Ignoring the questioning stares, his hand slid down her arm and clasped her hand. With his other hand, he used his thumb to gently wipe the tears from her cheek tenderly. ‘Not until I know what is wrong. I hate seeing you like this.’
His sympathy was almost her undoing except, behind those gathered at the door, Amelia could already see the Dowager looking for her son. Next to her was Viscount Venomous, smiling nauseatingly at his hostess and no doubt congratulating himself on gaining an invitation to visit such a powerful duke.
As the crowd parted to allow them to pass, Amelia snatched her hand away and considered her options. The grand, echoing hallway offered few hiding places. The odd ancient suit of armour or the impressive waist-high Grecian urns would not suffice for long. Her inadvertent charade was about to unravel like knitting and she had no earthly idea how to stop it. In desperation, she camouflaged herself behind the biggest thing in the room.
Bennett.
‘Oh, there you are, Bennett!’ His mother was striding purposefully towards him, completely oblivious to the fact that Amelia was upset and huddled behind him. Under the circumstances, he was glad that she was hidden. At least it would give her a few moments to compose herself before she had to make a reappearance. He already knew enough about her to understand that she would hate to be seen in such an exposed and weakened state by anyone. ‘I believe that you must know Viscount Bray. He is one of your greatest supporters in the House.’
Reluctantly, Bennett held out his hand to shake the other man’s, doing his best to maintain Amelia’s privacy. He had met Bray before and had never particularly warmed to the man. ‘Yes, of course. Bray, how are you?’
‘Honoured to be favoured with an invitation, Your Grace. May I present my wife?’
Bennett had to turn slightly to take the lady’s proffered hand and watched his mother’s eyes dart curiously behind him. Automatically, she twisted to see who he was concealing and he fervently hoped that Amelia had rediscovered her composure.
‘Oh, Amelia—I did not notice you there. Allow me to introduce you to our guests as well.’
He felt her step out from behind him, saw her stiffen her delicate spine and set her small shoulders proudly, then watched in fascination as the Viscount’s face became florid at the sight of her.
‘What thehellisshedoing here?’ The man was practically pulsating with rage.
Amelia appeared completely unmoved by Bray’s peculiar reaction. She stared at him for several moments imperiously, then tilted her lovely head to one side before she spoke.
‘Hello, Father. Abandoned any wives lately?’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Remember—when you marry, you do not simply gain a wife. You gain a family as well. Look carefully into their backgrounds before you align yourself with them...
Amelia felt a wave of unexpected calm settle over her as she faced her father for the first time in four years. She supposed all of her anger and hatred for the man would surge forward soon enough, but right now those emotions were absent and she was grateful for that. What she had to say was best done coldly and dispassionately. With dignity. The very last thing she wanted was to give her horrid father the impression that he still mattered.
People were already falling over themselves to pour into the grand hallway and witness the unfolding drama. As she scanned the faces, she saw Lady Worsted looking horrified, Sir George bewildered and Lady Cecily practically rubbing her hands together with glee. Amelia supposed the girl was well within her rights. There was an air of finality about what she was about to do that was too inevitable at this stage in the proceedings to be prevented.
Her father’s head appeared about to explode. At his side she noticed his fists were clenched and she wondered if he would succumb to his temper and physically lash out, or if he would try to blag his way out of the situation because he was surrounded by his peers. He glared at her menacingly, the warning quite apparent, but she saw the raw panic in his eyes.
Next to him, the Dowager was wringing her hands together nervously while Bennett stood stock-still like a glorious Roman statue, his handsome face devoid of any expression that would let her know what his clever mind was thinking. At least, once this was done, he would give up any thought of continuing their association. That would spare her from ever having to see him again and wondering what it would have been like if things had been different. She did not want to live with that sort of hope. It would destroy her.
But for now she would draw strength from him as he stood loyally by her side. Amelia settled her eyes on her father and said the words she had waited to say, realising as she said them that she had needed to do this to lay the ghosts of her past to rest.
‘You robbed my mother of her soul and her fortune and then you cast her out with nothing. Her blood is on your hands.’
Her father’s eyes burned back, filled with hatred. Amelia saw his mouth begin to open, ready to rail against her charge with his customary vitriol and lies, but his words were halted by the sudden appearance of a large fist. It slammed into his face with such force that she heard the snap as his nose shattered. Blood sprayed in the air like a fountain and, as if in slow motion, her father flew backwards, his arms and legs flailing pathetically. Then everything seemed to suddenly speed up again and he landed flat on his back with a resounding thud on the unforgiving stone floor.
Everyone sucked in a collective gasp of shock before an ominous brittle silence settled over the room. All eyes darted between the Duke, Amelia and the Viscount, splayed on the marble. Sir George was the first to rush forward to kneel before the prostrate, static body.
‘Is he dead?’ The Duke’s voice sounded flat and emotionless, but his fist was still raised.
Sir George felt for a pulse and looked relieved. ‘No! He’s just unconscious’
‘That is a pity.’ Bennett lowered his fist and turned to his butler calmly. ‘Lovett, see that this mess is returned to its carriage, if you please.’
Then, without another word, he walked casually down the hallway away from the melee, his hands clasped behind his back and his posture erect, almost as if knocking out peers of the realm was something not at all extraordinary and something he did every day as a matter of course.
Amelia and the assembled guests stood gaping as Lovett clicked his fingers and two footmen appeared. She tried to stand proudly as she watched them manhandle her semi-conscious father off the floor and then carry him smartly away, grateful that she was flanked on either side by the Dowager and Sir George. Her knees were suddenly weak and there was a definite lightness in her head, so she tried to breathe deeply in case she swooned and joined her sire on the floor. Nobody spoke. Nobody quite knew the correct etiquette for such a bizarre turn of events. It was all Amelia could do just to blink.
‘Well, I think you would all agree that was a splendid show. I hope you will all understand that this afternoon’s entertainments are now concluded. Allow me to see you to your carriages.’ Sir George took charge and managed to usher everyone towards the main entrance swiftly, ably assisted by Lady Worsted, leaving a stunned Amelia standing next to an equally stunned Dowager. Fragments of their casual conversation filtered back towards the spot where Amelia was currently frozen and she marvelled at how the pair of them could sound so nonchalant when she was still floored by what had happened.
Bennett had punched her father in the face.
