“I do not mean to diminish,” she hissed, suddenly as defensive as he was. She reared back. “I only came in here to ask how you were and what it was you had busied yourself with all morning—”
“You came in here to distract me.” His glare was deeply cutting, and his voice was flat, annoyed. “I have duties, Amelia. Duties you do not concern yourself with. I did not interfere with your ball—you do not interfere with my business.”
“I wished you would have interfered so I would not have felt so alone.”
Her cry of anguish came from a place of hurt, of his snapping, of his pushing her away, of his anger, and the maids’ gossip.
“You have doubted me over and over again when all I have ever done is simply be here,” Amelia whispered.
“And sometimes I wish you were not.”
Amelia flinched, recoiling as if he had slapped her. He had not but her face burned with shame.Of course, she thought.There is the real reason he distances. He wishes it was not me he was married to.Of course, of course. How could I be so foolish?
“Amelia,” he murmured, his whole face crumpling after his outburst. But she was already retreating, stepping through the door of his study. “Amelia!”
She was gone, turning on her heel and fleeing as tears stung her eyes. A sob escaped her as she ran down the hallway, unsure of where she was going, as long as it was far from him. She did not hear or see the maid that came down the hallway, and Amelia crashed into her, almost sending a vase of roses flying from the maid’s grasp.
Amelia gasped, hands steadying the vase. “I—I am sorry.”
“Your Grace, are you all—”
Amelia did not wait to hear the rest, not when the maids had spoken about her. Even though this one had not been any of the gossipers from before, she still could not help but wonder how many others thought the same. How many times the staff of the house passed her and thought terribly of her, of retreated to another room to whisper of her terribleschemes that were not true.
The scent of the roses did not fade easily as she fled further down the corridor, only reminding her of that day in the hedge maze, the scent of flowers blooming everywhere. Such prettiness to disguise the ugly facade of the Kensingtons and their gossip.
She half wanted to run into the garden, to lose herself in trees and flowers, foliage and flora. But instead she retreated to the library where she could surround herself with her old, familiar comfort of reading. However, every book she picked up, wanting to read, only reminded her of their almost-kiss. Every book presented her with a heroine who was strong enough for their husbands, or the men who courted them.
Where did Amelia fit into that?
What if she could not be strong enough for Graham?
She had sworn she would be but there was only so much she could do if he continued to distance himself. She would not give up on him—she only had to make him refuse to give up on himself.
“Some time alone,” she murmured, “that is what I need. Some time to think, to let him know that should he request space then I will not overstep.”
Amelia did not see Graham as the rest of the ton did. Shehadassumed the worst, up on the cliffs, but only because she feared she had pushed too hard, with the ball, the breakfast, the music room. She would give him space, but every time footsteps went past the library, Amelia lifted her head from her book, hoping he had come to find her.
***
Graham’s fingers dug into his desk, his back bowed as he braced himself against it. His breaths came hard and fast as his thoughts tumbled through what he had said to Amelia. Heavens, she hadn’t deserved that.
Rocking back on his heels, he dropped back into his seat, groaning.
He needed to go to her. He needed to find her, to apologize, but how could he ever apologize when he knew it would only happen again? He had succumbed to his inner beast once more, tormented by his past. He had told her the ton was right about him—that there was a reason he hid himself away, avoiding the prospect of marriage, avoiding courting. It was not only his discomfort that kept him from seeking out companionship but the knowledge that he would have only hurt whoever became involved with him.
And yet Amelia stayed. Amelia had agreed.
“It was for her own reputation,” he muttered to himself. “Do notflatter yourself.”
He had doubted her, accused her, lashed out at her, and yet all she had ever done was stay at his side.
Fear and his own pride kept him rooted to the spot behind his desk, unable to follow her through the heavy study door. He wanted to—he really did. He wanted to go back to that morning, to tell her that having breakfast with her terrified him but would make him happy, and she would see that hecouldbe a true, good man. But had he agreed to breakfast he would have only ruined it some other way, surely.
There was a quiet knock on the door, and a small voice followed. “Brother?”
“Not now, Daphne, please,” he muttered, his anger abated, leaving only an exhausted acceptance behind.
“I actually believe now is a perfect time to bother you,” Daphne said, stepping into his study. “For you may shout at your wife but you cannot order me out.”
