AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Andrew was called to the Pearson home to see little Frederick about a fever. He does not expect to arrive before an hour has passed, at the very least. If you would like to leave, I will stay here with Mrs. Halpert. I am certain Andrew and I can see to her needs and get her situated at Falbrooke.”
“I do not mind waiting, however long it takes.” He looked to the room behind her and the invalid, lying helpless. Lowering his voice, he said, “And it is bound to take quite a long time.”
Amelia’s gaze held his, her pale blue eyes searing into him. It took all of his control to remain standing where he was, to keep an arm’s length between them when he wanted so badly to step closer, just close enough to inhale her subtle floral scent. No other woman had this effect on him, and he wished more than anything he had the power to make it stop.
He tore his gaze away from her. “Unless you have a task for me, though, I will leave the cottage and await you outside. I believe Mrs. Halpert will be more at ease in my absence.”
Her eyebrows drew together, but she did not question him further. “Very well. If you insist. But, can I ask…”
He waited for her to continue, but she seemed to reconsider what she was going to say, closing her mouth instead.
“Yes?” he prompted, curiosity nipping at him.
Amelia shook her head, her gaze flicking to the floor before settling back on him. She seemed uncertain of herself, and it was a foreign expression on her. Charles had always known her to be self-possessed and confident. It was one of the things he admired most about her—how well she knew her own mind.
She delivered a plain smile. “It was nothing.”
Pivoting away from her, he took regular, measured steps outside, closing the door behind himself. The summer heat beat down on him, but he preferred the hot rays to the stuffy emotions indoors. Amelia looked lovelier now than she had ten years before. Age had done nothing but sharpen her beauty and refine her cheekbones, dusted as they were with the barest hint of freckles, her pale blue eyes bright against her shiny copper hair. Even cloaked in the unrelenting black she insisted on wearing, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Though, he longed to see her put off the dashed mourning clothes, to be resplendent in color once more.
Pacing past the cottage, Charles took wide, hurried steps, hoping the exercise would rid the anxious fretting from his limbs. He hadn’t expected Amelia to be here and seeing her in the doorway had completely upended his equilibrium.
Regardless, he was wholly appreciative of her effort to help. Mrs. Halpert had seemed far from comfortable at the idea of allowing Charles to assist her in packing her belongings. Surely Amelia would be able to put the woman at ease.
* * *
Amelia folded the thin, faded dressing gown and tucked it securely on top of the pile of clothing within the trunk before closing the lid. She’d known it was a possibility she would find Charles here when she arrived but discovering him in such an intimate position with Mrs. Halpert had been a shock.
The man had been sitting on the edge of Mrs. Halpert’s bed, speaking quietly with her. Surely that could only mean one thing: Charles had feelings for the widow.
It certainly explained his lack of interest in Amelia of late.
Wiping her hands over the top of the old, sturdy trunk, she latched it and sat back on her heels. It was a lowering thought that the discovery had been uncomfortable for her, that finding Charles with another woman had made her unsettled instead of relieved. She should rejoice that he’d found a woman to whom he could transfer his feelings. But the same had been the case when he’d brought Miss Pemberton home last summer—Amelia had hated it. She was glad for him, that he’d found someone, and yet? Her contradicting feelings were discomfiting. She’d never admit so aloud, of course. It was ridiculous. It failed to make any sense in her mind.
She did not want Charles for herself, but she did not enjoy seeing him with other women. It was odd and entirely unfair of her. This was simply another reason why they could never be together—Amelia was clearly not a good person. A good person would be happy for him, not selfishly discomfited by his alteration of affection.
A warm breeze filtered through the window, and Amelia was glad she’d thought to open it when she’d arrived. The stale smell that filled the room had not yet disappeared, but it was improving.
Crossing to the bed, Amelia paused, clasping her hands together. “What else might I prepare for you, Mrs. Halpert? Is there anything else you would like to bring with you to Falbrooke?”
Shifting on the straw mattress, Mrs. Halpert swept her gaze over the bare room. “I have nothing else, ma’am. I do thank you for your help. I cannot imagine how I would have managed it myself.”
She nodded reassurance down at the ill woman; her pale face and wan expression tugged at Amelia’s heart. “I am more than happy to help.”
“Will Mr. Fawn be—”
“No,” Amelia said, more crisply than she intended. She softened her words with a smile. “I am a widow as well. It is just my brother and me at Falbrooke Court, along with an army of servants. You will be very well taken care of.”
Mrs. Halpert’s eyes turned sad, and Amelia wanted more than anything to assure the woman that her pity was wasted, that the passing of Amelia’s third husband had not been the sorrowful affair Mrs. Halpert was imagining it to have been.
Her first and second husbands, of course, were different. But Mr. Fawn? No, he’d been a business arrangement to provide Amelia with security and a permanent home. She’d mourned his death, of course, but more than that, she had mourned losing the belief that she wasn’t cursed. It was standing in the churchyard and gazing down at his name—her most recent surname—etched on the stone that had led Amelia to finally agree with the barbed tongues of the ton that had brazenly named her the Black Widow. On that cool, foggy morning, when wisps of low-hung clouds licked the earth and wrapped around the gravestones, she had determined to keep the black gowns, to embrace the name, and save more unwitting men from early graves.
She had to be cursed. It made sense. How else could she explain losing each of her husbands before reaching a year of marriage?
“Any children?” Mrs. Halpert asked, driving the stake further into Amelia’s chest and pulling her from her melancholy musings.
“No.”
