by Sara Ramsey
Ellie raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you have answered why you kissed him. Have you admitted yet that you’re in love with him?”
Amelia broke a biscuit in half, then slowly pulverized it between her fingers. When she looked up, Ellie’s eyebrow was still raised. Madeleine leaned forward with her arms on her knees, eager for the tale.
She set aside the saucer with its pile of crumbs. “I may be in love with him,” she said slowly.
Then she smashed her reserve like it was yet another biscuit. “Damn him, I am in love with him. I never prevaricate — you know I hate prevaricating.”
“Indeed,” Madeleine murmured, giggling.
“Yes. I’m in love with him. And yet I’m telling you, not him, because the bloody man won’t stay in the house long enough for me to say three words to him. And bedding is not the same as a real conversation.”
Every night she traced her feelings on his chest, but she hadn’t been able to say them aloud — not when she had no idea whether he would embrace them or fling them in her face. She gave in to her desire to pace, leaping up with the force of her speech. Ellie’s private salon was too small to pace back and forth, so she circled around their chairs like a caged beast.
“She’s in a bad state, isn’t she?” Ellie observed.
Madeleine sipped her tea. “She’ll come through in the end. She always has a plan. What do you plan this time, Mellie?”
Amelia came to a dead stop between Ellie’s chaise and Madeleine’s chair. She braced a hand against the back of Madeleine’s chair to steady herself.
Madeleine knew her better than anyone else — better than her husband ever would, if he kept avoiding her during the day. And Madeleine had seen all of Amelia’s schemes. So it was little wonder that she snorted when Amelia whispered, “No plan. I have no plan.”
“You must have a plan,” Madeleine insisted. “What is it? Flirting with someone at a party? Withholding sex like the Grecian women in Lysistrata?”
“Perhaps a slow-acting poison like the Florentine women used?” Ellie supplied.
Amelia and Madeleine both stared at her. “You’ve never thought of poison?” Ellie asked. “I declare, if Nick ever returns, he should bring an official food taster.”
Amelia laughed. “I would almost pity the man if I didn’t believe he deserved it.”
“If I do kill Nick, I won’t have the patience for poison.” Ellie drawled the words as though only humor lay underneath them, but her blue eyes were stark. Amelia leaned over and squeezed her shoulder in silent sympathy. Ellie’s former lover was her dead husband’s cousin and heir — and Amelia suspected that if he ever returned to claim the title, their battle would be a story for the ages.
Ellie shrugged away from Amelia’s hand. “No poison for Carnach, then. What will you do instead?”
Amelia slumped back into her chair. “I don’t know. I hate not knowing, but there you have it. The great Amelia Staunton, plotter extraordinaire, brought low by a mere man.”
“At least her pride hasn’t been utterly destroyed,” Madeleine observed.
“Careful, Amelia,” Ellie said, taking Amelia’s cup and refreshing it from the teapot. “Sentiments like those will have every would-be women’s suffrage supporter in London beating a path to your door.”
“Malcolm would hate that. He will only let me write if I don’t cause a scandal — imagine what he would do if I led a radical uprising in my sitting room.”
She snickered at the thought, but her words caused a stir among her companions. “Did you tell him you’re writing?” Madeleine demanded.
Amelia took her teacup back from Ellie. “Yes. Before we left Scotland.”
“And he approves?”
“He said writing a bit of poetry seemed like a proper pastime,” Amelia said, mimicking his dismissive tone.
Ellie stifled a laugh. “You must have wanted to stab the poor man.”
“I may have tried to do him violence,” Amelia allowed, thinking back to the broadsword she’d hauled off the wall of the tower. Then she thought of their lovemaking on the stone floor...
She somehow mastered her blush before either of her friends caught her. “He said I could write as long as I don’t cause a scandal. And I intend to take him at his word.”
Madeleine’s eyes narrowed. “Did you tell him you want to write? Or did you tell him that you have written? And that what you have written was the sensation of London this spring?”
Amelia waved a hand, then blew on her tea to cool it. “He didn’t ask. If he wants to assume that I write poetry for myself with all the hours he leaves me to rot in that house, then he’s welcome to that assumption.”
“He’ll catch you eventually,” Madeleine warned.
“No. He won’t. There hasn’t been a hint of rumor about me.”
“So your plan is to keep him from finding out that you write the most in-demand Gothic romances of the day, whilst ignoring that you’re in love with him?” Ellie asked.
Amelia scowled.
Ellie clapped her hands. “Oh, this shall be fun. If he hasn’t caught you by Christmas, promise you’ll invite me to Scotland with you. I don’t want to miss it.”
Amelia threw a cushion at her. “You’re no help at all. Why we asked you to join our club is beyond me.”
“You’ll be outvoted if you try to oust Ellie now,” Madeleine said. “Ferguson and I will come to Scotland too. It sounds like the best house party I’ve ever attended.”
“It’s so unfair — you are so assured that Ferguson will go where you want to go,” Amelia said, retrieving her cushion from Ellie and stuffing it behind her back. “That’s the problem with Malcolm. Ever since he decided it was time to take his seat up in the Lords, he’s mostly avoided me. He even told me that I’m too much of a distraction.”
“He may be good in your bed, but he is a dolt after all, isn’t he?” Madeleine asked. “I’m sure Ferguson thinks that at least half the time, but he’s too smart to say the words to me.”
“But Ferguson isn’t so obsessed with his duties that he ignores everything else,” Amelia said. “All I want is to believe that if the choice came down to me or the estate, Malcolm wouldn’t sacrifice me for his damned castle.”
“I could paint him as Agamemnon,” Ellie mused, her eyes focused a thousand feet beyond the room. “And you as Iphigenia, awaiting sacrifice.”
Amelia threw her cushion again. “No painting. And no death, particularly not with Malcolm playing the role of a father sacrificing his daughter. I’m overwrought, I know. I should be happy that he leaves me alone during the day. But once in awhile...”
She trailed off. Ellie tossed the cushion out of her reach, no doubt wanting to preserve the china. They lapsed into silence as Amelia stared into her teacup.
Once in awhile she wanted to feel important to him.
But she wanted to feel like it was real, not something she had tricked him into with yet another scheme.
There were footsteps in the hall. Ellie’s butler, a sinfully handsome young man who could never be a butler in a proper house, tapped on the door. “My lady, Miss Etchingham has arrived.”
He bowed as he stepped aside to let Prudence through to door. “Thank you, Ashby,” Ellie said. He bowed again, flashing a smile far more brilliant than a butler should display before leaving and closing the door behind him.
“You do turn up the best looking staff,” Madeleine said with a sigh. “Ferguson probably would have forced me to fire the butler you found for us if he wasn’t so good at his job.”
Ellie laughed as she stood to embrace Prudence. “Welcome, my dear. Would you care for tea?”
Prudence nodded. Her cheeks were flushed, like she’d just come in from the hunt. “I am sorry for my tardiness. Mother was rather beastly about letting me go.”
Amelia rose to her feet, hovering as Prudence turned to hug Madeleine. They exchanged small compliments about their dresses, even though Amelia was sure Madeleine had seen Prue’s dress before �
�� but Amelia’s nerves overruled her impatience.
When Prudence turned to her, Amelia braced herself. Prudence’s dark eyes were serious — but oddly, there was little judgment in them. Instead, her eyes looked dead. If her usual spirit was there, it was buried so deep that even Prudence’s talent for unearthing the past might never find it.
They stood awkwardly for a moment. Amelia rushed to fill the silence. “I trust the rest of your evening was pleasant?”
She winced. It was a stupid thing to say, but the banal pleasantry was the first sentence that popped into her head. Prudence nodded, though. “And yours?”
“Yes, quite,” Amelia said.
They paused again. Ellie busied herself with the teapot. The tang of fresh lemons in the air made Amelia ache with memory. Prudence was the only one of their circle who took her tea with lemon. How many hundreds of afternoons had they spent like this?
And would it ever be comfortable again? Or would she always rush to say the wrong thing just to break the silence?
Prudence took her cup from Ellie and sat on the settee. The rest of them sat as well, the easy comfort of moments before mostly gone. Ellie tried her best, though. “Are you and your mother staying in London for the holidays?”
Prudence stripped off her gloves and reached for a biscuit. “The lease is paid through the end of the year, so yes. After that...”
She trailed off. She didn’t look at Amelia. Instead, she examined her biscuit like it was the most fascinating confection she’d ever had the pleasure of seeing.
Amelia couldn’t contain herself any longer. “Prudence...Miss Etchingham...I am sorry. Really, truly sorry for what happened in Scotland. I only meant to help.”
Prudence sighed. She took a tiny bite of her biscuit, savoring it, before she finally looked at Amelia. “I know, Mellie.”
She took another bite of her biscuit. Amelia waited. The whole room waited. Perhaps the whole world waited — or at least that’s how it felt to Amelia, balanced there between damnation and forgiveness, between wanting to apologize and demanding to know what Prudence had done.
“And I don’t hate you for it,” Prudence finally continued. “I felt nothing for Carnach. We had nothing in common, other than our mutual need for a spouse. So when it comes to your marriage, you’re forgiven.”
Amelia exhaled. Prudence regarded her gravely, leveling a stare at her that would have cut her heart out if she hadn’t heard Prudence’s last words.
But Prudence wasn’t finished. “I know what you were trying to accomplish. And I might have even thanked you for it eventually, had you succeeded. But you can’t carry on with your meddling, Mellie. It’s already cost you more than you know.”
Amelia felt her face crumple. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. But she was so accustomed to controlling herself that she ignored the imminent flood. She took a breath, steadying her voice so it wouldn’t betray her. “I couldn’t forgive myself if it cost me your friendship. I vow I will never meddle in your affairs again.”
“The damage is done,” Prudence said. Then she shifted in her chair. The afternoon sun through the window lit a stray wisp of guilt in her eyes. “And, truth be told, I should make the same promise to you.”
Amelia thought back to the letter she’d received in Scotland and Prudence’s cryptic request for forgiveness. “What happened? Why did you apologize to me?”
Prudence took another biscuit. She nearly inhaled this one, as though it could go straight to her backbone.
Ellie nudged the plate of biscuits closer toward her. “Take all the time you need, dear,” she said gently. “Amelia won’t bite.”
“Do you know what she’s talking about?” Madeleine asked Ellie.
“I have my suspicions,” Ellie said, shrugging. “And even if they’re correct, we’ll muddle through together.”
Prudence threw Ellie a grateful look and lunged for another biscuit. “I shouldn’t eat so many of these — I can’t afford to let out my gowns. But Mother and her marriage schemes can go hang.”
Amelia laughed despite her apprehension. “What’s her latest scheme?”
Prudence sobered. “Nothing to do with marriage. Do you know, I almost wish she’d kept her focus on the marriage mart? But with my latest failure, she’s seeking other incomes.”
“She should write a gossip column,” Madeleine suggested. “Her tongue would cause quite the stir.”
“It’s already caused enough trouble,” Prudence said.
Then she looked at Amelia. “I’m sorry. Very sorry. And I am apologizing now, because you may not be able to hear my apology when I divulge what I am sorry for.”
Amelia sucked in a breath and held it, using the extra air to push down her rising nausea. “What happened?”
Prudence screwed her eyes shut, grimacing before letting the words go. “Understand that I was still angry with you. But in my annoyance, I slipped in front of Mother. And she knows that you wrote The Unconquered Heiress.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
If Amelia was one of her heroines, this would be the moment when the vague feeling of doom coalesced into a living, breathing threat. She loved writing those moments — but when confronted with a threat of her own making, one that could destroy the pretty palace of lies she and Malcolm had built, her heart stopped.
“What is she doing with that information?” she asked.
Prudence swirled her tea in her cup, perhaps looking for leaves that might tell their fate. “She had promised not to do anything with it. I didn’t want to ruin you, even if she did, and I swore her to secrecy. And she is still friends with your mother, even if they aren’t speaking at the moment.”
Prudence drained her teacup, then continued. “But when she saw the two of you last night, dancing together like you were a love match, all her anger came back. She was apoplectic — I haven’t seen her like that since she found out my brothers were going to fight on the Peninsula. She was raging all night about Carnach being a liar and seducer of women. It’s possible she hates him more than she hates you, Amelia. And that’s saying something — she’s convinced you set a trap for him.”
“I could buy her off,” Amelia said, already trying to think of alternatives. Coming up with a plan was better than giving in to her panic. “It would be hard to get three hundred pounds without telling Malcolm, but I think it could be done.”
“I don’t think it’s about the money, much as we need it,” Prudence said.
Her empty cup clattered in her saucer. Ellie removed it gently from her shaking hands. Prudence looked up, and Amelia saw her doom written on Prudence’s face. “I talked to our driver on the way here — we’ve let go of our footmen. He said Mother sent him to White’s this morning with a note for Kessel.”
Panic overwhelmed her then, leaving no room for plans. Amelia suddenly felt lightheaded. She collapsed against the back of her chair, hitting her head on the frame since her cushion wasn’t there to stop her. The starburst of pain was nothing compared to the sudden knot in her stomach, a clenched fist demanding penance.
Amelia dropped her head into her hands. “Malcolm will murder me. And I deserve it. In fact, I hope he does it quickly, just so I’m not left wondering when it will happen.”
“Carnach isn’t the killing type. I’ve seen murderers and he isn’t one,” Ellie said.
Madeleine knelt at Amelia’s feet and started chafing her hands. “He won’t kill you, Mellie. If he tries, I’ll kill him myself.”
They were all silent as Madeleine rubbed Amelia’s hands. Amelia fought to breathe, forced herself to take in deep lungfuls of air instead of the shallow, tortured breaths her panic had induced. When she finally had enough air to think again, Madeleine looked her in the eyes. “He won’t kill you,” she said again, clear and solid. “But you should tell him about this immediately.”
Amelia stood, swaying just a moment as she gained her balance. “You’re right. If I can tell him before he hears it from someone else...” She trailed o
ff. Her friends nodded.
For once, they all let her believe what she wanted to believe.
“It will come off all right, Amelia,” Ellie said. “And there are worse scandals than being a writer.”
Amelia didn’t care about the scandal anymore. She cared about how Malcolm would look at her, and whether those eyes would ever light up for her again — or whether their whole lives would become their daytime distance, rather than their nighttime passion.
But she smiled at Ellie like she agreed. “I’m sure it will. Thank you for the tea, and for the advice.”
Then she turned to Prudence, who watched her carefully. “Prue — can I call you Prue, or are you still Miss Etchingham to me?”
Prudence grinned, just a bit. “I suppose you can call me Prudence if I can still call you Amelia.”
Amelia smiled. Everything else was crashing around her ears, but this first step at reclaiming their friendship gave her heart. “Prudence — thank you for the warning. If your mother hasn’t said anything irrevocable, tell her I’ll pay her. Anything she demands, so long as she stays quiet.”
“I will tell her,” Prudence said. But there was too much doubt in her voice to give Amelia any comfort. “She is so angry, though — has been ever since Carnach threw me over for you. I’m not sure she’ll accept.”
Amelia pulled on her gloves. “No matter. I’ve made my bed. I won’t complain when I must lie in it.”
Madeleine hugged her before Amelia could escape. “You will feel better when you tell Malcolm,” she said. “And no matter what happens, you’ll always have us.”
They let her go then. There was nothing they could do to cheer her, not when her marriage had suddenly veered onto the thinnest of ice.
And where once she would have lit a bonfire on the edge and watched happily as their marriage drowned, she knew that she and Malcolm were worth saving.
She just had to pray that she was not too late to pull them back from the abyss.
* * *
Malcolm swirled his drink in his glass, letting it lap right up to the edge. His hands had stopped shaking an hour earlier — a good sign, if he was to emerge from the upcoming confrontation without committing violence.
