A/N: I know I normally post on Monday, but tomorrow will be a bit hectic for me so I finished this a little early. No post tomorrow, but posts should resume on Mondays starting the week afterwards.
Anyway, hope you enjoy. Things are about to get a little spicier ;-)
"And you are sure you do not need any more dresses?" Delilah asked for the third time that day. "Madame La Rose seems very fond of you. I am sure if we go to her shop this afternoon, she will have you fitted and you will only have to wait a few days for your clothes to be ready."
"I have no need of more clothes," Amelia assured her. "I have settled my account at the modiste. This afternoon I am to call on Lady Maldon and Lady Babbage to say farewell."
Delilah quietly fetched Amelia's gloves from the cloakroom and waited as she prepared to leave. They had spent little time together over the last week as Amelia had been caught in a flurry of making and receiving calls to say goodbye to all of her acquaintances. Her last week had by far been her busiest.
"I will miss you," Delilah all but whispered.
Amelia could not let anything prevent her from travelling tomorrow – in a couple of days, London would be a distant memory. "I do not leave until tomorrow," Amelia said coolly as she tied her bonnet.
"Yes, but when you go, I will miss you," said Delilah more emphatically.
Amelia risked looking at the girl who, much like her siblings, could not hide her expression. Her eyes were pricked with tears and glaring at the marble floor, at the shoes Amelia would be wearing when she walked away.
"I have been...less lonely with you here."
"I am glad..." Amelia began. She took a deep breath to keep her voice from breaking. "I am glad we still have a few more hours together at least."
Delilah's demeanour did not brighten to its normal glow, but she offered a small smile. Amelia would never be especially affectionate, so she learned to appreciate any warmth thrown her way – it was certainly more than what the others received.
"I will see you at dinner," said Amelia, before scuttling out of the house tripping over herself.
*
Three hours later, Amelia was on her way back to Warstone House after having sat in Lady Maldon's parlour for forty-five minutes, hearing how delighted she was with Amelia's two articles advocating for the establishment of more ladies' schools. Lady Maldon talked about how glad she was that the two ladies had reunited after so long and Amelia watched the gleam in the Baroness' eye as she told Amelia how she looked forward to seeing her next season.
"Back to Warstone House, my lady?" asked the driver, Newton, as he helped Amelia back into the carriage.
It was still rather light out, not nearly dinner time. There was one family of her acquaintance she had not called upon – the Herriots. She knew Edward's mother and sister. Not well, but she had met them both a couple of times.
"Is Lord Herriot's house on the way home?"
"Yes, my lady. We are only a few minutes away."
It would not be impertinent to call on them – it might even be rude to ignore them. She was calling on the ladies, and if Edward happened to be there...at least she could say goodbye properly. In the worst-case scenario, they would be offended that she had not notified them ahead of her visit and she never had to see the peeved family again.
At least Amelia thought that had to be the worst-case scenario.
Amelia was surprised when they stopped to see that Lord Herriot's home looked no different from any other. To be sure it was grand and the pearl-white face was decorated with exotic flowers, but it was only as grand as every other house on the street. Amelia had not wasted time picturing Edward's home, but she had thought it would stand out more than this one did.
Upon declaring she was the Dowager Marchioness, she was immediately shown into a small drawing room. It was probably the same size as the Warstone's blue room, except the Herriots had chosen to decorate the room in darker colours and had cluttered it up with more furniture. Two walls had been turned into bookcases – once a maid had poured Amelia some tea, she studied the book spines as she waited for the ladies to join her.
After a few minutes, she heard a deep mumble behind her. "I am sorry we were not expecting your call. My mother has gone to dine with my sister this evening."
Amelia turned around to see Edward just a few steps behind her. "My apologies for the intrusion. I came to bid farewell."
He took half a step towards her. She could already feel her face growing hot. Would he kiss her hand again, or pull her towards him?
"So when you said that there would be no next party..." he mumbled before letting his voice trail away.
Much as she wanted to hold his head in her hands, lift his downcast eyes from the carpet and tell him that all would be well, she resisted and straightened her back. "I am leaving," she explained simply. "I am returning to Denmead Hall. To my old life. I have enjoyed my time here in London, but I had never planned to remain here permanently."
Edward nodded. "I know that nothing will make you reconsider. I think you ought to go."
Amelia suddenly fell back against the bookcase behind her. "You do?"
Had she imagined everything? He really had been pursuing her for her title and fortune, just like all the others. But that was for the best. Undoubtedly for the best. She had been taken for a fool, and now she could go, too ashamed to ever return.
"And come back," Edward half-ordered. His voice was stern but his eyes were too soft to carry any threat. "I know London has been difficult for you. I know your mourning has been lonely. I could never expect you to stay. So go, and then, next year, come back. That is all I ask."
Amelia found she couldn't breathe. She forced herself upright and prepared to leave, feigning as much offence as she could. "You have no right to ask-"
"I know," he replied quickly, rushing to take another step forward with his hands up in surrender. "But I must."
"You must not," she said weakly.
"I do." Edward nodded his head, trying to expel the energy running through him. He could not believe he was doing this, but as soon as his footman Derby told him Amelia was here, he plucked up all the courage he could.
She was miserable in London. She had spent the past few weeks exhausted – he had seen it. And now Frederick was independent, she lacked a purpose. She had to return home for her own wellbeing, but damn him if he didn't beg for a second chance.
"I would not have you leave if that were in my power," he continued, putting all his energy in keeping his voice level. "I cannot stand the idea of being torn from you. I would rather my skin be torn from my body. I know I am not perfect. I have used you ill, and your family. But I think you know why I cannot stand the idea of never seeing you again."
Amelia raised her head and weakly uttered, "You never will see me again." Then, regaining strength in her voice, she continued, "Perhaps you will see me in a few years' time. You will surely be married by then, with a nice cabinet position and some nice children."
This time Edward leapt towards her, closing the space between them. She could have slid around him and left the room – he wasn't holding her in place – but she was mesmerised by his stern tone. They were almost the same height: as he spoke, Edward's hot breath caressed Amelia's upper lip.
"Do you honestly think you are some passing fancy of mine?"
"Well everything else is," Amelia snapped quietly, her voice far huskier than she intended. "A few weeks ago you were trying to make Frederick appealing to Parliament just so he could help you into the cabinet."
"A few weeks ago you were trying to make Frederick appealing to Parliament just to see if you could."
Amelia allowed a smug smile to grace her plump lips. "I succeeded, didn't I? Is that not what you wanted from me?"
"And why did you come here today? What is it you want from me?"
Perhaps it was the exhaustion or the heat or just the fact that Amelia did not give a damn anymore – something made her clutch the man by his silky blonde hair and pull him flush against her. By tomorrow her life in London would be a memory, and Amelia desperately wanted one more memory to hold with her. She pulled his hard body against her and dear God did she kiss him.
Amelia had not kissed like this in years, a kiss where she could not keep her eyes open, too consumed by the sensations binding her skin. Edward pressed his whole body into her, a solid form covered in soft silks and velvets which she could run her hands over just to assure herself that he was there, that he was with her.
One of her hands tangled in his hair, keeping the precious pressure of his lips against hers as she wrapped his smooth locks around each of her fingers. One sharp tug earnt a hiss from him, opening his mouth wide enough for her to nibble on his bottom lip before pressing her tongue against the roof of his mouth. He moaned deeply, the vibration shuddering through both their bodies, willing Amelia to move the arm she held around his waist upwards. She pressed on his back, between his shoulder blades, pulling him closer. He could never be close enough.
Edward had been wrong this whole time. Amelia did not contain a small semblance of warmth – she was fire. Her body grew hotter and hotter with every second, and every part of his body not touching her began to freeze. He had to consume her. The fierce demon living beneath her every word and movement burst forward in his arms. Her lips were intense and strong against his. He smiled into the kiss, knowing that he had broken the wall of the delicate lady. This was an Amelia only he saw.
He wrapped his arms around her, one holding her shoulder and the other her hip. As she flicked her tongue into his mouth once again, he groaned, focusing on her soft taste in his mouth. He pushed her further into the bookshelf to stay upright, his legs turning weak as she tugged his hair again. The sharp sting embedded into his brain, almost stopping it completely. All he could feel or taste or think was Amelia.
A clatter from somewhere in the house forced their lips to part, but upon realising they were still alone Edward pressed his lips against Amelia's again, softly this time. They drew apart again, a few more times, but one of them always leaned back into the other.
Finally, Amelia drew all the strength and moved her hands against his chest to push him back. Both were panting, warming the little space between them, until finally Amelia took a deep breath and stood straight.
Edward, who had been leaning over her against the bookshelf, stepped back with an unadulterated smile. "I know you must go, much as it pains me." Her perfect coiffeur had come loose in the tangle so he began to pat it into place. Damn, he had not touched her hair and now he felt how soft it was. There were many parts of her he had not touched. "When will I see you again?"
"I don't know," she answered hotly.
He met her gaze – it wasn't the glare of an offended lady (which would be difficult as she had kissed him), but she wasn't smiling. Her flush slowly paled, leaving only a tinge of pink in her cheeks.
"What's wrong?"
"All of this, I..." Her voice trailed away.
Her bewilderment made Edward smile, glad to know she was as breathless as he made him. He took her face in his hands, but she didn't lean into it. "You do not have to tell me how you feel if you are unsure," he said. "We have all the time in the world. I know how I feel about you."
Suddenly, her features sharpened again and she fixed him with a hard glare. She stood tall and shook herself out of his hold, leaving his hands to drop at his sides. In her sincerest voice, she said, "What if I am just trying to replace Thomas?"
Amelia had never broken eye contact with Edward, but she could not watch the heartbreak invade his expression. All of his certainty fell away and his body became limp, his jaw open, as the possibility attacked him. The possibility that Amelia was simply a starved wanton widow who had used him for her entertainment and truly had no intention of seeing him again.
It did not have to be true – it was enough that the doubt was there, cracking the foundation of whatever they shared. But doubt was all Amelia would ever give him, because she could never trust him. Not with her fortune and not with her hand in marriage. She had given him a glimpse of what laid beneath the Lady Amelia Warstone shell, and she was prepared to give no more.
Without a word, Edward began to stumble from the room as though he had just awoken from a deep slumber. Amelia couldn't suppress her desperate cry of, "Edward, please!" but he had already gone.
Amelia barely registered the next twenty-four hours. As the carriage neared Denmead Hall, she vaguely remembered how rude she must have appeared at her last dinner with the Warstones, how little she had attempted to converse with them, and then she barely strung three words together when abandoning all five of them on their front doorstep. She had thanked Lady Madeleine for the use of their carriage to take her home.
She cringed as she realised that her final words to the family may be, "Let us hope the rain holds off until your carriage is returned to you."
All she could think about was Edward. How strong his body had been when holding her, how close he was to collapse as he stumbled away.
But he would recover. He would marry, he would live up to his father's legacy, and she would not be forced to watch any of it. As soon as Amelia stepped foot on her estate, she was determined never to leave.
As soon as the carriage reached the end of the drive, Amelia knocked on the roof to tell Newton to stop. She was helped out of the carriage and ordered, "Take my bags up to the house. You may rest before beginning your return journey."
"And you, my lady?"
"It is warm today, and this is one of my favourite walks."
"Very good, my lady," said Newton. Only once the carriage and Newton were almost invisible did Amelia begin the trek back to her home.
London did not have grass anything like Denmead, not even in Hyde Park on that day when she had strolled with-
Denmead's grass stretched as far as the eye could see and farther. The estate went on for acres, offering nothing but the beauty of nature. No parties. No townhouses. The landscape was unfiltered by London's heat and light, allowing only soft neutral colours to exist in the cool air.
Amelia had not exercised this much in so long. The light was low and her limbs ached by the time she reached the house, the carriage now long since gone. She wanted to run herself a hot bath and scrub the memories of the past five months away.
But most of all, she wanted to feel Judy and Paul's arms around her again. When she saw Judy's wrinkled face peering out of the front window, she hiked up her black skirt and sprinted for the door, bursting into it with such force that she collapsed to the floor in the hall.
"You are home!" Judy hollered as she ran out of the parlour. Despite her age, she dove to the floor to scoop up the young woman in her arms. "Paul, she is back! She is back! We will fix you a nice hot dinner and you can tell us all about London."
When the young woman finally raised her head, Judy realised she was sobbing.
"My dear, what is the matter?"
"Oh Mama," the young woman blubbered, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. Not her sleeve – Lady Amelia Warstone's sleeve. In London she might lie and lie and lie, but here, in her own home, she could not pretend anymore. Charity Burns had to let the curtain drop. "Oh Mama, I fear I have done something truly wicked."
A/N: Okay, be honest. Who guessed the twist?