Chapter 5
“Mama, why you sad?”
Amelia’s hands trembled violently as she closed the nursery door behind her, the brass handle cool beneath her palm. She pressed her back against the solid wood, her heart pounding with such force she feared it might betray her entirely.
Had she gone entirely mad? She cannot even imagine what Edward would have done if she’d had the gall to speak to him in this manner.
She had raised her voice—actually raised her voice—to Lord Tobias Grant. To the man upon whose goodwill her entire future depended. To the new Viscount Redmond, who held complete authority over herself and her son. Who had only allowed her to remain in this home out of kindness.
“I am not sad, my darling,” she managed at last. “Merely tired, that is all.”
Yet that was not entirely true, was it? She was furious—furious with him for presuming to manage her life, yes, but more furious with herself for caring what he thought. For… wanting to be understood by him.
He was her late husband’s brother. The man society whispered about in scandalized tones. The rake who had gambled away fortunes and broken countless hearts. The dissolute younger son who had spent his entire existence avoiding responsibility of any sort.
And yet, for one dangerous moment watching him hold Henry, she could not for a moment believe the stories about his reputation. He was so different from his brother.
She felt her cheeks turn hot at this realization. When Henry had reached for him with such uncomplicated trust—when Tobias had knelt upon the floor and cradled her son with unexpected tenderness—she had witnessed something she had never seen in Edward.
Warmth. Joy. An ease with affection that her late husband had never possessed.
“Come, sweet one.” She gathered Henry into her arms, pressing her lips to his dark curls whilst guilt twisted within her breast. “Let us prepare you for bed, shall we?”
The evening proceeded with mechanical precision. She changed Henry into his nightdress, washed his small hands and face, and settled him beneath his coverlet with a wooden horse—a gift from Tobias clutched against his chest.
As she began to sing, her thoughts wandered where they ought not venture.
What manner of man would Henry become? Would he inherit Edward’s rigid propriety, his emotional restraint, his inability to demonstrate warmth even to those who loved him?
Or might he become something different—someone who could embrace life with passion, who could laugh freely, who could hold those he loved without calculation?
Someone like Tobias. Would the nurture the new viscount showed be stronger than the nature of his cold father?
The thought arrived unbidden, and shame flooded through her with devastating force.
How dare she think such things? Edward had been her husband. A good man by every measure society employed. He had provided for her, protected her, and given her a beautiful son.
And yet…
She would rather Henry grow to be like Tobias than like Edward.
The admission, even in the privacy of her own thoughts, felt like betrayal. Edward had been cold, yes, but he had been dutiful. Proper. Everything a viscount ought to be.
Whereas Tobias was everything a viscount ought not to be—and somehow, despite all logic, she found herself drawn to precisely those qualities Edward had lacked.
“Forgive me,” she whispered, though whether to Edward’s memory or to herself, she could not say.
She continued singing even after Henry’s breathing had settled into peaceful slumber, reluctant to relinquish this moment of quiet sanctuary. Here, in the dim warmth of the nursery, her complicated feelings could not intrude.
Then she heard it.
Footsteps in the corridor beyond. Deliberate. Measured. Drawing closer before halting just outside the nursery door.
Her voice faltered as every sense sharpened. Someone stood just beyond that threshold—she could feel their presence as surely as she could feel her own pulse racing.
Silence stretched whilst the clock ticked its steady rhythm. Henry’s breathing remained peaceful. And still that presence lingered.
It is merely a servant, she told herself. Mrs. Boldwood, perhaps, ensuring all is well.
Yet she knew—with certainty she could neither explain nor dismiss—that it was not Mrs. Boldwood.
It was him.
The footsteps resumed after what felt like an eternity, retreating down the corridor until silence reclaimed its dominion.
Amelia released a deep breath, her hand pressed against her chest where her heart still pounded.
The thought of Tobias standing outside the nursery door ought to have alarmed her. Ought to have filled her with indignation.
Instead, it felt… complicated.
She did not fear him. That was the troubling truth. The thought of him listening to her sing Henry to sleep did not frighten her at all.
And that realization frightened her more than anything else could.
It took ages until she, too, succumbed to sleep—though it was anything but peaceful.
She tossed and turned the whole night—and when at last dawn broke across the Kent countryside, Amelia had reached a decision.
She would apologize.
Not because she believed herself entirely in the wrong, though she could not deny that she might have overreacted.
Perhaps Lord Tobias had meant it kindly, despite how it made her feel.
But she had responded with fury that ill-suited a lady.
They would be living under the same roof for the foreseeable future, and maintaining such hostility would benefit no one.
She mentally rehearsed what she would say as she dressed in a mourning gown.
Lord Tobias, I must beg your forgiveness for my conduct yesterday evening. Whilst I maintain that wanting to get a… caretaker for my son made me feel rather inept, I ought not to have responded with such incivility.
Yes. That struck the proper balance.
She descended to the breakfast room with her carefully prepared apology ready, her heart beating rather faster than warranted.
The space stood empty save for a single footman.
“Good morning, James.”
“Good morning, my lady.” He bowed respectfully. “Shall I prepare you a plate?”
“Thank you, yes.” She moved toward the table, disappointment settling heavily beneath her ribs. “Has Lord Redmond already breakfasted?”
“His lordship took tea in his study quite early this morning, my lady. He is presently occupied with Mr. Pemberton regarding estate matters.”
“I see.” She managed a pleasant smile. “How very diligent of him.”
She forced herself to eat, though each bite tasted of frustration. She had steeled herself to face him, and he was not even present.
Over the following days, she caught glimpse of him only in passing.
His form disappearing into the study as she descended the stairs.
His voice carrying from the library as she walked past with Henry.
Once, they encountered one another in the corridor, and both stopped—an awkward silence stretching before he bowed formally and she curtsied in return, continuing in opposite directions without exchanging a word.
It was unbearable.
On the third morning, Mrs. Boldwood appeared where Amelia sat, attempting to occupy herself with embroidery.
“Forgive the interruption, my lady, but I wondered whether you might review the household accounts? Several matters require a lady’s attention.”
Amelia set aside her needlework with barely concealed relief. “Of course, Mrs. Boldwood. I should be delighted to assist.”
“You are most kind, my lady. His late Lordship always maintained such precise oversight, and whilst Lord Tobias is most agreeable, he has indicated he has little knowledge of domestic arrangements… And the poor man has so much to do, what with the tenants and estate… I do not wish to speak out of turn, but I believe him to be rather out of his depth and…”
Something within Amelia’s chest loosened. Here, at least, was territory where she possessed authority.
“Bring me the ledgers,” she said, rising with renewed purpose. “I shall review everything thoroughly. Any household matters should be directed to me henceforth. As you said, Lord Redmond has quite enough to occupy him with estate business. I understand the household well.”
Within an hour, she found herself surrounded by ledgers and correspondence. The household accounts needed reviewing. Staff wages were due. Cook needed guidance regarding provisions.
She looked at her son, who was quietly playing with his wooden horse, and lifted her chin. Perhaps Tobias would not let her apologize… but she could show him that she was no longer fighting against him, could show him in some way that she would support him. And this was the way.
She turned her attention to the work before her, grateful for the distraction.
The days that followed established a new pattern.
She rose early, breakfasted alone, and spent her mornings managing household affairs whilst Henry played contentedly at her feet.
She consulted with Mrs. Boldwood regarding domestic matters, reviewed accounts with careful attention, and composed responses to correspondence.
She kept herself occupied from dawn until she retired each evening, exhausted but satisfied that she had proven herself useful. Capable. Independent.
And if she occasionally paused in her work when footsteps passed in the corridor, hoping they might belong to a certain gentleman who continued to avoid her—well, that was merely natural curiosity. Nothing more.
She told herself this repeatedly as she bent over her ledgers, as she directed the servants, as she managed every aspect of the household with determined efficiency.
She was perfectly fine occupying hersel in this manner. She required no assistance. No interference. No company save Henry’s innocent presence.
The disappointment she felt each time she glimpsed Tobias only in passing—each time he bowed formally and continued on his way without speaking beyond the barest civility—was merely her concern for maintaining a peaceful household.
It had nothing to do with missing him whatsover.
Nothing at all.