Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“How I wish you would set aside your vanity and explain things to me. Amelia, it is only a matter of time before society notices your absence at Riverside Court and starts to talk. And when the duke returns from wherever he has gone—”
If the duke returns, Amelia thought, stabbing her embroidery needle into her work with much more strength than the task required.
“—he will come directly here and cause such a scene that it will never be forgotten by any who live on the road, I know it. And as fun as that would be, I fear it is in your interest to tell me the truth instead so we might have a chance at averting disaster.”
Mary-Ann batted her long coal-darkened eyelashes up at Amelia from her position by the fire. She leaned her head on the armrest of the chaise longue Amelia occupied in Beatrice’s garden room.
“Please, tell me what happened, cousin. I am such a good listener and so very smart. I know men. I will know how to help.”
“You only want another story to tell your friends.” Amelia pressed her lips together and threaded the needle through the fabric.
Her roses were taking on an angry, distorted form.
“There is nothing to tell. I missed Uncle and Aunt. And I wanted to spend time with Freddy. I will not be the first bride to get homesick.”
“And the duke—the great, somber Duke of Avon—permitted his brand-new wife to leave his abode with the majority of her belongings, knowing everyone in a fifty mile-radius will hear about the development by the week’s end?” Mary-Ann laughed sardonically. “As though I would ever believe that!”
“It does not matter what you—Ah!”
Amelia had stabbed herself in the thumb. She dropped her embroidery in her lap and sucked at the injured finger. Mary-Ann sighed and stuck the needle out of harm’s way. Tears brimmed in Amelia’s eyes at the pain, and remained there for other matters entirely.
It was barely noon.
She had left Riverside Court the night prior, after having ordered the housekeeper to fix her trip to the Spencer house without providing them with an explanation.
Her uncle, naturally, had taken her in without hesitation.
But she had heard the passionate conversations coming from the drawing room that night between him and Freddy.
Benjamin, accusing Freddy of poisoning Amelia’s mind against the duke. Freddy, swearing that he had done no such thing, but that he was glad Amelia had come to her senses about the rake at last.
Neither quite grasped the truth of the situation. And so long as Amelia had her way, they never would.
When she had read that letter from S—whoever the devil S was—it had not taken long for her to piece together what had happened.
Nicholas had, behind her back, continued to write the woman he had entertained an affair with. He would return to her the moment his marriage to Amelia was annulled. That was likely why he had not fought for Amelia to stay—that much seemed clear.
He had likely gone there now instead of heading northward to Coventry. And the thought of what might be happening in some sordid little love nest made Amelia want to be sick.
To have hoped for anything else was my first and last mistake. I love him still, but he could never love me. He has only ever been a rake and a liar.
She examined her thumb, guilty feelings rising within her.
All evidence pointed to her theory being right. And yet that estimation of Nicholas, that he was as selfish and facetious as they had claimed he was, did not sit right within her heart.
“Are you all right? I heard a cry,” Freddy said from the doorway.
The cousins turned, Amelia still nursing her throbbing thumb. She nodded in his direction, sending Mary-Ann an ineffective look to be quiet.
“Amelia stuck a needle through her thumb to distract me from asking questions about her failing marriage.” Mary-Ann smiled mirthlessly. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into her, Cousin Freddy. And once we are done counseling Amelia, we can advise you on that mop on your head.”
Freddy frowned. “Out,” he ordered.
Mary-Ann looked ready to protest, but did as she was told. She lingered for a moment for emphasis in the doorway, then slammed the door shut behind her so hard the house reverberated around them.
“She is a chit to be sure, but she is right about your hair,” Amelia murmured, drawing her feet toward her so her brother could sit at the foot of her chair. “And she will take shears to it in the night if you do not allow Uncle’s valet to groom you first. She told me as much earlier.”
“I happen to quite like my hair like this. But on to more important matters now. I spoke with Uncle Benjamin last night.”
“I heard. As did all of Oxfordshire.”
“This new attitude of yours is most unbecoming.” Freddy’s frown deepened.
“He said you appeared out of the blue in an Avon carriage and begged to be taken in—all this while I was out at dinner. Said you gave no reason for this and asked not to be questioned. Why, Amelia? You must tell me if the duke has mistreated you.”
Amelia tucked her thumb in the crook of her knee. “Why must I tell you? Is the plan not for us to abscond to France at the earliest convenience?”
Freddy hushed her emphatically, scooting closer.
“Uncle does not yet know what we plan. He must be told delicately when the time is right. And since that time is not right now, and your duke will return to Riverside Court and find you missing, I must be told what caused you to leave him in the first place so I can defend you.”
Pushing her embroidery out of her lap, Amelia shot out of her seat and started pacing. She shook her head, refusing to let Freddy see how hurt and embarrassed she was by the whole ordeal.
“You only need to know this,” she said with finality. “Our marriage has been both extremely successful for our purposes and yet has crushed me completely. I cannot remain at Riverside Court another night. And if the Duke of Avon…”
She interrupted herself, so angry she could barely say his name out loud.
“If he comes here looking for me, you will send him away immediately. That is all I ask from you for now.” She raised her eyes resolutely. “I am keeping your secrets.” Louise, Bright Corner—he knew them without her having to say a word. “I only ask that you return my confidence in kind.”
“If that is what you want.”
“It is. Now please…” She scowled at her embroidery. “Throw that thing in the fire. And then you and I will sit down and talk about what is to happen next.”
Whether Freddy agreed or not did not matter. The duke called at Spencer House three times before accepting his defeat. Amelia heard about the visits after the fact from an excitable Mary-Ann, who recounted how her father had forced him to leave with as much restraint as he could muster.
A week had passed since then, and Amelia had been traveling covertly between Spencer House and the orphanage in the days between. Nicholas, if he had tried to catch her at St. George’s, had not been successful. And the play was going ahead as planned that evening at the Jericho Playhouse.
A swarm of excited children rushed past as Amelia put the finishing touches on one of the fairies. Philippa worked beside her in equal concentration, manipulating her actor’s unruly head as the little girl tried to escape her nimble hair-dressing fingers.
“We are almost done,” Philippa sighed, tying the child’s hair into a second braid.
“First you fought me over bathing and now you refuse to have your hair brushed. But there, you see?” She turned the little girl toward the mirror behind them.
“Beautiful. Lovely. A fairy who does not stink. Now be off with you.”
The child grinned and ran after the rest of their disobedient troupe, her mesh fairy wings flapping behind her. Mr. Marsh and Mrs. Thatcher were on duty nearby, rehearsing lines with the play’s main cast.
In the quiet of the empty dressing room beneath the stage, Amelia placed a hand on her chest and smiled.
“I would be careful,” she heard Philippa say as she began clearing away their equipment. “I have not seen you smile in a week. Your face will crack right down the middle. And wouldn’t that be a shame on a night like this?”
Amelia sighed, turning to help her. “This is a triumphant evening as you said, and I will not have you spoiling it,” she teased in return. “But thank you, Philippa. Your help has been invaluable in this project and more.”
“Oh, hush. I am only here because I love you like a sister all my own.” She slowed, placing a hairbrush gingerly in the trunk lent to them by the playhouse. “Which is why I must ask… These things I am hearing from Mr. Elston concerning you and His Grace… They are not true, are they?”
Frankly, Amelia was surprised it had taken her so long to ask.
“That depends on what you mean,” she replied carefully.
“That you are living with your uncle, for a start. And that the duke has been to call several times, and has each time been sent away by the baron. Amelia, what in heaven’s happened?”
“I…” She heaved a breath. “I do not…”
Just then, Freddy appeared out of the corner of her eye.
“I am making the rounds telling the children to break a leg,” he explained, placing a reassuring hand on Amelia’s back. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No—”
“Yes,” they said simultaneously. Philippa scowled. “But it is a conversation that can wait until after we have redefined theatre with our show.”
She picked up the trunk and gave it to Freddy.
“And what do you expect me to do with this?” he arched a thick brow.
“Take it back to the closet. I will show you where it belongs.” Philippa tapped the trunk. She leaned in as she passed Amelia. “And when I return, you and I will continue this chat. In the meantime, why don’t you go out for some air?”
Amelia remained silent, returning to her tidying now that she was alone.