The butler had delivered the news along with dinner instructions to the kitchen. Mary had snatched that titbit and hauled it up the stairs with glee to assault her mistress with. Lady Amelia’s stomach didn't like the news any bit. It rebelled, losing the reins on its tenderness during her monthly bleeding and hurled the unrecognisable contents of breakfast in a chamber pot.

"Damnation!"

"Mistress?" Mary hovered and pulled the stinking chamber pot away from her mistress's nose. Amelia waved her away and snuck back into bed. She closed her eyes and thought about the news. Her stomach churned but she refused to become even more of a coward than strictly necessary.

Spewing was no way to greet a marriage announcement. The action would only add fire to flames already burning out of control. The household would have her pregnant with Robert's heir in a trice. Her night away from their watchful eyes with him at an unknown rendezvous was a matter of serious contemplation among the household servants. Her thin falsehood about staying with a tenant family would melt away come Sunday, when everyone could compare notes in church.

A burn in her hand confirmed her hands had tightly clenched the soft bed sheets in a white fist. She felt the loss of control more than anything, and the betrayal. Amelia subsided into bed and curled on one side. The burn in her eyes signalled the tears that would soon fall, but that wouldn't do. Closing her eyes against it, she lulled herself into quietness even while her thoughts and stomach churned.

She must have succeeded, because the coolness of a damp cloth on her brow startled her awake faster than ever. She raised her eyes to find Mary looking at her with deep concern and sympathy. Drat her sentiments.

"It is not a fate too unbearable, my lady. There are worse things, and I have it in good authority that Lord Windon is a kind man," the girl said as she moped her mistress’s brow.

"I am sure." Though her voice was low, it trembled, but not enough to disguise her tone that conveyed a healthy amount of disbelief.

"Cook roped his valet into discussion and we were most curious about Lord Windon now that—well, now that..." Mary stuttered and Amelia winced. Her reaction was disgraceful at best. And knowing Cook approved of the match stung. Was there no one on her side?

"My constitution is not that weak to spew at the reminder. I dare say I only did that because it was rather abrupt," she countered sharply. Her angst showed through her attempts to curb it.

Mary almost tipped the bowl into the bed. "He didn't discuss his intentions with you!?"

"Have a care, Mary. I do not wish to lie in the wet!" Amelia cautioned as she scooted away. Mary rescued it in time, still looking at her with a question in her eyes. "He did." She let it lie at that.

Mary remained unconvinced and huffed as she put the piece of cloth back into clean water, wringing the excess off and returning it to her mistress's brow. "I warrant his manners are stiff and eccentric." She started in the manner of a person who was giving a lecture aimed at consoling a child. How on earth a lecture was supposed to console a person, Amelia did not know.

"Then we are quite a match in that respect." Amelia replied to her maid with a great deal of sarcasm.

"Quite so," Mary chorused. The subtleties of the conversation flown right over her head. Amelia groaned on the bed, but Mary didn't react to it as she continued her belated attempt to reassure. "He is kindly to his staff and does not curb them, except when they act in excess and outside orders and that is rarely, if never. He is not miserly but he is not given to excesses that might beggar you."

"I see." Amelia commented in a tone that should convey her disinterested state to her maid, but then Mary just continued her explanation as she cleaned her lady’s face.

Mary continued with a feigned confidence. "You are more in danger of neglect. His Grace is known to prefer his own company for hours on end and would go days without a word to persons around him."

"Who is the font of this veritable knowledge again?" How servants dug up these truths was not a mystery to Amelia. She has visited the kitchens herself.

"His valet, who I am sure knows his person perfectly well. There are also no multitude of friends," Mary added with what she thought was a sagely nod of her head. It only put Amelia in the mind of a rooster strutting and about to crow. Amelia laughed inwardly at the ridiculous image.

"His Grace does not lack for company," she answered though airily, but she was not quite sure herself.

"He is not very amendable to company except in the person of his cousin Lord Felton," Mary countered.

"I am sure you want to ease my mind, but nothing will," Amelia returned just as succinctly.

Mary scrambled to touch her, making her to open her eyes to look into her maid’s earnest eyes. "He is a good match, offers you the title of duchess, and you cannot say he cares not a whit for you."

"How do you presume such?" For a moment she thought that her maid had a titbit of information to that effect.

"He would rather marry you than have your reputation in shreds," Mary answered with a broad smile. Amelia lost hope at that point. That was hardly a sign of affection since he stood to gain a lot.

Amelia started to explain, "Mary..."

"No. T’was a move to ruin you to this very grounds and he has saved you from the gossip." She was quite unmoved from her idealism. Mary was championing Lord Windon and she was not to be dissuaded. If she was already supporting him, then the entire household was most likely pledging eternal fealty and servitude. Stop this Amelia, she chided in her mind. This is not a play on Drury Lane. This is your own life.

"I would think my household would curb their tongue," Amelia answered with a returning salvo. As responses went, it was weak, but it had the desired effect of sobering her maid. Barely.

"Fool's dream," Mary scolded lightly, her manner stiff in her indignation.

"I must not read much into his chivalrous act in asking for my hand on the marriage mart. My dowry is quite handsome," Amelia returned with enough acid in her tone to curb anyone.

But Mary had been her maid since her childhood and was not just anyone. "Lord Windon is even richer than you are..." she informed her with glee.

"Of that I have no doubt," Amelia subsided.

Mary sighed. "It is as my mother said. You are now plagued with the discontent that ails all spinster of a certain age."

It stung, that she was already termed a spinster and that her maid discussed her with her mother on her day off. Even if it was only in goodly concern. "You forget I am to be married," she countered smugly.

"Of barely a moment. Here, have your ginger tea. Cook brewed it especially for your tender stomach." Mary was not impressed. Amelia conceded to drain the tea cup.

"There will be a feast tonight." Amelia dropped the fragile cup with a rattle. Mary cautioned her in concern, but her mind was too far away to register the words.

"I am sure you will make my excuses to my father." It was a plea even if she worded it like an order.

Mary huffed angrily. She couldn’t refuse to do it but her disgust at the evasion was so obvious that she blurted, "You, milady, are more stubborn than a mule!"

"You will remember your place!" Even this did not sound sure enough.

"If you will remember yours! Milady, it is an announcement of your wedding. Don't take that pleasure from your father," Mary pleaded.

"Having carted his burden off to another, he should feast the entire peerage of England." Amelia was not in the mood to be pleaded with. Her father wanted nothing more than to give her away and Robert, damn him, was carting her away from her home. She knew she was behaving like a petulant child denied a toy.

"It is only the household," Mary inserted.

"I shall not come!" And that was final! All of England could not drag her to the dinner table. Let them take their pleasures by themselves. The thought sparked the events of the previous night in her mind.

"You, milady, are being most contrary," Mary replied. “It will bring your father much joy. He is sickly but would bring himself to attend the festivities. He will be displeased at..."

"Papa is ill?" Amelia cut in, concern on her face.

"Why this morning, he could barely shuffle to breakfast without the aid of a footman. And that is a mild tale of it!" Mary answered softly.

“Why did he not stay in bed!" she demanded in alarm.

"He had guests and he did his duty by them." Mary meant well, truly she did. Her blind faith in her employer’s health rankled his daughter.

And her choice of words were so reminiscent of what Robert—Lord Windon now, no more Robert. Her words reminded her of the discussion with Lord Windon the first night of their acquaintance. "Lord Windon can surely keep himself amused without the aid of an invalid,” she exclaimed with a vehemence that stunned even her maid.

Mary, when faced with her mistress's manner, fell back on stiff propriety. "Lord Windon is a respected guest of your father."

"Leave me," Amelia ordered and burrowed into her sheets. Her show of anger was suddenly extinguished. Mary sighed and inhaled with a rush, as if she was going to say something, but held herself back. Amelia turned her back on her maid. Her gaze was fixed on the vanity mirror and the jars of colors and scents that littered the table. She watched as Mary finally sighed with disgust, threw her rag into the bowl and carried it with the cup of tea out if the room. The silence was deafening for a moment before Amelia surrendered to tears and after a time she slept off. Even the movement of her maid in her boudoir did not rouse her.

In the late evening, Mary brought a tray for her lady. The conversation flowed between them. Mary was happy, with her tongue loosened considerably by the ale from the earl’s cellar. A generous amount had been passed to the servant’s table in celebration. There was news of the feasts both in the kitchen and in the formal dining table. The difference being that the crowd in the kitchen were less stiff and exuberant with their joys.

“The dining room,” Mary frowned as she delivered this titbit, “was bright with candles and the three gentlemen who sat there were silent though they indulged in Cook's repast. Even Lord Rochester moved himself to dine well tonight, but for all that the air was somber. Lord Rochester smiled. Lord Windon was quiet, though curiously without an expression. Mister Smythe, Lord Rochester’s solicitor, wore a curious expression,” Mary finished triumphantly, then added, “It would have been a cheery meal if her ladyship had moved herself to attend.”

Amelia did not comment except the occasional nod. She was thinking furiously on the news her maid had delivered. It was better that she had not attended her own betrothal dinner. Quite unconventional it was of her, but nothing could bolster her nerve enough to face the Robert from across the table. She could not handle knowing his disgust of her while receiving felicitations on her upcoming marriage to him.

Her father would want to know when she would travel with him. She would be expected to leave soon. Then the marriage ceremony would be arranged quickly, a light affair surely. All this would be inquired upon and she would be expected to answer prettily and feign joy. She could not answer those questions yet. Tomorrow was enough time.