Chapter 27
Amelia decided that it was her fault that she was lost. At the time, with Stephen and Harry grappling in that dark alleyway, the knife flashing, it had seemed the obvious solution to turn tail and flee.
And now here she was, plowing through the trees, the ground sticky and muddy under her feet. A faint mist rolled amongst the greenery, damp and clinging. She could see tiny beads of moisture clinging to the ends of her hair, and could feel the dampness of her clothing against her skin.
The ground was sloping up, slowly and surely. She would have changed direction and allowed her exhausted body to follow an easier path, only she was afraid of getting even more lost if she turned around. Or worse yet, running into Harry.
I should have stayed. What was I thinking, running away like that? Why didn’t I make sure that Stephen was safe? Why didn’t I ask him what he thought about it all, if he’d forgive me…
Amelia staggered to a halt.
I want him to forgive me. I want to forgive him. I… care for him.
Oh, heaven help me.
That terrifying and thrilling word echoed in her head. Stephen would be safe, she was sure of it. Knife or not, it didn’t seem reasonable that a man like Harry could harm a man like Stephen.
He’s done it before, though, hasn’t he?
She closed her eyes briefly, stumbling forward, and was rewarded by a tree root catching her hem, making her stumble. She nearly went down, saving herself at the last moment and staggering forward. Forward, and out of the trees.
It seemed she had arrived.
Amelia blinked, squinting in the moonlight. With a rush, she realized that this was Stephen’s estate. Hadn’t Letitia told her about a folly up on a hill near the house?
And there it was. There was a small clearing on top of the hill, which made her think of an old man’s bald spot.
At the edge of the clearing, half-hidden in the bushes, was a faux ancient tower.
It was a pretty enough spot, made a little creepy by the greenish mist crawling over the ground around it.
More importantly, it was probably dry inside.
Hitching up her damp hem, Amelia hurried toward it, slipping into the darkness.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. There were no stairs, no way to climb the tower. Of course not; it was a folly. The clue was in the name. Instead, she found herself in a circular room. It was dry, as she’d hoped, with a few padded benches here and there.
To her surprise, she found a deep alcove in the wall that contained a candle, matches, and even a folded blanket.
With a sigh of relief, she took off her damp shawl and pulled the blanket around her shoulders.
The candle flared to life, and she allowed herself a second sigh of relief as the light crept through the place, filling it with a dancing, buttery glow and a sense of warmth.
Now what?
Almost as soon as she thought that, she heard a rustle outside. Stiffening, Amelia held her breath, straining her ears. The rustle turned into a regular crunching sound that could be nothing but footsteps.
It’s him, Amelia thought, panic clawing up her throat. It’s my brother. He’s come to finish me off once and for all, then he’ll go after Marjory and Nancy.
A figure appeared in the doorway, faintly out of breath. She blinked, seeing her brother for a half-second, before it became clear that the figure was too broad, too stocky.
“Stephen,” she breathed.
He placed a hand on either side of the doorframe, not entering yet.
“Amelia.” There was something taut and choked in his voice. “I thought I wouldn’t find you. Thankfully, you left a trail through the woods that even a blind man could follow.”
Amelia reddened. “I thought I’d gotten lost, but this folly is on your land, isn’t it?”
“It is. My grandmother had it built when she was young and newly married. She adores the place and comes here often, hence the padded benches, the candles, the books, and so on. I’m glad you stumbled upon it. It’s a vile night to be out in the open.”
To make his point, he stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him. It shut out the silvery moonlight, but a few tendrils of mist, cut off from the rest of the fog, curled over the floor for a moment or two before vanishing.
“What about Harry?” Amelia managed. It was an effort even to say his name.
Stephen’s eyes darkened. “Tristan has him.”
“Tristan? How did…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters a little. Amelia, your brother planned to kill you.”
“No, he wanted me to kill myself.”
“And you would never have done that. Can you not see how things might have escalated? Tell me how this came to be, Amelia. You’ve always been so clear about your hatred for your brother. How on earth did you meet him? You were in his house. How could you have been so foolish?”
Amelia flinched, a twinge of anger shooting through her. “I’m not sure you have the right to demand answers from me.”
“Don’t I?”
“No! I might not believe Harry’s claim that you lied about his part in your abduction—”
“I told you the truth about that,” Stephen snapped.
She lifted a hand. “I know. I believe you. It’s just that Harry was…
was convincing. I suppose I wanted to believe that my brother could be redeemed.
He’s my flesh and blood, after all, and there’s no denying that my father did wrong by him and the Viscountess.
It’s wrong for a man to have a second family, to keep mistresses, and there can never be an exception. ”
“So you wanted him to be a good man after all. I can understand that. But he was responsible for my abduction, Amelia. I didn’t lie about that.”
She nodded tiredly, hanging her head. “I know. But I don’t believe that he lied about everything.”
There was a short silence.
“And what was he honest about, then?” Stephen asked. “Come, tell me.”
She folded her arms. “I’m not sure I want to discuss it.”
He rolled his eyes and groaned in annoyance. “Don’t play games with me, woman.”
“I’m not playing games. Tell me, what is your relationship with Jane?”
He went still. “What?”
“You’ve bedded her before, haven’t you? And you’ve done it again.”
“Amelia—”
“No, I heard you!” she burst out. “I went to your room, and—”
“Let me guess. You only had the idea to come to my room after Jane had said something odd to you.”
Amelia hesitated. “Well, yes.”
He gave a brittle smile. “Jane was under Harry’s pay.
She hinted at it herself, and Harry told me outright.
Some coin and a kiss were her price, apparently.
My guess is that Harry told her to create friction between you and me, and making you believe that I was a serial philanderer would do the trick. She saw her chance and took it.”
Amelia swallowed thickly, passing a hand over her face. “So… so you and Jane never…”
“No,” he answered tightly. “Never. Not once. Jane did attempt to flirt with me once or twice, but I just assumed that she did so with everybody. Do you know what seemed to offend her the most? That you were a mere seamstress. Why not a housemaid, then? She imagined that she could have been a duchess, too.”
Amelia sniffed. “And she’s right. It could have been her, just as easily as—”
“No,” he interrupted at once, taking a step forward.
That simple step seemed almost to halve the distance between them, bringing him close enough for her to smell the cold night air and mist still clinging to his clothes. “No, Amelia. It could never have been Jane. It was only ever going to be you.”
His words sent a rush through her, something warm and thrilling. The wave was sudden and overwhelming, and Amelia turned around, trying to cling to the last vestiges of her composure. She tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders, swallowing thickly.
It was only ever going to be you.
What did that mean? Did it mean that, as Harry’s sister, thrown together as they were, Stephen could never have chosen anybody else for his revenge?
“What will happen to Harry now?” she asked after a moment, her voice trembling. “Will he go to gaol?”
“I don’t know. He’s a gentleman and a viscount, and judges are reluctant to imprison such men.
But he’ll be punished for what he’s done, I can promise you that.
I’m going to make sure that you and your sisters get the money and property that should have been yours.
Your father did not strike me as a particularly moral man, or a strong one, but he was fair, and I believe he loved you and your family.
You were never meant to be a pauper, Amelia. ”
She closed her eyes. “I can’t quite believe that it’s over.”
“Nothing is ever truly over. Nothing ever stays unchanged in this world, and it’s up to us to decide whether that is a good or a bad thing.”
Bittersweet. That was the word that came to Amelia’s mind. If nothing remained unchanged, then it meant that good and bad things alike would pass sooner or later.
I suppose it all depends on how one looks at it.
“Now that Harry is dealt with,” she said aloud, “and my sisters and I have a chance at receiving some money, I suppose I should go back home.”
There was a brief silence.
“Go home?” Stephen repeated.
She longed to turn around and look at him. Her back itched from the weight of his stare, but she forced herself not to move, staring unseeingly at the brick walls.
“Yes,” she answered simply.
“I thought that this was your home now.”
She twisted her fingers together. “It’s not fair to say that to me, Stephen.”
“I don’t understand.”
She whirled around. “It was never going to be my home. You only agreed to marry me to save yourself from scandal. Now that my birth and connection to Harry will become known and your revenge is complete, what further use could you possibly have for me? Let us be grateful that all of this came to an end the day before the wedding, instead of the day after.”
He stared at her, standing still as a statue in the half-light.
“What are you saying, Amelia?” he asked, choosing his words carefully.
She breathed in, squaring her shoulders and pulling herself to her full height.
That was a rare thing. For a woman, being tall was nothing short of a curse. Tallness was admired, in moderation. A tall, willowy woman was considered beautiful, provided that she had a slim figure and was not taller than the men.
Amelia had long since learned to hunch her shoulders and lean forward just a little, so as not to tower over the few gentlemen who entered Emmeline’s shop. Men often got nasty when a woman was taller than them. Or cleverer than them, or simply not very interested in them.
Stephen was different, she was sure of that. She was not taller than him. What a relief it was to stand fully upright, not afraid of receiving a scowl or a thinly-veiled insult in response.
“I propose that I leave tomorrow morning,” Amelia said quietly.
“I shall leave you and Letitia to unravel the wedding arrangements. It won’t be easy, but it’s better than the two of us entering a marriage that does not suit either of us.
You’ll be free to pursue a lady, a woman you truly care for.
Without the specter of my brother hanging over your head, you can be free. Isn’t that a wonderful thing?”
“Amelia—”
“I release you from your obligations, Stephen,” she interrupted, her words a little too soft in the quiet room. “And you shall release me from mine. We’ll both be happier this way.”
“Is that what you want?”
She gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, be serious. What I want doesn’t matter in the slightest. I only think of what’s right, what works. I’m a practical woman, Stephen.”
He let out a long, shuddering breath and took a step toward her. Amelia flinched, forcing herself to hold her ground. He reached out, taking one of her cold hands in his. As always, heat radiated from his skin, immediately warming her clammy fingers.
“Practical woman, my backside,” he breathed. “You are the silliest woman I have ever met, Amelia.”