Chapter 19
“Lady Amelia, you simply must tell us your secret.”
Mrs. Hartwell’s voice carried across the drawing room loudly.
It was quite evident that she was used to being heard.
Amelia set down her teacup slowly, far too aware of the dozen pairs of eyes that had suddenly fixed upon her as though she were something to be studied.
She wondered where Tobias was. He’d arrived with her, but made himself scarce quickly—mumbling something about seeing a man about one or the other matter of importance.
“My secret, Mrs. Hartwell?” She kept her tone light and pleasant, whilst her mind raced through possible interpretations.
Were people aware of the fact that her son called Tobias ‘Papa’?
She hadn’t truly thought about how wildly inappropriate that was.
Had the servants been gossiping about their morning in the garden?
“Your remarkable composure, of course.” The matron leaned forward, her ostrich plumes bobbing enthusiastically. “Here you are, barely out of mourning, yet you carry yourself with such grace. Such... vitality. One would almost think widowhood agreed with you.”
The words rang through the drawing room like a loud bell.
Around them, conversation stuttered and died.
Amelia felt rather than saw heads turning, fans stilling, teacups suspended mid-sip as the assembled ladies waited to see how she would respond to such a spectacularly rude compliment, dressed as it was.
Six months ago—even three—she might have stammered an apology. Might have shrunk beneath the judgment, the barely concealed accusation that she’d somehow failed to grieve appropriately.
Now, she simply smiled.
“How very kind of you to notice, Mrs. Hartwell.” Her voice remained perfectly modulated, betraying nothing of the irritation that simmered beneath. “I believe my late husband would have wished me to continue living rather than become a monument to sorrow. He was quite practical about such matters.”
In truth, she was quite certain that Edward would have been appalled by her appearance in society so soon. But he wasn’t here to disapprove.
“Practical,” Mrs. Hartwell repeated, as though testing the word’s weight. “Yes, I suppose Lord Redmond was known for his... practicality.”
The pause before that final word suggested she’d considered several less flattering alternatives. Amelia’s fingers tightened fractionally around her teacup.
“Indeed he was. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe Lady Wimberley mentioned wishing to introduce me to someone.”
She rose with fluid grace, ignoring Mrs. Hartwell’s sputtering protest. Their hostess—bless her—immediately materialized at her elbow with the efficiency of a general deploying reinforcements.
“My dear Lady Amelia, there you are. I’ve someone most eager to make your acquaintance.
” Lady Pemberton’s grip on her arm was gentle but inexorable, steering her away from the cluster of gossiping matrons toward the far side of the drawing room.
She lowered her voice and looked at Amelia kindly.
“Please forgive Mrs. Hartwell. The woman has all the tact of a battering ram.”
“I’ve survived worse,” Amelia murmured.
“I’m certain you have.” Lady Pemberton’s voice softened with unexpected warmth. “Which is precisely why I think you’ll appreciate Lord Ashbourne. He’s a gentleman in the truest sense—something of a rarity these days.”
They stopped before a tall gentleman standing near the windows, his profile silhouetted against the afternoon light. He turned at their approach, and Amelia found herself studying him with the detached interest one might apply to selecting furniture.
He was objectively handsome, she supposed. Fair-haired, where Tobias was dark. Elegant where Tobias was... well, Tobias had his own particular brand of disheveled charm that defied conventional elegance entirely.
Stop comparing him to Tobias. He is not your comparison to make.
“Lord Ashbourne,” Lady Pemberton announced with obvious pleasure. “May I present Lady Amelia Grant. Lady Amelia, Sir Henry Aldridge, Lord Ashbourne.”
The baron executed a bow that would have satisfied even Edward’s exacting standards. “Lady Amelia. It’s an honour to finally make your acquaintance. Lady Pemberton has spoken most highly of you.”
His voice was pleasant—cultured without being affected, warm without presuming familiarity. Everything about him screamed appropriate suitor, from his perfectly tied cravat to the exact degree of interest in his grey-blue eyes.
She should have been delighted. Relieved, even. Here was precisely what Tobias kept insisting she needed: a respectable gentleman who could provide security and position without scandal or complication. He seemed decent too—almost kind for a man.
Instead, his perfection weighed on her like a coat that was too heavy for her to bear.
“The honour is mine, Lord Ashbourne. Lady Pemberton’s gatherings are always delightful.”
“Indeed, they are,” he agreed, and his smile faded. “I must extend my apologies to you for your loss, my lady. It cannot have been easy for you.”
“Thank you.”
Though her answer was curt, she kept her voice as warm as possible. It was not this man’s fault that she had no interest in men or marriage, that she was here out of necessity.
“Your son must be—what, just over a year now? A delightful age, though I imagine quite exhausting for his mother.”
The genuine warmth in his voice when speaking of her child allowed a true smile to form on her face. Henry was her life—and though she was still wary of men, having learnt far too young that they all wanted from women whatever they could take, it filled her with utter delight to speak of her child.
“He is indeed delightful,” she managed, her throat suddenly tight. “And exhausting in equal measure. He’s discovered the concept of ‘no’ and finds it endlessly fascinating—particularly as applied to his own desires rather than mine.”
Lord Ashbourne’s laugh was genuine, reaching his eyes. “My own children went through similar phases. I remember my eldest son—he must have been about that age—decided the word ‘down’ meant ‘up’ and spent a fortnight utterly confusing his poor nurse.”
“You have children?” This, she thought, was safe territory. Talking about their children.
“Three. All grown now, establishing their own families.” Something flickered across his features—grief, perhaps, or merely nostalgia. “My late wife... she passed four years ago. She suddenly took ill and never got well.”
“I’m so sorry.” And she was, genuinely. Whatever her own marriage’s failures, she’d never had to endure the particular agony of losing a spouse to death whilst loving them.
“Thank you. Though I confess, time does soften such losses, doesn’t it?” His gaze held hers with unexpected understanding. “One learns to carry the grief rather than being crushed beneath it.”
Before she could formulate a response to such unexpected depth, Lady Pemberton reappeared with the timing of someone who’d been hovering just out of sight.
“Lord Ashbourne, you simply must see the new roses in the conservatory. And Lady Amelia, your expertise would be invaluable—I understand you’ve done remarkable work with the gardens at Redmond Park.”
The orchestration was blatant enough to make Amelia want to laugh. But she allowed herself to be shepherded toward the conservatory alongside Lord Ashbourne, acutely aware of the interested gazes following their progress.
Let them look, she thought with defiance that surprised her. Let them speculate. I am doing nothing improper.
Though why that internal declaration sounded so much like justification, she refused to examine too closely.
The conservatory proved mercifully empty save for the three of them and an abundance of hothouse blooms. Lady Pemberton made her excuses loudly, hovering a respectable distance away from the pair—far enough to give them the illusion of privacy, though close enough to remain entirely proper.
“She’s not exactly subtle, is she?” Lord Ashbourne observed once their hostess had moved towards another part of the garden.
Amelia found herself smiling despite everything. “I believe subtlety would defeat her purpose entirely.”
“True enough.” He moved toward a particularly spectacular pink bloom, studying it with what appeared to be genuine interest. “This of course is the hard part of it. Things came easier when I was a young man, one who was in love. As we grow through life, we learn… that there are things to be considered.”
Here it comes, she thought. The careful circling toward courtship. The tentative exploration of whether she might be amenable to his suit.
She ought to encourage him. This was what returning to society meant—finding someone appropriate, securing Henry’s future, relieving Tobias of responsibility for his brother’s widow and child.
Relieving Tobias. The words tasted bitter even in thought.
“Lady Amelia.” Lord Ashbourne turned to face her fully, his expression earnest. “Forgive my directness, but I find the usual society games rather tedious at my age. I should like very much to call upon you. To become better acquainted. If such attention would not be unwelcome.”
How like Edward was his formal manner of asking.
I should like to call on you, Lady Amelia. I believe that a match as ours could be advantageous to both our families.
“I...” She faltered, searching for words that wouldn’t be either encouragement she didn’t mean or rejection that seemed unnecessarily cruel. “That is very kind of you, Lord Ashbourne. I should be... I would not object to further acquaintance.”
The phrasing was careful, noncommittal. His smile was oddly contained, something about it sending a twinge of distrust to the pit of her stomach. She shook it off quickly. She ought not, she knew, punish this man for her own experiences. He had no hand in them.
“Excellent. Might I perhaps take you for a promenade in Hyde Park? Tomorrow afternoon, weather permitting?”
“I—yes. That would be acceptable.”