When Graham had intervened on her way to the breakfast hall asnormal, murmuring for them to sneak out of Blackthorn before everybody else awoke for breakfast, she had been ecstatic, realizing she had been right going to bed the night before thinking somethinghadshifted between them. The ball had changed everything, and that change had guided her right up those steep cliffs that morning—only to crash back into reality as surely as the water against the cliffs when she realized nothing had changed, for her husband couldn’t change. And then her own anger at thinking such cruel things only overwhelmed her.
He carried a burden on his shoulders that he could not speak about, and it prevented him from getting closer to her. Amelia had thought she’d proven herself to him the night before, speaking up in front of their guests. Had it not been enough?
No. She shook her head as she made her way to the music room.Do not blame yourself. It is him. He needs to change—to want to change.Ameliawouldbreak down those defenses, but that morning she was exhausted. She had seen how easily Eleanor and Lord Owen smiled at one another, at their feelings having time to blossom. Amelia only wished to have that with Graham.
It was only that Graham seemed to think she wanted that with anyonebuthim.
Shaking herself off, she entered the music room, finding the other three ladies turning to her.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Lady Victoria said, standing to curtsey to her. Amelia nodded her head, smiling.
“Lady Victoria, how lovely it is to see you.”
The older woman looked bemused. “After that spectacle at your ball last night, I am sure it is lovely to see anybody that is not your husband, or Percival.”
Amelia, despite herself laughed. “My husband? Whyever would you think I would not want to see him?”
“Because he returned from a morning journey only moments before you came in looking rather sour-faced.” Lady Victoria paused. “What you did last night was very brave, Amelia. I am not here to gossip, nor fuel it, but not many would have the courage to do what you did.”
Amelia paused, her hands clasped, fingers twisting around one another. “I do not believe he did what Percival claims he did, and I am ashamed that Percival spoke so freely. He was very deep in his cups.”
Felicity cleared her throat delicately. “Percival has been thoroughly dealt with regarding his outburst last night.” Her voice was clipped, speaking enough about her displeasure. “I will not have him coming into Blackthorn and making a spectacle of my family again.” The dowager duchess seemedto shake herself off, smiling brighter than her voice had suggested. “Now, I believe we are here to play some music, no?”
“Well,Iam here to gloat about the Season’s most harmonious event,” Lady Victoria huffed, sitting elegantly on her chair, looking more regal than either the duchess or the dowager. “You, of course, have heard of my musicale evenings, have you not, Amelia?”
“I have indeed, Lady Victoria,” she said, smiling, as she took her seat at the pianoforte bench. “Although I have not yet been fortunate enough to attend one.”
“Ah! Then you may be one of my honoured guests.”
Pride bloomed in Amelia as she let her fingers splay over the ivory keys.
“His Grace shall attend too, of course,” Lady Victoria continued.
“Aunt Victoria’s musicale evenings are one of the best events of the social calendar,” Daphne said, her fingers tapping the flute keys to ensure they were smooth and ready to be played. “Nobody has to worry about a dance partner but we may all converse over wine! It is perfect.”
“A most wonderful night,” Felicity agreed. “I am glad you will accompany us, Amelia.”
“Of course.” She smiled happily. “I would not wish to miss it for anything.”
***
Upon his return to the townhouse, Graham shut himself into his study, angry and at war with himself once again. How did he always manage to take two steps forward into better territory with his wife, only to launch several paces back and upset her?
Sitting at his desk, he stared hard at the pages in front of him. Numbers and words swirled, forming nothing but inky black smudges, as all he could think about was their dance the night before. Mercifully, his recollection skipped over Percival’s outburst and awful recollection, and recalled how his wife had felt in his arms, her eyes on his, as if holding his gaze was the only thing she had wished to do in the world.
Her skin had been soft beneath his touch, and her dress had swirled around his ankles too, swishing around her widely, as he had spun her around the floor. For those brief moments, Blackthorn had become magical—they had worked in harmonious tandem, and he had glimpsed a future where he was not a beast, nor a scarred man, and simply was her husband.
Did that version of himself truly exist?
Could he temper his own beast long enough to discover such a thing?
But the more he questioned himself the more his scowl returned. He was letting his guard down far too many times. The dancing, the morning ride on the cliff, the tender conversations. How could he let Amelia perceive him so plainly? His fear clawed at his heart, turned his thoughts bitter.
Watching Amelia stand up for him was both terrifying and touching, and he had not known anybody that would ever do such a thing. His mother or Daphne had tried to silence Percival but nobody had ever spoken upforhim when his own trauma had frozen him to the spot, unable to do it himself.
He sighed, running a hand down his face in exhaustion, but not of the kind that a full night’s sleep could cure. It was more the sort that would only get worse if he continued to chase his thoughts in circles. But he could not make sense of anything.
The only thing that makes sense is to distance yourself,his inner voice told him, almost taunting, as if knowing he didn’t want to.You saw how hurt she was when you could not even jest with her this morning over staying away from the women in the music room.What is one small rejection now to keep her distanced in order to save her a lifetime of pain?
