CHAPTER ELEVEN
Graham’s thoughts were a mess of confusion, longing, and resentment at himself for being so careless.
Even as he entered the dining room that evening, trying to prepare himself for seeing his wife again, he was still not quelled.
“Ah, he finally emerges,” Daphne giggled, already seated at the table. “I thought you would remain in your study all day and night.”
He silenced her with a scowl as he took his seat at the head of the table. “Where is the duchess?”
“She has yet to come down,” his mother told him gently. “Graham… I know this marriage has not been ideal but do try to be kind to her.”
“I am kind,” he growled. Then he sighed, realizing why he had been told such a thing. He picked up the glass of wine that had already been poured ahead of his arrival at the table. “I am… conflicted.”
“Speak to us,” Daphne urged. “For I think Her Grace is a fine choice for a duchess, and I wish for her to only have the best life here.”
“I feel as though I cannot—”
He cut himself off when a gentle throat clearing made him turn, right as the duchess—his wife—entered.
All thoughts vanished from his head. At his aunt’s ball, Amelia had looked breathtaking in a shimmering dress, and then at the garden party, decorated with floral patterns and fresh colors, as though she brought the spring season herself.
But now she wore the wardrobe of a duchess that he had ensured was prepared for her.
The last three days had seen him arranging everything for her arrival.
He had left a letter on her writing desk, announcing that should she have any choices for other gowns he would see it sorted with the accounts; she would only need to attend the modiste with Daphne or his mother at her own leisure.
For now, though, he had equipped her with a wardrobe in similar colors to what he had seen.
And the gown she had chosen reminded him of the night they had met, when one arm to catch her around the waist had started this entire arrangement. When one clumsy collision had ended up in him having a wife, when he had been so resigned to the idea.
With sleeves of silver gossamer that accentuated her slender, pale arms, the dress Amelia wore framed her body prettily, with a fitted bodice that had a layer of shimmering fabric over a solid silver material beneath.
Her skirt hung in a similar fashion, a shimmering layer that caught the light, draped over an opaque skirt that fell to her feet.
“Duchess.” He stood to pull out her chair, inviting her to be seated at the table.
She met his eyes, and he could not look away from her for one moment, his heart pounding.
Her hair was styled in an elegant updo, somehow making her look more regal than he had seen before.
Two loose strands curled, framing her face.
“Your Grace, you look stunning,” Daphne gushed, grinning. “I told all of my friends you will be the most beautiful duchess.”
“Indeed, you are,” Felicity agreed with a warm smile that she turned to Graham, as if to tell him she was proud, that this was what she wanted for him, even if the circumstances were not perfect. “And you have also made a fine choice for dinner tonight, I believe.”
Graham could not take his eyes off Amelia as she took her seat, and he returned to his own. Very quickly, his wine glass was emptied and refilled. Perhaps the wine would replace every other thought in his head.
“I have heard that you are a fond reader, Amelia,” Daphne said, clearly making up for a lack of conversation in the room.
“I am,” she answered, as the first course was served. “My sisters, Clara and Elizabeth, and I, often read in the library. Elizabeth was more fond of philosophy and geography, and she is so very intelligent despite only being ten and two. Clara always favored romance novels.”
“She must have loved this tale of how you and my brother came to be wed.”
Graham’s face flickered in annoyance as he glared at his sister, who pointedly ignored him. Amelia cleared her throat and toyed with one of her earrings. “Indeed, she did mention such a thing.”
Her eyes cast to him, as if wondering if he was uncomfortable by her mentioning it.
“And yourself?” Daphne asked. “What do you read?”
“Everything,” she responded, with a short laugh. “I love plays mostly. Do you read?”
“I do. I am rather predictable, however, for I have a love of Austen’s works. Do you read her books?”
Amelia shook her head. “I confess they can be a touch too… unrealistic for me. I like the nuance of Shakespeare, though. I enjoy how he sees humanity without the societal expectation around it in quite the same way.”
“I see,” Daphne said. “I have recently attended a reading of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. The actor who played Romeo was rather dashing.”
Graham could not help but clench his jaw at that. How could they speak of such things when his mind tossed and turned. Yet Amelia listened with rapt attention.
“It was at the theatre in Bath,” Daphne continued. “Several of my friends and I attended. I think one of them hoped to catch the actor’s eye in secret. It happens, though, I suppose. Love in secret, just as Romeo and Juliet experienced.”
“Daphne.” Graham’s voice was hard, a firm warning.
“Yes, brother?”
“Do not be smart,” he muttered.
“Do not speak to your sister in such ways,” Felicity admonished. “She speaks only about her love of books.”
And is secretly trying to form something out of this marriage that looks like love, he thought.
“Well, regardless, I have been thinking,” Daphne continued.
“Romeo and Juliet fell for one another during a masked ball. What better way to introduce the Duke and Duchess of Blackthorn as a married couple than to host our own ball here? As in the play, it shall show that love does not always need to be careful or planned. Sometimes it can linger outside of society’s expectations. ”
Graham noted that, although Amelia listened intently, her eyes glimmering with excitement, she kept fidgeting every time Daphne spoke of love.
“I think that would be a lovely idea,” Amelia said, glancing at Graham. “That is, if His Grace deigns to agree.”
“It is the worst idea I can possibly think of,” he murmured, shaking his head. “However, I might be the duke but you are three women that I do not wish to upset. I am not happy about it, Daphne, and you know how I feel about being seen in society. It has brought me enough trouble already.”
He noticed Amelia flinching, and he wished to swallow yet more terribly spoken words. He had not meant it to sound as harsh as it came out but the moment passed too quickly to rectify.
He frowned down at the table while Daphne clapped her hands together in excitement. “It shall be perfect! We do not have to make it masked but we shall still have a beautiful ball! Oh, it shall be Blackthorns’ first one in many years!”
Graham nodded again, his assent quiet, especially when he saw Amelia’s own excitement. He recalled her calling herself the ton’s wallflower, and he could not help but wonder if he would only restrict her further by dragging her into this life he had, cursed and reclusive as he was.
He knew Amelia would have questions about that night the ton loved to gossip about. He knew it would only be a matter of time before she asked him about it, and although he felt far from ready to discuss any of it, he knew he had to prepare himself.
As the first course was eaten and cleared, replaced by the main course, Graham kept looking towards his new wife.
To even think of her as such made him feel out of place and off-kilter.
His wine was refilled once more after he found it empty without truly recalling drinking from that second pouring.
As they ate, he questioned himself: did he agree to the ball to please his sister, or because he did not wish to disappoint his wife whom he felt as though he had already failed?
***
Over the next few days, Amelia familiarized herself with Blackthorn House. Every hallway looked the same, and every door seemed to open into the same room even if she was sure she opened a different one.
Her thoughts tumbled constantly, questioning everything. Graham retreated into his study most days, or claimed to be out on business, but Amelia knew he was avoiding looking at her, of feeling the full weight of his regret of marrying her.
Finally, she found the morning room, where the dowager duchess had beckoned her.
“Amelia, do come in,” she invited, gesturing to the other armchair that was set out. On a small table between the two chairs was a tea set up. “You look beautiful.”
Amelia hesitated, crossing the room, as she glanced down at her simple morning dress. It occurred to her often how her husband had rarely complimented her, yet his eyes lingered on her every night at dinner.
“Thank you,” she said, feeling nervous. “Your Grace, I confess—”
“Please, do call me Felicity.”
“I cannot simply do that,” Amelia laughed. “You are the dowager duchess.”
“And I have also become your mother-in-law,” she reminded her gently. “Calling me Felicity will do very well.”
Amelia nodded, feeling honored and yet out of place, still. “I confess that I am entirely out of my depth with everything but especially balls. I have attended every single event for just over two Seasons, but now it is my turn to host, I am at a loss.”
“That is why I am here.” She winked. Felicity presented a list of names to her.
“These are the most notable members of our society. Every aristocrat is on there, and you do not have to invite all but I would encourage you to. As the duchess, you do not want to offend anybody, however you must avoid those tangled up in current scandals, for it can appear bad.”
“So I must not offend anybody by not inviting, yet I may cause offence by inviting those in scandals?” Amelia asked, incredulous.
“The work of a duchess is not easy,” Felicity laughed.
“In that case, I ought not to have been invited to any gathering whatsoever,” Amelia murmured.
“Nor should my son, yet my own societal standing elevates his reputation.”
Amelia fell silent, wishing to ask about the duke’s reputation, and why everything had gone wrong that night that the ton spoke of, but she bit her tongue. She had her own duties to focus on; she could not put Graham under more scrutiny than he already was.
“Make sure the Kensingtons are invited,” Felicity pointed out. “And the Radcliffes. They are honourable guests.”
Amelia nodded. “And the Fairfax, too.”
“Ah, yes. Indeed.”
Amelia went through the list, marking off those to receive an invite, and clarifying any scandals she was not aware of.
Felicity instructed her on how to judge scandals, and if the severity was too bad to receive an invitation or not.
In the end, only three families were not invited, knowing it could potentially cause disruption to invite them.
As they were of a lesser status, Felicity assured her that there would not be a great deal of offense in the shunning.
They talked long into the morning, and Amelia slowly felt more and more comfortable by offering suggestions, and Felicity nodded, impressed.
By the end of their discussion, Amelia had invitations to be sent out, decor to arrange, and a theme of golden candlelight, inspired by the imagery of Romeo and Juliet’s final embrace in the chapel.
***
“My mother is impressed with you.”
Amelia turned at the voice coming from a place she could not see while she walked in the garden later that day. Traversing a flowering path, she looked around, hearing the duke’s voice but not able to see him. Seconds later, he stood up, emerging from a rose bush so suddenly she laughed.
“What is so funny?” he asked, scowling.
Amelia bit her lip. “I am sorry. It is only that you appeared out of nowhere.”
“I am tending the roses,” he told her, as though it was obvious, gesturing at the rose garden that filled the land behind him. He paused. “I know you are likely thinking that I have gardeners for such a task but it is something that I enjoy doing myself.”
Amelia only shook her head. “On the contrary, I was only thinking that you have rose petals in your hair.”
Graham frowned and reached up, patting the dark length of his hair, shaking the petals loose. It had softened him for a moment, and Amelia half wished she had not said anything at all.
“My mother,” he began again, “has spoken fondly of you regarding the planning for the ball.”
“I must confess I am surprised you agreed,” Amelia said. “But she was very patient with me, guiding me through the planning.”
Graham nodded. As if it made him uncomfortable to say, he confessed, “you appeared happy at the notion of Daphne’s suggestion. I wished not to deny you of that, for Heavens knows I have denied you of everything else.”
There was a tightness to his words that broke Amelia’s heart as she gazed at him.
“Your Grac—Graham, you have not denied me of anything.”
He shook his head, as if he thought she lied to him and was asking her to speak further.
His mouth was tight as he glanced away and then back down to the roses.
“This rose garden was my grandmother’s pride.
My mother’s mother. They both raised me to tend to it myself, for my grandmother liked it a certain way that the staff could not capture.
Tending to it is my way of honouring her.
And…” He tensed. “Well, of showing that I still have humanity, as much as the ton like to say otherwise.”
“I think you have a lot more humanity than you realise,” Amelia told him. “The roses are lovely.” She did not know what else to say, for the duke looked agonized, and she wondered if he truly thought he had denied her.
Yes, she had wished for a love match—a whirlwind romance, and for their marriage not to be a rumored, scandalized thing—but that was not his fault.
“Amelia,” he began, right as she spoke his name. He paused, blinking at her. “I insist you go first.”
But the words died on her tongue, and all she could say was, “I shall be in the library for the remainder of the afternoon.”
Graham looked disappointed for a moment before giving her a sharp nod, those defenses back up. “I shall be in my study.” He paused, moving towards her. “May I… may I walk you back?”
“This is your home,” she pointed out with a hint of jesting.
Graham only nodded again, as if reprimanding himself.
Together they walked up the length of the gardens, and Amelia bit back a gasp when the backs of their hands brushed against one another.
Neither reached for the other’s hand but they moved purposefully, as if to brush again.
They never did, but it did not stop Amelia from glancing at her husband longingly.