Amelia wept again, her tears falling hot against the linen of her mother’s gown.
Faith let her cry.
When the sobs finally slowed, she kissed her daughter’s forehead and whispered one last instruction.
“Do not forget what you are. Not for any man. Not even an earl.”
Amy nodded, fiercely.
“I love you,” Faith said.
“I love you too, Mama. So much.”
They lay like that for some time.
And when the maid returned to guide Amelia away, Faith did not protest. Her strength had nearly gone.
She watched the girl disappear through the doorway and let her head rest back against the pillows.
The light dimmed.
The room grew quiet.
And the crucifix warmed in her hand as her eyes closed for the final time.
Chapter 3: 1748-1762
October 1748 — Matlock Estate
Lady Amelia Fitzwilliam was crying—again.
She had chosen the small withdrawing room at the far end of the west corridor, the one with the narrow window and the cracked pane that rattled faintly when the wind pressed against it. No one ever came here. Her father disliked the roombecause it was drafty, and her brother found it dull. That alone made it safe.
Amy knelt beside the chair, her forehead pressed to the cushion, her fingers twisting together in her lap.
Ave Maria, gratia plena…
The words came silently, shaped only by her lips. She crossed herself quickly and carefully, the gesture small enough to be mistaken for nothing at all, though she knew better than to grow careless. She was not stupid, no matter how often her father sighed at her questions, no matter how Barry smirked and repeated his judgments with boyish cruelty. She had seen what happened to those who were careless with their faith.
Her mother had taught her that much.
She drew a breath, steadying herself, and was about to rise when a soft sound came from behind her.
A shift of weight. A breath.
Amy gasped and turned sharply.
A man stood just inside the doorway.
He was young—no older than five-and-twenty, she thought—and wore the sober livery of the Fitzwilliam household. A footman. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair tied neatly back and eyes far too amused for someone who ought to have been invisible.
Her heart leaped violently.
He chuckled.
Not loudly. Not mockingly. But enough.
Her shock hardened instantly into pride.
