Chapter Twenty-Four
“He left,” Amelia sniffled. “With her.”
“I know, dear.”
“It’s been a week, and I still haven’t heard from him.” Amelia wrapped her arms around her legs, as she sat curled up on the settee with her sister.
“I know.”
“I’ve cried far too much over him.”
“I know.”
“I can’t do anything without thinking of the dratted man. I can’t sleep. I can’t paint. Well, I can’t paint regardless. But I can’t go for a walk. Ride a horse. All I think about is him. It’s awful.”
“I know.”
“Is that all you’re going to say, Arabella? That you know? What do you know? You know nothing about how this has devastated me.” Where had that come from? Amelia was never one to lash out at her sister.
“You’re upset, Amelia. And so you should be. But not at me. At least…not for this. I’d much rather you be upset at me for the right reason. So, let me have it?” She put her face in front of Amelia’s. “Go ahead, slap me.”
The position of her body and the offer was too ridiculous that Amelia let out a stifled unamused laugh.
“What are you talking about, Arabella? Sometimes I don’t think we’re even speaking the same language, let alone born of the same family.”
Arabella jumped to her feet and braced her stance. “Slap me. Come on,” she said, hauling Amelia to her feet as well. “I deserve that at least.”
“I’m not going to slap you—”
Arabella ripped Amelia’s arm up into the air, shoulder height. “Just do it, please.”
“You’re being facetious now.”
“No, I’m not. I was being facetious when I thought that Martin loved me.” Her face crumpled. It was Arabella’s first display of how the imminent scandal was affecting her. “I did this to us because I was a fool. I followed my heart and look where it got us.”
Promptly, Amelia embraced her sister. “It’s not wrong to follow your heart,” she reassured her.
“I should have never let him get me alone—”
“Hush now. What’s done is done. It’s a scandal, but there’s still hope. It’s not all bad. You’ll get through this.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes. I know so.”
“Good,” Arabella sniffled, and at once perked up. “Then listen to your own advice when Benedict tells you his side.”
“What?”
Arabella’s eyes darted to the window that Amelia hadn’t been paying attention to as she comforted her sister.
“I see him riding up. And it’s about time.
” She wiped the tears—what few had fallen—from her eyes.
“Well, that was a good cry. Thank you for letting me get that out. And thank you for reminding me that no matter how bad things get, they can always get better.”
With that little speech, Arabella drifted out of the room, exchanging places with Benedict.
What was happening? Life felt like a whirlwind, Amelia could hardly catch her breath. She sunk into the nearest chair.
Apparently Benedict was out of breath too because when he dropped to his knees, he laid his head on her lap and didn’t speak for a full minute.
When he finally did start speaking, he was mumbling over and over again, “I’m sorry.”
At a loss of words, she mindlessly stroked his hair. It was too tempting not to. And it was almost as though she needed to initiate some touch with him. To prove that he was really here.
“I’m sorry, Amelia. I’m so sorry. For everything.”
“Everything?”
He lifted his head. “Not everything. That wasn’t the right thing to say. I’m a mess. This week has been the darkest night of my life. When I didn’t hear from you—”
She stiffened. “Why would you hear from me?”
“I was waiting for your reply—”
“My reply?”
“To my note.”
“What note?”
“By God, you didn’t get it? I left it right here.” He pointed to the table in front of them.
“I didn’t get any notes. You left me one?”
“Yes, darling. It must have fallen on the floor. Or perhaps one of the servants cleaned it up and threw it away thinking it was trash. I had to leave it in such a frantic state that I can’t say for sure whether or not I put your name on it.
I just folded it up and left it here. It was chaos from the second Damien rode up.
Then Susannah. Then the boy—who is not my son—but then wanting to tell you everything only to hear from Damien that you didn’t want to talk to me—”
“I didn’t. I needed some space.”
“I understand that—”
“But wait…you don’t have a son?”
“No.” He smiled. His first genuine, full-bodied smile since arriving. “Not yet.” His hands went to her stomach. “I hope to someday with you.”
“You do?”
“If you’ll have me?”
“Is this your proposal?”
“No. But it’s my proposal to propose. Do you accept?”
“What? How? I’m confused.”
“I can explain everything—”
“Just tell me the most important parts for now.”
“Susannah made promises of a big country house to an orphan boy in exchange for him to act like my son. He was quite ill. Then Susannah fell sick. That’s what took me so long.
It didn’t take long for the boy to tell me what was really going on.
Her plans fell apart quickly when the truth was revealed. Thankfully.”
“Where’s the boy now?”
Benedict froze. Just stared at her.
“Benedict? Is he well? You’re making me nervous. Is he alright?” It took a swallow of pride, but she asked, “Is Susannah well?”
With tear rimmed eyes, Benedict took her face in his hands. “Susannah…is well, she’s Susannah. She’s fine. And the boy, he’s well. I’ve asked him to come work on my estate. I’ll see him treated well, my love.”
Her heart stuttered. Which shocked her because she hadn’t felt her heart beat all week. “That’s the first time you’ve called me that.”
“I know. It’s because I love you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I do.” He blinked hard. “Because I tell you this awful story of manipulation and chaos and all you care about is everyone’s health. You are pure and good, my love. And I’m sorry for putting you through this. Can you ever forgive me?”
The pain in her chest was unbearable. Though there was a significant amount of relief in seeing Benedict and hearing his story, it wasn’t enough. She had opened herself up to love. To a future. To hope. And the worst possible things had happened.
She really wanted to say yes. But she couldn’t.