cleared her dry throat. “I am falling in love with you, Lionel. Have fallen in love with you, in truth. I tried not to, I promise I did, but… my heart is yours and I cannot change the way that I feel.”

Her breaths came in ragged gasps as the words left her lips, finally out there in the open for his ears only. They could not be stuffed back inside her mouth or taken back, and as she stood there, watching Lionel’s face transformed by a ripple of shock, she prayed he would not make her wish that she could.