Chapter 21
He held her while she slept. He had no choice as her grip tightened if he so much as moved—even in her unconscious state.
He’d known something was wrong the instant he’d heard that Celeste Bueford was attending that evening. He knew in the pit of his stomach that Lord Hariston planned to act against Amelia this evening, and he’d found he couldn’t tolerate it.
He’d rushed, borrowing a horse off a surprised man rather than sending for his own. He’d had the good sense to order his carriage brought to Lord Hariston’s in case his fears were right. He felt an even greater sense of unease when he could find neither of them in the great room.
He didn’t really consider his reasoning, but he just couldn’t let Lord Hariston’s plans unfold on her; it would destroy her innocence and her dreams. The battle they had was between the two of them and there was no room for other parties, least of all parties with such vile intentions as Lord Hariston. He hadn’t known how vile until he’d broken down the door. The sight of her constrained and crying had disgusted him, and he’d felt no qualms about punching Lord Hariston’s lights out.
He’d ordered the driver to take them to Wiltshire. He knew full well that Amelia would be injured gravely by this incidence, probably more on the inside than any physical effects. She would need time and calm, which was better found in the countryside.
She’d slept for hours and he’d held her inside the dark of the carriage. It would take most of the night to get to Wiltshire, but he found no other course of action he would consider. Anger still flushed through him intermittently. He deplored the callousness of the man he had considered an acquaintance; he’d never gone so far as to consider him a real friend. He also knew that Lord Hariston was not unique in his attitudes to his rights to act however he wished, it was a common sentiment amongst the men in the upper parts of society. It all sat very badly with him, but unfortunately society in general were tolerant of Lord Hariston and his endeavors, provided he put on a polite face and wasn’t publicly linked with such behavior.
He considered for a moment seeking out a way of exposing the man, but it would not be easy and it would reflect as badly on him as it would on Lord Hariston. The code of conduct amongst gentlemen was that they didn’t reveal what they knew of activities related to women with less than pristine reputations. He would look even more ridiculous if he sought to defend the honor of a fallen woman, particularly his own former mistress. The end result would be that he would be ostracized and Lord Hariston would get a half-hearted slap on the wrist, although more likely it wouldn’t be believed.
Amelia stirred in his lap. She was waking up.
“Where am I?” she said with a sleep coarsened voice. He’d never heard her after waking from sleep and he was mildly aware that he catalogued the knowledge of what she was like to memory.
“On the roads to Wiltshire.” He could feel her looking around out the window—not that she would get any information from the blackness outside. “Now if you would be so kind to get off me, I’m losing feeling in my legs.”
She scrambled off him and sat down on the other bench. The pins and needles in his legs got unbearable as the blood flow returned. He should have placed her on the other bench to begin with, but it seemed to distress her, so he’d kept holding her even when the burden was doing strange things to the blood flow to his legs.
“We’re going to the country house?”
“Yes.” They were quiet for long moments.
“Thank you,” she finally said. He wanted to ask how far Lord Hariston had gotten before he was stopped, but he couldn’t broach the subject. He also couldn’t see what good it would do, but he still wanted to know. He suspected that he hadn’t gotten that far since the man still had his breeches on—he preferred to believe that was true.
They fell into silence again and she started crying. He couldn’t see her face and she was trying to hide it, but they were in too small a space for him not to notice. There was nothing he could say to make her feel better and he also knew that she probably needed to cry.
“I hate him,” she finally said with anger. “He is a complete cur.”
“Yes,” he agreed quietly.
“Just because he has money and privilege, he believes he can do whatever he wants,” she continued with hot angry words. He didn’t want to agree with her, but it was true, there would be few if any consequences for the man. It was not fair, but it was how the world worked. He used to disparage her for her ignorance of that fact, but now he actually appreciated her innocent beliefs that the world was a good place and there were good people in it. Then again her naivety may well have contributed to getting her into the position where others could abuse her, but he had to take some of the blame himself as well; he had been instrumental in putting her in that position too.
He laid his head back and closed his eyes. There were still hours to go and the anger and adrenalin was leaving him, leaving a great tiredness in its wake.
Amelia woke up in her old room the next day. It took her a while to realize what had happened and how she’d gotten there. The previous night seemed surreal—she had been attacked. Looking back, she’d known she wasn’t safe there even if she couldn’t quite put her finger on her ill-at-ease feelings.
And he had come and saved her; he’d come in like a guardian angel and rescued her. It was a dreamlike thing, but it had happened and she would forever be grateful.
She took stock of her feelings as the shock had worn off slightly. It was an awful thing and it was horrible that a man would do such a thing, but at least it hadn’t been someone she trusted. Truthfully, she wasn’t shocked at the behavior of someone of his status; she’d learnt a long time ago that the gentile veneer dropped away rather quickly. Her father had always been too powerful for her to bear the brunt of it, but it was a different story now. It only reaffirmed to her that she needed to seek out people who didn’t adjust their behavior based on the status of the person they were dealing with. She needed genuine people who had authentic personas. She was more resolute than ever and she was absolutely certain that they were not in high society. Maybe society corrupted people in due course, she didn’t care, she would have no part of it, even if that meant she would live with a very quiet life.
Her experience had not cautioned her to men in general, she knew there were kind men, she had to believe it, it was more important than ever. She had a feeling if she went down the road of thinking all men were horrid, she would make herself very unhappy in the end.
She was getting hungry. A dress had been hung on the wardrobe for her; it wasn’t one she recognized as hers, which was no surprise as she had taken all of her dresses with her when she left here last time. And here she was again, back in this house when she had been certain she would never see it again.
She had no idea what time it was, but it was certainly past noon if not closer to the day’s end. There was no one she could see out her window. It was lusher than the last time she been here—summer was coming closer and closer. Maybe she would get a few days in the country after all, even if it was well before the height of summer.
She wondered why he had brought her all the way out here, he could have just dropped her off at Celeste’s house, or even his house in Mayfair if he preferred. Instead they had travelled all night to get here—not that she wasn’t grateful to see the place again, or for the rescue for that matter, it was just odd.
The house was quiet when she got downstairs. She searched the rooms until she found him in the study.
“You’re awake,” he said when she opened the door slowly. “I hope… you are not too distressed.”
“I am not pleased, but I am not desolate either.”
“You should have been more wary. You can never agree to be alone with a man like that.”
“He manipulated me through deception. I would never agree to meet with him under any circumstances. But I suppose I should not have been at his house at all. There is something fundamentall
y iniquitous about men like him. It is a mistake I will never repeat again.”
There was an awkward moment where she could not think of anything more to say.
“I see the early roses are blooming,” she finally said.
“Are they? I hadn’t noticed,” he said without looking out the window.
“My aunt planted those when we first moved here.” The strain of silence returned and stretched.
“I should go see if the horses are recuperated,” he said awkwardly and got up. Amelia got out of his way as he walked out of the room. She breathed a sigh of relief; it had been an uneasy conversation throughout. They were not friends, they never had been, but she owed him a debt of gratitude for what he’d done—and not for the first time. It was difficult to maintain civilized dealings with him, but she expected that things would turn soon enough and they would get back on a more comfortable rapport which included shouting, insults and disdain.
Amelia busied herself taking in the view around the house, she didn’t know what else to do. She was still in a funny mood where everything felt surreal.
“Will you be dining tonight?” Lord Eldridge asked briskly. She had not seen him approaching and he’d surprised her. She had been too distracted to think about food and her famished stomach. She’d forgotten and now that he reminded her, her hunger reasserted itself with a vengeance.
“Yes,” she said.
“Then you should come shortly, Cook doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Amelia said with gravity that spoke of experience. He walked ahead of her without waiting. It was not polite, but she had learnt that he didn’t always subscribe to the rules in that way. She followed him into the dining room and a placing was laid out for her at the opposite side of the large table. It was the position that Edna always took. The thought of it brought a lump to her throat; she still missed her aunt desperately. Her life had changed so dramatically in the short time since her aunt’s passing. Today it seemed to be drawing her back to remind her of the way things used to be.
“I hope fish will be acceptable,” he said.
“Perfect,” she responded. “How are the horses?” She was falling back on polite conversation, she didn’t like it, but she didn’t know what else to do.
“One of them is a bit lame.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” she said and surveyed the soup course laid down in front of her. When she was a child she used to pick the wrong spoon or fork to see if anyone would notice, and she was constantly surprised that her aunt would catch her out. She wondered if Lord Eldridge would, it might bring up a new round of criticism and break this uncomfortable truce.
He certainly didn’t seem comfortable with it. He was stiff and un-engaging, with a sense of sullen brooding underneath. Although it was not that she expected a man such as him to be happy, she wasn’t sure he ever was. That wasn’t strictly correct; she had seen a different side to him, one that just didn’t fit with the rest of him. He was a bit of a puzzle.
They didn’t say anything else throughout dinner. Once it was over, he slapped down his serviette and strode out of the room. He seemed annoyed with something; she must have done something to annoy him. That was unfortunate, but when it came down to it, she didn’t care. If he was going to storm off in a huff, that was his business.
She stayed and finished off the last of her dessert before retreating to the sitting room upstairs. It was a room they used when her father had been away, which had been quite often. There were signs of her aunt and her former life all around the room, including some embroidery she’d abandoned last summer before her life had turned completely pear shape, and the biggest decisions she was expected to make were which invitations to accept. They had seemed like important decisions then, but were really inconsequential in magnitude now. She wasn’t entirely sure she liked who she’d been.
Things were different now, she knew herself more, and she had a good idea what she wanted. She was not going to blindly follow Celeste either, even though she appreciated her friendship and support. She could never blame Celeste for the events of the previous night, nor look down on her for the things she did to get by. She’d had enough of people looking down on people for any reason—that was not who she wanted to be. She wasn’t entirely sure where she was going, but it was a step in the right direction and that felt better than a significant success in the eyes of society.
A noise caught her attention before the door opened and Lord Eldridge’s large form blocked the doorway.
“May we speak?” he asked.
“Of course,” she responded feeling the politeness creeping back. She watched as he walked into the room and sat down on a chair opposite her. He looked uncomfortable and he didn’t say anything.
“Will we be returning to London tomorrow?” she asked.
“The horses need to rest further,” he responded and she nodded. It was unfortunate, but she could manage another day, she guessed.
“Are you planning on spending the summer here?” she asked after a while.
“No. Well, I don’t think so.” Amelia raised her eyebrows, he had never sounded uncertain before. He was always direct and adamant in his actions and intentions.
“Do you miss it?”
“I suppose I shall miss the country side, particularly the warmer summer days. I hear London will reek in the height of summer.”
“You could spend the summer here,” he said shifting in his seat. Amelia’s mouth fell open slightly; she didn’t know what to say. It was certainly a generous offer considering their history. It also went against his expressed interests of being rid of her at the earliest opportunity. She wondered if it was some kind of test, if she was supported to say no and prove something in doing so.
“Uhmm…” she started, but didn’t quite know what to say. It was rude to say a blunt no, but then again they were normally very blunt with each other. Suddenly he stood up.
“Give it some consideration,” he said and marched out of the room. Amelia stared after him. That was an odd conversation and she didn’t know what to make of it. It was an absurd offer and she didn’t understand it. She didn’t quite understand the change in him either. He was going out of his way to talk to her, being moderately polite and more importantly, not ripping her to pieces at every opportunity. He was also uncertain, something she hadn’t seen before.
No, she didn’t think it would be a good idea at all; they did not mix together well under any circumstances, much less during long days when the heat was oppressive. Admittedly it was a large house, but they would still bump into each other constantly. She also considered that there might be a price to pay as he might not have given up on the idea of her being his mistress. She narrowed her eyes, of all the repugnant things to suggest at a time like this, when she was raw and vulnerable. He truly was a man of his class, she decided. No, she would have no part of it, and that included any invitations to lovely weeks in the height of summer. She would put up with as much stench as London could manage rather than put up with such a back-handed way of propositioning her.
Richard sat in his study. The conversation he’d had with Amelia had been uncomfortable and forced. He didn’t quite know how to deal with her. She did seem recovered and he was glad for it. He wouldn’t quite have known what to do if she hadn’t been. With Edna’s death, he could do things, he could organize and relieve her of uncomfortable decisions, but with an injury such as this, there would be nothing he could do to help. He hated feeling helpless. Luckily, she seemed to have pulled herself together, and he was appreciative of her resolve.
Actually doing something to help a damsel in distress might be what he needed at the moment because he needed a purpose, he felt like he had lost his completely. He hated to admit it, but his intentions were completely shattered. He’d worked so hard to be counted amongst men like Lord Hariston, but he just couldn’t abide by those men anymore. He didn’t want to be like that and he had a feeling he would turn into something not
far from it in their company—a person who only cared about their own diversions, uncaring at the expense to others.
He used to believe that you got what you demanded in this world and if you were too weak to demand, then you deserved what you got. Against his will, Amelia Hessworth had changed those beliefs, she had taken all the knocks aimed at her and kept true to her ridiculous dreams of finding a husband—not just any husband, but one that meets her exacting standards. She had no power and no prospects, but she blindingly would not deter from her mission. He’d thought she was ridiculous and selling herself short by targeting men who could only provide her with the most modest lifestyle, but now, he must concede, that perhaps her intentions were not so ridiculous. She was willing to risk all for it, and may likely succeed. She had charm and grace, and genuine warmth. Then there was the passion, she had it in abundance, and not practiced art, but true passion that would burn any man to the core.
He had tried to forget that, but it had grated unbearably when he’d seen her direct her interest to other men—men he had seen as unworthy. Perhaps she had the right of it. Admitting he was wrong might not be something he could completely concede out of sheer pride, but he could perhaps acknowledge that she might not have been wrong either.
He just didn’t know where to go from here and he hated this uncertainty in himself. He didn’t know his left from right or his day from night at the moment. It had to stop; it couldn’t go on like this.
Undoing One's Enemy Page 22
