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It was the fleeing that had caused her heart to race and not the gentleman in her drawing room or the way he had looked at her. It had to be. Charles Fremont did not have such an effect on her. He never had before, at least.
Only two men in her life had caused her to feel this way, breathless and lightheaded, and they were gone.
* * *
Six Years Earlier
Amelia perched on the edge of the window seat in her brother Frederick’s London townhouse, watching rivulets of water chase one another down the bubbled glass window pane. Frederick had gone out with his wife, and Amelia remained behind. Her sister-in-law had tried to be welcoming when Amelia had first come to live with them nine months prior, but Amelia could sense how the woman wanted her gone from their home.
She understood, for she wanted the same thing; she simply had nowhere else to go. Andrew had written to invite her to stay with him in Graton, but his house was hardly large enough for one person. She would not press herself on him, not when Frederick had ample space and a willingness—albeit reluctant on his wife’s part—to have her as a guest.
It was too bad he hadn’t married someone who cared less about her social engagements and more about her family.
A creak sounded as the parlor door edged open, and a smile sat comfortably on her mouth when she laid eyes on the gentleman filling the space.
“Am I intruding?” Arthur Williams asked, his dark green eyes peering at her with resolution.
She straightened on her seat. “Not at all. Do come in.”
Arthur let himself inside and closed the door behind him before using his cane to cross the floor with slow, measured steps. His injury from fighting on the Peninsula would never fully heal, but he was able to get around. She could only be somewhat grateful for his bad leg, for it had kept Arthur from joining his cousin, Henry, on the wretched curricle race that had cost Henry his life.
Shoving thoughts of Henry aside was an easier feat when not facing his cousin—a man who shared her deceased husband’s wavy, black hair and dark eyes, as well as the same tall, broad bearing that had passed onto them from their mothers’ father. Arthur was different from his cousin in every other regard, but he looked so similar, it often jarred her.
“Is Frederick home?” Arthur asked, lowering himself onto the bench beside Amelia and resting his cane between his legs.
“No. He’s gone out. I believe they were headed to a garden party. I’m not certain where.”
Arthur glanced to the rain pattering against the window, a smile forming on his lips. “Mayhap they’ve changed the course of their event.”
Amelia grinned. “I should hope so.”
“Can I let you in on a secret?”
A thrill ran through her, and Amelia stilled. In the year since Henry’s death, she had come to rely heavily on Arthur for support. But while she had been grateful for his assistance and friendship, she had never felt such a strong thread of attraction before now. And it frightened her.
Leaning back against the recessed wall, she clasped her hands on her lap. “That would depend on the nature of the secret, I suppose.”
Arthur seemed to sense her shift in demeanor. He cleared his throat. “I am glad your brother is out. I wanted to speak to you about something important. Alone.”
“Oh?” She tried for nonchalance and likely failed.
His dark eyes fastened on hers in earnest. “I care for you, Amelia. I always have.”
Shock rippled through her chest, but she forced herself to remain still. She had suspected his feelings for some time, of course, but hadn’t anticipated that he would speak the words aloud. Not yet, at least. They’d seemed to have an unspoken agreement between them before now.
“When Henry…” He glanced up and the pain in his gaze reached her soul. “When he died, he made me promise to look after you. Will you let me look after you, Amelia?”
What did that mean, exactly? Was the man not already doing just that in the ways he was able?
“I…I have Frederick. You needn’t concern yourself with any obligation—”
He reached for her hand, wrapping his large fingers around hers, and his voice came out quiet but firm. “There is no obligation. I’ve grown to care for you, and I wish to make you my wife.”
But could she take a husband that she did not love? She cared for him, too. Was certainly attracted to him. But love? Arthur deserved the truth. “I am not certain I shall ever feel for any man the way I felt for Henry.”
Lines fanned the edges of his eyes as he smiled softly at her. “I understand, and I do not require anything from you. Just let me love you.”
Escape sat just before her, beckoning her to accept. Escape from her grief, from her loneliness, from her brother’s house. Arthur Williams was a good man, and he would do right by her. She could rely on him for that.
