Different Strokes #2
“My condition affects only my mobility, not my reproductive capabilities,” Amelia cut in, her voice cool despite the humiliation burning in her chest. “Though I fail to see how my personal medical details are appropriate for a discussion.”
“Well said, my dear.” The dowager’s voice carried surprising approval. “Really, Aunt Gertrude, such questions are both vulgar and unnecessary. Besides, Charles seems quite enamored. I doubt he’s given a moment’s thought to such practical considerations.”
Aunt Gertrude sniffed. “In my day, practical considerations were paramount in marriage. Not like these modern love matches.”
“Indeed. Times change,” the dowager replied with finality. “Now, I believe dinner is about to be announced.”
As the old woman moved away, the dowager turned to Amelia with an expression that hovered between resignation and grudging respect. “You handled that remarkably well. Aunt Gertrude has terrorized this family for decades.”
“Thank you for your intervention,” Amelia said, still stunned by the sudden alliance.
The dowager’s lips thinned. “While I may have reservations about your suitability, you are now a Hereford. The Hereford family matters are not for our kinsmen to dissect.” Her voice softened marginally.
“Besides, Charles would be furious if he heard anyone questioning your capabilities in such a manner.”
While Amelia was pondering the dowager’s statement, the dinner announcement rang out. As couples began to form the procession into the dining room, she found herself momentarily adrift. Hereford was nowhere in sight, and she hesitated, uncertain of the proper protocol.
“My lady.” His voice came from behind her, warm and reassuring. “May I escort you?”
She turned to find him offering his arm, his expression softer than she’d seen it before. “Thank you,” she said quietly, grateful for his timely appearance.
As they took their places in the procession, he bent his head to murmur, “I saw Aunt Gertrude cornering you. Are you all right?”
“Yes, though your mother came to my rescue, strangely enough.”
Surprise flickered across his features. “Did she? Wonders never cease.” His hand covered hers where it rested on his arm. “What did Aunt Gertrude say that required rescue?”
Amelia hesitated. “She questioned whether my… leg… would affect my ability to bear children.”
Hereford’s expression darkened dangerously. “That interfering old—”
“No matter,” she interrupted quickly. “Your mother put her in her place quite effectively.”
His jaw remained tight. “I should have been there.”
“You can’t protect me from every unpleasant conversation, Charles.”
“I can certainly try,” he muttered, then seemed to catch himself. “Though I imagine you’re perfectly capable of handling most situations.”
“Most,” she agreed with a small smile. “Though I appreciate the sentiment.”
Their eyes met, and something shifted in the air between them—a moment of genuine connection amid the performance they’d been maintaining for the evening.
The moment shattered as they were ushered to their seats at the long dining table. Amelia found herself between an elderly duke who seemed half-asleep and a young viscount who spent the first course staring openly at her décolletage.
“So, Lady Hereford,” the viscount finally managed, dragging his gaze to her face with visible effort. “Everyone’s dying to know how you managed to tame the notorious marquess.”
“Tame?” Amelia echoed, taking a sip of wine. “I wasn’t aware my husband required taming.”
“Oh, come now,” the young man chuckled. “Hereford’s reputation is legendary.”
“I find gossip tedious,” Amelia interrupted, her tone frosty. “Perhaps we could discuss something of substance? Do you perchance have interests in railway development?”
The viscount looked taken aback. “Railways? Good God, no. Leave that to the merchants.” He lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “Though between us, was it his prowess—”
“Lord Dorset,” Hereford’s voice cut through the conversation from across the table, his tone pleasant but his eyes dangerously cold. “I believe you’re discussing matters inappropriate for mixed company.”
The viscount flushed. “Just making conversation with your charming bride, Lord Hereford.”
“Find another topic,” Hereford said sharply, his smile not reaching his eyes. “My wife’s scholarly work, perhaps. Her latest editorial on parliamentary reform was particularly incisive.”
“Parliamentary reform?” Dorset looked as if Hereford had suggested discussing sheep farming. “I hadn’t realized Lady Hereford was politically inclined.”
“Among her many talents,” Hereford replied, his gaze softening as it met Amelia’s. “Though her most remarkable quality is her ability to see through pretense. It’s quite uncanny.”
Dorset shifted uncomfortably. “Indeed? How… unusual.”
The rest of dinner passed more pleasantly as conversation turned to safer topics.
Amelia found herself watching Hereford when he wasn’t looking—the easy grace with which he navigated social waters, the genuine interest he showed in others’ conversations, the way his laugh transformed his face from merely handsome to truly striking.
After dinner, as the men prepared to retire for port while the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, Hereford caught her elbow.
“I’ll join the gentlemen briefly, then make our excuses,” he murmured. “Unless you’re enjoying yourself?”
“I’ve endured worse evenings,” she replied, no longer surprised by the consideration. “Though I wouldn’t object to an early departure.”
His smile was conspiratorial. “Give me half an hour.”
True to his word, Hereford appeared in the drawing room shortly after, smoothly inserting himself into the conversation around Amelia.
“I apologize, ladies, but I must steal my wife away,” he announced with practiced charm. “We have an early engagement tomorrow.”
As they made their farewells, the dowager marchioness drew Amelia aside. “You conducted yourself well tonight,” she said, her tone reluctantly approving. “Though that gown really is too daring for a woman of your position.”
“Thank you for your concern,” Amelia replied evenly. “And for your intervention with Lady Beecham earlier.”
“Yes, well. Family matters should remain private.” The older woman hesitated, then added more quietly, “Charles seems different with you.”
“Different how?”
“More focused. Less frivolous,” the dowager said after consideration. “More like his father in his better days.” Her expression softened fractionally. “It suits him.”
Before Amelia could respond to this revelation, Hereford appeared at her side. “Mother, we really must be going. I’m sure we’ll see you soon.”
The dowager reached up to straighten his cravat, the gesture maternal. “Mind you take care of your wife, Charles. She handled Gertrude admirably, but these gatherings can be exhausting for those unaccustomed to them.”
Despite the look of surprise, Hereford said nothing and only kissed his mother farewell.
In the carriage ride home, a comfortable silence settled between them—unexpected after the tension of the evening.
“Thank you,” Amelia said finally. “For extracting us at a reasonable hour.”
“My pleasure.” Hereford leaned back against the cushions, looking more relaxed than she’d seen him all evening. “You were magnificent, you know. Even Aunt Gertrude seemed impressed, and she once reduced a visiting ambassador to tears over dinner.”
Amelia smiled despite herself. “Your family is formidable.”
“They’re dragons, the lot of them,” he corrected with a chuckle. “Though Mother seemed almost approving of you by the end.”
“I’m still bewildered by your mother defending me against Lady Beecham.”
Hereford’s expression softened. “Despite her many faults, Mother understands dignity. She wouldn’t tolerate anyone questioning a Hereford publicly—even one she hasn’t fully accepted yet.”
“Is that what I am now? A Hereford?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.
In the dim light of the carriage lanterns, his gaze met hers with surprising intensity. “Yes,” he said simply. “Whether either of us planned it or not.”
Something warm unfurled in Amelia’s chest at the quiet certainty in his voice. This evening had revealed aspects of Charles she hadn’t anticipated—his protectiveness, his attentiveness, the careful way he’d shielded her from the worst of Society’s scrutiny.
As the carriage rolled toward home, she found herself wondering how many other facets of the marquess remained to be discovered beneath his carefully cultivated facade. And more disturbingly, why the prospect of discovering them suddenly seemed so appealing.