Chapter 32

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

A knock came at the bedchamber door, startling Amelia so violently that she dropped the book that she had been packing into her valise. It landed with a thud on the floor, splaying open, spilling out the little bit of fabric that she had been using as a bookmark: a strip from the seam of the gown that Lionel had accidentally torn.

“Goodness, you gave me a fright,” she gasped, turning as Caroline entered the room.

The older woman eyed the valise. “I did not realize you were going away.”

“Yes, just a… brief visit to a friend,” Amelia replied, hating that she had to lie to someone who had become very dear to her.

But Caroline was Lionel’s grandmother. Caroline had hopes for Amelia and Lionel that Lionel had just soundly dashed. Amelia would not be the one to disappoint the older woman, nor did she want anyone to try and persuade her to stay when she had already made up her mind. The longer she remained at Westyork, the harder it would be to eventually leave.

“Which friend?” Caroline asked, coming to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Isolde,” Amelia said, a note too quickly. “She has not been at all well with this pregnancy, and I believe she would appreciate the company. She wrote to me and sounded terribly morose.”

Caroline nodded slowly. “Well then, of course you must go to her. Is she in London for the winter?”

“She is.”

“You will be staying at the townhouse, I assume?”

Amelia swallowed uncomfortably. “I expect so.”

“Shall I send word ahead of your arrival, or have you done so already?”

It was obvious that Caroline could see right through the ruse, but Amelia was already invested in it. If she wished to leave Westyork unhindered, then she had to keep fibbing, even if Caroline was aware of each lie.

“There is no need. I will be staying with Isolde for the first night or so, so I can inform the townhouse staff while I am there,” Amelia said, stuffing more of her belongings into the valise.

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “Should your lady’s maid not be doing this for you?”

“I did not want to bother her.”

All of a sudden, Caroline reached out and took hold of Amelia’s hand, her expression softening into deep concern. “What has happened, dear girl? I ordinarily do not tolerate being lied to, but I can see that you are in a fair amount of pain. And I suspect I know who has caused it.” She sighed. “I will not stop you if you wish to keep up the pretense, but I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. I do not take sides merely because someone shares my blood.”

Amelia held the older woman’s gaze and tried very hard not to burst into tears, for she would miss Caroline and Rebecca almost as much as she would miss Lionel. At least, the Lionel who had been so affectionate and sweet and tender with her. A Lionel that she knew she had not imagined, no matter what he said.

She shook her head slowly. “I am leaving for a brief visit to a friend.”

“Then, you intend to return here?” Caroline smiled sadly.

Amelia cleared her throat. “I am sorry, Caroline.”

“Yes, I can see that.” The older woman frowned, a sorrowful sigh escaping her lips. “Will you promise me something?”

Amelia hesitated, before giving a small nod.

“Promise me that you will not make any decisions while you are not in a calm state of mind. Go to London, enjoy London, be in the company of your friends, but do not do anything that you might regret,” Caroline said with all the wisdom and affection of a mother. “Do not be gone for too long.”

The older woman pulled Amelia into an unexpected hug, and Amelia embraced her in return, knowing full well that she would not be coming back. Once she left for London, that would be it: there would be no undoing her decision.

If he cannot love me, I want nothing from him. I am sorry. Perhaps, it was foolish to throw away the promise of security, but at least it was her choice.

The closer the carriage got to London, the more anxious Amelia became. Her stomach roiled, though it had nothing to do with the swaying motion. She had tried to imagine what response she would receive from her father and brother, and each possibility was more awful than the last.

It would be a relief if they merely gloated, but I do not think I can expect that. She gulped and gazed across at the corner of the squabs where Lionel had slept on that first journey from the church to Westyork, in just his shirt and trousers, looking so handsome that, even then, she had wondered how she was supposed to just be a distant wife to him.

“I do not love you, Amelia. That is my feeling on the matter.” Those cruel words stabbed at her mind, dispelling the warming image of her sleeping husband.

When she had gone to his study, she did not know what she had expected to hear from him, but his utter rejection of her love had not been at all anticipated. She doubted she would have intruded at all if she had known he would say that.

I was so certain. Could I have really been so mistaken? She had asked herself the question again and again throughout the journey to London, flitting back and forth between “yes” and “there is no possible way.”

None of it made any sense to her. Indeed, all she knew was that she could not show her face in front of Lionel ever again, and that her heart would never recover. She had given it to him, and she had no hope of ever claiming it back. It would stay with him, even if she was not there.

A short while later, the carriage pulled to a halt outside the townhouse that she had loathed for most of her life. At least at the Lisbret Estate, there were more places to hide and be alone, but the townhouse made it impossible to escape.

With a shaky breath, she got out and made her way up the steps, taking a moment before she knocked.

The butler answered a moment later, his eyebrows rising in sharp surprise as he looked upon her. “My Lady… I was not aware that you were expected today.”

“I am not, but I need to see my father and brother,” she replied, holding herself as confidently as she could. “Might you fetch them to the drawing room?”

The butler grimaced, as if that was the very last thing he wanted to do. “Of course, My Lady. May I bring you anything while you wait?”

“No, thank you.” She smiled, realizing with some irony that she was probably not the only one who hated this townhouse.

She stepped into the house and was immediately struck by the familiar scents and sounds, so different to Westyork and Lionel’s townhouse. There was nothing welcoming about her father’s London residence. It was cold and stark, the air perpetually strained with an invisible tension.

Shaking off her unease as best she could, she headed for the drawing room where her marriage to Lionel had been confirmed, and sat down in the same spot where she had first heard that she was to be married to him without delay.

I was so relieved…

She did not have to wait long for her father and brother to come striding into the room, wearing less-than-pleased expressions as they saw her. It was evident that they had assumed they would never see her again, particularly Martin. After all, Lionel had sent her brother away from Westyork with his tail between his legs.

“If you have come for that apology, you still will not receive it,” Martin said snidely, folding his arms across his chest.

Dread gripped Amelia’s heart in a tight fist as she gathered her courage to say what had to be said. “Actually, I have come to apologize. I have come to apologize for the trouble that is about to descend on you both, because of me.”

“What are you twittering about?” her father, Francis, asked tersely, his face a sneer.

Amelia gulped. “Unfortunately, I will soon be divorced. As you are undoubtedly aware, society does not look too kindly upon divorce, so?—”

“I beg your pardon?” Martin scoffed, the glint in his narrowed eyes somewhere between twisted delight and abject disgust.

Amelia took a breath. “I am to be divorced. I cannot speak any more plainly.”

“Out of the question,” Francis snarled, his face turning an alarming shade of puce. “I would rather see you dead before I saw you divorced.”

Martin stepped forward. “I knew that wretched beast could not be trusted. I knew he would bring disgrace upon our household.” He shook his head vehemently. “I shall find the man at once and challenge him to a duel. He cannot be permitted to get away with this insult. Father, we should ride there immediately. This cannot wait a moment longer.”

“There is no use in that,” Amelia shouted to get her voice above Martin’s. “He is not at fault here. I was the one who asked for the divorce, and he is being gracious enough to fulfill that request.”

At least, she hoped he was. He had not disagreed, not exactly, and she had a feeling that he would abide by her wishes, simply because she had asked. Of course, she was aware that annulments and divorces were not easy to come by, but as there had been no consummation or anything of that ilk, she hoped it would be a simpler process.

Her brother and father stared at her as if she had grown two extra heads, both of them the very reflection of each other. They scowled the same, their mouths twisted in the same way, and the revulsion in their eyes was identical.

“You did what? ” Francis seethed, now so red he had veered into the palette of purple.

Amelia clasped her hands together. “I requested a divorce. I deceived him, I felt guilty, so I asked for him to divorce me, so that he might have his life back.”

The slap came out of nowhere, stinging across her cheek like a nest of wasps had attacked her at once. Her brain rattled in her skull, her eyes dazed for a moment, before they began to well with tears. Not tears of any emotion, just tears of shock and smarting pain.

She blinked up at her brother as he grabbed hold of her wrist and drew his hand back, preparing to slap her again.

When the second swing came, she was prepared for it, ducking underneath his hand and sending him off balance. As he staggered, she shot to her feet, shoving him hard in the side. Martin fell forward, his hands slamming into the settee to break his fall, while Francis turned the color of blackberry juice.

“I came as a courtesy,” she snapped, holding her hand to her sore cheek. “I came to warn you of what you can expect, because you are still my family, even if I wish that you were not. But until my divorce is confirmed, you will remember that I am a Countess, and deserve due respect.”

Martin lurched back to his feet, his eyes ablaze with rage. “You are nothing of the sort and deserve nothing of the sort. You are nothing but a wastrel, and once society gets wind of this, you will be the pariah you have always wanted to be.”

“Then, it is fortunate that I will not here to endure that,” Amelia replied, surprised by the strength in her voice. “I have money enough to make arrangements to go to Aunt Florence in the Americas, and that is where I mean to stay—where I might actually be welcome.”

Francis huffed and puffed. “No daughter of mine will go to the Americas! You will remain married to the Earl. You will not disgrace this family any more than you have already done, so I suggest you tend to that redness on your cheek, then we shall return you to Westyork at once.”

“No, no daughter of yours will go to the Americas,” Amelia replied defiantly. “But this daughter of my mother’s will. You have no control over me anymore, Father, and you cannot make me change my mind. And though I wish you would say one kind thing and offer me good fortune in my venture, I know better than to expect it. I will find happiness among my mother’s family, and I shall forget I ever had to endure your cruelty.”

Martin moved as if to hit her again, but she stepped back and put her hands up in a gesture of defense, glaring at him with the anger of all the years she had suppressed her fury and hurt.

“Do not dare to touch me again, Martin,” she snapped. “If you do, I shall go to the scandal sheets before I depart and tell them every last one of your wicked secrets. I might have been silent in this household for years, but I have listened more closely than you think, hearing things you thought I had not.”

Martin paled, his mouth agape.

“What is she talking about?” Francis barked. “What on earth has come over the pair of you?”

Amelia held Martin’s gaze fiercely. “I think you and Father ought to have a long conversation about the gambling halls, dawn duels with furious husbands, and, to that end, your dalliances with married ladies.” She smirked. “Meanwhile, I must prepare for my voyage. There is much to do, though I do not expect you to wave me off.”

Brimming with satisfaction, though her cheek still throbbed, she walked out of the drawing room and out of the townhouse for what she prayed was the very last time. And as she left, she could have sworn she saw the butler cast her a proud smile.

Still, it was not an entirely triumphant moment, for she was not just leaving her father and brother behind—she was leaving all hope of love and happiness with Lionel behind, too. There was every chance that even the Americas would not be far enough away to forget what she was giving up.