Throwing her head back, she laughed again. “I can’t imagine Benedict on a battlefield.”
“No, but the ladies find him charming. That’s his true calling.”
Her expression sobered. “I don’t find him that charming.” Her eyes flared wide. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend your friend.”
“No offence taken.” In fact, her confession pleased a side of him he had no idea wanted to be pleased.
“I mean, he’s surely handsome, but not my type.” She rubbed her forehead and let out a nervous chuckle. “Lord, I’d better be quiet.”
“Please, don’t. I like hearing your opinions.” Especially when it came to her lack of interest in his charming friend.
As the anxiety tightening his stomach released its hold, he leaned against a tree. Even the pain in his leg receded.
Amelia shuffled her feet on the dry leaves. “Since you like my opinions so much, would a ball be so terrible?”
Damn. “I’m not inclined to receive guests for a ball.” Some of the tension returned, straining the muscles in his neck.
“You’re the lord of the house. People will barely notice if you aren’t present all the time. They’ll assume you’re entertaining another guest. You can make your appearance then disappear for a while.”
“No.” Again it came out like a harsh reprimand. “No ball. No visitors.”
“I understand.”
“If you were me, would you give a ball?” he asked, genuinely curious.
Another smile graced her lips. “I love balls. I haven’t attended one in a while.” A note of sadness slipped into her voice.
“How so?”
She lifted a shoulder. “A few things happened that required my attention.” Her posture slackened, and a shadow crossed her face. “Serious things,” she said the last words so low he barely caught them.
Something cracked inside him. He wanted to hear her laugh again, wanted to see her smile again.
“Well, I think I’ve bothered you enough. Have a nice day, My Lord.” She curtsied and turned towards the path, shoulders hunched in defeat.
Bloody hell. Watching her so depressed was like a stab in the gut.
“All right.” Cold dread washed over him at the thought of giving a damn ball. “A ball.”
Her beam came back, bright and pure, and a stirring started in the pit of his stomach. “Are you sure?”
“No, but if it makes you happy, I’m ready to try.”
Her lips parted. “Do you want to give the ball for me?”
“Better than giving it for Benedict. I’d rather make you happy than give Benedict another reason to brag.”
A burst of laughter escaped her. “We’re all going to help, of course,” she said, flushing a lovely shade of pink.
“Good, because I don’t know where to start.”
