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Amelia bit her tongue. She should have refrained from confiding in Charles, but her friends had not seemed as concerned as she felt and the need for validation was bubbling in her. Andrew, though worried, was able to shrug away his woes. Amelia did not have that ability.
She was certainly not enjoyable to be around at present. Surely she should return home.
“Amelia?” Charles asked, lowering his voice. They trailed behind Andrew, Giulia, and Hattie, approaching the large pile of wood and kindling set up for the bonfire to celebrate the life of St. John the Baptist. “What is it? You are clearly troubled.”
“Mrs. Halpert is settled in just fine, but she has not improved in the least. I assumed by now she would have more color in her cheeks, not less.”
“Your concern does you credit.”
No. Amelia was no saint, and she would not allow Charles to paint her in such a light. “And my celebrating? Spending time here? That does me credit also?” She shot him a bland smile. Perhaps she had been wrong to turn to him for support. She certainly never would have before, but the way he was retreating, giving her space, gave her the urge to do what she could to pull him closer again. Good heavens, how dreadful of her. “Please, forget I said anything at all. You are right. There is nothing that can be done from here.”
She turned to draw alongside Hattie, leaving Charles behind without another word. Threading her arm through Hattie’s, she waited for the men to light the fire, listening to her friends’ discussion as she traced the dry branches with her eyes and smothered her mortification. The milder weather was comforting, and the chatter from familiar voices soothed her anxious shoulders.
Charles crossed to the other side of the fire, planting himself beside Andrew and looking as though he was avoiding Amelia’s gaze. The bonfire was lit, climbing up the tall branches which leaned together in a triangular formation until the flames grew so large that the women were forced to retreat a few steps to avoid the heat. Giulia’s face was flushed, despite having moved away from the heat, and she retrieved her fan from her reticule, likely to grant her cheeks some relief.
Mr. Pepper approached with a glass of lemonade and offered it to his wife. “Shall we return home? I got caught up speaking to Mr. Traynor, or I would have located you sooner.”
“No, of course not.” Giulia widened her eyes, her gaze flicking between Hattie and her husband. “I already told you that I have something I must do tonight.”
Mr. Pepper’s exasperation reached his eyebrows. “Certainly you jest.”
“No, I do not.”
He looked to Hattie. “You do not mean to actually—”
“Shhh,” Giulia said, pulling her husband’s arm. “If you announce our intentions, we won’t be able to see them happen, will we?”
His gaze was unrepentant. “Perhaps that is precisely my goal.”
“You would not do that to me,” Giulia said, her voice holding a warning.
The adoration which fell over Mr. Pepper’s face was enough to turn Amelia’s stomach, and she squeezed Hattie’s arm. “If you are not feeling quite the thing, Giulia, you may rest easy. I will not abandon Hattie tonight, and we can give you a full report tomorrow.”
Giulia pouted. “But I want to be there.”
Mr. Pepper leaned closer to his wife. “I do hope our child does not inherit your stubbornness.”
“I am certain she will,” Giulia said, her eyebrows rising in challenge.
Mr. Pepper laughed. “Oh, heaven help me.”
“There are hours yet until midnight,” Hattie said. “If you’d like to go home and rest now, Giulia, you have plenty of time to do so and return later.”
“Capital idea, Miss Green.” Mr. Pepper took Giulia’s hand, and she sighed, allowing him to pull her away.
Glancing back over her shoulder, she speared Hattie and Amelia with a look while she waddled away. “Come fetch me when it’s time.”
“We will,” Hattie called back, heedless of who heard her.
Amelia sometimes envied her friends’ abilities to behave carelessly, as though they could do or say what they wished without fear of offending anyone’s sensibilities. One would believe that Amelia, more than most, would have that luxury, but her own mind often got in the way of her taking advantage of her status as a widow.
“Now,” Hattie said, turning away from the fire, the sun setting behind her. “Shall we retrieve some berry tarts before Mr. Ward is able to eat all of those, as well?”
“We may as well try.”
* * *
Charles stood alone, the bonfire before him building rapidly in the sky, its flames licking the dark night and glowing against the faces surrounding it. He had done his best not to follow Amelia around all evening with his gaze, but even when he did not watch her, he knew where she was. He could feel it.
