Edward and Amelia Page 2

  Conversations with her sisters were sparse. She hardly knew Edith and Henrietta in all honesty . . . but occasionally, nostalgia for their childhood together washed over her in that unwelcome and unannounced way that memories tended to enjoy. Like now, in that moment, when she really should be taking herself up to her room to change and clean the grime off her hands from playing marbles with little Bess in the kitchen so her mother could finish the sweeping in peace. But instead, a strange desire to—what? Stand outside the door and eavesdrop on her sisters? Pretend they were still under four feet high, playing imagination and running amuck of their country estate together?

  Distracted, she set her foot down . . . on a corner of the landing that squeaked horribly. The sound whined out from the floorboards, echoing down the spacious hall and into the open doors of the drawing room.

  Oh no.

  “Mellie! Mellie, is that you? Come here at once!”

  Amelia froze and glowered at her feet, cursing memories and her new, too-large shoes for apprising her eldest sister of her presence. She may have also cursed that sister for hearing her, not that she’d ever admit to that.

  “Yes, Edith? Whatever do you need?” Amelia called without moving, except maybe to shuffle her feet ungracefully an inch or two away from the drawing room.

  “Oh, come here, Mellie. No need to disturb all of London for a small chat.” Edith sounded particularly cranky today. What luck.

  Amelia and her too-large shoes made their way down the hall, leaving nostalgia behind. Edith’s demanding voice had cleared her mind of that sentimentality.

  In far too few steps, Amelia reached the drawing room. Her sisters sat primly on the golden couch in the middle of the room surrounded by floral arrangements, dark hair piled atop their similar faces and clear blue eyes focused on her entrance.

  Where the twins were striking, Amelia was forgettable. With hair that could not decide if it wished to be dark or light, eyes that could not settle between blue or green, and height that allowed her to be overlooked entirely if the viewer were above five and a half feet. As if that were not enough, her sisters often helped her remember her scars—hidden though they were beneath Amelia’s high-necked dresses.

  Amelia stamped down her poor self-evaluation and met Edith’s eyes.

  “Well, that certainly took you long enough,” Edith drolled. Then her eyes floated down Amelia’s person. “And that is not one of the new dresses we had made. Is it, Henrietta?”

  Henrietta glanced at her twin, then back at Amelia, brows knit together as she swept the youngest sister with her gaze. “No, it does not appear to be.”

  Was every conversation they were to have this Season destined to be about Amelia’s attire? She held in a sigh and could just read the note on the floral arrangement closest to her:

  To the woman with ebony hair and eyes as blue as the sky. Yours, Sir Frederick.

  The admirer could be referencing either of her sisters with that description, but it was almost certainly for Edith. The flowers were always for Edith.

  “Mellie, are you even listening?” Edith huffed.

  Amelia winced, less at Edith’s ire as at that horrid nickname her sisters insisted on calling her. Mellie. It was a mere sound from smelly and was always said with the same disgust.

  “Of course I am. You disapprove of my dress.”

  Edith pulled her cheeks in, making her features even sharper. “Yes. I had thought you rid yourself of those terrible things. It is quite terrible, is it not, Henrietta?”

  Henrietta’s eyes slid the length of Amelia’s dress again. “Your others are so much more beautiful.” There was a great deal of passion behind her words, and she glanced to Edith after speaking as if to confirm she had gotten it right. Edith did not spare her a glance, eyes narrowing on Amelia instead.

  “Yes, much more beautiful,” Edith confirmed.

  That was not true in the least. The dresses Edith had ordered for Amelia were overly flounced and in hues that clashed horribly with her coloring. And then there were the shoes, at least a size too large despite the shoemaker having measured them precisely. The thought had crossed Amelia’s mind that her wardrobe had been purposely undermined by Edith, but she had no proof of it. Only the knowledge that Edith had grown more and more sour toward Amelia in past years.

  Still, vexing her oldest sister would not do. “You will see I wore my new shoes,” Amelia peeked her half boots out from under her skirts. Ridiculous, overlarge things. “And regarding my dress, I did not wish to sully one of my nicer ones.” A plausible reason.

  “What were you doing that you may sully your clothes, Mellie?” Edith said, retaking control of the conversation as she did.

  Drat. “Well . . .”

  Edith pounced on her lack of response as a lion might on its prey, except, perhaps, with more gusto. “We spoke of this, Mellie. You are no longer in the country. This is your first Season, and you must make a good impression if you wish to marry well. And it will already be difficult enough for you. With . . . everything.” Her lips pursed as she indicated Amelia’s neck.

  “Neither of you have married after two Seasons.” Amelia could not help the goading remark, though she regretted it immediately. The very room seemed to darken with Edith’s withering stare.

  “I, personally, have received no fewer than five declarations of love, two requests for courtship, and even an unsolicited proposal. But as you are well aware, I will not marry lower than a marquess or heir to such. There is only one such gentleman of an eligible age, and he has yet to arrive for the Season.” Edith’s words were clipped, forceful, and said in no uncertain terms that this line of commentary would not again be allowed.

  Then, as unpredictable as the weather surrounding their country estate, Edith’s expression cleared. It was replaced with a placid smile. She extended a graceful arm, indicating Amelia should sit.

  Amelia hesitated only a moment before complying, her pale-blue morning dress contrasting nicely with the golden couch. The dress was one of her favorites—likely because it did not have an overabundance of lace and flounces.

  Edith raised an eyebrow at Amelia, and Henrietta hurried to mimic the expression, forever trailing after the sister who was less than a quarter of an hour older.

  Inwardly sighing, Amelia prepared for a lecture. If she did not interrupt, she may escape quickly. She might have been able to quit the room already, had she not allowed her tongue to get away from her.

  “Mellie, dear.” Edith’s voice was placating, serene. It did not fool Amelia. “You are the daughter of a Duke, and you must hold yourself as such. You are fortunate to come out so soon after Henrietta and myself so that you might have the wisdom of our experiences. As such, it is vitally important that you do exactly as we tell you. That includes wearing the beautiful, expensive dresses we had created for you. They are far better than the country gowns Miss Harlow allowed you to don.” Her lip curled in distaste at the mention of Amelia’s governess before she again wiped her expression clean and leaned forward to grasp her youngest sister’s hand.

  Amelia startled in surprise at the abrupt contact.

  Edith did not notice. Her voice was as honeyed as her hand was cold when she spoke again. “Dear Mellie, we are so looking forward to this Season with you. Was not your court presentation splendid? Did you not just swoon at Almack’s last night? It will be just like old times, will it not? That is, so long as you follow the rules.” Her grip grew painful, and Amelia pulled her hand back. Edith raised her eyebrow again. “You know how important your wardrobe is for you more than for most debutantes.”

  Amelia swallowed all her retorts, nearly having to draw blood from how tightly she was biting her tongue. She was following all the rules. Her old dresses covered her neck just fine. She had not played the pianoforte in weeks. And nothing in her conduct could be criticized. Except perhaps playing with Bess, but Edith did not
know of that.

  Still, it did not do to fight with Edith, and she wished to end their sisterly chat as swiftly as possible. “Yes. Of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised Mary I would allow her ample time to prepare me for tonight’s ball.”

  “Very well. And do clean your hands.”

  Amelia stood to leave but not before she glimpsed Edith’s self-satisfied look. Her oldest sister was happiest when she had someone to control. She did her best with Henrietta, but Amelia secretly believed Edith would not be content unless she managed to have an entire hoard of people to boss about. Being a duke’s daughter had given her eldest sister a leg up in that regard; half of London followed Edith’s whims. But that half of London did not reside in their townhome. And so, Amelia was now the favored conquest. It was probably why Edith had finally relented to having Amelia out in Society at the same time as her and Henrietta.

  She wished they had just left her at the estate. Being left behind had grown normal—comfortable. Being in this unknown city constantly scrutinized by a family that could not see past her scars was unbearable. The mansion, with its soaring ceilings and massive paintings, seemed to close in on her as she exited the drawing room. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to think. Her eyes burned, and she tightened her hands together, squeezing so hard it began to hurt. No tears. There would be no tears. She attempted to focus on the anger she felt whenever Edith belittled her so. Anger was an easy shield. It was hard to pierce through anger but not hard to pierce through sadness.

  Yet it did not help. Not as it had the night before when Edith had made her return to her room to change before the ball. Not as it had when Father had furrowed his brow at her that morning but said nothing.

  Why could she not maintain a better hold on her emotions now?

  She reached the entry hall and grabbed a bonnet and gloves—not her own, but they would have to do—before making straight for the front door. Amelia could not stay in this smothering home for another minute.

  Hands tripping over one another, she tied the bow beneath her chin, glancing over her shoulder. Should she call for Mary?

  There was hardly enough time, should she wish to escape without her sisters’ notice. Miss Harlow had never minded Amelia’s occasional country walks alone, and Amelia did not intend to go far from the house.

  Her sisters’ voices sounded near the door to the drawing room, and that decided it for her. No time for a maid and no need for a maid. She would return within the hour.

  And with that, she slipped from the house in search of a spot she could remain hidden from Society. Or, more importantly, hidden from her family.

  Chapter Three

  Good heavens, this town is ridiculously large.

  Amelia bit her lip, looking left and then right. She’d only meant to get a bit of fresh air and clear her head. The small park she’d discovered proved the perfect setting for such a respite. If she could have stayed all day and pretended the world away, she would have. But the sun had fallen lower in the sky, so she’d left, obediently setting for home.

  She let out a puff of air. She’d been so careful leaving unseen, careful to go unnoticed, yet now here she was, lost, walking in circles.

  And now the situation was growing desperate. Swallowing her pride as she spotted a well-dressed woman, she approached the lady, intending to ask for directions. But the woman’s eyes widened as she came near, and she stepped away quickly.

  “Why did I not bring Mary?” she muttered under her breath, effectively making her appear crazed, and turned down a new path. What lady escapes home without a companion?

  A lady who did not particularly enjoy that distinction, a lady who had not anticipated going further than forty paces from her front door.

  And, mind you, a lady with an impeccable sense of direction. Which apparently did not extend to London’s confusing, sprawling, and ridiculously large size. In the country, she’d been able to keep her bearings without thought. How was it that here, with the towering landmarks, she’d become so easily lost? What a fool she was. Rash and impulsive. Perhaps her sisters were right and she did need to be told how to behave here.

  She straightened her shoulders. Belittling herself would not help her now—there would be time later for her to scold herself for stepping out without her companion.

  At least the derisive and curious looks she had been on the receiving end of were finally beginning to wane—but only because the number of people about was waning as well. The fashionable hour was over, and people were returning home to set off for various evening activities. As she should be.

  Oh, Papa was going to murder her after this.

  Or, more likely, her sisters would manage the job before he even noticed her absence. Perhaps he would not ever notice her absence.

  A lake came into sight around a bend. It twisted across the landscape, somehow both natural and unnatural at once. And then, with a small jolt of elation, she recognized it. Not from experience but, rather, from drawings in a book of London. This was the Serpentine, the famous lake created by man. Father’s mansion in Mayfair could not be more than a few blocks from the east side of the park.

  Glancing at the setting sun, she began in the opposite direction, a new spring in her step. She knew where she was; she had figured it out all on her own. A tad late, yes, but still, the success was heartening.

  When the path she walked on began slanting south, she determined to make her own way. It would be far faster, not that anything could aid her in reaching the ball on time—her sisters were likely leaving now, if they hadn’t already. Something told her they would not wait to see where little Mellie had disappeared to. No, they would save those questions for later, when they could berate her properly for missing the ball.

  A soft cry met her ears, and Amelia pulled up short. What was that?

  She heard it again—a cry that sounded distinctly childlike. Her eyes scrutinized the copse of trees to her side, down beside the lake. Nothing. She could see nothing. Oh, good heavens . . . could there be a child in need? Stuck in a tree perhaps? Her feet pulled her down the slope, closer to the noise. She oughtn’t stop. Were her sisters here, they would bombard her with reasons not to search out the source of the sound. The least of which would be her safety.

  Unbidden, her fingers came to her throat, tracing the fabric of her dress where she knew the largest scar ran. She clenched her hand, pulling it away. The delay in returning home may cost her, but were she to leave a child in danger when she could help—that would cost her far more.

  She reached the trees, stepping gingerly across the uneven, damp ground, her eyes combing every branch, searching around every trunk. Still, she could see nothing. She glanced back where she’d come, only seeing the distant silhouette of a man heading her direction on the path. But nowhere was there a family or a governess or someone apparently missing a child. Had her mind played tricks on her? No. She was certain she’d heard—

  There it was again! Directly above her.

  Her head shot up, the force dislodging her bonnet and sending it to the ground. The leaves danced in the light wind, hiding the source of the noise, until it sounded again, and Amelia clearly saw the mouth from which it came.

  A bird. A smug-looking bird called out from the tree, its trill sounding nearly exactly like a child—if a bit too shrill. Her hands came to her hips even as her mouth fell open a fraction at her idiocy.

  “You! You lured me down here for naught! And now I shall be even later returning home. With a damp hem as well.” She huffed, picking up her skirt.

  The bird shuffled its feet, then took flight.

  Coward.

  Before she could do so much as move, the light breeze picked up, grabbing her bonnet from the ground and running about with it.

  No! Amelia ran after it as it made its way to the lake. She could not return home both late, unchaperoned, and having lost a bonn
et she’d borrowed without asking.

  The bonnet tumbled down to the lake. Amelia was nearly upon it when it skipped up into the air once more, then landed in the water. Standing firmly on the bank, she stretched her arm out, holding back her skirts. A wet bonnet was better than no bonnet. But wet skirts would not be forgiven.

  “Ahem. Might I be of assistance?”

  Looking over her shoulder set Amelia off-balance. A man’s face filled her vision before he reached out past her and knocked his shoulder into her own.

  With one hand pinning her skirts against her legs, and her balance already being unsteady, the nudge had far more force than it might have otherwise. She fell, landing resoundingly in the water.

  Before she could even blink the moisture from her eyes, another wave of tepid lake water splashed into her face. She sputtered, feeling much like a ragdoll as the man grasped her upper arms, yanking her to her feet.

  When her vision cleared and she got a true look at him, her shock melted away into fear. He was a foot taller than her, far broader, and had not let go of her arms. And she was alone.

  Her heart pounded, but she attempted to appear collected as she straightened to her most impressive height. Her thoughts swam in the calf-deep water around her, but one surfaced rather aggressively. She must get out of this situation.

  “Unhand me this instant.” She delivered the words in a low, clipped voice.

  He released her but his eyes drifted from the top of her head to her soaked hem. His mouth tipped into a grin, and some of Amelia’s fear dripped away into anger.

  “How dare you?” She took a step away, adding distance between her and this stranger.

  He scoffed. “Me? All I have done is rescue you from the water. Forgive me for fishing you out!”

  She did not stop moving, stepping from the water onto the uneven, slick riverbank. “All you have done? You mean besides startling me out of my wits and causing me to fall in the first place?” Her foot slipped, but she caught her balance.

  “You must scare easily if a small tap and clearing of my throat startled you out of your wits. I merely wished to help. How did your bonnet come to be in the water anyhow?”