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A gentle throat cleared to her right, and she clutched her hands together behind her back when her eyes fell on Charles, his fingers resting against the door frame.
“Is Mrs. Halpert—”
“She is asleep,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know if I should wake her or let her be.”
Amelia shook her head. “This happens often. I did wonder if my reading voice was bland as it frequently incites her naps, but if your conversation had the same result, I will hold off on letting the thought feed my insecurities.”
A smile tugged at Charles’s lips. His eyes rested so steadily upon her that she had the urge to slice the tension between them with a shocking remark. But the tension was likely only felt on her side. Charles surely had no trouble thinking of anything besides himself saturated with pond water. She, on the other hand, could hardly think of anything else.
“Do you think we have reason to trust this Mrs. Fowler?” she asked, hoping to turn the conversation to neutral land and help her mind focus on something else. “After Hattie’s antics in the churchyard—”
“What has that to do with Mrs. Fowler?”
“She is the Cunning Woman who gave Hattie the formula for her ridiculous plan.”
His eyes narrowed in consideration as he came to lean beside her in the dim corridor. The servants had finally lit the sconces that lined the wall, but they were still in shadow. This line of questioning was clearly not going to distract her mind if it continued to bring Charles closer. She had been trying for a little distance.
He nodded slowly. “I can certainly see why that would worry you, but I believe the tricks she sells and her midwifery must be two separate things. If Mrs. Fowler has knowledge which might help us, then we ought to be grateful for it.”
Amelia agreed with this logic but was nervous, nonetheless. It seemed to her that if there was anything they could do for Mrs. Halpert, Andrew would have learned of it in school.
“You’ve written to your man, then?” Charles asked.
Amelia shifted, crossing her arms over her chest. “My man—oh, Mr. Boyle. Yes. I don’t know that he’ll be available to come help, but I thought I ought to try.”
“Can you forgive me for making you wait an additional week?” he asked.
Surprise snaked up her stomach, pausing her breath. “It was my choice to wait.”
He gave a disbelieving flick of his eyebrows. “Which you could hardly refuse after I pathetically begged for more time, could you? It was a kindness you offered by allowing me to cling to my pride and try. I should have known my limits, however, and not pressed the issue.”
“Hardly.” She hadn’t thought his begging for more time on the lane in front of the Greens’ house had been pathetic or embarrassing in the least—she had found it endearing. Amelia had never struggled to deny Charles in the past. But this had been different. She had wanted to say yes. “Besides, I feel you are too hard on yourself. You are not further from learning the truth than Mr. Green or Mr. Pepper. You needn’t put this pressure on yourself. I certainly haven’t.”
“No, you haven’t.”
She waited for him to say more, but he remained quiet. Gazing at his face, Amelia took in the angle of his jawline, noting how it shifted as he clenched and unclenched it. His nose—she once thought of as Grecian—now seemed dignified, his blue eyes dark in the corridor and resting steadily on the wall opposite them.
The way he’d stood from the water in the pond had immediately sent a flood of attraction through her, only to be shocked into submission when she recognized who he was. The realization had been startling then and had steadily plagued her since.
Charles was kind, thoughtful, and strong. He was eager to give of himself, and she had been quick to shut him down over and over again. Had she been too quick?
Not that it mattered, at present. It was too late for a change of heart to mean anything now that his affections had shifted. And then there was the matter of her curse. She couldn’t very well expect him to put his life at risk by aligning himself with her.
“I feel rather helpless,” he said softly, pain lacing his eyes. He must be referencing Mrs. Halpert. It was difficult to watch others struggle, let alone a person one cared for. Amelia had felt similarly watching Arthur combat sleeplessness and nightmares, resorting to laudanum to obtain a decent night’s sleep. She’d wanted to help but could do nothing, and the worry it had caused her had been taxing.
Amelia smiled. “I understand. I’ve hardly felt anything else since Mrs. Halpert came here. I am not cut out for caregiving, I’ve decided.”
He looked at her quickly. “You are wrong. I don’t know anyone more capable or thoughtful than you.”
Amelia chuckled mirthlessly. She was a foolish, foolish woman. Could all the heartache she’d endured over the previous decade have been for naught, had she only accepted Charles’s attentions when they were younger?
No, that was too far.
She’d loved her husbands—even if she had not been in love with all of them. Though, sweet as each of the men had been, she could not love the heartache.
Regardless, this sort of wallowing was certainly not going to help.
“You think too highly of me,” she said, trying for a light tone.
