Chapter Eleven #2
“Do what you will,” she whispered, riding out the pulse of a crest that kept building and rising.
With every thrust, she embraced him, understanding that this went much deeper than the joining of a man and a woman.
It was a giving of herself, pushing back his dark grief and offering the healing solace of her body.
He took and she gave, until at last he ground into her, his breath shuddering as he emptied himself.
Flesh to flesh, heartbeat to heartbeat, they embraced in the darkness. This…this was what she wanted from him. Only more than that, she wanted his love.
She wanted him to love her the way he had his first wife. Perhaps more. Her own heart was utterly lost now, but she held back the words. This was a beginning, and he wasn’t ready to set aside the past.
“Stay,” Amelia urged him.
David dropped a kiss on her mouth and reached for his fallen clothing. “You’ll sleep better without me,” he said, though it wasn’t at all true. He said nothing more but pulled the coverlet over her before he departed.
For long moments, she stared at the wall, feeling abandoned. He didn’t want to stay with her, and it hurt to know that. A hollow loneliness stole over her, but Amelia refused to pity herself. She was in love with the earl, and the only solution was to make him love her.
No matter how long it took.
David’s actions had haunted Amelia for most of the night. She had never imagined he would come to her, but he’d left her feelings bruised. Though she knew it was normal for a husband to visit his wife and share her bed for an hour or two, she’d felt an overwhelming loneliness after he’d gone.
Then, too, his earlier confession that her kiss was better than Katherine’s was even more bewildering. She’d never expected him to reveal such a thing. Especially when he hadn’t wanted to marry her—not really.
Was he afraid of getting too close to her? Was that why he had abandoned her so swiftly?
Her marriage was a tangled mess, and try as she might, she had no idea how to mend the frayed edges. Thank goodness she had a distraction this morning, to draw her thoughts away from last night.
Amelia clutched her reticule, holding on tightly to the edge of the carriage as she drove to the village with Christine seated across from her.
The girl’s expression was sullen, and she had I-don’t-want-to-be-here written all over her face.
She had also come down with a cold and coughed frequently, her handkerchief clutched in one hand.
When they reached the village, the driver pulled the curricle to a stop, and he helped Amelia down first. When she held out a hand to Christine, the girl ignored it.
“We don’t have to be enemies, you know,” she pointed out.
“I loathe shopping.” Her stepdaughter put on a long face and said, “And since we’re alone, you needn’t pretend to like me. I know you don’t.”
Amelia shrugged. “I can’t say it’s easy to like someone who tells me that I’m not wanted, and she’d rather resent me than get to know me.”
At that, the girl quieted. Her expression held wariness, and when Amelia stepped forward, at least her stepdaughter followed. Glancing back at Christine, she asked, “Who created the gowns you’re wearing?”
Christine gripped her skirts, her face holding wariness. “They were my mother’s, from when she was a girl. I have no need of new clothes, since I have everything she wore.”
It was now becoming clear that the girl was clinging as hard to the past as her father.
“Do you remember your mother at all? What was she like?” Amelia prompted.
“I was five when she died. I hardly remember her at all,” Christine admitted. She sniffed and blew her nose in the handkerchief. “But Papa told me stories about her. And sometimes, if I close my eyes tight enough, I can remember what it felt like to be in her arms. She did love me.”
There was a deep hunger for affection in the girl’s voice. “So does your father,” Amelia offered. “You mean the world to him.” She opened the door to the first shop and waited for Christine to follow. “I’m trying to talk him into staying with us over the summer.”
“He won’t,” the girl insisted. “He’s too busy traveling. I ask him every year, and he always says no.” She sniffled again and sneezed.
Amelia guessed the earl was avoiding the house, and a thought occurred to her. “When did your mother die?”
“Six years ago,” Christine answered.
“Was it in the summertime?” Amelia walked over to look at a few bolts of fabric, keeping her voice low.
Her stepdaughter nodded. “In July.”
Amelia didn’t bother asking if Katherine had died at Castledon. Undoubtedly she had, particularly if the earl was avoiding this place every summer. It likely brought back bad memories.
To change the subject, she held up a bolt of rose muslin. “This is lovely. We could have a new dress made for you, and a ribbon of the same color for your hair.”
“I told you, I don’t need anything new to wear.”
But Amelia didn’t miss the way the girl’s attention drifted to a bolt of lilac muslin.
On impulse, she saw a length of deep violet ribbon and beckoned for the shopkeeper to approach.
There was nothing Amelia enjoyed more than bargaining, particularly when it came to shopping.
Perhaps it was because her family had endured poverty in the years her father had been fighting in the war.
Although Aphrodite’s Unmentionables had made it possible for her to buy new gowns and ribbons without worrying about the cost, she still couldn’t bring herself to break old habits.
After the shopkeeper offered her the ribbon for one shilling, Amelia shook her head and sighed.
“That is not at all the price they would charge for such ribbon in London.” To Christine, she added, “Now you must be careful whilst shopping, to ensure that you do not pay more than the ribbon is worth.”
“It’s quite a fair price, my lady,” the shopkeeper protested. The man appeared indignant that she would question him, until Amelia sent him a sly smile.
“For those who do not know better, I am sure you are right.” Then she returned to the lilac muslin. “Now, the purple ribbon would make an excellent trim if I were to purchase four yards of this material. Lady Christine will need new gowns, and I know you would not try to ask too high of a price.”
His eyes gleamed as he understood the game. “Perhaps if she also requires a new bonnet, we could come to an understanding on the price.”
Amelia sent him an answering smile. “There may be some items I will choose for myself. But only as long as we remain in discussion about how you’re going to lower the prices for me.”
The man now appeared delighted, and he invited them to look around more. “Why don’t you find what else is to your liking, and I’m certain we can agree upon a price that satisfies both of us?”
“We don’t need any of this,” Christine argued, sneezing again. “And why would you ask him to change the prices?”
“Has no one ever taken you shopping before?” she asked. When the girl shook her head, Amelia saw the bewilderment there.
“Well, Lady Christine, you are about to learn one of the joys of being a woman.”
They spent the remainder of the day exploring the village, and Amelia purchased several bolts of muslin and lengths of ribbon for the young girl.
She also arranged for a dressmaker to come to Castledon the next day to measure Christine for the new clothing.
When they had finished for the day, the girl looked as if she was about to fall asleep.
She leaned her head against the back of the carriage seat with a heavy sigh.
“Are you feeling all right?” Amelia asked. “You look tired.”
“It’s nothing,” Christine insisted, sniffling again. “But we didn’t need most of those things. My father will be very cross with you for buying so much.”
“You will need all of it when you accompany us to London next Season,” Amelia said. “And once the new gowns are ready, you will love them, I promise you.”
“I like wearing my mother’s clothes,” the girl insisted.
“There is nothing wrong with that.” Amelia kept her voice gentle, knowing it was Christine’s way of holding on to a piece of her mother. “But it’s nice to have new things as well.”
“If you’re trying to get me to like you by buying me things, it won’t work,” her stepdaughter insisted.
Amelia sighed. “Frankly, Christine, I don’t care if you like me or not. Your father asked me to help you prepare for your debut in society, and you have a great deal to learn. I’m helping you out of courtesy to him, more than anything else.”
The words were harsher than she’d intended, but it was the truth. David had rescued her from a scandal by marrying her. She’d promised to uphold her end of the bargain by taking care of his daughter—a daughter who wanted nothing to do with her.
On the journey back, Amelia drank in the sight of the green countryside with stone walls separating the land.
The rolling hills and moors were sprinkled with trees, and the big blue sky seemed to embrace the land with lacy white clouds.
Here at Castledon, she could almost imagine the stories of King Arthur and Camelot.
It was near Yorkshire, and sometimes, on a clear day, she could see the gray sea, dotted with stones.
“It’s beautiful here,” she said, shielding her eyes against the sun. “You must love drawing the landscape.”
“I don’t actually like to draw,” Christine admitted, dabbing at her nose. “I learned how because Miss Grant said that all young ladies must learn how to sketch and paint. But I’m not any good at it.”
“Your father thinks you are,” she said softly.
“He’s never here,” the girl admitted. “He doesn’t know anything about me.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if she was used to being left alone.