Chapter 11 #2
Amelia swallowed, suddenly aware of the strange tightness in her throat. “Yes,” she managed at last, offering him a small smile, “I suppose you do.” And for reasons she could not fully explain, that thought made her feel both frightened and deeply, quietly happy.
Later that day, Amelia found Valerie alone in the drawing room, standing in the center of the polished floor as though it had suddenly become a stage.
The girl’s posture was rigid, her chin slightly lifted, and her arms moved in careful, restrained patterns that suggested she was attempting something far more structured than simple movement.
Amelia paused in the doorway rather than interrupt, instinctively recognizing a private effort rather than a performance.
She lingered quietly, giving Valerie space, though she could not help observing the precision with which the girl corrected her own steps.
It was only when Amelia shifted her weight that the floorboard creaked faintly beneath her. Valerie immediately stopped.
“I know you are there,” Valerie said without turning, lowering her arms as though caught in something she had not meant to be seen.
Amelia stepped into the room slowly, smoothing her hands over her skirts. “I did not mean to disturb you,” she replied lightly, offering a small, polite smile.
Valerie finally turned, her expression composed but guarded, as if she had already decided how this conversation would end. “I heard what you said to David,” she said, folding her arms with careful precision.
Amelia blinked, then tilted her head slightly. “You miss nothing, do you?” she asked, half amused despite herself.
Valerie did not respond to the comment, only glanced away briefly as though deciding whether to continue. “I wanted to apologize,” she said at last, though her tone suggested the word did not come easily to her.
Amelia remained still, giving her space to continue without interruption.
“I have been difficult,” Valerie admitted, her voice lowering slightly, “but I cannot be less protective of David. I cannot.”
Amelia’s expression softened, and she nodded once in quiet understanding. “I think you would be failing him if you were anything less,” she replied gently.
Valerie’s gaze flickered at that, as though she had not expected agreement. After a pause, she added, more quietly, “I am glad he does not remember her.”
The honesty in her voice made the room feel heavier for a moment. Amelia studied her carefully before speaking, choosing her words with care.
“Was she… unkind to you as well?” she asked softly, keeping her tone neutral.
Valerie’s jaw tightened slightly as she shook her head. “She did not hit me, if that is what you mean,” she replied, the words clipped but controlled.
Amelia nodded slowly, understanding that the absence of violence did not mean the absence of harm. She had learned that much about families in far less gentle ways than she would have liked.
“No,” she said quietly, “I did not think it was that simple.”
Valerie looked at her then, as though surprised by the answer, but she said nothing further. Amelia exhaled softly then changed direction deliberately, as though refusing to let the moment sink too deeply into sorrow.
“Have you ever danced properly?” Amelia asked suddenly, her tone brightening with purpose.
Valerie hesitated, clearly caught off guard by the shift in subject. “Of course, I have,” she replied, though she did not sound convincing.
Amelia smiled slightly, stepping closer. “Then you will not mind practicing with me,” she said, already turning as if the decision had been made.
Valerie immediately shook her head. “I could not,” she protested, taking a step back.
Amelia raised an eyebrow. “You will be making a public debut soon,” she reminded her gently. “You cannot frighten the entire room by refusing to move your feet.”
Valerie opened her mouth as if to argue, then closed it again.
Amelia seized the opportunity, turning toward the doorway. “Which servants play instruments?” she called out, already thinking ahead.
After a brief exchange in the corridor, a maid confirmed that two footmen played violin and one cook occasionally played the pianoforte.
Amelia nodded decisively and clapped her hands once. “Perfect,” she declared. “We shall have a small orchestra.”
Within an hour, the drawing room had been transformed in ways that would have made any strict chaperone faint. The servants assembled awkwardly, instruments in hand, while Valerie stood frozen near the center of the room.
Amelia moved among them with brisk efficiency, arranging positions and offering encouragement where necessary. “This is not a concert,” she explained cheerfully. “It is merely practice.”
Valerie gave her a long, uncertain look. “This feels like a performance,” she muttered under her breath.
Amelia ignored the complaint with practiced ease and stepped back into position.
“Now,” she said, clapping her hands once more, “we begin.”
The first hesitant notes filled the room, uneven but earnest. Valerie stood still for a moment longer, then finally, reluctantly, shifted her weight. Amelia smiled to herself as the music gathered strength, thinking that sometimes movement was simply a matter of refusing to let stillness win.
Perhaps I will get through Valerie’s walls just yet.