Chapter 12
Apparently, the breakfast room was only for breakfasting. Amelia had returned there at seven o’clock sharp, only to find it dark and silent. The butler had kindly pointed her toward the dining room.
Nancy and Marjory had already found their way there.
They had no good clothes for dining in, of course, but Marjory had had the foresight to dress herself and their sister up in their Sunday best, which were their least darned and newest gowns, in a blue sprigged muslin and a burgundy satin, respectively.
Of course, a girl of Marjory’s age should never wear burgundy satin, but the material had come at a good price and had worn fairly well.
Beggars could not be choosers, after all.
As for Amelia, the day had slipped away from her between the library and Letitia’s private parlor. To her shame, she was aware that she’d let her sisters roam the house more than they ought.
I will have to do better in the future. If we are going to be here all day, I must do better.
The plain fact was that at home, she spent most of the daylight hours at the modiste’s. Marjory did her writing and helped keep the house, while Nancy spent time with their neighbor, and their dog. But now, Amelia was the one at a loose end.
Quiet voices drifted out of the dining room. Amelia paused, swallowing thickly, and smoothed down her own Sunday best gown. It was a dark green muslin, in an old-fashioned style, but one that she felt still suited her.
Careful, Miss Vanity, echoed a warning voice in her head. Think less about how pretty you might or might not look, and concentrate on looking modest and neat. Over-attention to one’s looks never did anyone any good.
That was Mama’s voice. She was not strict, exactly, but she firmly believed that a young woman should not consider her looks at all, and she strictly avoided any kind of vanity.
It seemed like a strange opinion to have, considering that she had spent decades living as a man’s mistress. But then didn’t people give up everything for love?
Stop dawdling, Amelia warned herself.
Pushing open the door, she stepped inside.
She was greeted by a wave of warmth and light.
The table was laden with food, a banquet just like the breakfast spread.
The footmen were in the process of serving wine.
At least, they were serving wine to Letitia and Stephen, who sat at the head of the table.
Marjory was receiving a very small amount of wine, mixed heavily with water, and Nancy had what appeared to be a glass of milk.
“Ah, there you are,” Letitia greeted. “Come on in, my dear. I have a seat for you here. We’re having soup for the first course, naturally, and the most delicious roast partridge for the main course. It’s my favorite fowl, you know.”
Amelia took her seat, smiling wanly. Where had her nerves come from? Anxiety bubbled in the pit of her stomach, which seemed truly ridiculous. It was only dinner, after all.
Soup was served. Nancy wrinkled her nose, but Marjory dug in with delight, only slurping occasionally. Letitia kept up a steady, easy stream of chatter, and Amelia found her mind drifting away.
Her gaze was drawn, again and again, to the man at the head of the table.
Stephen stayed quiet, not reacting at all to the chatter around him.
He seemed even broader and taller than usual in a plain, understated black suit.
The only drop of color on his form was the glittering red of a cravat pin, half-hidden in the folds of linen.
When he turned his head, letting the candlelight play over the left side of his face, she saw a mottled bruise following the line of his cheekbone.
It was too much. Amelia could not hold back a ragged gasp. Unfortunately for her, it came during a moment of silence. Letitia and her sisters glanced up at her, and Stephen’s head snapped to her.
“I… I’m sorry,” Amelia stammered, cheeks burning. “But you have a terrible bruise on your face, Your Grace.”
He blinked slowly. “It is hardly terrible. I have had worse.”
“How did you get it?”
“Boxing,” he responded coolly. “A friendly game, don’t worry.”
Was he angry with her? Amelia was not sure.
She nibbled on her lower lip, watching him curiously.
He had certainly seemed surprised to see her in the hallway after he had been talking to Nancy.
She still had not received a straight answer about the carnage in the foyer.
Nancy had said something about Tiny and Dust making friends, but Amelia saw no friendship in the shattered remains of those vases.
“I would hate to see what an unfriendly game looks like, then,” she heard herself say after a long pause.
The corner of his lip twitched, as if he wanted to smile but was holding back.
“Then, if I engage in an unfriendly game, I shall be sure to hide the results from you,” he answered, a hint of amusement in his voice.
To mask her uncertainty—and perhaps to calm her nerves—Amelia lifted her wine glass to her lips. It had a rich, full taste, much better than the watery wine she and Mama used to drink with dinner—this was, of course, when they could afford wine—and it swirled in her empty stomach.
“Some new dresses are planned,” Letitia announced, after a few moments of silence. “Amelia has taken my measurements. We shall be going shopping tomorrow to procure some fabric and take a look at some designs. You should come with us, Stephen.”
He chuckled. “I think not. But I hope you all have a pleasant time.”
Amelia set down her glass carefully. He had said nothing about her being restricted to the house. Did that mean he would allow her to go?
Should I risk an escape? Where would I even go?
She did not have the answer to that question. Not yet, at least.
“Tomorrow is not an ideal day, however,” Stephen added.
Amelia’s heart sank.
I knew it! He won’t let me go.
“Oh? What’s happening tomorrow?” Letitia prompted.
Stephen took a long sip of his wine. “We are moving to the manor.”
That seemed to invigorate Letitia. She threw a pleased smile at her grandson, as if he had said exactly what she hoped to hear.
“What is the manor?” Nancy piped up.
“I am speaking of Redcliffe Manor,” Stephen explained. “It is the family seat. It’s a larger and finer house than this place, and I think you will like it very much. You and Miss Spectacles might have your own rooms, if you like, Nancy.”
The prospect of her own room seemed to thrill Nancy beyond words. While she was recovering from this thrilling news, the footmen came around to clear the soup bowls.
What would come next? Would it be the partridge Letitia had spoken of?
At fine houses, Amelia knew that many courses were served.
Enough food to make their fine dinners back home look paltry.
Those special dinners, with a soup course, meat course, fish, and then sweetmeats, were only arranged when her father visited.
Perhaps Mama always wanted us to associate nice things with Father’s visits. Presents, lots of nice food, and an air of celebration. Perhaps she thought it would make up for the fact that we barely saw him.
He’d tried, of course. She knew that. Her father visited as often as he could. It wasn’t fair to demand more from him.
Amelia swallowed hard, pushing away thoughts of her father.
She hadn’t had the luxury to think of him in quite a while, what with their situation.
They’d been thrown out of their home so quickly while they were still reeling from the news of her father’s death, and then her mama had taken to her bed…
Enough. Focus on the here and now.
The wine sloshed in her stomach, mixing with the few spoonfuls of soup she’d taken. It made her feel nauseous.
“We’re moving to another house?” she asked cautiously. “So soon? Why can’t we stay here? This place is lovely.”
“Compared to what you are used to, I’m sure it is,” Stephen responded with a tight smile.
The next course was served. It was a collection of steamed vegetables, with a delicate cut of meat on the side.
“But Redcliffe Manor has been my family’s seat for generations, and it’s high time I returned. You’ll like it, I’m sure. And since you and your sisters brought virtually no baggage, packing will be as easy as winking.”
“I, for one, am thrilled to be going home,” Letitia announced, lifting her wineglass. “A toast, everybody, to going home.”
Amelia obediently raised her glass. Marjory and Nancy also joined in, clearly thrilled to be invited to join something as serious and interesting as a toast.
“And when we are settled in,” Stephen continued, his gaze darting around the table. “There’ll be a party. Of course, you girls are all invited.”
Marjory and Nancy gave gasps of delight, glancing eagerly at each other.
“You really mean it?” Nancy squealed. “A party?”
“I certainly do.”
Amelia felt as though she’d been frozen. A party? Surely any party Stephen would host would be for the ton.
We can’t go to a party like that.
“A party?” she managed, with a hesitant laugh. “That seems quite a serious event. I don’t think you’d enjoy yourself at all, Nancy.”
“I would! I would!”
There was a hint of panic in Nancy’s voice now, as if she were terrified that the promise of a party had only been dangled in front of her and would be whisked away. A meltdown was coming, so Amelia hastily reached across the table and patted her hand.
“Never mind, we’ll talk about it later,” she whispered, nodding encouragingly.
“I’m not sure there’s much to talk about,” Stephen responded coolly. “I will be hosting the party. Grandmother will organize it, and as I said, you are all invited. I hope you’ll come. And for the party, Miss Spectacles, I hope to wear my father’s pocket watch.”
He leveled a long look at Marjory, who flushed, hunching her shoulders.
“I have it here,” she mumbled, reaching into a pocket in her skirt which Amelia had not noticed before.