CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO #2
What she could not endure was being the ruin of another lady’s happiness.
“Beatrice,” Cassandra cooed, “do not be simple. We are friends, are we not? We may help one another and secure the matches we want. Where is the friend I had who helped me? Who felt rage at being scorned by Lord Owen? Who wished ailment upon Lady Eleanor for swooping in when so many men had invited her to dance, to court, but she just had to choose Lord Owen?”
When Beatrice said nothing, Cassandra moved to her other side. “Do you think Lady Eleanor knows how much you like him? Do you not believe they laugh about you behind your back? I do not wish to see you made a laughing stock, Beatrice.”
“What,” she whispered, as guests mingled around her, blocking her view of Lord Owen and Lady Eleanor. “What would you like me to do?”
“It is rather simple,” her friend said. “Do you recall the dalliance Lord Ambrose stated he and Her Grace had? I am so sure she had told him to meet her in the hedge maze. Imagine His Grace’s upset when he realizes his wife had never gone there to speak with him at all.
Imagine that he finds out his wife wanted to be courted by another man. He was the convenient of choices.”
“But you said that she orchestrated their meeting,” Beatrice murmured, confused at her friend’s constantly changing ploys.
“Well, when a woman is caught, she must think on her feet. Of course her intentions changed course most rapidly.”
“Cassandra,” Beatrice whispered, “can we not leave them—”
“Lady Ashworth, did you say that Her Grace wished to be courted by Lord Ambrose?” Cassandra asked loudly, drawing her into the rumor whether she liked it or not. Beatrice’s face burned red. “And that she never wanted to meet His Grace at all at my own garden party?”
Around them, the crowd died down, listening. The murmurings began at once, and Beatrice’s stomach dropped at the sight of the Duke of Blackthorn casting a look at his wife, betrayal and pain flashing in his face.
“These are the games of the ton, Beatrice,” Cassandra said, her voice low and threatening. “And I suggest you either play or get comfortable with being on the wrong side of me.”
***
Amelia heard the whispers pick up in the drawing room and escaped before she could even grasp what was being said.
She could not handle yet another thing. Whatever had been said was something Graham had heard, for he fixed her with a look of betrayal, and something else she could only question if it was a sense of being right.
Amelia spun on her heel and broke out onto a small balcony, closing the doors behind her and drawing over to the rail.
Before her, the townhouses of London spilled out down the street, candlelight glimmering in windows.
Carriages clattered past, full of happy couples and happy families—at least that was what she thought.
That was what she told herself, for she hoped that somebody was happy in London that night.
How terribly dramatic, she thought, laughing sadly to herself.
A door opened and closed behind her.
“Daphne, I am quite well—”
She broke off, turning around to find Graham standing there, his face tight and pained in the darkness.
Across the balcony, he gazed at her. He looked conflicted, as though he perhaps wished to remain distanced from her yet his concern took over.
The night around them was cool, pressing around them, and yet the silence was so, so unbearable.
It grew so thick that Amelia could endure it no longer. “Graham, what have I done?” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You have darkness in you, I understand that, but what have I done that you continue to punish me with your silence yet you…. yet you follow me and make sure I am well?”
She wrapped her arms around herself, both trying to hold herself together and block out the cold air.
Graham’s hand twitched, and she couldn’t help wonder if he wanted to reach for her.
He clenched his hand into a fist, and the look on his face as he gazed at her was utter pain.
The moonlight cast hard shadows over his face, and Amelia couldn’t stop mapping out every part of him even as her heart broke in her chest.
“It is not fair,” she whispered, her throat closing with tears. “I have done nothing but stand at your side and yet you give me this wall of silence. Does it not feel unbearable to you?”
His eyes betrayed the silence—for they showed her a whole world of emotions he dared not speak. But she needed him to.
“Heavens, it is rather cold out here.”
Percival’s voice broke the air between them and although Amelia looked at him, Graham’s gaze did not leave her, ignoring his cousin outright.
“Although, the tension between you both might as well heat up this whole house,” Percival chuckled.
“Your Graces, forgive me for not seeking you both out sooner but I wished to apologise for my abhorrent behaviour at your ball the other night. I was very severely in my cups, and I did not mean to have an outburst like that. Graham, it was the most disrespectful thing I have ever done, and I am sorry.”
Graham finally looked at his cousin, nodding sharply once. Amelia had the sense that he was merely acknowledging the apology without forgiving Percival.
“It appears the second half of the evening is about to begin,” Percival said, as if finally realizing he was in the middle of an awkward moment. He bid them goodbye and slipped back through the doors.