CHAPTER SIX
Hyde Park was beautiful beneath the morning sun, with lush greens on display for miles. Amelia and Eleanor walked down a wide path that ended in a small bridge over water. Around them, eyes kept flicking to her and then away.
That is not so unusual, she reminded herself. For they looked at me, as the eldest Hawthorne daughter with two failed Seasons in her repertoire. Except now they have even further reason to stare.
She tried to ignore the stares and focus on the ladies in their fine dresses, and the gentlemen strolling through their morning constitutionals.
Children ran across the grass, laughing and playing with sticks, chasing one another.
It was a beautiful sight, one she needed after the tension in the breakfast hall only an hour before.
“You must tell me what has you so quiet,” Eleanor probed. “Last night was the most I have seen you speak and laugh in a long, long time, and now you have retreated back into yourself. Did something happen after the ball?”
Amelia shook her head. “I presume you read this morning’s gossip column?”
Eleanor’s steps faltered. “I did. I did not wish to bring it up before you did, however.”
Amelia nodded, understanding. “It cast a lot of tension over my dance with the Duke of Blackthorn… and yet, Eleanor, I can most honestly say that it was the most alive I have felt possibly since my debut. He… Heavens, when he took me into his arms onto the dance floor, I felt as though life had been breathed into me anew. He looked at me as though I was not part of the wall decorations, like so many others. He looked at me as though he saw me—he saw me, Eleanor. We danced, as you observed, and it was utterly sublime. It was precisely as I had envisioned, the embodiment of all I had ever desired when contemplating the most exquisite dance.”
Her cheeks flushed, recalling his closeness. She did not speak of how he had caught her when she had fallen but knew her friend would have seen. The whole ballroom had seen.
“However,” she continued, “there is the matter of his reputation. The scandal sheet spoke at length about the issue of the duel he was involved in, but… I just do not understand. I see the mask that he wears to protect himself but I do not see a murderer, as the rumours claim.”
“You have not known him for very long,” Eleanor murmured, her voice heavy with caution.
“He danced with you but you do not yet know him. However, if the dance has made you happy then you must continue to see him. Women have settled for lesser husbands, and…” She paused.
“I wonder if this is a chance, nonetheless. I know you have been worried about your prospects dwindling.”
Amelia nodded, shame creeping through her. Her hands clenched together tightly as she sighed. “It is all very confusing, Eleanor.”
“Indeed,” her friend agreed. “I must say I feel rather conflicted myself. I could not help Beatrice’s eyes on me last night when I danced and spoke with Lord Owen.
I know what it is that everybody says. I am the daughter of an earl, and he is a viscount.
But I enjoyed his company, I believe. We spoke about different dances.
He… he laughed with me, and when he looked at me, it was as though nobody else existed.
Yet I wonder the same as Beatrice, as perhaps others when they saw us together.
How could he enjoy company such as mine? ”
“Do not fret,” Amelia urged. “Your company is most sought out, and I understand exactly why Lord Owen would seek you out above others.”
“Do you think he perhaps only asked due to His Grace dancing with you? Perhaps he saw us
standing together and invited me out of pity?”
Amelia’s heart ached at the misery in her friend’s face. “Eleanor, I can assure you it was not pity that drove Lord Owen to ask you to dance. He looked so very happy. I believe you would not have enjoyed a full conversation with him had it only been pity.”
“I have not felt this way before,” Eleanor giggled, her hand clasped over her mouth.
“Me neither,” Amelia agreed. “It is all exciting and confusing in equal measure.”
They walked onwards, over the bridge, and turned the corner, past a cluster of thick trees, and Amelia stopped in her tracks.
Her heart clenched, her breaths coming short and fast as she looked at the two familiar men coming towards them.
On horseback, they looked imposing, straight-backed, their top hats making them look even more impossibly tall.
Amelia had only seen His Grace beneath the lights of the ballroom chandelier.
Now, beneath the bright morning sun, it turned his scar lighter, less noticeable, but it sharpened that keen glare of his that she had noticed at dinner.
It had been aimed at Percival last night but now it was aimed as he looked around himself, as though the enemy was everywhere.
Still, her heart kicked into a nervous beat.
Ladies on the path paused, eyeing up the two men, fans already snapped out. Gentlemen nodded as they passed, a sign of respect, only for Amelia to see them turn to one another and whisper as though circulating more rumors.
She had truly thought that she would not cross paths with the Duke of Blackthorn again—and yet there he was, riding towards her on a sleek, black stallion. Her heart was a treacherous thing in her chest, and she could only hope her surprise and admiration did not show on her face in a deep flush.
Then his eyes locked onto hers, and Hyde Park faded away, and Amelia knew she was blushing. Something passed through the duke’s face, something akin to confusion as he frowned, a half-smile on his full lips, and then a softness that took over his expression.
Amelia’s feet rooted her to the spot, unable to continue walking even if she tried.
The two men neared, and Eleanor’s long exhale was a sign of her own giddiness at their approach.
His Grace reined in his horse right before them.
The night before he had been reserved and guarded but now he was stiff, formal, looking down at her as though he did not know her.
As though they had not shared a dance the night before.
His head inclined in a curt greeting, and she noticed how the wind toyed with the longer lengths of his hair peeking out beneath his hat.
His eyes met Amelia’s briefly before he continued looking around the park, as though she was merely just another fixture of his surroundings. Except his gaze soon returned.
“Miss Hawthorne, Lady Eleanor,” he greeted, his voice low.
The formality of his greeting was at odds with how he gazed down at her before blinking and breaking off his gaze.
Amelia curtsied. “Your Grace. It is fine weather we are having today, is it not?”
He felt so distanced from her, yet only the night before he had held her so close, steadied her when the rest of the world had gone off-kilter. Did he remove himself from her attention due to the nature of the scandal sheet?
“It is,” the Duke of Blackthorn agreed, not continuing the conversation. He looked impatiently back at Lord Owen Radcliffe, whom Eleanor had danced with. He tipped his hat at her, far more friendly than the Duke was.
“Lady Eleanor, Miss Hawthorne,” he greeted, his voice brighter. In comparison to the Duke’s stiff expression, Lord Owen was warmer, brighter, and Eleanor was gazing up at him in wonder. “It is too beautiful of a day to spend indoors. Hyde Park bathes in the sunlight, does it not?”
“It does,” Eleanor said, her voice high and giddy. “I could not help but notice there is a new bloom of sunflowers further down, just beyond the bridge. If you are fond of the local flora, my lord, then you may wish to view it.”
Amelia could not help but notice that the Duke of Blackthorn looked away as if in impatience. His jaw clenched even as he watched his friend speak with Eleanor. There was a pucker between his brow. Is he jealous of his friend’s conversation? Amelia thought. Should I have said more?
“I have been recently interested in the boughs of mint,” Lord Owen was saying to her friend. “They smell incredible, very fresh, especially in one’s parlor.”
“I believe it is also very refreshing to have tea after a fine dinner,” Eleanor responded.
“Dancing and flora, Lady Eleanor,” Lord Owen laughed. “Your knowledge impresses me.”
It was as if they were the only two in the world, and Amelia could not help but feel a stab of envy. When she turned her focus back to the duke, he was already watching her with a sharp gaze. He blinked, as if not expecting to be caught.
He cleared his throat. “The—ah, the park is very suitable for riding today, it seems. It is busy but not so that people walk in the way of the horses.”
His words were jolted and stiff, as if he had not quite known what to say but wished to say something.
Amelia wanted to speak truly and deeply, to ask what he thought of the gossip column, to ask about the night of his rumoured duel, to ask a thousand things, but all that came out was, “What pathways do you favour, Your Grace?”
Once again, he looked surprised, as if he had not expected her to respond as such. “I tend to ride parallel to the lake. I have found it is rather picturesque and it loosens my thoughts most.”
“You like the water?” she urged.
He nodded. “My family’s countryside estate oversees the cliffs of Blackthorn. It is rather beautiful, so I grew up with a natural affinity for it.”
“Where is the estate—”
Amelia was cut off by the sound of boisterous laughter, and she turned to see an approaching group of young ladies, all in the current fashion, sporting different colors.
At the front of the group was Cassandra Kensington, her eyes narrowed as she noticed Amelia stood before the duke’s horse.
Beatrice, next to her, was already looking forlornly at where Eleanor and Lord Owen were talking.
Cassandra’s fan opened with a sharp snap.