AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Perhaps you ought to give them a few days,” Andrew said.
Amelia smiled. “We shall see if I can last that long.”
Andrew slumped into the seat, any hint of proper breeding slipping away, replaced with exhaustion. “How is Mrs. Halpert?”
“Much better. She ate dinner this evening, and there is color returning to her cheeks.”
He closed his eyes, rubbing his thumb and forefinger along his eyebrows. “That is a relief. I could not be more grateful for her progress. I was so frightened…”
“Yes,” she said, agreeing silently with the thought he was too afraid to mention aloud. Could they imagine a world in which Charles lost the woman he finally cared about after years upon years of rejection? It would be unfair. He deserved a happy life…a happy marriage. Even if it was not to be with Amelia.
Andrew looked to her, wary. “We must not celebrate yet. There is much that can still go wrong.”
She tempered her delight. Andrew was right; it was foolish to celebrate prematurely. She’d done that when Albert had become ill and shown faint signs of improvement, and within a fortnight she’d lost him. It was not time for celebration—not yet.
“And how is Mr. Pepper?” she asked, hoping to lighten the conversation once more. Her heart felt too heavy. It needed a break. “Has he taken to fatherhood?”
Andrew’s smile was warm. “Yes, at once. I’ve never seen the man cry before, but I’m certain his eyes were watery when he held little Olivia for the first time.”
Amelia’s heart squeezed at the image her mind conjured.
“But Lord Hart was the surprise. If we thought he was overprotective of Giulia, I believe little Olivia will blow her out of the water. He softened with that babe in his arms. It was equal parts alarming and tender.”
“Why alarming?”
“Oh, only because he seemed to growl when Giulia requested the baby back. But of course, he complied. Eventually.”
Amelia chuckled. “Thank you for taking care of Giulia today.”
Andrew’s smile was tender. “Of course, sister.”
* * *
Five years earlier
Amelia stood on the back portico of the enormous Falbrooke Court and raised the glass of lemonade to her lips. The cottage she shared with Andrew since he’d graciously allowed her to move in with him could likely fit on this portico alone, it was so cramped. Not that she was complaining. Andrew’s offer for her to live with him allowed her to not only leave their brother Frederick’s house but to be far away from London, the place that had been the source of so much heartache.
A year had passed since Arthur’s death, since the horrible meeting with Mr. Boyle where she had learned truths that might have been better left undiscovered. A year since she’d first heard the whispers of Black Widow follow her wherever she went. This garden party was her first social event since she’d put off the widow’s weeds just a fortnight before, and she felt out of place without the protection of her mourning colors. A droplet of sweat rolled down her back and she straightened the pale muslin skirt, supposing there was something to be grateful for in finally being out of black. Light muslin was much nicer for the hot summer day.
Albert Fawn approached her, his brown eyes glittering as his gaze dropped to her nearly empty lemonade glass. “May I procure you another glass, Mrs. Williams?”
She leveled him with a look. “No, I thank you.”
It was obvious what Mr. Fawn was about. Fifty if he was a day, he wore his age well, his hair littered liberally with white and gray, but neatly trimmed. Everything about Mr. Fawn screamed of order and refinement, the two things Amelia most wished to have in her life, and both of which were sorely lacking at present.
If this man was going to convince her to marry him as he clearly planned to do, he was going to need to give her a better reason than a large, impeccably run house. As it stood, Andrew wasn’t keen on the idea of her marrying again so soon, and if she was being honest with herself, neither was she.
Her heart was still smarting after the whirlwind she’d put it through over the last few years.
“Have you had a chance to walk out into the garden?” Mr. Fawn asked.
“Not yet, no,” she said, turning to face him. There was a kindness about his brown eyes that struck her. Though she could never love him, she had a feeling he was not interested in a love match. “Tell me, Mr. Fawn, what is it about Graton that drew you here?”
He seemed to consider her question, his lips faintly pressing together and his head tilting just to the side. He was not a native of Devon, but rather grew up the son of a wealthy banker in London. He’d never had children, and his wife had died some ten years prior. He’d moved to Graton shortly afterward. “I needed to look out my window and see something green,” he said simply. “I was tired of the coal smoke and the constant sound of carriages passing my windows. I was looking for peace, I suppose.”
“And a wife?” She arched an eyebrow. It had been forward of her, but she was too experienced now, had gone through too much, to play coy. If this man wanted a transactional marriage, she would treat it like a business arrangement, laying out the expectations and coming to an understanding before entering into any promises.
Mr. Fawn did not flinch, however. A point in his favor. “I loved my wife, Mrs. Williams. I would never try to replace her, and neither do I think she can be replaced. But I cannot change the past, and as I get on in years it has occurred to me that I might try to fill the space which has been left so open and unfulfilled. I seek the most basic of comforts: children.” He paused, gesturing to the grand estate. “I would like to have someone to leave all of this to.”
