Amelia hugged both of her sisters again. “I shall be there every step of the way when you make your debut, Clara. I know it is not for some years, but you shall always have me. Have Mama and Papa bring you to visit me whenever you wish. And Elizabeth, I am sure Blackthorn’s library shall be yours to peruse at any moment, for if I am a duchess who cannot allow her sisters the indulgence of an even more expansive library then what use is my title?”
Her joke made her eyes sting with fresh tears anew, and both of her sisters stepped back, wiping tears.
“I shall miss you, sister,” Elizabeth said. “And I am sorry for the things I have said so starkly regarding your Seasons. I am glad you have found a husband. I do know he shall take care of you.”
“He willloveher,” Clara insisted. Amelia could feel the burn of the duke’s gaze into her back from where he had stood to allow her a more private farewell. She did not know if he could hear Clara.
“Regardless, I will be only a letter or a short carriage ride away,” Amelia told them, her voice thick with emotion. “Do not give Mama and Papa too much trouble, will you?”
“I do indeed promise to give all the trouble,” Clara told her proudly. “You are quiet, sister, but your voice shall still be missed. I must make upfor it.”
“Oh, I beg that you do not,” Elizabeth said, and the two started squabbling, only to be gently moved aside by Bernadette.
She cupped Amelia’s face, her brows furrowed in both pity and sorrow. “I am sorry I have not been the kindest these last several days, Amelia. I do hope you know that I am proud of you. You will make the finest duchess.”
“You may be proud of me but do you believe me?” Amelia asked, her worry evident. “Do you forgive me?”
“I have found that there is nothing to forgive.”
“But the ruin of our family—”
“Hush now, Amelia. All is well.” Her mother fussed, brushing back a loose strand of Amelia’s hair that had fallen from her elegant hairstyle. She hugged Amelia tightly, holding onto her. Amelia could not help but do the same, grasping her mother tightly, as if she was a scared child, not wanting to let go.
“Duchess.”
She did not even answer the voice at first, not adjusted to her new title, but she only turned at the sound of the duke’s voice.
He looked awkward as he waited for her. “We must depart.”
Nodding, Amelia wiped away her tears. “Of course.”
Around them, servants were finishing packing her bags into the carriage outside, and her family gathered in the entrance hall as the duke guided Amelia out to their carriage. His mother and sister had already left in their own, and Eleanor and Lord Owen would leave moments behind them, to their own homes.
Climbing into the carriage, Amelia could not stop turning back to wave at her family. Her sisters both cried, and her mother pressed a handkerchief to her eyes, while her father beamed proudly, waving at her.
Once the carriage door was closed, and the driver had set off, Amelia could not help but stifle her sobs. The duke had his hands clasped in his lap, his head ducked to look downwards. Their silence was thick, and heavy, but Amelia tried to break it when their gazes met.
“Your Grace, I—”
“Graham,” he corrected.
“Pardon?”
“We are married now,” he said, “and it is bothersome to constantly hear the title, as if I do not have enough reminders of my duty and responsibility. I would like for you to call me Graham.”
“Then you shall call me my own Christian name,” she said.
Graham nodded at her, his eyes searching her face. “Amelia,” hespoke quietly, and she fought a shiver at how gently the letters rolled from his lips. He looked at her as though he willed her to say his name in return, but she could not bring herself to, for only a wave of emotion hit her at the lack of a courtship, of finding their feet together in a more natural way, of sharing smiles across a ballroom, knowing they wished to dance with one another.
She had lost out on all of that, and the grief hit her so hard she could only turn her head away to look at the rolling city beyond the carriage, until they reached the townhouse. Blackthorn House was an imposing yet beautiful structure, one that Amelia had passed several times. She could not recall if any balls had been held at the residence, and knew it was likely due to His Grace’s—Graham, she reminded herself—aversion.
The worry hit her suddenly: as a wallflower, she had never been in the center of any ball, or any event. Had barely ever participated. And now she realized that would not entirely change. Would Graham even have them attend social events? After all, he had only been coerced into doing so by his mother’s reminder of responsibility and the future of his dukedom. Now that he was married would he simply shut himself away?
She did not realize the carriage door was open until Graham stood there, his hand offered. “Duchess.”
She took his hand, letting him guide her out of the carriage. Along the front steps were the house’s staff, all fixing Amelia with curious looks, all eager to get a sight of the woman whom their master had forgone his solitude for.
They ascended up the stairs, Amelia smiling at each of the staff she passed, until they came to an older woman with hair in a low bun, streaked through with gray.
