Chapter 6 #2
"Barrow has just shown him into Papa's study.
Mama is already fussing with her hair in the hall mirror, and Papa looks as though he has swallowed something unpleasant, and I have never in my life seen this house in such a state over a single caller.
" Mary dropped onto the settee beside her, eyes bright with an excitement Amelia did not remotely share.
"Do you suppose he has come to propose?"
"He has most certainly not come to propose. We have met twice, both times to argue, and on neither occasion did the conversation suggest anything resembling romantic intention."
"Papa seems to think he has come to complain of you.
He has been muttering about it since the note arrived this morning requesting a call.
" Mary's grin turned wicked. "Mama, on the other hand, has been humming since breakfast, which she only ever does when she is hoping for something she does not wish to say aloud. "
"Mama is hoping for nothing. There is nothing to hope for."
"Mm." Mary's expression suggested she believed this exactly as much as Mary generally believed Amelia's protests, which was to say not remotely at all.
"Well, whatever he has come for, you had best go and find out, because Papa has just sent Barrow to fetch you, and he did not look pleased about it. "
The papers. Her heart began beating harder and she smoothed her hands on her gown.
Her father's study seemed to shrink in size, or perhaps it simply felt that way with Sebastian standing in the middle of it, dressed with his usual precision, hands clasped behind his back, studying the modest shelf of her father's books with an attention that made her instantly, uncomfortably certain he had already guessed exactly where his missing papers had gone.
"Amelia." Her father's voice carried a stiffness she rarely heard from him. "His Grace has requested a private word. I shall be just beyond the door, should you require anything."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving them alone in a silence that stretched a moment too long before Sebastian finally spoke.
"You have my papers."
"I do not know what you mean," She answered, while crushing the incriminating evidence tightly with one hand behind her back.
"You do know precisely what I mean, Miss Hartwell. I left several pages of handwritten notes at Bell’s bookshop four days ago. I have searched my study, my carriage, and my solicitor's office twice over, and found nothing."
"That sounds unfortunate."
"It was."
"I am sorry."
"I am sure you are."
Amelia fidgeted under his gaze still holding one arm bent behind her. He was watching her far too closely.
"Perhaps you simply misplaced them."
"I did not misplace them. I am, whatever else you believe of me, a scrupulously organized man, and I do not generally misplace my own notes.
" He tilted his head slightly, studying her with an attention that made her feel, uncomfortably, as though he could see straight through whatever composure she was attempting to maintain.
"And yet you appear to have done precisely that. I have no idea where your papers are, Your Grace."
"No?"
"No."
Sebastian reached into his coat and withdrew a small sheet of paper.
"Do you remember this passage?"
Amelia glanced at it.
"No."
"It concerns the distinction between historical omission and deliberate suppression."
She hesitated.
Then, before she could stop herself, she said, "Your conclusion on that point is too cautious."
He was silent. Amelia closed her eyes briefly. When she looked up again, his mouth had curved, no longer fighting it. Heat rose straight up her neck.
"And yet you appear remarkably familiar with their contents."
Her stomach tightened.
"I am familiar with your published arguments."
"Not the argument in those pages."
"I may have read something similar."
"You have my papers. I merely wished to see whether you would confirm it before I admitted as much, and you have now done so rather conclusively.
" He was fully smiling now, and it transformed his face in a way she found considerably more dangerous than his usual careful composure.
"I confess I suspected you had them from the moment I verified they were no longer at Bell’s.
You did not strike me as a woman capable of leaving an argument unfinished, particularly not one you disagreed with as thoroughly as you disagreed with mine. "
"I was going to have them returned."
"I do not doubt it. Eventually." He studied her a moment longer, and something shifted in his expression, the teasing giving way to something more genuine, more careful.
“I did not come here to demand the papers back, though I do thank you for returning them” he added as she sheepishly handed them over.
”As it happens, I find I would rather hear the rest of your objections directly, from you.
There is a meadow near Richmond I am fond of, quiet enough for a proper conversation.
I should like you to join me there tomorrow, so that we might finish this argument over a picnic. "
Her heart began beating considerably faster than the request seemed to warrant. "A picnic, Your Grace?"
"A continuation of an unfinished debate, which I am reliably informed is customarily conducted over food, should either party grow hungry partway through disagreeing.
" His eyes held hers, and something in them made the careful distance she'd been maintaining since the ballroom feel considerably harder to hold onto than it had a moment before. "Will you come?"
She knew, with perfect clarity, exactly what she ought to say. She knew what her father would counsel, what caution demanded, what every sensible instinct she possessed insisted was the wiser answer.
"Yes," she said instead, and watched something bright and unguarded cross his face before he could smooth it back into composure and found she did not regret the answer as much asa she should have.