Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“ I t is nothing,” Amelia croaked, gazing into Lionel’s gleaming eyes.

She had never seen him look so fearsome, yet his touch against her cheek and his light grasp upon her hand could not have been gentler. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest at the closeness of him, for she had not expected to see him again. She had dreamed of it, against her will, but she had thought it impossible that they would meet before she departed.

I arranged it that way. You were not supposed to come here. You were not supposed to make this departure more difficult than it already is…

“ Who hurt you?” he pressed, his voice thick.

Her brow creased, a lump forming in her throat. “You did.”

“That is not what I meant,” he replied, a flicker of regret passing across his face. “Who did this to you?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Martin muttered. “ I did it, and she deserved it. You shall be quite all right, Lord Westyork, for no one would dare to say a word against you. Indeed, I expect you will be inundated with offers of marriage from every mother in society once your divorce becomes common knowledge, but what of us? I shall struggle to find a bride now, because of her. You can hardly blame me for striking her.”

Lionel stepped away from Amelia, turning very slowly. “I doubt your inability to find a bride will have anything to do with your circumstances,” he said darkly. “I told you, in no uncertain terms, that if you spoke to my wife rudely again, you would regret it. Clearly, you did not listen.”

In a blur that Amelia could not have prevented, even if she had wanted to, Lionel closed the distance between himself and Martin and swung a mighty right hook. Lionel’s fist collided with the side of Martin’s face—the same side, Amelia noticed, as the mark from her brother’s slap.

“I trust you will not forget this warning in a hurry,” Lionel snarled, striking Martin again, directly in the nose.

A thin wail shivered from Martin’s lips as his hands flew to his injured nose, his ensuing whimpers rather satisfying. He claimed to be proud and fierce, but when it came to it, he was indeed a cowardly weasel who was nothing without his father’s protection.

But, of course, Amelia could not allow Lionel to beat her brother to a pulp, which is what appeared to be imminent.

She rushed forward, recovering from the initial shock, and grabbed onto Lionel’s arm. With all of her might, she pulled him away from Martin, and did not stop pulling until they were out of the bedchamber and standing halfway up the hall.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” she rasped, panting hard. “What were you thinking?”

Lionel gazed down at her, his hand lifting as if he meant to cradle her cheek again… but he lowered it a moment later. “Come back to Westyork with me.”

“What?” she gasped, her head swimming.

“I came here to give you the divorce papers,” he said. “Now, I am asking you to come back to Westyork with me. I cannot leave you here with your brother, I cannot let you leave for the Americas, so… return with me.”

She took a step backward, shaking her head. “You cannot do this to me, Lionel. This is my choice.” She extended her hand. “Please, give me the divorce papers and then leave.”

“What is waiting for you in the Americas?” he asked suddenly, gazing at her with such warmth that she wanted to scream in frustration and throw her arms around him, all at once.

She swallowed thickly. “I have an aunt there.”

“You know her well?”

Amelia furrowed her brow and reluctantly shook her head. “I do not know her well at all, but she writes sometimes. She has always said that I would be welcome there, and she is the last thread that I have to my mother. I know I will be able to find contentment there.”

“What happened to your mother?” he asked, clearly attempting to buy himself some time. “I realize that I told you of my family, but I never asked about yours.”

Resting her hands on her hips, infuriated and helplessly endeared by the man she still loved, she puffed out a breath. “There is a lake at my father’s estate. It freezes over in the winter.” Her voice caught in her throat—the memory still raw so many years later. “We had an old dog called Mildred that my mother and I adored. Martin threw a bone across the ice and Mildred wandered out to fetch it.”

She took a moment, her heart sore. “Mildred fell through the ice, and my mother rushed to save that sweet girl. She pulled Mildred out somehow, and made it back to shore, and I thought that everything would be fine. Mildred recovered, but my mother did not. She got sicker and sicker, until… she passed away, holding me and Mildred in her arms. I do not think Martin has ever forgiven me for that.”

“Ever forgiven you ? Surely, he should be the one seeking your forgiveness?” Lionel raised a confused eyebrow.

She sighed. “He was not so cruel back then. That developed later. He did not throw the bone with any malicious intent.” A small smile curved her lips. “I have often wondered if he might be a better man, had my mother lived to counter my father’s brutality with her softness.”

“Perhaps, but I am still not going to leave you here with him,” Lionel said, reaching out to take hold of her hand. “Please, Amelia, come back to Westyork with me.”

The gentleness of his voice stole the breath from her lungs, but she could not give in so easily. She had spent days coming to terms with the fact that she would never have the marriage she had dreamed of with Lionel, and had spent those days trying to find peace with the idea of moving her life to the Americas.

She could not undo all of that work, simply because Lionel had arrived at the eleventh hour to ask her to come back to him. If that was what he wanted, he should have thought of it sooner.

“You asked what was waiting for me in the Americas,” she said haltingly, keenly aware of his rough palm against hers. “So, I have no choice but to ask what is waiting for me at Westyork. What has changed for me to return to?”

“Just come home with me,” he murmured. “I will explain, but I cannot do it here, so close to the docks where you mean to leave me for good.”

She knew that she did not need to humor him after everything that he had said to her in his study. She did not need to entertain his pleas if she did not want to, and nobody could have blamed her for telling him to go away and leave her alone.

But love was a peculiar thing that could make a sensible woman behave like a complete fool. She loved him even now, and doubted that would ever change, no matter how far away from him she managed to get. Her heart, after all, would remain wherever he was.

“I will return with you,” she murmured, “but only because I did not say farewell to Rebecca, and I have been consumed with guilt about that. Also, I have another proviso.”

Lionel smiled. “Go on…”

“I will hear whatever you have to say, but if I decide that I still wish to divorce you, you will pay for my passage to the Americas, considering you have cost me that today,” she replied sternly, refusing to make him think that, after all she had been through, she would forgive him without hesitation.

Indeed, she did not know what on earth he could say that would change her mind about the divorce, but curiosity was also a peculiar thing that could make a sensible woman do stupid things.

“I agree to your terms,” he said softly, leading her by the hand down the long hallway and down the staircase to the entrance hall.

As they made to leave the townhouse, collecting Amelia’s luggage, Lionel called out to the butler who lingered on the periphery, “See to it that the man upstairs is soundly kicked out of our house. If he will not go voluntarily, gather all the men you can and drag him out.”

“Yes, My Lord,” the butler replied, glancing warily up the staircase.

With that, still holding her hand, Lionel ushered her out of the front door and, apparently, to the place that she had sworn she would never return to.

Lionel did not let go of Amelia’s hand as the carriage trundled along the country roads, the sun dipping below the horizon in a blazing final display that streaked the evening sky with vibrant orange, blushing pink, regal purple, and a touch of red.

“My ship will have sailed by now,” she murmured, peering up at Lionel with a disapproving stare.

He nodded. “As I have promised, if you still desire to be separated from me entirely, I will pay for your passage.”

But I am glad that you are not on that ship. He did not want to say that yet, considering there was so much more that needed to be said first, but there was a great relief in having her at his side. There was an even greater relief in the fact that she had not tried to pull her hand out of his or moved to the other side of the squabs to get away from him.

“Did you not say that your uncle was in the Americas?” she asked, shifting slightly on the velvet squabs.

He nodded. “I did.”

“Do you think he might know my aunt?”

Lionel resisted the urge to chuckle. “Do you have any idea of how large the Americas are?”

“Yes, I know that, but stranger things have happened.” Amelia pouted a little, turning her gaze away from him.

They fell into a not-uncomfortable silence as the carriage rattled on, and as the twilight of evening gave way to the shadows of true night, Lionel’s heart swelled as he gazed down at his wife and realized she had fallen asleep.

She leaned against him, her head falling onto his shoulder, and though he knew he should not overstep, he could not help but put his arm around her, holding her closer to him.

For comfort, he told himself, knowing full-well that it was because he longed to.

She stirred briefly in her sleep, mumbling something under her breath. “I will not… be wooed, Lionel.”

He smiled. “Nor shall I try to woo you,” he whispered, “until you have heard all that I have to say. But I do pray that you can forgive me for deceiving you. I should have been honest from the start.”

Indeed, the more he thought about it, the more he suspected that Duncan had been right: she deserved to make her own decision, with all of the information available to her. It had been wrong of him to keep something so important from her, and it had been wrong of him to think that he knew best, without consulting her first.

Even so, it will never be the marriage you deserve—an everlasting love, he lamented, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. How could it be, when ‘forever’ might be far shorter than you think?