Page 50 of Maid for the Duke

At first Amelie was on edge in the comfortable drawing room, but little by little she felt some of the tension drain from her. Mrs Hampton took her time preparing the tea, clattering about in the kitchen before eventually reappearing with a tray piled high. She fussed around, pouring Amelie a cup of tea and ensuring she had everything she could want to eat. Amelie hadn’t thought herself hungry, but she had not eaten all day, and at the sight of the food her stomach growled.

Mrs Hampton did not try to engage her in conversation while Amelie ate. She sipped her own cup of tea and waited, no sign of impatience. Only when Amelie was finished and the plates cleared away onto the tray did she lean forward.

‘Have you heard the gossip?’ Amelie asked, only half-wanting to hear the answer.

‘Yes. His Grace may shy away from his popularity, but people have always been fascinated by the habits of those in higher social classes. Your affair has been the talk of London.’ There was no judgment in Mrs Hampton’s voice, just a gentle firmness, as if she felt it was important Amelie know the full extent of the problem.

Amelie chewed on her lip. ‘I do not know what I was thinking. I got swept up in the passion and the romance of it all. I never thought I could be so foolish.’

‘Even the most sensible of us can be fools when it comes to love.’

Amelie looked up at the older woman with desperation in her eyes. ‘What do I do now?’

‘You look to the future and you endure. You mustn’t dwell on what cannot be undone. Heartbreak feels like the end of all things, but it is not. You have your life ahead of you still, and three little ones who look to you for everything. As impossible as it feels just now, you need to let the past go. Fix your eyes on what comes next.’

Amelie sniffed, staring into the rising steam from her cup. ‘The future,’ she repeated, as though testing the word on her tongue. It felt impossible, but perhaps if she followed Mrs Hampton’s advice there would be a chance.

Mrs Hampton stood, smiling. ‘You are exhausted. Let me show you to your room. I will send the children in tomorrow to wake you for breakfast. They will be thrilled to see you.’

Amelie was half-awake when she heard the clatter of footsteps before her door burst open and Charles ran into the room, throwing himself on the bed.

‘Amelie!’ he half-shouted, half-sobbed, throwing himself into her arms.

‘Mon trésor.’

Marie and Harriet were only a few steps behind him, piling onto Amelie’s bed and hugging her until she could barely breathe. It felt wonderful to have them back in her arms and Amelie clung on tightly, not wanting to let go.

They all started speaking at once, a jumble of voices asking her questions about her journey and how long she was staying, all vying for her attention.

‘Oh, my loves,’ she murmured, kissing each tousled head in turn. ‘I have missed you so very much.’

Marie, ever the most perceptive, leaned back just enough to study her face. ‘You’ve been crying.’

Amelie smoothed her sister’s hair, forcing a smile. ‘I have merely been eager to see you all again.’

Charles climbed onto her lap, settling himself in the place of honour. ‘I don’t want you to go again. Mrs Hampton is very good to us, but I miss you.’

‘I miss you too.’ There in that moment she made the decision that she would not leave them again. She had a little of her wages saved from the last couple of months—enough to rent a room for all of them together whilst she worked out what they were going to do next. ‘I’m not leaving,’ Amelie promised, though the words caught in her throat. ‘From now on, we stay together.’

Amelie closed her eyes and tried to focus on the future, as Mrs Hampton had suggested the night before. The pain from her heartbreak was still there, still fresh and raw, but as she held her brother and sisters close she believed for the first time she would survive it. Her heart might be broken into pieces, but these three would help her repair it just by being close.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Since returning to Ashmead House two days earlier, Will had thrown himself back into his duties. Letters had been answered, accounts checked, disputes settled and appointments made. He’d hoped the rhythm of the familiar responsibility would settle him, but so far it had not worked.

In times past, if he’d ever felt unsure of himself or unsettled, Will would take a few minutes to walk along the upstairs landing, stopping in front of each painting. The walls there were lined with pictures of his ancestors, a long line of dukes stretching back centuries. Over the years fashions had changed, hairstyles were vastly different, but each duke had an air of wisdom, a gravitas about them that reminded Will of his duty.

Today he had spent fifteen minutes in the upstairs hallway, and still he felt unsure of himself. His ancestors had not all been moral, upstanding citizens; as with every family, there had been a few black sheep, and even the well-behaved ones hadn’t been averse to using their position to their full advantage, so he did not think any would have begrudged him his summer affair with Amelie. Rumours would swirl for a while and then another scandal would capture the interest of the ton and his indiscretion with his housemaid would become a thing of distant memory.

Many negative emotions were vying for prominence, but most of all he felt lonely.

This past year, Will had tried to pretend he was coping well. His grief at his sister’s death had been catastrophic, but he had mourned her as expected and then thrown himself into his work. Only when Amelie had come along with her kindness and her companionship had he realised quite how lonely he was.

Now he was alone again, and it was a loneliness of his own making.

Closing his eyes, he was hit with images of the time they had spent together. He remembered long walks along the river Cam, talking about dreams for the future. Lazy afternoons spent between the sheets. Dinner times when Amelie had listened to his dilemmas about his book and offered up her opinions. He missed her so badly, it felt as if he had a physical wound.

By late afternoon he had achieved nothing. The accounts he was meant to be reviewing sat untouched and he had read and re-read his correspondence multiple times without actually taking in any of the contents. He was relieved when there was a gentle knock on his study door.