CHAPTER SIX #2
Amelia caught the duke’s clenched jaw as he lifted his gaze to the approaching group. Is he… it is like he is annoyed at being interrupted. The thought intrigued her, and pleased her, but also confused her. For she would have thought he was grateful for the interruption.
Lord Owen and the duke exchanged a glance as if ready to escape the group of ladies. They both nodded discreetly at one another.
“Good day, Miss Hawthorne, Lady Eleanor,” the duke murmured, as Lord Owen bid his own cheerful, hurried farewell.
His Grace’s eyes lingered on Amelia for another long moment before they rode away, onward, past the ladies.
Politely, they tipped their hats but Amelia could not help but notice that they did not stop to speak.
For Cassandra, the most desired lady of her Seasons—only having a terribly unsuccessful first Season due to her betrothed having an affair—the shun must have wounded her. And she realized that wound was manifesting into a weapon aimed right at Amelia, as the group drew closer...
“Well, well,” Cassandra drawled, her voice too sweet. “If it is not the ton’s wallflower.”
“Lady Kensington,” Amelia greeted, curtseying. Eleanor followed suit. “How lovely to—”
“Lady Ashworth,” Cassandra interrupted, not looking at Beatrice when she addressed her, “do remind me what this morning’s gossip column spoke about Miss Hawthorne.”
“I believe it called Miss Hawthorne a fortune hunter,” Beatrice preened, “and although I do not understand why it did not mention Lady Eleanor, I would add my own opinion in that she is rather the same when it comes to Viscount Radcliffe.”
“You are mistaken,” Amelia said quickly, her face burning as all the ladies’ attention turned to her. “I merely fell at the ball, and was caught. His Grace offered me a dance as an apology for colliding with me.”
“To accept surely only means that you did indeed blame him,” Cassandra sniffed. “A great insult indeed. And we can all fake a swoon, Miss Hawthorne, to capture the eye of a good gentleman willing to help us up. Do you not know that is how many overlooked ladies are noticed?”
Amelia’s jaw clenched; her hands balled into fists in her skirts behind her back.
“And now, to see you with His Grace once again,” Cassandra continued. “It is most improper. Indeed, I thought he was about to climb down from his horse to sweep you up onto it. Although, that is what you wish, is it not?”
Her voice dripped with malice, but Eleanor spoke up for Amelia.
“His Grace and the viscount were merely out for a ride. They acknowledged a friendly greeting, that is all.”
“You were unchaperoned, however,” Beatrice countered in. “Such things are not correct.”
Amelia’s voice tangled in her throat, unable to speak. “Our lady’s maids are here. We were not alone.”
“Regardless,” Cassandra hummed. “It is most improper. It is why I do not mind that His Grace rode on past me. He has respect for me, and has saved my reputation most thoughtfully. I am, after all, the most desired lady. Perhaps he does not care for yours, Miss Hawthorne, as it is already wholly smeared.”
Behind their fans, Cassandra’s group whispered and giggled. Amelia heard her name being spoken about, and her face burned with shame at the implications.
However, she stood tall, her chin lifting.
“I think you are jealous, Lady Kensington, that the duke did not see you important enough to greet. Perhaps it is because… oh, well, you did not dance together at the ball, did you? Perhaps he does not see you at all. After all, are you truly the most desired if the most eligible suitor did not deign to say good morning to you?”
Her brazen words had a stormy anger shutting down Cassandra’s face. Her mouth tightened as she straightened up, her eyes blinking in contained outrage.
“At least I am not dragging a duke’s name through the dirt and having him labeled a rake because I could not keep my hands to myself,” she whispered, leaning in with an arrogant smile.
She pulled back, pretending to dab at a bead of perspiration.
“Heavens, this morning sun shall melt me into nothing. Come, ladies, we must continue our promenade.”
With that, she led her group on, and Beatrice moved close to Eleanor threateningly. One by one, the ladies left with a rustle of their skirts and mutterings behind fans. Once they were gone, Amelia sighed, finding a nearby bench to collapse onto.
“She is most awful,” Eleanor complained. “And did you see how Beatrice looked at me? I knew she was envious of me speaking with Lord Owen!”
“They are only cruel because we were noticed and not them,” Amelia said quietly, even though she still did not entirely understand why that was the case. “Come, we can finish our walk. I shall not let a spiteful Lady Kensington ruin our day.”
And even though they did continue their walk, she could not quite find that light feeling that had lifted her up the night before.
Between the column and Cassandra’s snipes, she no longer felt protected by her dance, and what it proved to her—that she was still a worthy lady at those balls, that she was seen, that her fate had not faltered yet.
***
With doubt and anxiety creeping through, suddenly making her question everything that had transpired between Duke of Blackthorn and her, Amelia returned home with a heavy heart. Did he truly not care about her reputation, thus dancing with her?
He would have known what the scandal sheet would have said about them, about his own reputation, and he had entwined her into that. Did that truly mean he did not care for what was said about her?
Her stomach was filled with dread, so when she was caught by her mother on her way to her chambers, Amelia startled.
“Darling, there you are.” Her mother’s voice was hurried. She was fluttering, her hands never quite still, and Amelia dreaded another gossip column. “I did not realise you would be out quite so long.”
“Is everything all right, Mama?” she asked.
“Yes, yes, I only wish to remind you about the tea party at Kensington House tomorrow. I worried that in the light of everything happening with the duke that it may have slipped your mind.” Indeed, it had, and Amelia felt the blood rush from her face as she thought about facing Cassandra in her own home.
“I—I had not forgotten,” she said.
“I thought you ought to wear the new muslin gown your father had you fitted with last month in preparation for your Season. It is most complimenting for you, Amelia. We do not know who will be present at the garden party.”
Does she mean she wishes to impress His Grace, or that she wishes me to look beyond him and meet another suitor?
Mustering a smile, Amelia nodded. “I am sure Lily will prepare me perfectly.”
“Good.” Bernadette hovered before clasping Amelia’s face. “I wish for this Season to go well for you, Amelia. Do not think too hard on this nasty scandal business with the Duke of Blackthorn. It shall all pass.”
“Do you wish me to avoid him?”
“I wish you do what feels correct for you. I just do not want you to finish another Season unsuccessfully.”
She appreciated her mother’s words but they did not feel clear enough for her. How was she supposed to know the correct thing to do?
“Mama,” she began, but hesitated. She forced a smile, not wanting to admit her confusion, and how out of her depth she felt. “It is no matter. I shall enjoy wearing the new gown.”
With that, she hurried out of the entry hall and went to her chamber.
In there, she shut the door and sank into her bed, sighing.
She wished to see His Grace again but the thought of facing further ridicule anchored a bone-deep fear into her.
For both of them. Although the event promised to be the social highlight of the week, attending was the last thing that Amelia wished to do.
Unable to keep still despite feeling weakened by her thoughts, Amelia paced, her frantic thoughts whipping into a blizzard in her mind.
She would venture forth and face the social currents with courage. Yes, she resigned herself to decide. I shall go, and I shall show Cassandra that she cannot intimidate me.
But then she thought of the giggles behind fans, and the looks that followed her through a normal social event, and knew it would only be heightened by the recent turn of events. Anxiety gnawed through her as she swung back and forth between her decision.
His Grace’s deep, brown eyes warred with Cassandra’s malicious sneer, until she fell to her bed once again, utterly exhausted by her own thoughts.