Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Amelia excused herself from the ballroom with quiet precision, offering polite smiles as she slipped past laughing guests and spinning dancers.
The music swelled behind her, bright and careless, but she felt strangely detached from it as she moved through the corridor.
Her thoughts were still tangled in the strange tension surrounding Gabriel and Lady Provie, but another worry tugged at her more insistently now.
David.
She told herself it was nothing, and yet she could not ignore the pull of concern in her chest that she might never see him again.
The nursery was dimly lit when she arrived, the warm glow of a single lamp casting soft light across the room.
Inside, she found the maid slumped in a chair, fast asleep, her head tilted awkwardly to one side.
David, however, was safe in his small bed, curled beneath blankets with his face half-buried in the pillow.
His breathing was steady, peaceful, entirely untroubled by the chaos of the night below.
Amelia stepped closer, watching him for a long moment as her heart tightened unexpectedly.
He looks so small like this… How could anyone ever think of leaving him?
She reached out instinctively and gently smoothed a curl from his forehead, careful not to wake him. A faint ache settled in her chest, sharp and unfamiliar in its intensity.
Be the last time I see him like this, she thought suddenly, the idea striking her without warning.
The thought felt wrong, almost unbearable.
She had only been here a month, just a month, but somehow that felt untrue now.
The children had rooted themselves in her life far more deeply than she had ever intended.
Amelia lingered a few moments longer, as though memorizing the sight of him might anchor something within her.
The quiet rhythm of the room felt fragile, like something easily broken if she stayed too long.
So, she straightened slowly, smoothed her skirts, and forced herself to step away.
At the door, she paused once more, looking back at David’s sleeping form.
“Goodnight, my dear boy,” she whispered under her breath even though she knew he could not hear her.
Then she gently closed the door behind her.
The hallway outside felt colder as she made her way back toward the stairs.
The sounds of the ball grew louder with each step she descended, laughter and music spilling through the open doors like a reminder of another world entirely.
Amelia adjusted her breathing, steadying herself before rejoining the guests.
She told herself firmly that she was only checking on David, nothing more, and yet her chest still ached faintly as she stepped into the foyer.
Halfway down the staircase, she stopped abruptly.
A woman stood below in the foyer, just inside the entrance doors, removing an elegant dark cloak from her shoulders.
She moved with composed grace, the kind that drew attention without asking for it.
Amelia had never seen her before, yet there was something undeniably commanding about her presence.
The footman hovered nearby, uncertain whether to speak or simply observe.
The woman glanced upward at the sound of Amelia’s footsteps.
Her eyes met Amelia’s immediately.
“Where is the Duke of Anderton?” the woman asked, her voice calm but carrying unmistakable authority.
Amelia hesitated for only a second, then descended another step carefully.
“He is in the ballroom with the other guests,” she replied politely, but something about the question unsettled her.
The woman’s gaze remained fixed on her as though assessing every detail at once. Amelia’s fingers tightened slightly on the banister without her realizing it.
“And you are?” the woman asked.
Amelia straightened, instinctively cautious. “Miss Shirley,” she answered. Then, after a pause, she added, “Though I beg your pardon, I do not recall that we have ever been introduced.”
A faint, almost knowing smile touched the woman’s lips.
“Oh, we have not been,” she said lightly, stepping further into the foyer as though she already belonged there. Her tone remained calm, but there was something underneath it that made Amelia’s stomach tighten. “But you will get to know me very well.”
Amelia frowned slightly, confusion flickering across her expression. “I beg your pardon?”
The woman tilted her head, studying her more intently now. Then she said it, casually, as though announcing nothing more than a polite arrival.
“I am Helen Warring,” she said. “The mother of David and Valerie.”
For a moment, Amelia could not respond.
The words did not immediately settle. They hovered in the air, refusing to make sense.
Mother…?
Her mind struggled to reconcile the statement with everything she knew, everything she had seen, everything Gabriel had never spoken aloud. The foyer suddenly felt too large, too cold, too still.
Helen Warring stepped forward another pace, her expression shifting, not angry, not emotional, but resolute. And then she spoke again.
“I have come to reclaim the children who were stolen from me.”
The house felt unnaturally quiet after the departure of the guests, as though Anderton Manor itself had exhaled after holding its breath all evening. Candles still burned in the corridors, though fewer servants moved through them now, their footsteps hushed and uncertain.
Amelia stood in Gabriel’s study beside Valerie, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she tried to steady her thoughts.
The events of the night still churned inside her: Helen Warring’s arrival, the words spoken in the foyer, and the sudden unraveling of everything she thought she understood.
None of it feels real, and yet all of it has happened.
Gabriel stood near the desk, rigid and controlled, but Amelia could see the strain in the line of his shoulders.
“I did not know she was alive,” he said, his voice low and clipped as he looked between Amelia and Valerie. “Lady Provie informed me earlier that Helen Warring intended to come to Anderton, but I had no reason to believe she would appear this evening. I was still dealing with the shock of it all.”
He exhaled sharply, as though still processing the interruption to his carefully ordered world. “I assumed it was nothing more than a warning or a rumor.”
Amelia frowned slightly, the pieces beginning to fall into place in her mind.
“So that is why you were arguing with your aunt,” she said quietly, recalling the tension she had witnessed earlier in the ballroom.
Gabriel gave a short, humorless nod. “She neglected to mention timing,” he replied.
Valerie shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her pale hands twisting in her lap. The name Helen Warring had clearly unsettled her too, but she said nothing. She was her mother after all.
Amelia hesitated before speaking again, her voice softer now. “I thought… I was told she had passed away.”
The words felt heavy as she said them, as though speaking them aloud might make them truer.
Valerie’s head lifted sharply at that, her expression flickering with confusion and disbelief.
Gabriel’s jaw tightened immediately, his gaze darkening as he looked away for a brief moment. “That,” he said quietly, “is what we were all led to believe: that she had drowned. That she was gone.” He paused. “It appears that was a lie.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Amelia felt something cold settle in her chest.
A lie… all this time.
She thought of David asleep upstairs, of Valerie’s guarded expressions, of the years of absence that had shaped their lives. Her instincts shifted immediately from shock to urgency. “Excuse me, I shall return.” She turned and left the study.
She moved quickly through the corridor, skirts brushing against polished wood as she made her way upstairs. Her thoughts raced ahead of her feet. David.
The name repeated itself in her mind like a warning bell. When she reached the nursery door, she pushed it open carefully and stepped inside.
David was still asleep, just as she had left him earlier.
His small face was peaceful beneath the soft lamplight, untouched by the chaos unfolding elsewhere in the house.
Relief washed through her, sharp and immediate.
She crossed the room and knelt beside his bed for a brief moment, watching his steady breathing.
Not yet. He does not need this yet.
Turning, she moved to the door and opened it wider. Several maids were already nearby, drawn by her urgency.
“Trixie,” Amelia said firmly, catching the young maid’s attention, “and all of you, you will remain here outside this room.”
Trixie blinked in surprise but nodded quickly.
Amelia’s tone softened slightly, though her authority remained firm. “No one enters except the Duke, Valerie, or me. And if David wakes, you do not allow him to leave. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss Shirley,” Trixie replied quickly, straightening at once.
Amelia gave a short nod. “Good. Stay vigilant.” She hesitated only a moment longer before stepping away from the nursery, her heart heavy but steadying with resolve.
He must not see her yet. Not until we know what this means.
When she returned to the study, the atmosphere had shifted. Gabriel stood closer to the fireplace now, his posture tense, while Valerie remained seated but visibly restless. And then Amelia saw her.
Helen Warring stood across the room, composed and still, like a figure carved from certainty. Lady Provie was nearby, watching everything with narrowed eyes, though she said nothing. The tension between all four of them pressed heavily against the walls.
Gabriel was speaking as Amelia entered. “Valerie, you should leave the room,” he said firmly but not unkindly. “This is not a discussion for you to witness.”
Valerie immediately straightened, her chin lifting in defiance. “No,” she said clearly. “I am not a child anymore. I will not be sent away like one.”
Gabriel’s gaze sharpened. “Valerie…”
Amelia stepped forward gently before the moment could fracture further.
“She is right,” she said quietly, looking at Gabriel. “She should stay.”
Valerie turned to her in surprise, clearly relieved. Gabriel’s eyes flicked to Amelia, uncertainty breaking through his controlled exterior for the first time that night.
A long silence followed. Then Gabriel exhaled slowly, as though conceding not out of agreement but necessity. “Very well,” he said at last. “You may remain.”
Valerie nodded once, her expression set, and Amelia felt a strange mixture of pride and unease tighten in her chest. Whatever came next, none of them would be untouched by it.
And as Helen Warring finally stepped forward into the center of the room, Amelia understood with sudden clarity that the true reckoning had only just begun.
Helen scoffed, “You take orders from your governess?”
“Helen, say what you came to say,” Gabriel said with a stern look.
“You have grown,” Helen said at last to Valerie, her voice calm, almost conversational.
Valerie flinched slightly beside Amelia, though she did not step back.
“You left,” Gabriel replied flatly. “That tends to happen.”
A faint, humorless smile touched Helen’s lips. “And yet here we are.”
Amelia’s fingers tightened at her sides.
The air in the room felt too tight, too charged, as though any sudden movement might shatter something already cracked.
She glanced toward Valerie and saw the girl struggling to maintain her composure, chin lifted but eyes bright with emotion she refused to show.
Helen turned slightly then, her attention shifting between them all. “I did not come here to argue,” she said simply. “I came to see my children.”
No one moved an inch.
“Will you not hug your mother? I thought you would be glad to see me,” Helen said.
Helen’s smile softened into something almost maternal as she turned towards Valerie, but Amelia could not help thinking the expression looked carefully practiced rather than sincere.
The room remained so quiet that even the ticking of the mantel clock sounded unnaturally loud.
Amelia found herself silently willing Valerie to remain strong, even as her own heart ached for the girl.
No child should ever be forced to choose between longing for a mother and protecting herself from one.
She clasped her hands tightly together, resisting the urge to cross the room and stand beside Valerie.
“Haven’t you anything to say to me?” Helen asked gently, extending one gloved hand towards her daughter.
Her voice was warm enough to deceive a stranger.
“Will you not come and embrace your own mother?” She tilted her head ever so slightly, her smile never faltering.
“Surely we have lost enough years already.”
Valerie did not move an inch. Instead, she lifted her chin with quiet dignity, her hands folded neatly before her despite the slight tremble in her fingers.
“The time when I needed a mother is long gone,” she replied, her voice calm but edged with years of buried pain. She swallowed before continuing, refusing to lower her gaze. “You forfeited the right to that title the moment you hurt David.”
Helen’s smile faded at last.
Valerie drew a slow breath, her eyes glistening though no tears escaped. “The woman I called Mother died years ago,” she said, her voice growing firmer with every word as she looked Helen squarely in the eye.
“Ever since that day… You have remained dead to me.” She gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head. “I mourned you once. I shall not do so again.”
Amelia’s throat tightened painfully.
Pride and heartbreak swept through her in equal measure as she watched Valerie stand taller than any debutante at the finest London ball could ever hope to stand.
She is trembling, and yet she refuses to break, Amelia realized, noticing the minute quiver in the girl’s shoulders.
Gabriel remained silent beside her, but Amelia saw his jaw tighten and his eyes soften with unmistakable pride.
She wished desperately she could spare Valerie this moment, but some wounds could only be faced, never avoided.
Without another word, Valerie turned away.
She walked towards the study door, her pace steady despite the storm Amelia knew raged inside her.
She neither hurried nor hesitated, refusing to grant Helen another glance.
The door clicked shut behind her with quiet finality.
As the sound echoed through the room, Amelia realized that it had not merely been a daughter leaving her mother; it had been a child closing the door on years of pain.
And I’ve never felt prouder.