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Chapter 18
Amelia’s heart raced faster than Howard when given his head in an empty field. It galloped until the sound of her thudding heartbeat pounded against her ears and drowned out all other noise. She yearned to kiss this man, but she could never be the one to take the first step. Not when he had so much as admitted moments ago that he intended to marry Mrs. Halpert when she was ready to take that step.
Not that she blamed the man. She had spent a good deal of time with Mrs. Halpert over the last few weeks and knew her to be kind-hearted. She would make him a lovely wife.
Which made it all the more terrible that Amelia wanted to kiss him so badly. His blue eyes were fixed on her, his chest rising in rhythm with hers. All he needed to do was lean forward, just a little, and she would be in his arms.
“Amelia,” he said, speaking so quietly her name was but a breath on his lips.
She opened her mouth to respond when footsteps came toward them from inside Mrs. Halpert’s room, and the door swung open. Amelia stepped back quickly, pasting a smile on her face to cover her disappointment, and stepped out of the way so Tabby might pass them with her wide, silver serving tray. Her gaze was trained on the floor as she walked, but she had not masked her initial surprise at seeing them together in the hallway, and regret immediately tightened Amelia’s stomach.
What would happen if Tabby told Mrs. Halpert what she had witnessed? The woman needed hope at this crucial point in her pregnancy—nay, in her life. Amelia could not be responsible for ruining that or dashing any dreams the woman harbored. She stepped away again, forcing more space between herself and Charles regardless of how empty the corridor was and how utterly alone they were.
“Thank you for your help today, Charles,” she said, turning toward the stairs. Her heart had failed to slow, her pulse thrumming steadily in her ears. It was uncomfortable walking amiably by his side when, just moments ago, she had wanted him to take her in his arms. Trying for a bright, cheery tone, she said, “I will keep you apprised of anything Mr. Boyle finds, and I will send word the moment I learn any news of Giulia’s baby.”
“Oh, yes, thank you,” he said, sounding surprised. “I should like to know the state of things in that quarter, of course.”
The conversation felt stilted, awkward. Amelia fought the urge to speak her mind, to say everything clearly so they might acknowledge what could have just happened. Except, it hadn’t happened, and it might never have. Tabby stepping into the corridor had broken the spell Amelia was under, but Charles was planning to marry another woman. The expression she read on his face could have been fear or surprise. He could merely have been searching for a way to extricate himself from the uncomfortable situation.
He was likely not wondering how magical their lips would feel once they touched like she was.
Shaking herself free of those wretched thoughts, a blush warmed her cheeks, and she glanced down, her gaze suddenly riveted by Charles’s strong, sturdy hand hanging limply at his side.
Oh, how badly she wanted to take that hand in hers and allow the feeling of warmth and connection to wash through her. The footman who typically resided near the front door was now absent, and Amelia cleared her throat. “Well anyway, good day, Charles.”
“Good day, Amelia,” he said softly, the words so smooth they felt like a caress.
He let himself outside and strode in long, sure steps toward the stables where her grooms had taken his horse.
Clenching her jaw, Amelia watched him walk away, his stride so long, so confident—so like Henry’s. But the men were different in every other regard. Henry had swept her into a whirlwind romance, taking her by surprise with his jovial love and unceasing affection. His lust for life was infectious and had made her giddy and wild at heart. Where Henry was turbulent and untamed as the ocean waves during a storm, crashing upon the rocks and swirling with abandon, Charles was steadfast and strong like a river current—calm on the surface but powerful beneath.
Amelia, fool that she was, found herself swept away by his thoughtfulness, his handsome smile, and his determination. He had surprised her in the last few months, and she had discovered how incredible he was far too late. She would lament not appreciating him for who he was all those years ago, but she’d needed to grow and mature. Amelia was the one who had needed to change.
Not that it was relevant at this point. Her experiences had taught her that there were no guarantees in life, and certainly no promise of a forever with the man she loved. She would do well to remember that, for losing a fourth husband was not even a possibility. Her heart would never recover—she’d yet to fully heal as it was.
Charles glanced back her way before rounding the corner of the building, and she froze in the doorway, embarrassed to be caught watching him. But he did not so much as lift a hand in farewell. The only sign of recognition was a hitch of a smile on his mouth before he turned his attention away from her and disappeared.
She closed the door swiftly and leaned back, her head falling softly against the solid oak.
Had Amelia allowed herself to believe she deserved another husband, Charles would be everything she desired, and yet, she was too late. Now he was going to marry Mrs. Halpert, and Amelia would have to stand back and watch. They had been in this situation before, only now the roles were reversed. Fate was not her friend.
* * *
Andrew had returned home late that evening and fallen into a chair beside Amelia in the dim drawing room, the candles near to guttering and the fire absent due to the heat they’d had all day.
She looked at him, watching his face for any signs of distress. “Tell me at once if Giulia is well.”
He blew a tired breath through his cheeks and turned his head to better see his sister. “Giulia is well. The babe is healthy.”
“And?” she pressed.
“And what, exactly?”
She would have tossed a pillow at him if they had been any younger. Currently, she was much too tired to do anything so undignified. “Boy or girl?”
“Giulia is a woman, Amelia. That has not—” He coughed, the pillow she threw having caught him mid-sentence, and he tossed it back at her, ruefully rubbing his jaw. “Giulia’s baby is a girl.”
Amelia sunk into the sofa cushions, imagining a tiny, pudgy Giulia with dark hair and dark eyes the way all babies had. “I cannot wait to see them.”
