Chapter Fourteen
Morning was not kind to Amelia. Immediate analysis suggested she had been simultaneously poisoned and hit in the head with some sort of blunt object. It was very likely that it would be easier to just give up and die, rather than try and make it to the bell pull to ask someone to bring her a glass of water. She lay there, poised between life and death, hoping for once that Julia would interrupt her and come through the door.
Julia did not come.
Eventually there was no hope for it. Dying would take a long time, and it was clearly going to be agony for every horrid second. Amelia leveraged her legs off the side of the bed and—slowly—stood up. The change in elevation increased the throbbing in her head tenfold. Her stomach threatened to overturn right then and there. She almost laid back down, but then she’d just have to get up again. Hobbling to the pull, she yanked on it and sank down against the wall to wait.
No one came.
What the devil? Maybe she’d died already. Was this the hell she’d been condemned to for her wickedness? Amelia used the wall to help her stand back up and open her door. She made slow progress down the hall, and even more laborious progress down the stairs. Each step jostled her body to new heights of misery.
She opened the first door she came to—the drawing room. In it, Julia was sitting with her embroidery kit. Of course there would be a version of her sister in hell. Who else could torment her so thoroughly?
“Amelia,” Julia said entirely too loudly. “You look awful.”
“I rang the pull. No one came.”
“Oh. Mother and Papa are out and it seemed like you would sleep forever, so I gave everyone the afternoon off. There’s a fair or a play or something. I don’t quite recall.”
Amelia blinked. She looked past her sister to the leftover tea tray sitting on the table. Rushing forward—a definite mistake, but it was too late to correct—she poured herself a cup of cold tea and gulped it down. She made it through half the liquid before her stomach revolted. Setting the cup down, she sank onto the couch and curled up in the corner, whining.
Julia watched the whole thing, fascinated. “What the devil is the matter with you?”
“I drank too much.”
“And?”
“And I drank too much.”
“That’s all? This entire state is from drink?”
Amelia nodded into the cushion. She was on the verge of tears.
“Fascinating.” Of course Julia would think so.
“I think I’m going to die.”
Julia scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Please, Julia. Be nice me to today.” Amelia turned the cushion over, sighing in ecstasy at the coolness of the fabric.
“It’s really that bad?”
She nodded gently. The couch shifted next to her and she felt Julia’s hand stroke the hair at her brow. It was like being touched by an angel.
“Should we call a doctor?”
“And say what? What does Mother do for Papa when he drinks too much?”
“Tells him he’s a fool and slams doors around the house all day.”
Amelia laughed. She immediately regretted it.
Julia made a sympathetic sound. “Come on, Mia. Let’s get you up to bed.”
“I won’t make it.”
“Sure you will.”
They struggled their way back across all the hard-fought ground Amelia had covered. When she was back in bed, she pulled a cool pillow over her face to block out the light. Was it natural that she should be sweating? Surely that must be an indicator of some other malady.
Julia laid down next to her, radiating entirely too much heat. “So, what happened? How was it?”
“I honestly don’t remember much.”
“What do you remember?”
Amelia sifted through her hazy memories. Lights, laughter, so many little refreshment glasses. “I played hazard. I think I won Jasper a lot of money. He used it to stake me in—”
“What is it? Used it to stake you in what?”
One memory in particular surfaced with glaring clarity. “Mr. Preston was there.”
“The one you raced in Hyde Park?”
The very same. “I said incredibly rude things to him, and then challenged him to a card game. It became quite the spectacle. Everyone was watching.”
“Did you win?”
Leave it to Julia to be completely unfazed. If Amelia had even half her disregard for convention, she’d have been jilted weeks ago. Or never proposed to in the first place. How odd, and supremely unfair, that she should suffer for being the better-behaved sister. “I think so.”
“Poor Mr. Preston,” Julia said, obviously not meaning it in the slightest. “Trounced by a woman twice.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Well, then you shouldn’t think more often. You’ve likely made an enemy for life, embarrassing him. He’ll make sure everyone hears about what you’ve been up to.”
That, at least, was good news. Amelia would hate to have pickled herself near to death and have everyone politely keep it to themselves. God, what if she had to do this again?
It took three days for Embry to call on Amelia. It was probably just as well, because she wouldn’t have been in any state to receive him until late on the second day. The delay allowed her to appear in the parlor looking for all the world as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Embry did not look ordinary. He was tapping his foot and scowling while he waited for her.
“Amelia.”
“Lord Montrose.”
He frowned at the formal title. It was only the two of them in the parlor, and for a long time there was silence. Amelia let it stretch. He could take as long as he liked to get to the point, as long as she ended up thrown over when he was finished.
“What were you doing at Crockford’s, Amelia?” He stared at her the way her father tried to when she was called to answer for her mischief in the study.
Amelia stared back. “Having a great deal of fun.”
“This behavior is not like you.”
“Isn’t it?” Amelia kept her face impassive and her tone flat. “The fact of the matter is, Lord Montrose, that you don’t know me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my fiancée. Of course I know you.”
“I don’t take sugar in my tea,” she interrupted.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You told your mother I take three sugars. I don’t. I don’t take any.”
He blinked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Of course you do, I’ve…”
Amelia watched the doubt creep in. “Might I hazard the guess that Lily took three sugars?”
His face shuttered. “It’s one detail. You can’t honestly be angry with me over how many sugars you take in your tea.”
“I don’t care for Roman architecture and I’ve never been to sea, but if I had, I suspect I would take to it marvelously.” She kept her shoulders straight and her voice even.
“Amelia, you’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I? You do not know me, Lord Montrose, and you’ve been trying to paint me with the colors of some other woman. A wonderful woman, to be sure, but she is not me.”
Montrose stood up from the settee, pacing the carpet in front of the fireplace. Amelia shifted to keep her distance.
“You’re talking nonsense.” Embry shook his head. “This is Wakefield’s doing. He’s been poisoning you against me ever since he returned because he has dishonorable intentions toward you.”
“Nicholas had nothing to do with my going to Crockford’s. In fact, we’ve had a falling out and I don’t expect we’ll be seeing much of each other in the future.”
There was a hint of satisfaction in his face then. Amelia didn’t care. Let him think her father had forbid it if it removed Nicholas as an excuse. “I am not the girl you think I am. Your family doesn’t like me. Society does not like me. Can you not see that we’re unsuited to each other?”
“No, I cannot.” He crossed the room to stand in front of her. “I want you for my wife, Amelia.”
“Why?” she demanded. There was nowhere for her to go. An end table blocked her retreat.
“Because I love you.” He took her hands.
Amelia shook her head. “I’m sorry, but no, you don’t. You loved Lily, and I remind you of her. That’s not love.”
He seemed lost in thought for a moment. She held her breath. If he would only hear what she was telling him, they could end this amicably. It didn’t have to be this difficult.
“You’re upset by my feelings for Lily. I’m sorry, Amelia. I hadn’t realized—but yes, I suppose it must be upsetting, to feel you’re in competition with a woman who’s out of reach.”
Amelia screamed her frustration.
Montrose dropped her hands, stepping back in surprise. Amelia was a little startled she’d actually done it as well, but the entire situation was so bloody infuriating. It was like she was shouting into the void.
“Do you never hear anything I say?” Amelia demanded. “Is it that impossible for you to actually listen to what I am telling you?”
“Amelia, you’re overwrought. Perhaps you ought to—” He came toward her.
Amelia picked up the closest thing to hand, a large porcelain vase. “Embry, I swear to God—”
“What’s all this, then?” Lord Bishop came into the parlor.
Montrose turned, bending at the waist respectfully and blocking Amelia’s view of the door. “Your daughter is not feeling well.”
“You do not speak for me, Lord Montrose.” Amelia stepped out from behind him, not bothering to lower her voice, the vase still in her grip. “I am frustrated because my fiancé refuses to listen to me or believe that I am a sentient being capable of making my own decisions.”
Lord Bishop put a hand on Embry’s shoulder. “Why don’t we give Amelia a bit of space?”
“I don’t think that’s—”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to trust me on this one, Montrose.” He led Embry out of the parlor.
Julia appeared in the doorway in their absence, sending surreptitious looks down the hall after them. Amelia put the vase down and took deep, calming breaths.
“I suppose bludgeoning him to death with crockery is one way of getting out of it. You’ll be hanged, but Papa will get to keep his money.”
“Don’t joke. At this point I’m considering it.” Amelia flopped back down on the couch. “Jules, what if I can’t get him to throw me over?”
“You can, don’t worry.”
“I am worried.”
“Everyone has a breaking point.” Julia patted her shoulder. “We just have to find his before he drives you mad.”
“It may be too late.”
When Montrose and Amelia were announced at the Chesterfield ball, the entire room went silent and then immediately erupted in a thunder of murmuring. Nick watched her from across the room. It had been a week since he’d snuck her back into her room after she’d visited the gaming hell. He hadn’t seen her since.
Amelia must be hating every second of the attention, but she did a marvelous job of not letting it show. She lifted her chin and stared the room down in a look she most certainly had borrowed from her sister.
“…surprised she had the gall to attend.”
“We can’t imagine what Montrose is thinking.”
“…better get his fiancée in hand.”
“You hear she took Pembroke for a pretty penny at Crockford’s?”
“I wouldn’t mind another look at her in those trousers.”
The last comment had Nicholas’s fingers tightening around his glass. He turned to see who it was, but the crowd shifted and the man was gone. Not that Nicholas could really blame him—Amelia’s backside in a pair of breeches was a sight to behold—but Nicholas wanted it to be a sight for him and him alone.
The crowd shifted again, and he caught a flash of Lord Bishop on the edge of the crowd. Amelia was bound to head in her father’s direction eventually, so Nicholas made his way over. On the way, he passed the Chisholm sisters scowling into their punch.
“Honestly. Must she make a spectacle everywhere she goes?”
“And who even cares about horse racing?”
Nicholas grinned. He kept moving past them, only to be stopped by someone grabbing his arm. He looked up. “Montrose.”
“If you’re looking for Amelia, I’ll save you the time. She is no longer going to be entertaining your company.”
She wouldn’t have confided in him. Anyone else, perhaps, but not Montrose. Nicholas pretended not to know what the man was talking about. “Oh? And why is that?”
“Because I’ve told her father to forbid it.”
Nicholas laughed. “Lord Montrose, Amelia said you were a serious sort of man, but I see now that you just have an unusual sense of humor.”
Montrose’s face turned florid. “She is my fiancée.”
“She is your hostage,” Nicholas growled. “If you have to hold a woman’s family ransom to get her to accept your affections, perhaps you’re going about it the wrong way.”
Nicholas shook off the earl’s grip and kept moving through the crowd before their discussion erupted into violence. Arriving at Lord Bishop’s elbow, he bowed as best he could in the packed crowd. “Lord Bishop.”
“Nicholas! Thank God. These things are dreadful. I can’t imagine why I agreed to come.”
Nicholas experienced a flash of guilt. He should wait and give Amelia the time she deserved to be angry with him. That’s what Lady Ruby had suggested. Still, he couldn’t help but be worried about her. “I haven’t spoken to Amelia in a few days. Is she all right?”
“Well enough. You know how women get when they’re planning a wedding.”
He didn’t know, actually, and with Amelia swearing off the institution, he likely never would.
Amelia and her partner executed the last turn of the dance, coming to a stop a few feet away from her mother. He bid her good evening and she couldn’t even remember his name. There had been so many of them. She must have been introduced to a hundred people tonight and danced with half as many.
Would she ever get used to being surrounded by strangers? Lord Montrose never missed an opportunity to escort her. Amelia found him in the crowd and glared. He was proving impossible to get rid of and she was at her wits’ end.
“Hullo there, lovely.” Jasper’s voice came from over her shoulder.
She turned. “Jasper! Thank goodness.”
“Miss me, sweetheart?”
“Desperately.”
He swiped two glasses from a passing footman and handed her one. Amelia forced herself to take a drink. Never much of a drinker to begin with, ever since their escapades at the gaming hell, Amelia had paused at even the tamest of liquors. She tried another timid sip. The second one wasn’t so bad.
“Bellamy!” A tall man wove through the crowd toward them.
Amelia saw Jasper’s eyes narrow before he put on a brilliant smile and turned. “Renton. What a surprise to see you here. I thought respectable balls were beneath you.”
“Quite right, but this one is for some daughter of a friend of my mother’s. I’ve been blackmailed. I wouldn’t have expected to see you here, either.”
“Don’t you know? I’m full of surprises.” Jasper tasted his champagne and looked out over the crowd.
“I hope you’ll save a few for la balle du pécheur. I heard you’ve made the list.” Renton looked downright envious.
Jasper stared down his nose at the other man. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, but if I did I would advise you to watch your tongue.”
“I doubt anyone heard.”
Jasper sighed. “Go away, Renton.”
The other man looked shocked for a moment, but did as Jasper said.
“Is everyone afraid of you?” Amelia asked, curious.
“For the most part.”
“How odd.” She didn’t find him intimidating in the slightest. “What’s the Sinner’s Ball?”
His eyebrow lifted. “Nothing you want to know about.”
She blinked prettily at him, tilting her head to the side and fluttering her fan.
Jasper laughed. “Fine. Take a walk with me on the terrace.”
She took his arm and let him lead her outside. They didn’t stop at the terrace. Jasper kept going, down the gravel path and out onto the torch-lit lawn until they were out of earshot of everyone else.
“La balle du pécheur is an extremely exclusive masquerade ball attended by the wickedest, most debauched members of society.”
“And you’re one of them?”
Jasper gave her a sideways glance. “Of course I am.”
“Will you take me?” Surely Embry would be forced to throw her over if she went to something like that.
“No, darling. Gaming hells and drinking to excess are one thing, but that is not the place for you.”
“Please?”
“Even if I were willing to babysit your innocence all night, it won’t serve your purpose. It’s discreet. No one would know.”
“But if I let my masque slip, they would.”
“Amelia, you must trust my judgment on this. We’ll find you another way, I promise.” Jasper turned them back toward the party. As they approached the house, Amelia saw Embry standing on the terrace.
“Lord Bellamy.”
“Montrose.”
“May I borrow my fiancée?”
Jasper didn’t answer right away. The delay clearly infuriated Embry. “I suppose, but do give her back. These functions are hellish without decent company.”
Embry dragged her to the deserted end of the terrace. “What were you and Lord Bellamy talking about?”
“I can’t imagine it’s any of your business.”
“You’re my fiancée. All of your business is my business.”
Amelia lifted her chin. He and his staggering presumption could go hang.
Embry grabbed her arm. “Perhaps I had it wrong. Perhaps Wakefield isn’t the corrupting influence. Lord Bellamy was extremely upset at our engagement party.”
“Let go of me this instant.”
“I will not be made a fool of, Amelia.”
“Really?” she demanded. “Because you’re making a fool of yourself right now, grasping at straws, blaming anyone and everyone to avoid seeing the truth.”
“No. These men are toying with you. They’re making you act this way and say these things.”
His eyes had gone a little wild and Amelia felt a sour, stabbing sensation in the pit of her stomach. She scanned the terrace, looking for an escape. Her savior came in the most unexpected of forms.
Nicholas stood outlined by the gaslights of the ballroom. “Amelia, your father is asking for you. It sounds urgent.”
Embry dropped her arm and turned to Nicholas. “She doesn’t need you to deliver her messages.”
“And yet, her father has entrusted me with one.” Nick looked only at Amelia, holding out his arm. “Shall I take you?”
“Yes, please. I shouldn’t keep him waiting.” She accepted his arm and the feeling of safety that washed over her when she touched him.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You looked frightened.”
“I’m fine.” And she was, now.
She expected him to mention her atrocious behavior from the other night. It was cruel, throwing herself at him and knowing that he thought she didn’t value him.
Instead all he said was, “Your father didn’t actually ask for you. It just seemed like you could use a rescue.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Nick, always so thoughtful. Her chest spasmed with pain.
He stopped her, just shy of the circle surrounding her parents. “Amelia, I know haven’t been the best friend to you lately, but please believe I will always be here for you, even if I sometimes behave like an idiot.”
“Stop.” She reached into her hair, untying the tiny tube of rolled paper hidden beneath her curls. She pressed it into his palm. “I know. And Nicholas. Look.”
He frowned down at the paper, unrolling it. His thumb rubbed over the wax seal, cracked from years of being rolled and rerolled.
“Never think I don’t value you. You mean more to me than you will ever know.” She stepped past him, joining the group around her parents before he could say anything that might encourage the moisture gathering in her eyes to fall.
“Amelia!” her father boomed. “Did you have a nice walk around the gardens?”
She brushed the corner of her eye, obscuring a tear that had managed to escape. “Very much. It was lovely.”
There was no denying it. Amelia needed Nicholas. She felt too alone when they were apart and warmth bloomed in her chest when he was near. Somehow, she needed to find a way to fix what was broken between them.