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Victoria kept her eyes to the floor, gathering the shards of the smashed teapot as he gingerly dried himself. Though horrified, she couldn’t help laughing. She looked down and gasped on seeing crimson spatters all over the front of her dress. Holding up her hand, she saw that she’d sliced it open. She hadn’t even felt it.
“It’s quite all right,” he said, mistaking her reaction. “No real harm done. I’ve survived worse.”
Victoria looked up, her lips twitching in spite of her throbbing hand. “I swear it wasn’t on purpose,” she said, stifling another laugh as he frowned. “You should have seen yourself, hopping about all over. Really, I’m so very terribly sorry. I know it must have been painful.”
“Yes, well,” he grunted, smoothing down his stained shirt. “As I said, I’ve survived worse.” His brow furrowed. “You’re bleeding!”
“It’s only a small cut.” She reached down and wadded her skirts about her hand. “No point in trying to save it,” she said in response to his wince. She nodded at his front. “You look only slightly better, yourself.”
He looked down. “I can’t possibly allow Amelia to see me like this. I must go and change. I’ll be back.”
But he did not return.
Amelia was not to be found, either. An inquiry of the staff at last produced information that her sister had departed on horseback shortly after Withington had arrived, but no one knew where she’d gone.
Victoria’s stomach tightened. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. There was no reason on earth why she should be worried. But she was. And the later it got, the more concerned she became.
At dinner, Papa looked askance at Amelia’s empty seat.
Victoria squirmed. Just as she was about to tell her father about her sibling’s disappearance, a commotion in the hall sent them both to their feet.
“Where have you been?” both father and daughter asked at the same time as Amelia swept into the room.
She did not answer.
“I asked you a question,” growled Papa. “I expect an answer. Now.”
Amelia stared at him, her expression queer as she pulled off her gloves one finger at a time. “I paid a visit to friend, that is all.” Her red-rimmed gaze fell briefly upon Victoria as she addressed their father.
Victoria caught her breath. Never had she seen such a hateful look on her sister’s face.
“What friend?” asked their father.
“I needed advice, you see,” continued Amelia, her tone nonchalant. “I had been considering accepting Lord Withington’s proposal. I wanted another opinion. That is when I learned that he has betrayed me. I have it on the very highest authority that he was with another woman this very day. Thus, I shall not be marrying Marquess Withington. Ever.”
“What!” her father gasped. “I’ll have his head for this!”
“But you can’t mean it!” Victoria exclaimed, aghast. “He’s madly in love with you, Amelia—why would he do such a thing?”
Amelia stared at her, ice in her eyes as she repeated the words in a cool, clipped tone. “As I said, I have it on the very highest authority.” She turned to her father. “I shall not take the evening meal tonight. I’m afraid I am not feeling at all well.”
He closed his mouth, which had been hanging open. “I shall let the servants know not to disturb…” But she’d swept out of the dining room before he could finish.
Victoria stared after her for a moment, and then ran, ignoring her father’s shouts to stop. Pounding up the stairs, she rounded the corner just as Amelia’s door slammed shut. The bolt slid home with a solid thwack.
“Amelia? Amelia, please! What happened? I don’t understand! I spoke with him only this afternoon, and everything was perfectly fine. He could talk of nothing but you! Please, please open the door! Amelia?”
But her only answer was silence.
Later that same evening, a messenger arrived bearing a missive for her from Julius. She tore it open. A moment later, the parchment slipped from her numb fingers to the floor.
“What now, girl?” demanded her father, already on the alert for further trouble.
“Lord Cavendish has just broken off our engagement,” came her wooden reply. “He gives no explanation, other than that he feels we are simply not suited.”
“What! Not suit—” thundered her father, rising. “But, you’ve been compromised—he, he can’t refuse to marry you!”
She turned to him with brimming eyes, her voice small and forlorn. “What will I do, Papa? I love him!”
