CHAPTER TWENTY
“The cliffs of Blackthorn are some of the finest on this side of the country,” Graham told Amelia, the two of them on horseback as they slowly walked along a cliff-side road.
“My father used to take me up here, and I would always stand at the edge when he was not looking, stretch out my arms, and let the wind build in my jacket until I felt as though I would lift off.”
“Your governess never tried to stop you?” Amelia laughed, the sound both a comfort and pain to Graham, for it threatened her closeness to him, and part of him still battled fiercely with himself over needing to not allow that to happen.
“Oh, she did,” Graham answered, fighting his own laugh.
It was getting harder to keep his voice flat and stoic, when all he wished was to find where he had long buried his true emotions.
Trying to show any of them was like reaching into an empty well: bottomless, unending, a chasm of black.
No matter how hard he tried to unlock that part of himself he just couldn’t.
“But she long grew tired of chasing me to stop. In the end, I think she kept an eye on me, made sure I was safe, but could not stop me.”
“Your father must have known you would be a rebellious duke, then.”
“He raised a son who would not simper to anyone,” Graham answered, thinking back on every hard-earned lesson, every lecture of responsibility drilled into him from a young age.
“No matter my reports in classes, I always had to do better. If I scored ninety-nine percent on one examination, I was questioned why it was not one hundred. If I won against an opponent in fencing classes, I was asked why I had not challenged my training master. If I mastered a canter on horseback, my father would laugh and ask, well, then, why are you not galloping on the beast already? Everything was always one step lower than what he wanted.”
“And now?” Amelia asked, and he could hear how gentle she was trying to be with the question. Graham inhaled sharply.
“And now I do not know what he would have thought of what I became,” he confessed, hating that the admission even came out.
“Now, he would hate that I isolate from the ton. He would instruct me to attend every gentleman’s club in the city to associate, to reforge my connections, that tragedy could strike but it should not linger.
” Graham sighed, petting the mane of his horse for comfort, as he had done as a boy when the pressure of his father’s lectures became too much.
“As weak as it makes me, I do not know how not to let it linger. And I fear that would make him ashamed of me.”
“Your father was too hard on you.”
“My father was not hard enough.” The countering was almost a growl as he shook his head.
The wind off the sea tossed his unbound hair around his face, and he must have looked terribly unkempt yet he caught Amelia staring with pink cheeks.
“My father knew what was best, and he would berate me terribly for neglecting my dukedom and my family. It is a shame I have carried ever since that dawn. But… it is because of how he raised me—to be honourable and responsible—that I even went to the duel site in the first place.”
“What truly happened, Graham?” Amelia pressed. She looked so innocent on her horse, so inquisitive as she gazed at him, questions sparkling in her eyes. Not for greed, or for her own benefit, but to know. “I do not believe Percival, or the gossip sheets, yet I do not know for sure what happened.”
“You believe I did not murder my friend?”
“No, you did not,” she said. “You are irritable and have foul outbursts, as Daphne has called them, but you are not capable of murder.”
Graham scoffed. “It is a wonder how you see that and yet the entire ton are so eager to have me labeled as that when it—he was my best friend.” His throat closed up and he shook his head. “You believe me. For now, can that be enough?”
Amelia nodded. Silence settled over them for a moment before she inhaled sharply and looked around them. “I believe we may have been out for long enough that we have missed your mother at breakfast. I am rather hungry, though.”
He had taken her out on an early morning ride to avoid his mother’s comments on the evening before. Enough about it had kept Graham awake half of the night, and he did not need to know what the damned gossip column said about Percival’s behavior.
“There…” Amelia hesitated, clearing her throat. “Well, it is only that Daphne spoke to me of a small tavern not far from Blackthorn Manor, your countryside estate. She says the manor is not far from the townhouse, halfway between these cliffs and London. We could dine there for breakfast.”
“You wish to spend more time with me?”
“Yes,” Amelia said, rolling her eyes. “I wish to find out what your other favourite books are, and what instrument is your favourite, and if you were to attend an opera which performance would you pick. There are a thousand more things I can get to know about you, Graham, and I wish to explore each one.”
That was the most honest thing he had heard anybody say to him in a long time—so why was it so hard to think about? Why was it so difficult to accept she meant it?
We all know of His Grace’s penchant for hurting others. It is rather uncanny, is it not? He hurts everybody he gets close to. The reminder of Percival’s words rang through Graham’s head, freezing him.
“I…” he trailed off, wanting nothing more than to tell her I want to have breakfast with you, but he couldn’t. I will hurt you, I will hurt you. Everybody knows it. They are only waiting for it to happen. They have long learned to only expect distance, and so should you.
“I cannot,” he eventually said, his heart heavy. “I have business to attend to today.”
He saw the flicker of disappointment in Amelia’s eyes before she composed herself and cleared her throat.
“It is no matter. I have a pianoforte duet with Daphne, anyway, so I shall be keeping myself rather busy.” He could see the forced smile, the brightness, and he despised himself for causing her to have to show such a thing.
“Duet?”
“I will be playing the pianoforte, while Daphne plays the flute. We are performing for your mother and aunt.”
“I believe that is only more reason for me to stay out of the way.” He meant it to be jesting but his voice was too hard, his words too defensive, and Amelia flinched, mustering a smile. Graham’s content morning deflated. “I apologise. Please let me ride back with you to the townhouse.”
“I… I think I can find my own way back,” Amelia said, surprising him.
“I would not want to force you to stay in company you cannot bear to be in.” It was his turn to be disappointed and stung, to explain he had not meant her but his aunt and mother together, but he could not dwell on it or ask her to stay, for she turned her horse around and rode quickly back down the cliffs.
***
Amelia strode into Blackthorn House after passing her horse into the stables to be taken care of.
She was thrumming with annoyance, having spent the first half of the early morning having Lily prepare her in a gown that, as impractical as it may have been for riding, complimented her eyes, and made her look prettier.
When Graham had intervened on her way to the breakfast hall as normal, murmuring for them to sneak out of Blackthorn before everybody else awoke for breakfast, she had been ecstatic, realizing she had been right going to bed the night before thinking something had shifted between them.
The ball had changed everything, and that change had guided her right up those steep cliffs that morning—only to crash back into reality as surely as the water against the cliffs when she realized nothing had changed, for her husband couldn’t change.
And then her own anger at thinking such cruel things only overwhelmed her.
He carried a burden on his shoulders that he could not speak about, and it prevented him from getting closer to her. Amelia had thought she’d proven herself to him the night before, speaking up in front of their guests. Had it not been enough?
No. She shook her head as she made her way to the music room.
Do not blame yourself. It is him. He needs to change—to want to change.
Amelia would break down those defenses, but that morning she was exhausted.
She had seen how easily Eleanor and Lord Owen smiled at one another, at their feelings having time to blossom.
Amelia only wished to have that with Graham.
It was only that Graham seemed to think she wanted that with anyone but him.
Shaking herself off, she entered the music room, finding the other three ladies turning to her.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Lady Victoria said, standing to curtsey to her. Amelia nodded her head, smiling.
“Lady Victoria, how lovely it is to see you.”
The older woman looked bemused. “After that spectacle at your ball last night, I am sure it is lovely to see anybody that is not your husband, or Percival.”
Amelia, despite herself laughed. “My husband? Whyever would you think I would not want to see him?”
“Because he returned from a morning journey only moments before you came in looking rather sour-faced.” Lady Victoria paused. “What you did last night was very brave, Amelia. I am not here to gossip, nor fuel it, but not many would have the courage to do what you did.”
Amelia paused, her hands clasped, fingers twisting around one another. “I do not believe he did what Percival claims he did, and I am ashamed that Percival spoke so freely. He was very deep in his cups.”
Felicity cleared her throat delicately. “Percival has been thoroughly dealt with regarding his outburst last night.” Her voice was clipped, speaking enough about her displeasure.
“I will not have him coming into Blackthorn and making a spectacle of my family again.” The dowager duchess seemed to shake herself off, smiling brighter than her voice had suggested.
“Now, I believe we are here to play some music, no?”