Chapter Twelve
Over the next two weeks, the days fell into a new sort of rhythm.
Christiana acclimated to it faster than she could have supposed.
First, she had breakfast with Hugh and occasionally Amelia—when the latter roused herself early enough.
Then, she spent time learning the household a little.
Exploring the rooms, poring over the accounts, and interviewing all the servants.
Just to introduce herself and get a feeling for the staff.
Amelia sometimes joined her as she worked, lounging on sofas as she read, comfortable being idle.
“After all,” she explained one morning when Christiana had questioned it, “what else have I to do? This is not my house. I study at Bath; you surely cannot expect me to learn French and Italian here, too. I practice my pianoforte and harp in the afternoons, and I take frequent exercise for my health.” She yawned, raising a languid hand to her mouth.
“Hugh keeps Miss Byrd around for my entertainment, I suppose, or perhaps so she can watch over me, but you have met her, so you know what she’s like. ”
Christiana did know. Just the other morning, she had been forced to intervene when Miss Byrd had attempted to dissuade Amelia from reading, passionate in the belief that ladies ought not to read novels.
Still, for the sake of keeping the peace, she said, “Your brother tells me she has been part of the household since you were both children.”
“Oh, yes, and that’s why he can’t bring himself to dismiss her.
And she is a very kind soul.” The admission seemed to bring Amelia no particular joy.
“The issue is that one can be kind and tiring, and she is exceedingly tiring.” She surveyed Christiana through her eyelashes.
“Hugh tells me I should speak well of Miss Byrd because she has given so much to the family.”
“That is admirable,” Christiana said carefully. She understood and supported the need for Amelia to treat Miss Byrd with deference and respect, but she also understood that for someone with Amelia’s quick wit and lively imagination, Miss Byrd’s company would rankle.
“No, it isn’t, and you don’t think so, either.” Amelia looked mischievous now as she sat up, book forgotten. “My brother brought you in so you would be a good influence, but good influences are deathly boring, and so far, I do not find you so. Does that mean he has failed or succeeded?”
Christiana tried not to laugh. They were in the library, which had rapidly become her favorite room in the house. Hugh kept a smaller bookroom beside his study, filled with books upon books about maintaining estates and farms, but the wider library contained a far wider variety of tomes.
She loved any place that harbored knowledge.
“I think we are both fortunate,” she said. “When he told me I was to act as caretaker of his sister, I thought you would be utterly unmanageable.”
“I am. Hugh tells me repeatedly.”
From where Christiana was sitting, the only true vice Amelia was guilty of was boredom, and who could blame her, trapped on this estate with no friends or peers within reach.
“Well, then,” Christiana said, closing her eyes in a shaft of sunshine. “Perhaps that means I am, too.”
“My poor brother.” Amelia’s voice quietened a little. “Miss Byrd has been warning him that I will cause a scandal in London, and I expect that’s why he felt he needed a wife to keep me in check.” She made a disgruntled noise. “As though he could not have just spoken to me about it.”
Privately, Christiana thought that conversation would not have gone down well, but she didn’t voice her opinion. Instead, she asked, “What does Miss Byrd think you’ll do in London?”
“Oh, heaven knows. As I’m the sister of a duke, I can only imagine she thought me born with an excess of wickedness.
And that it’s her job to beat it back out of me.
Only she can’t use a stick, so she uses Fordyce’s Sermons.
” She shuddered dramatically, and Christiana found herself smiling again.
Amelia rolled onto her stomach and surveyed Christiana again. “By the by, what are you doing?”
“The household accounts,” Christiana said. “That’s my role as duchess, you know.”
“Well, I suppose Hugh would be delighted to hear it,” Amelia said in a disgruntled tone.
“Tell me something,” Christiana said, leaning forward. “I gather the fire is a sore subject with your brother?”
“Hugh? He never speaks of it.” Amelia waved a dismissive hand. “I used to try to broach the subject when I was younger, but he never lets me.”
“If you don’t mind telling me, what happened?”
“I was eleven, so I suppose I don’t recall the details precisely.
” Amelia’s eyes went distant, and Christiana wondered if she had opened a fresh wound in this vivacious young girl.
“Miss Byrd was the one who woke me and led me through the house. There was smoke everywhere. Everything was very hot. I remember I touched a doorknob and blistered myself. We got out and gathered by the fountain.” She hesitated, seeming to come back into her body as she glanced at Christiana.
“Hugh got out before me. Did he ever tell you that? He was one of the first out. But when our parents didn’t emerge, he went back in to rescue them. ”
Christiana’s breath stopped in her lungs. She had known that their parents hadn’t survived. But she had presumed Hugh’s injuries had come from the flames itself, from getting out. Not from returning inside to save his parents.
And failing.
“I remember what he was like before,” Amelia said softly, lost in the past again.
“We have quite a gap in age, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, and for most of my living memory, he spent his time in London.
But he always brought back presents. Sometimes, he used to argue with Papa about his London habits.
He enjoyed living, as he used to say. But after he went back into the fire…
” She hesitated. “He lost a part of himself. Half the house was destroyed, too, and the repairs have only just been completed. He seems all right now, but—”
“He lost almost everything,” Christiana murmured.
“I want to see him happy,” Amelia said. “He rebuilt—the house, everything—because that was what was expected of him. And he lives here because that’s his duty. He married you because he felt that was his duty. But I don’t think he likes any of it.”
Not even her. The words were implicit, and although Christiana had no right to expect anything else, they still hit like a brick to her stomach.
“I will escape,” Amelia said seriously. “When I marry, I will have a new family and a new home. But Hugh never will.”
For the first time, the sadness of what Hugh had endured—and what he would continue to endure—impressed itself upon Christiana. Once, he had ‘enjoyed living,’ and now he shut himself away in this tomb of a house because he thought himself hideous.
Because the world had rejected him.
And yet, for all that, he could still smile. He may not have wanted to marry her, but he had done so with grace and goodwill.
For the first time, Christiana craved more than he was willing to show—she wanted to discard his polite artifice and discover what lay underneath.
Perhaps he would not fall in love with her, but if there was a way to make him happy, then she would do her best to achieve that goal.