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“Amelia Allen?” I said, the name spilling out of my mouth like I had known it the entire time.
And I suppose, in some dark recess of my brain, I had. I thought I’d had one too many glasses of scotch to remember anything from my childhood, but somehow, I remembered her name as clear as day.
And the more I stared at her, the more I couldn’t believe I had ever forgotten it.
Her face transformed into surprise once again.
“Y-yes, my Lord.”
We made eye contact, her grey eyes locking onto mine, and for a moment it was like I was little kid again… before my father passed away, before I went off to Eton… before I needed liquor to get me through the day…
As I stared at her face, the memories of our friendship came flooding back.
Amelia and I had spent our young years playing hide-and-seek in Rosehill, pulling pranks on the servants, and building forts in the seldom-used drawing rooms. My parents were absent, quite literally, for most of my childhood. They had left my care to a random assortment of nursemaids and governesses, who never seemed to care what I did.
Amelia was a commoner, her father our steward. But, despite our differences in rank and gender, we had been allowed to be close friends. We were the only children at Rosehill, and we had been as close as siblings. I couldn’t remember what had changed, but it had… and I hadn’t even thought of her in years.
Except for occasionally, in my dreams. A freckled little girl, chasing me through the gardens… yes, those dreams were of her.
“What are you doing here? Gracechurch Street is no place for a lady.” I said, watching her intently.
Her cheeks began to color an even deeper red, but she didn’t break eye contact.
“I am here to see my cousins. They live nearby.” She answered, her voice small and measured andoh sofamiliar.
I knew nothing of the girl’s family, other than that her father had been our steward, once upon a time. I knew that he wasn’t anymore, but I couldn’t remember why. He must have left when my father was still alive.
It was reasonable that she might have merchant relatives – after all, she was not of the ton, per say. But still, she must have had connections, to be at Lord Turley’s party. It was rather unusual to see such a lady on Gracechurch Street by herself, that was certain.
“Do you make a habit of getting into fights with hackney coaches in the seedier parts of London?” I asked dryly, enjoying her clear discomfort.
“No, that was-” she stammered, her face growing even redder. “Thank you for your help, my Lord. I do not enjoy London society, and any opportunity to visit my cousins, even in such a neighborhood, is stimulating.”
Her words were genuine, and I found myself a bit shocked by them. People usually weren’t genuine – not in London society, anyways.
“You are quite honest. Perhaps that’s why you don’t like society.”
Her face stayed red, but she said nothing.
“I can’t remember the last time we saw each other.” I observed, cocking my head to the side.
I had few memories of my early teenage years. Amelia and I’s friendship had gotten lost in the mix… washed away in a stream of liquor, no doubt.
“I was eleven, so you were thirteen. I believe you were leaving for Eton.” She said quietly.
I raised my eyebrows.
“You have a good memory. Certainly, better than mine, anyhow.” I compulsively traced my fingers along the outline of my flask, tucked just inside my jacket pocket, and her eyes followed my hand.
“Well, who are you in London with? To be quite honest, I must apologize and admit that I do not remember your circumstances.”
Her expression grew somewhat detached.
“I am the guest of Lady Cressida Radcliffe. I am in London as a governess to her daughter, Miss Cassandra Radcliffe. It is her first season.”
Radcliffe. I strained to remember the name. Wasn’t that the family name of the Earldom of Toppenham?
I believed their estate was somewhere in Cornwall, perhaps only a few hours ride from Rosehill in Devonshire… where Amelia and I had shared so many memories.
