Chapter 13 #2
Amelia flinched, glancing over at Letitia, but the old woman’s face was calm and serene. She raised her eyebrows, waiting patiently for Amelia’s reply.
“I suppose that would be a sensible thing to do, should the opportunity present itself,” Amelia managed.
“I did not ask if it was prudent to marry. I asked if you wish to marry. Come, my dear, humor a bored old woman. Is there a gentleman for whom your heart beats faster?”
An image of Stephen’s face flashed before her, quickly enough that she recoiled as if she were slapped. His eyebrows were raised sardonically, his eyes dark and glinting. Heat bloomed in her chest, sharp as real fire, and she sucked in a breath.
“I… No,” she stuttered. “Of course not. When would I have time for such a thing?”
Only a second or two could have elapsed between Letitia’s question and Amelia’s answer, but even so, the time seemed to stretch out into hours, pointed and incriminating.
Letitia’s expression did not change, but there was a hint of thoughtfulness in her eyes now. She watched Amelia, letting a beat or two pass before answering.
“Well, I suppose you are young. There is no rush. I don’t agree with the idea of girls as young as sixteen or seventeen hurrying to the altar. One is no more than a child at that age, and marriage is certainly not for children.”
“Yes, these young girls never marry boys of their age, do they?” Amelia murmured bitterly.
“They are always marrying men twice their age, at the very least. Maybe three or four times. Not too long ago, Emmeline and I made a trousseau for a girl who was to be wed. She had only just turned sixteen, the very day she married. She was a tiny creature, very petite. She still kept all her dolls on her bed, or so she told me. I met her husband only once, when he came to settle the bill. He was five-and-fifty if he was a day, and could have been taken for ten years older. It… it turned my stomach.”
“Sir Richard Bowles and Miss Swindon,” Letitia murmured, her face darkening.
“There are a few matches like that every Season. Nobody really approves of it, but nor does anybody speak out against it. Miss Swindon’s family spent months congratulating themselves on the rightness of the match.
I think they would have done better to spend that time explaining to Miss Swindon what married life really entailed, and that she was not simply entering another father-daughter relationship.
The marriage is not going well, from what I have heard. ”
Amelia shuddered. She conjured up an image of the waifish Miss Swindon, and her stomach twisted when she put her side by side with the hulking, red-faced Sir Richard. Her imagination wandered further, putting them in bed together, and that was even worse.
In the blink of an eye, the scene changed, and now it was Amelia in bed, lying breathless against downy pillows, and who was looming over her, elbows pressed into the mattress on either side of her?
Stephen.
Desire coiled in her gut, knotting her insides, and she swallowed hard, forcing her eyes open. The feeling pulsed lower, right down to the apex of her thighs.
She did not want to feel like that, not here.
“Appalling,” she managed.
Letitia nodded with a sigh. “Yes, it is, but what can one do about it? Oh, I do believe we are almost there.”
At once, Marjory and Nancy leaned over to the window, eyes bright, and pressed their noses against the glass.
Amelia just about managed to conceal her own excitement, glancing almost carelessly out the other window.
They had taken a turn off the busy London street, onto a winding, paved road that led through rich green gardens. It was not all bare, rolling lawns, certainly not. No, there were swathes of flowerbeds, carefully maintained shrubberies, and clusters of tree glades scattered artlessly around.
Just beyond the trimmed flowerbeds, she saw a sort of little wilderness, where the garden was permitted to grow as it liked.
There were trees leaning toward each other, hip-high grass, and even weeds tangling together.
There appeared to be a path, however narrow and rocky, winding through the green darkness.
Where does it lead?
Amelia found herself looking forward to exploring.
“If you enjoy strolling,” Letitia said, following her gaze, “then you will thoroughly enjoy the gardens here. There are all sorts of walks, and a folly up on the hill behind the house. I cannot make the walk myself these days, but you may explore as you like with the girls. Perhaps Stephen will be your guide.”
Perhaps not.
Amelia managed a terse smile and fell back against her seat.
This is going to be my prison for the foreseeable future. A pretty prison it may be, but what should it matter if the bars of my cell are gold or plain iron? I still cannot get out.
At that depressing thought, the carriage lurched to a halt.
Peering out of the window, Amelia caught a glimpse of wide, polished marble steps leading up to a massive, arched front door.
Two lines of servants winged away from the door, backs straight, presumably arranged in descending order of importance.
A butler and a housekeeper were descending toward them.
At least, she assumed that was what they were.
Letitia clapped her hands. “We are here! Out you get, girls. You will be well cared for, and we shall be back soon.”
Nancy and Marjory needed no further encouragement. They scrambled out of the carriage, talking excitedly, without so much as a backward glance. With hardly any warning, Stephen appeared out of nowhere, stepping nimbly into the carriage and slamming the door shut behind him.
He carried the strong scent of horse sweat, and perhaps his own sweat. It was not repulsive, not with the undertones of soap on his skin. It was… It was strange.
Amelia shifted, clearing her throat, and wished her heart would stop beating so hard.
“Well then,” Stephen drawled, and she felt his eyes land on her. “Shall we go?”