Chapter 10
For the life of her, Amelia could not sleep. She was quite certain that it was almost dawn, and she once more found herself in her son’s nursery, looking down at his sleeping form.
Whenever she closed her eyes, she relived the horse heading in her direction—and Tobias throwing his body in between them.
Which, of course, brought about a whole different set of emotions. Emotions that she was entirely unwilling to explore at this time.
“Mama?”
She moved forward when Henry’s sleepy muttering reached her ears and pressed a gentle hand against his cheek.
“What is it, my sweet?”
He didn’t answer—merely raised his arms out to her in a silent plea for attention, for comfort. She lifted him into her arms easily, pushing down the accusatory voice that said Edward never would have stood for this.
“The boy need not be coddled,” he had said on more than one occasion when she had comforted the crying infant.
Henry pressed his head against her shoulder. “Where is Papa?”
Amelia froze. It was no less jarring to hear her son refer to Tobias as his father than it had been the first time. Yet, she did not entirely dislike it. Simply, she had convinced herself, because it was good for him to have a father figure. He was far too young to understand death.
“He’s sleeping,” she said at last.
Her heart skipped a beat when she found herself wondering what Tobias would look like while asleep. Would the worried creases between his brows fade, or would he still have the frown he’d developed of late whilst resting?
Once Henry stilled, she lay him back down, her heart racing wildly.
When had she come to… care… for Tobias? When had she become eager at the prospect of seeing him, sad at the prospect of leaving? When had she even noticed that he was worried, and when did it start to matter?
It was entirely inappropriate—feeling this way about her brother-in-law.
Not that she was ready to explore what ‘this way’ was. Not at all.
Certain that her son was asleep, she made her way back to her own chamber—not that sleep would come easily for her, that much she had already discovered.
Had he only protected her out of duty? Or for Henry? Or had he… come to care about her?
No. She could not think about this. Not at all.
She moved to the wall where Edward’s portrait looked down at her with that same cold look she’d grown used to. Had he ever laughed spontaneously? Had there been an instance of it, she certainly could not remember it. Even whilst they were courting, he had been… serious.
No. It was more than that, she knew.
He hadn’t merely been serious, he was cold. Almost disinterested.
Still, she had tried to love him. “Forgive me,” she whispered. Though she was loath to say it out loud, there was, in all honesty, a part of her that felt… nothing but relief at the thought of his death. Her cheeks grew hot at this.
Not that she had wanted him to die.
No, not at all. It was just… that she did not miss him as a wife was meant to miss her late husband.
She had been so young when they married.
Truly, she had barely been a woman. And she’d been excited.
Edward had been handsome, titled, respectable.
On paper, he had been everything a young lady ought to desire in a husband.
And she had convinced herself that love would come with time.
That affection could be cultivated through patience, through duty, through proper wifely behaviour.
And that if she loved him enough… if she tried hard enough to love him, that he would love her too.
But their marriage remained empty of love.
She sank onto the edge of her bed, twisting her hands in the fabric of her nightdress in an attempt to soothe her racing mind.
He wasn’t cruel, per se. He just… did not respect her. She could vividly remember how infuriated he had been—coldly so—when she had listened to and offered her opinion on estate matters.
“Silent, woman,” he had spat. “Do not talk of things that you know nothing about.”
His vehement reaction to her ideas had made it all the more shocking when he used them. Once, then a second time, then a third. At last, he had started coming to her for advice—not that anyone ever knew.
She had given it in the hope that this would earn his love. Or even his respect.
Nothing had worked.
Even when she discovered that she was expecting, when she had been terrified and desperate for comfort, he had remained distant.
In his own way, she had to admit, he had attempted some kindness.
He had ensured that she had the finest physician, instructed the cook to prepare whatever she could tolerate…
but he had never held her when she wept in fear, never asked what had worried her, never offered the warmth she had hoped for.
And when Henry was born… He did not even want to hold the boy. Simply looked down on the child in her arms and nodded as though the baby was ‘passable.’
She rose abruptly and shook her head. She nearly jumped when the floorboards creaked beneath her feet. Edward would have disapproved of the sound.
A lady moves with grace, in silence, he had said more than once.
But Edward was gone.
The thought brought neither grief nor relief—only a still acceptance. He had been her husband. The father of a child.
Society would expect her to truly mourn him, feel a widow’s grief rather than… liberation.
Was she an awful person for being grateful that Henry would not know his father’s coldness? Was it betrayal to think Tobias a better father-figure than her husband?
“I married you willingly,” she whispered to the portrait. “I stood before God and vowed to honour you, and here I am… barely two months after your death and…”
And I do not miss you.
Even though he would not, could not, hear her, she couldn’t say the words. Felt far too guilty to admit it out loud.
“But Tobias…” her cheeks warmed. “He plays with Henry,” she tried to explain to the disapproving picture of her husband.
“He laughs with him, and… he cares for me. Not for the family name, but for me… who I am as a person, and you… Did you? Did you marry me because some part of you cared? Or was I a mere sufficient list on a piece of paper and no more?”
She released a deep breath and pressed her hands to her eyes.
She had to sleep—or try at least.
She moved to the bed, pulled the covers over her face to shield herself from her husband’s disapproving eyes.
Eventually, after hours of rolling around fruitlessly, sleep mercifully came.
When she woke, it was with a knock at her door. She sat up confusedly, looking around. It was light outside, and the birds were already singing.
Amelia ran a hand through her hair.
She never woke this late.
“Come in!” she managed to get out. Mrs. Boldwood stood in the doorway, a tea tray in her hands.
“Morning, my lady,” she said with a soft smile. “His lordship asked that I do not wake you too early, he took young master Henry out to the gardens. I brought you a spot of tea.”
“Thank you,” Amelia muttered, stifling a yawn. “It is kind of you… and of his lordship.”
Mrs. Boldwood smiled kindly. “Tis no trouble at all, my lady. You… have been through so much lately. We must give you grace.”
Grace.
It was not something she was used to.
“His lordship said you had quite the eventful afternoon as well! The thought of what might have happened…”
She shook her head, and Amelia pursed her lips.
“His lordship should not have risked his life to save mine,” she said simply, and Mrs. Boldwood shook her head, quite firmly.
“No, my lady. He behaved like a gentleman. Always been kind, as a boy. “
Amelia sat up a little straighter at this. She had never before really considered the fact that Edward and Tobias had grown up before Mrs. Boldwood. Of course, the housekeeper had been there when she’d married Edward… but… she’d never really thought of her husband as a child at all.
“What were they like? As brothers, as… as children?”
The question was out before she could think of it, and Mrs. Boldwood smiled with a sigh.
“Oh, complete opposites,” she said easily. “Young Lord Tobias… he was a happy child, always eager to please whilst… the late Lord Edward was the serious one. He did not quite… take to emotion as young Lord Tobias did.”
Amelia smiled wistfully. “I hope Henry will be a happy child.”
The words escaped her before she realised the implications there for and she clapped a hand over her mouth.
“I meant…”
“I understand what you meant, my lady,” the housekeeper said as she set the tray on a small table. “And I believe he will be. Whatever loss the young master Henry may have suffered… he will not lack love, of that much I am certain.”
The housekeeper left with these words, leaving Amelia with her thoughts.
Love.
Of course, she loved her son dearly—and she knew that Tobias cared for him. Loved him perhaps, too.
Of the other love growing deep in her bosom, she would not think. She couldn’t. Never.