CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Darling.” Felicity was on her feet the moment that Graham entered the breakfast hall the morning following the Fairfax soiree. She immediately went to him, cupping his face. “I heard about the attack last night. How are you feeling?”
“I am well,” he answered gruffly, pulling away from her grasp. “The attacker ran off, and I do not wish to go to the authorities.”
“I think you should,” his mother urged. “He could attack anybody else!”
“And the constables shall ask about his appearance, and I cannot tell them anything, for I did not linger long enough on his face. I was too busy trying to avoid his knife.”
“In a not very successful way,” Daphne piped up, but her brows were still pulled in concern.
Graham glared at her but it softened when he looked at Amelia.
He had not stopped thinking about her care with him in the carriage, the way she had held her handkerchief to his head, and the way she had listened without judging or speaking over him.
It made him ache to tell her the full truth of his past but he was not quite ready yet.
“Your reflexes were rather fast,” Amelia praised. “The attacker came out of nowhere!” The last part was directed at Daphne, who gasped.
“He did,” Graham muttered. “It was likely a man down on his luck and attempting to get something to pawn for coin. As much as he should not have resorted to violence, I do not wish to have a man arrested for simply trying to survive.”
Amelia gazed back at him, as if his words were softer than what she imagined him to say. Eventually, Graham sat down, sighing.
“It could be a man purposefully targeting you,” Daphne suggested, unhelpfully. “Oh! He could be hired by another lord who, in fact, had their eye on Amelia and wished to take revenge but could not get their own hands dirty.”
Her eyes sparkled with excitement but Felicity tutted at her. “Daphne. Be proper, please.”
“I am!”
“No, you have been reading too many novels,” Graham told her, rolling his eyes as he poured himself a cup of tea.
“Well, I needed to turn to something, did I not? My older brother shut himself away for many years and only decided to come out when our mother berated him. And then he stayed out for a certain new friend of mine.”
Graham glared at her, finally making his reproach enough to silence his sister.
“Has the scandal sheet arrived?” he asked. “I am sure it has much to say about our appearance last night.”
His eyes flicked to Amelia, who sat upright in her seat. More and more each day he noticed how much more confident she looked at his dining table. She lifted her chin higher, meeting his eyes. He offered her a small smile, and after a moment of surprise, she smiled back.
“Graham, do eat!” Daphne urged. “Amelia’s cook has sent over her own recipe for French toast and it is most divine. I have been trying to talk Mama into hiring the Hawthorne’s cook.”
“We cannot steal my wife’s former cook,” Graham muttered. He reached for the gossip column, unfolding it. When he saw the lengths of dark ink, his stomach clenched. It had been a long time since the mysterious gossiper had written little of the ton’s activity.
“What does it say?” His mother asked, having taken her seat.
Daphne was heaping more French toast upon her plate.
In a way, she reminded him of Clara, Amelia’s younger sister whom he had not spent much time with.
A thought crossed his mind to have the Hawthornes visit soon, aside from the ball.
Something smaller, more intimate. Perhaps he could set up an afternoon tea for Amelia as a surprise, have her family already situated, and the whole thing kept from her knowledge.
“Is it bad?” Amelia’s shaken voice startled him. It was the voice of a lady who had been on the receiving end of gossip too many times.
Graham cleared his throat and began to read.
“‘In the influential Bracken Square, Lord and Lady Fairfax hosted a delightful soiree that looked like the inside of a sweet stand at the Statty Fair.
Not only was it the perfect place for hopeful debutantes to catch the eye of an earl or baron, perhaps even a marquess, but it was also the first glimpse the ton got at no other than the new Duchess of Blackthorn.
‘From a quiet girl lingering on the fringes of ballrooms to waltzing around the floor, hand-in-hand, with her husband, the Duke of Blackthorn, Her Grace seemed to stun many with her transformation.
I, for one, was not entirely convinced by the admittedly beautiful facade.
There are many like myself that believe the Duchess is now more fitting of the personality that she hides.
The exterior looks as poised as her interior motives. One questions how the Hawthornes feel.
‘We all know that this wallflower ensnared the Beastly Duke in her vines, securing him into marriage, so is that why she quipped to many ladies, suddenly finding her confident voice? Where was that bravery when she was watching the dance floors with no partner? Was her shy routine all practiced, and she has now revealed the confident ton lady within? Or has the Beastly Duke influenced a once-pure lady?’”
The gossip sheet had once again questioned Amelia’s motives, and the points that it made… it made him sick to realize how it all looked. His voice was hard as he finished with the final question the writer posed, and he worked his jaw tightly, not able to look at her.
She had worried over and over about such a thing, and now, with those questions before him, he could not deny that they appeared to be truthful.
How had Amelia gone from the silent girl in the balls, something she admitted to, to the woman who had been bold enough to dab his forehead and speak up for herself?
And then Lady Cassandra…
He still could not shake off those questions, considering it once again. How many more times would he do so?
Was there truth behind the gossip?
Amelia had been desperate, into her third Season, knowing she was not noticed enough to be courted by one of the more admirable suitors.
The collision at my aunt’s ball, he thought. Could she have orchestrated that, too?
“Graham?” Felicity’s voice was soft as she coaxed his attention back up to them, pulling him from his thoughts. Her hand was rested on Amelia’s, as if she was already protesting who she stood by. Even Daphne had fallen quiet, waiting for his reaction.
Graham looked at his wife, suddenly feeling foolish. Only the night before he had opened up to her about one of his biggest fears, only for her to say nothing now.
“Graham,” Amelia murmured but he held up a hand, pushing to his feet. “Graham, do not take notice of such things. It is a gossip column. It lies.”
“You admitted to being a wallflower,” he said, “and it states you as such. You looked beautiful last night, and it states as such.” His heart beat faster at the small admittance that had Amelia’s brows pulling together.
“It also called me plain and you a beast.”
“And am I not?” he shouted, frustrated, confused, as he had been ever since Amelia had crashed into his life.
He hesitated, bracing his hands on the table.
“The gossip sheets also speak of the duel five years ago—all of it is true. Mother, you have even feared the column’s truths.
Regardless, this Heavens-forsaken sheet is the strings upon which the ton dance!
They think based on this.” He slammed the sheet down, rattling the dishes on the table. “They judge based on this.”
He shoved away from the table, stalking out of the breakfast hall without another word.
***
Amelia’s face was pale with panic, her heart pounding in her chest, as she watched Graham walk out of the breakfast hall.
Her breaths were fast and hard as she looked at Felicity. “It is not possible he believes the gossip, is it?” she whispered, dread pooling in her.
Felicity only squeezed her hand tighter. “Graham is… he is sensitive to such gossip. The duel he has mentioned scarred him badly.”
“Both physically and emotionally,” Daphne added. “And he believes that he wears that scar like a brand. That nobody will let him forget that night due to the scar being a reminder.”
Amelia’s chest caved. “I did not trick him,” she whispered.
“I have told him several times but I do not think he believes me at all. How could he believe such frivolous rumours? How can he now believe when the same author stated we were doing something salacious in the hedge maze when he knows the truth! Why now does he choose to believe it?”
Her voice broke as she grasped desperately for answers.
“I am sorry for being so emotional,” she murmured, her head hanging.
“It is only that I see how the situation appears. I am aware I felt different last night but it was him. He—he gave me the confidence I needed because we were the subject of gossip in the same ways. I knew that we could see it through together.”
“He will come around,” Felicity said. “You have a rather broody husband, Amelia.” She tried to laugh but the tension was too thick, and Amelia couldn’t convince herself to laugh with her. “Give him time. He will think it through and he will come to know your truth.”
“And until then?”
Felicity reached forward. “Until then we have a ball to finish preparing! Take a stroll with me through the house, and we shall assess how the ballroom is looking.”
Crestfallen, Amelia nodded, and Felicity continued eating but Amelia found that she had no appetite. She could only hope that the gossip writer soon got bored of fixating on the duke and her.
***
“Do you have a theme for the ball?” Daphne asked. “The decorators have been asking what to change the furnishing covers to.”
“We do not need to do all of that,” Amelia said quickly as they entered the empty ballroom.
In broad daylight, with the room empty, it felt strange.
Although she had not seen this room in full swing of a party, it was not hard to feel the emptiness of a space devoid of its purpose. “How long has the ballroom been empty?”
“Oh, at least five years,” Daphne answered with a sigh. “My father and mother hosted grand balls here when my father was alive. Graham has yet to host anything, but I am ever so glad that you have come along to help change that.”
“That is if Graham even lets me continue to have this ball,” Amelia muttered under her breath.
“I fear that I have pushed us right back to where we began. It is easy to imagine that we were growing closer. I thought perhaps he might be learning to trust me. Now that scandal sheet has ruined all hope.”
“My brother walks around with a scowl all day but do not forget that he has a softer inside than he speaks about.”
“That is what worries me,” Amelia admitted. “For I think he was starting to show me that, and now I might not get another chance.”
“He will come around.” Daphne pulled her to her side, linking their arms. “You shall see!”
They continued walking around the ballroom, Daphne pointing out various changes she wished to make, and where the refreshments stands would go.
Outside, they walked around the terrace, where Felicity had ordered a large, wooden structure that would squarely arch over the ground, and it would be decorated with lights.
“When it goes dark, it shall all look magical!” Daphne gushed.
Amelia turned around softly on the terraced area, her arms spread out, imagining herself dancing with Graham out there.
But in her mind’s eye she saw Lady Cassandra watching her maliciously, and she saw Beatrice and her noticed jealousy of Eleanor and Lord Owen, and suddenly her movements ground to a halt.
“Is there anybody you wish to dance with at the ball?” Amelia asked but Daphne shook her head.
“I have been content at most balls to speak with my friend. You would think that many would jump at the chance to dance with a duke’s sister, but they do not always.
” Daphne shrugged. “It is not upsetting to me, for most of the men are only asking because of who my father was, and who my brother is, so I would rather wait for a man who does not seek only those things.” She sighed heavily.
“I think that is why I so like the idea of Romeo and Juliet’s masked ball, for they chose one another not from name alone, but love, genuine attraction to one another. ”
“Indeed, but they also end in tragedy,” Amelia pointed out, her dour mood likely due to the absence of her husband. Daphne only waved her of.
“Does everything not end in such ways? What matters is how bright their love burned while it lasted.”
Amelia smiled at her sister-in-law, for it was a viewpoint not many people focused on. Everybody always spoke of the lovers’ deaths, and how their love had been foolish and rushed. But there was Daphne, romantic over them.
“You know, Clara thought Graham and I were a very romantic connection,” Amelia told her. “I think you two would get along very well. I hope the next time you both meet it shall be under less awkward circumstances.”
“I spoke with her briefly at your wedding breakfast.” Daphne nodded.
“And Elizabeth, too. I fear you shall have some very fierce events during their Seasons. They are both very passionate and opinionated.” She laughed, pulling Amelia through the garden, further pointing out elements of the ball. She was contemplating fireworks, now.
“They are indeed,” Amelia agreed. “I can only pray for the suitors that hope to catch their eye, for they shall not have an easy task. Clara expects great, romantic things—as I believe she ought to, and Elizabeth is rare too cynical to be easily wooed. I look forward to it.”
“I am sure Graham can be a very protective brother-in-law and assist the process,” Daphne said, grinning. At the mention of her husband again, Amelia wistfully glanced towards the house, wondering where her husband was, and what he was thinking.
In a window, movement caught her eye. She looked for a moment longer, seeing the duke’s figure before he moved quickly away, the curtain fluttering behind him.