Edward was not sure what he currently found more distressing – the never-ending loneliness he felt each day and night, or his sister.
"Congratulations once again," he exclaimed, mustering up as much enthusiasm as he could. "Though surely you ought not be travelling in your condition."
"We live less than half a mile apart. And I am but three months pregnant. I am barely showing," Angeline huffed as she relaxed herself into the sofa in his living room. "Besides Mrs Pattinson makes the best cakes." She grinned and helped herself to another of the many treats on the table.
Still Edward knew there had to be a reason why his sister had called on him and refused to say anything to entertain her until she told him.
She frowned at his obtuse silence. "I had thought you would be more pleased to see me."
"What on earth gave you that idea?" asked Edward as he slouched into his armchair. He wasn't one to normally slouch but he didn't have the energy to sit up today, nor his mother chastising his posture – she had gone into town for the morning.
Angeline rolled her bright blue eyes. "This is precisely why I have come. Why have you been so sour recently?"
"I am not sour."
"You are always sour, but now more so than usual. What is wrong?"
Edward shrugged flippantly. "I am bored now that Parliament is closed."
He really ought to return to the country. He planned to in a few days, but he dreaded the lack of distractions. If he was being foul tempered now, how would he be in just a few weeks when his only form of entertainment was shooting birds and trying not to shoot his mother as she told him all about her new rose garden?
Angeline shook her head. "You cannot let that infernal house engulf your entire life."
"That infernal house is the most important house in the country."
"Please," Angeline grumbled. "Even Papa admitted that home was more important than the House of Lords."
Edward pressed his eyes shut before forcing himself to look back at his sister. "I know. I am not enough like Papa."
It felt like every decision he made would make his father disappointed. His father had never been disappointed in him, but Edward could not live up to him. He was making little enough progress in Parliament, his duties as an earl were beginning to stack up in a study he never entered anymore and matters on the marriage mart were about as dire as they had ever been. Edward could not help feel that he had something to prove, that he could be just as great as the greatest man he had ever known.
Angeline's voice suddenly softened. "Papa chased after the things he wanted," she said. "Not after the things he thought he should want."
Amelia had said almost the exact same. Was he that predictable? Was he really chasing after things that would not really make him happy? He set his mind to a cabinet position – he had no idea which one he wanted. What would make him happy?
He knew exactly what, but she had left London two weeks ago. In body. Her spirit had stayed, following him everywhere. He would have to have that bookcase torn down and the books given away, because every time he so much as looked at it his blood ran hot.
Perhaps some cold country air would be good for him. It must be doing her some good – he asked after her every time he saw Frederick but she had not written. She must be so content in her home. There was another reason why she kissed him: to distract her from her homesickness. It was definitely not out of affection, but grief. She had played him for a fool.
"Why do you not go to her?" asked Angeline.
Edward shook his head. "She has not been a widow for a full year. Besides, Mama does not like her." The excuses were poor but what else could he say?
His sister scoffed. "I had the idea of inviting Mama to stay with me while I am expecting this winter."
Edward grinned. "She would love that. As would your husband."
"And you may enjoy being alone with your thoughts and find a way to stop being such a ninny."
"We have resorted to name-calling now, have we?"
Angeline gave a sardonic smile. "It is clear she is not pregnant with a new Marquess so nobody is going to object to a hasty marriage. Especially if it keeps her in London. Many people seem to rather like her."
"She objects to a hasty marriage," Edward snapped, louder than he intended. "Or any marriage," he added with a firm nod.
Angeline's face immediately fell when she realised her brother had already been rejected. "But...I always thought she was rather fond of you."
Edward clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to fall to his need and beg his sister to tell him every little hint she had picked up that Amelia might have feelings for him. He knew the truth. He already relived every moment with her in his mind – he did not need another perspective giving him false hope.
"We were both mistaken," he finally said, focusing on his teacup rather than his sister's tragically sympathetic eyes. "I am not good enough for her."
"You cannot continue to judge whether you are good enough." Angeline sat up straight. "Papa is not here to tell you how good you are, so I will try in his stead."
It seemed the looming threat of motherhood had inspired Angeline to try to be a somewhat supportive older sister again. She only attempted this once every few months and each time she was less helpful than the time before. "Do not try to comfort me," Edward begged.
"Papa was a great man," said Angeline, ignoring him completely. "But he was also a good one. He followed his heart. He made it his mission to look after people. That was his greatest accomplishment, and it is yours. You are certainly not good all the time." She gave him a pointed look and he hid his face behind his teacup as he took another sip. "But you could be. I have seen flashes of good in you, with the way you treat your friends or fight for your causes. You, unlike many men, are capable of remorse. This is what your ambition ought to be. Goodness, not greatness."
"So how do I accomplish that?"
Angeline offered a small, sincere smile. "You may start by thinking about what you truly want for once."
Did he truly want a cabinet position? He wanted to be a good earl, to be good to the people his father had looked after and cherished. He had a loyal community around him, and it was his duty to protect it. Being a Parliamentarian could certainly help.
Yes, he did want a cabinet position, one day. But he did not want it from being a successful politician – he wanted it for being a good one. He should not have to marry the right person or have the right friends or make the right arguments – he had to work hard, as his father had, and he would be rewarded just like him.
But he did want to marry the right person. A tiny ball of hope lived in his chest, letting him pray that one day she would give him another chance. He had tried to prove that he could be a great husband, but now he had to prove that he could be a good one.
Without a doubt he found his sister more distressing – she was right.
*
If she was to be a Marchioness, Amelia might as well be a bloody Marchioness. She had worn her Charity clothes all morning when helping her mother repair the stove, but after lunch Amelia donned a black silk dress and exquisite lace bonnet to make her way to the cemetery.
Her life would always require balance from now on. She had fallen into Lady Amelia in London and felt the shock as she returned to Charity when she came home. With practice, one day she could find something in between, where she humbly helped her parents look after their home before donning one of her many glamourous gowns for afternoon tea. She would walk with her head held high, but nod politely to her acquaintances, trying not to make them feel inferior or threatened. The real Amelia had been a kind, if quiet, marchioness and it was only fair that the new Amelia followed in her example.
Amelia stopped at the florist to buy some lilacs to lay at her master's and mistress' graves, but as soon as she reached the top of the church hill she saw a short, slight man with a small bouquet of wilting tulips standing over Charity Burns' grave. Who would want to see her?
As Amelia passed through the gate, the noise startled the small man. He jumped to face her, letting her see his thick brown hair contrasting his wide blue eyes. He looked oddly familiar, perhaps a London acquaintance in passing.
"Lady Warstone!" he exclaimed breathlessly before bowing.
No matter how long she went without being Amelia, she could pull her Marchioness mask back on in an instant. "What on earth are you doing at my family's tomb? Who are you?"
The young man began shaking. "I... I learnt of the death of young Miss Burns. I wished to pay my respects."
And then she saw it. Dear God, how could she not see that he was the spitting image of his father? Their father. He must be the shortest of the Harper clan, but he was one of them. Which one? Was he another bastard sibling, or one of the ones kept in fine rooms with fireplaces that she had to light?
"Who are you?!" she screeched.
The gentleman stepped back and straightened his very new, very expensive jacket. He had dressed up well to visit the grave of his bastard sister. "Harper. Andrew Harper. Miss Burns was a maid at my father's house growing up. We only learnt of her passing a few days ago so I thought I ought to pay my respects."
Andrew. It was probably good that she did not remember him – none of her many half-siblings had been good to her, as instructed, so her lack of recollection must have meant that Andrew was the least malicious. She had vague memories of a small child sat in the corner of a classroom reading while his elder sisters picked on her, but that child was quickly sent to school with his brother – he was eleven years old and in school when she was thrown to the streets, making him twenty years old now.
"I do not suppose you could point me in the direction of Judy Burns' grave, could you?" he asked softly, holding up a second bouquet of tulips.
"No," she replied coolly. "She married and was buried with her husband's family."
"They were separated?!" he asked, eyes widening. His narrow face was far more expressive than any of his relatives'. "They were joined at the hip at Beaconsfield!"
That was an impressive observation – normally nobody could see housemaids. She wondered whether this Mr Harper could even know who Charity Burns was. Perhaps he had been too young to be told about his father's sordid past and by the time she had been thrown out there was no reason to.
Perhaps he knew and he was the one person in her former family that did not care.
"Did you..." His voice went quiet. "I do not mean offence when I ask whether she was treated well. Whether she was happy here."
Amelia nodded once. "She was. She was very happy."
"Good. Excellent." He took a deep breath, looking between the gravestone and the lady towering over him.
When he said nothing more, Amelia laid her own bouquet down by her mistress before approaching Lord Thomas' grave. Mr Harper strolled easily alongside her and watched her lay her second bouquet. People were normally more intimidated by her. She could not tell if she had managed to warm her demeanour slightly or if the man was a fool.
"They both died of a fever, I understand," he said, watching Lord Thomas' gravestone intently, as though it would move. Amelia nodded again. "Was it...quick? Peaceful?"
"Quick," she replied. "For Charity it was quick. Not peaceful. And it was neither for my husband but he was too ill to understand what was happening after a couple of weeks."
"I am sorry," he murmured sincerely. "She always seemed quite intelligent to me. Strange for a maid, I know. Upon hearing that she had left I always hoped that she would be able to look after herself." Mr Harper gave her a small smile, something rare to find in the Harper countenance.
"She was...peculiar. But a good maid," Amelia muttered. She had flattered herself enough to avoid having her own lady's maid, someone who would be watching her constantly. It was best to avoid talking about her past self.
"I must go if I am to return to London by this evening. I am based in London, training to be an accountant." Amelia felt him softly nudge a small card into her hand. "If you have any stories of Charity or Judy, I hope you will write to me. I would like to know more of what happened to them after they left."
"Does your family know you are here?"
Mr Harper hesitated before shaking his head.
"Judy and Charity did not leave. They were cast out."
His face fell completely, the circles beneath his eyes becoming apparent with his pale skin. He looked exhausted. "I know. I know. We... We were supposed to take care of them."
Amelia did not have a response. Faced with her stunned silence, Mr Harper bowed and left the cemetery. She wondered how long he must have waited here.
Those tulips must have been freshly picked from Beaconsfield – Lady Harper had a fondness for them. On her way out of the cemetery, Amelia picked up the bouquet and scattered it into the mud outside of the holy ground, leaving only the short purple ribbon which had been used to hold the flowers together. She had no objections to ribbon being left at her grave.
*
It was the day for surprise guests, apparently. After having shrugged off her conversation with Mr Harper on her walk home, Amelia was frozen with shock when Denmead Hall came into view with a familiar sight – the Warstone carriage carrying a guest.
Amelia walked as quickly as she could to the entrance, suppressing her urge to sprint – whether to the door or in the opposite direction, she was unsure. She quickly arrived at the carriage and watched as Newton helped Delilah out of the carriage. And nobody else.
"What the blazes are you doing here?" Amelia yelled, trying to keep her voice level.
Delilah flinched, her bright smile falling. "I... We had not heard from you in so long. I was worried you had... I was worried something had happened."
"You did not think to write?"
"I thought... I thought it would... It would have taken too long," stuttered Delilah.
Amelia glanced up at Newton, who was determined in avoiding her glare. Finally he looked at her. "I am sorry, my lady. She was insistent."
Amelia nodded sympathetically, knowing what it was to be a servant who had to decide which master they obeyed. Gentlepeople were never really arguing unless they pulled their subordinates into a compromising position. "Does her family know where she is?"
"They would have stopped me!" Delilah screeched.
Amelia would never have thought Delilah capable of something as dramatic as this. Christina maybe, Henry without a doubt, but something had inspired determination in Delilah.
"Of course they would have," Amelia said factually. "Newton, take the horses around the back of the house for some hay and water. You may let yourself into the kitchen and rest for an hour. Mrs Howell will find you some food."
Newton smiled gratefully. "Thank you, my lady."
"You will need to journey back to London this afternoon to tell the Warstones what has happened. Tell them that Delilah may stay here for as long as she likes but one of her brothers must come to escort her back."
Delilah flung her head back in despair. "They will come and fetch me tonight."
Amelia fixed Newton with a hard stare. He nodded, knowing which mistress he ought to obey. "Very good, my lady," he said before driving the carriage around the back of the house.
Amelia looked Delilah up and down. Her hair was a mess and dress wrinkled – she must have left at first light. This was not sudden – she had been planning this. "What exactly was your plan?"
Delilah began to study the front doorstep. "I hoped that you would escort me back to London."
"I do not have a carriage or horses. I am not accustomed to travel."
"I brought my own."
"I cannot just leave my life on a whim."
So it had been thought through – just poorly. Delilah continued to look away as she realised how ignorant she'd been. Amelia decided she would be chastised enough by her family and was about to invite her into the house when she suddenly spoke up again. "Why do you have hay if you have no horses?"
"For the pigs." Lord Thomas had loved the pigs more than he loved his own wife – she would have readily admitted that. To be as self-sufficient as possible, his father had turned some of the grounds into a farmyard, which Lord Thomas had kept.
Delilah's smile returned. "You have piggies?"
Amelia narrowed her eyes. "Do not get too attached. We had not planned for a guest so one of them may have to be used to put dinner on the table. Come. I suppose I can show you the grounds until somebody comes for you."
Delilah followed her gladly. She began to wonder whether what she had perceived as obedience in Delilah was really fondness.
*
An hour later, Delilah still had yet to enter the house. Amelia had immediately shown her the farmyard, the least glamourous part of the estate, but Delilah was distracted by the piggies and begged and begged until she was allowed to hold a piglet. Her dress in tatters, she was sat cackling in the gazebo by the farmyard with a little runt snoring on her lap.
Amelia had always felt safe here, and proud of being able to keep her family here, but she rarely appreciated how beautiful the grounds of Denmead Hall were. Sitting here with Delilah, gazing over at the woodlands on the east side of the estate, gave her a new appreciation of her home.
"I can see why you would never wish to leave," Delilah sighed, cuddling Tereus close to her. All of the piglets were named after characters from Lord Thomas' favourite myths. "I wish you would though."
Amelia nodded and kept her face straight. "I do appreciate Frederick allowing me to use your family's country seat. I would so hate to be uprooted."
Delilah held Tereus closer. "It is not that. We have always liked my father's country cottage – Christina and I still need to share a bedroom but it is lovely out there."
It sounded far superior to being born and raised in a barn.
"It is just that all of this makes it more difficult to convince you to come to London."
Amelia frowned. "You need to promise me you will not go traipsing around the countryside alone ever again. Your family would never recover if something were to happen to you."
"If they noticed I were missing," Delilah grumbled.
Delilah was surprised to find a sympathetic glare in her cousin's eyes. "Is that what this is about?"
With an odd number of siblings there often was an odd one out. One might think that the two youngest daughters gravitated together, and the two sons would be close, but Frederick spent more time writing to Caroline or talking to his mother than he did speaking to any of his siblings, and Henry and Christina had developed their own language – nobody was quite sure what Pandora meant but it was a word they exchanged a great deal. After having enjoyed a companion for the season, it must have been tedious for Delilah to return to doing needlework in the blue room until someone bothered to speak to her.
Delilah shook her head. "It is not like that. I wished to see you. I told you I would miss you. But I knew they would not let me come if I had asked them. They do not listen to me as well as you do."
Amelia allowed a small smile. "They know it is unwise to call upon people uninvited."
"Are you angry with me?"
"Not on that account. I have missed you too," Amelia admitted quietly. She felt the young girl's face brighten beside her. "I am angry that you put yourself in danger for no reason. The world is a wilder place than you know. I am happy here. I have no reason to return to London."
"Do you not get lonely?"
Amelia shrugged. She was moving more than she had allowed herself to in London. Being stone had been painful – it would do her some good to move more, to express more. Not too much, but she could surely allow herself a little more freedom as her life as Charity Burns grew further away.
"I may walk into the village for company," she said pathetically. "I may wait upon unexpected guests," she said, attempting to give Delilah a light smile with her pointed look. "And the Howells are very good people."
"The servants?!" cried Delilah.
"Yes," Amelia replied stonily.
Tereus began to wake up and squirm so Delilah finally released him back into the pen. Her dress was completely covered in mud, so Amelia led her inside so she could dress for dinner. Judy and Paul were content to temporarily move back into the servants quarters so that their daughter had some finer company and vacated their room for Delilah – it was easier than preparing another guest room and explaining why the servants were allowed such a fine bed.
"Lord Herriot is a good man," Delilah murmured as they entered the dining room. It would have to be prepared if they were to eat in there for the next few days.
Amelia narrowed her eyes. Is that why she was here? Had her family sent her to bring their cousin back to London? Were they scheming to restore her there permanently? Had Edward sent Delilah to check on her, to ask her back? No, that made no sense, not after Amelia broke his heart.
She was not sure she could ever face him again, after kissing him with so much promise before devastating him completely. And why? Exactly as he said – because she could.
"Did your family send you?" Amelia asked sharply.
Delilah shook her head in a panic. "No. No. But I am not blind, nor deaf. Do you think I did not notice that he paid special attention to you? He has never taken more than a polite interest in myself and Christina, even Caroline. He likes you."
Amelia clenched her jaw to keep her face straight. She was desperate to ask after him. Had she broken his heart completely? Was he pursuing anybody else yet? He ought to be, and yet the mere idea of it felt like a long kitchen knife pressing into her hip, upwards into her lungs, making it difficult to breathe.
"Of course he does," Amelia muttered. "I am immensely wealthy."
"I saw the two of you dancing together."
Amelia's eyes bulged forward in panic. "Does anybody else know?"
Delilah squeezed her cousin's arm. "Do not fret. Only I saw you. He kept asking after you when we danced and then he hurried off – I wanted to know why. He wanted to know what your favourite flowers were."
So as Amelia had watched him dance with Delilah, forced herself to imagine a world where he was married to someone else and she was forgotten, Edward had still been thinking of her. He truly did intend to court her in earnest before she dashed his dreams.
Was it too late for her to take it back? It had to be. It had been weeks ago. She could not return just so she could lie to him for the rest of her life.
"I believe he no longer wishes to marry me. I used him ill," said Amelia, more to herself than to her companion as she guided her up the staircase.
"And what do you wish for?" Delilah asked with a sincere smile.
Amelia froze at the top of the staircase. She had a perfect view down the hallways leading to both wings of the house, filled with exquisite furniture, stunning original paintings, and the finest, softest materials anybody could ever hope to possess. She was mere feet from the chandelier that hung over the hall which Judy had recently polished. It shone brightly over the grand room decorated with luscious materials. A room where she could watch her parents rest and relax, free from the troubles of the world. What more could she wish for?
"I wish to apologise," she found herself whispering. "I wish to apologise to everyone. For everything. To him for never being honest with him. To myself for what I let myself become. I wish to tell everyone that I am sorry. I wish to continue life as...myself. As much myself as I can be."
After a moment of silence, neither knowing what to say, Amelia continued down the hall and opened the door to Delilah's room.
"I do not think you need to apologise for anything," said Delilah with a naïve smile. "I think we will all settle for a visit once in a while. Or at least a letter."
"Well you can tell me everything about London as soon as you've found something more appropriate to wear."
The two ladies shared a smile before Delilah nodded and entered the room. Amelia closed the door and leant her side against the wall next to it. She was not exhausted from the lying, but from the joy of seeing her companion again, and the shock of how relaxed she felt around her. Lady Amelia Warstone did not have to be a curse. It could be a gift, one that Lord Thomas had bestowed upon her, one that truly did grant her freedom.
*
"Is it not inconvenient to serve yourself while you are eating?" asked Delilah. Despite her question, she was content enough to top up her wine glass.
"No indeed," replied Amelia. "As a matter of fact, I normally dine with the servants in the kitchen. It is nice and warm in there."
Delilah's jaw hung open and she dropped her fork into her beef. They had not had to sacrifice any of the pigs that night, but Paul had pulled a few carrots out in the allotment. "I did not know it was possible to live like this."
"All of your servants do."
"Well they are servants."
Amelia gave Delilah a pointed look, making the young lady swallow humbly and nod.
"I suppose I am as ignorant as everybody says."
Amelia shook her head softly. "Ignorant people are reluctant to learn, which you are not. I called on families in London who did not even know what their servants were called."
"Is this what you meant when you refused to marry?" asked Delilah quietly. "Women must always be the ones to adjust to suit their husbands."
Amelia groaned. Delilah had to give up this topic. Amelia could not alter her life for a man she did not love, and she could not admit the truth to a man she did love in case he stopped loving her. Marriage was out of the question.
"Do you think Lord Herriot would live like this with me?" she asked, gesturing to the empty room. "Serving myself? No lady's maid? Raising my own children rather than leaving them with a series of nannies and governesses?"
"Even if it was not what Lord Thomas wanted, living a finer life is no crime."
It is when done fraudulently, thought Amelia.
"You will have to adjust, but if you lo-"
"It is not that!" Amelia snapped before Delilah said something aloud that made this even more difficult for her. "It is the matter of being able to live as I please. You can never be too careful about whom you marry."
"Do you never think about him?"
Of course she did. Constantly. Amelia's downcast eyes gave her away immediately. This was why she had remained stone in London – she had far too much to lose.
"See!" Delilah cried, pointing at her cousin in an unladylike manner. "He might just make you happy. And I know you would be happy if we were all in London together. I could visit you every day during the season, and his country seat is not so far from ours. He visits Frederick all the time. And you would be a countess, which is not such a step down from being a marchioness. It is not like you would be marrying a servant."
Amelia slouched back against her chair. Marrying Edward would be a vast step up from where she was, but her status was not her primary concern. "I might make him miserable."
Delilah shook her head in confusion. "You will not know unless you try."
Before Amelia could respond, three loud thumps rang through the house. The two ladies abandoned their dinners and hurried to the hallway where Judy ran to open the front door. Henry Warstone barged his way through, almost knocking Judy to the floor, and stormed up to his little sister, his face bright red and his hands balled into fists.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" he roared. "We have been scared out of our wits. We had no idea where you were."
"I came to see Amelia," Delilah said proudly. She held her head high and turned to Amelia for support.
Amelia shook her head and crossed the room to help steady her mother. "Do not make me a part of this."
Delilah huffed and turned back to her brother. "I needed to speak to Amelia. It was urgent."
"Oh really? More urgent than what could be put in a letter?" Henry asked, turning to watch Amelia shut and lock the door.
"I am not a part of this," Amelia repeated.
Henry huffed and turned back to his sister, who was trying to shrink herself into one of the pink dresses Amelia had bought her. "I was never in any danger."
Henry scoffed. "We were in danger of panicking to death. I have been on horseback all day searching for you. I rode across London at least four times calling on every one of our acquaintances to ask if you were calling on them, or if anyone knew where you were. Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to tell the whole ton that I had no idea where my sister was? We were waiting for a ransom note. Frederick was convinced you had eloped with Mr Cardney. And then our servant returned home without you to tell us that you had decided to take yourself off to the country!"
"How quickly did you realise I was gone?" asked Delilah, with a hint of curiosity.
"It was very evident when you failed to join us for lunch. What we still do not know is why."
"I left at seven o'clock this morning. It took you six hours?"
Amelia thought back and realised that by the time Delilah had arrived at Denmead, her family were still unaware that she had gone. Henry's face quickly paled and he gulped.
Amelia bit her lip to prevent herself from laughing and straightened her back. "Lord Henry, I appreciate your distress but please believe me when I say I have spent the best part of the afternoon chastising Delilah. I think she understands her wrongdoing," she said calmly, earning a small but grateful smile from Delilah.
Henry took a deep breath. For a second Amelia thought he had collapsed onto his sister, until she realised he had pulled her into a hug. He squeezed her tight, pulling her off the ground to hold her closer to his chest.
"Judy, please bring Lord Henry a plate of food and prepare a room for him," Amelia asked softly. She squeezed her mother's elbow before releasing her and gesturing to the kitchen.
"It is very lovely to meet another of Lady Amelia's London acquaintances," Judy sighed with a deep bow before skipping off to the kitchen. Amelia rolled her eyes, certain she could rival any debutante in London for the country's most embarrassing mother. But she could not help but smile, knowing it all came from love...and a bit of fatigue after running around the house all day preparing for visitors.
Amelia led Delilah and Henry into the dining room. Judy brought him a full plate which he quickly finished. He only spoke again when Judy took his plate away to bring him a second serving.
"The carriage will be here tomorrow morning to bring you back to London," Henry explained. "And then you are to be confined to your bed chamber until we retire to the country, where you will be confined to room until you turn twenty."
Delilah slammed her cutlery down onto the table. "I am not to leave the house at all?"
Henry smiled sarcastically. "I am sure Mama and Frederick will let me take you out as soon as you have been fitted for a bridle. But until then, you are not leaving our sight."
Delilah rolled her eyes. "All I have done is paid a visit to our cousin."
"Without informing us, and without being invited."
"You go gallivanting off all over the country with all sorts of people and nobody cares!"
"What do you mean all sorts of people?"
"Never mind," Delilah huffed.
"No, Delilah. No more secrets. I would like to know what people you think I have been gallivantingwith."
Delilah narrowed her eyes. "Lady Cambridge."
Henry slammed his fist down onto the table. "Whatever Chris has told you-"
"Christina did not have to tell me anything. I am not deaf and you are not discreet." Delilah rolled her eyes. "I would like to stay with Amelia until you retire to the country."
"Lady Amelia will not want you imposing on her longer than you already are," Henry growled, barely noticing as Judy placed a fresh plate of food in front of him.
Amelia thanked her mother with a nod before turning back to the siblings. "I do not think Lady Amelia gave you permission to speak on her behalf," she said with a pointed look. Henry crossed his arms and sulked. "I am perfectly happy for Delilah to stay here until she is ready to leave."
"She will be ready to leave when I say she is ready to leave, which will be tomorrow," Henry growled at his sister, but her smile did not falter.
"You are welcome to stay too," Amelia offered, knowing that Henry probably could not think of a more boring fate. "That will prevent you from having to travel back to London all alone, as the journey is evidently so perilous."
"For my younger sister, it is!" he screeched in an unflatteringly high-pitched voice.
"Henry Warstone, if you think nobody in the country could mean you harm, you are more naïve than your sister. Truly, I think men concern themselves with women's safety because they are too afraid or too proud to consider any threat to themselves."
Delilah giggled loudly until she hiccupped and took a deep breath to calm herself down. Amelia moved the wine bottle out of her reach and poured her a glass of water. "Thank you," she muttered, before returning to her dinner. Once she finished, she said, "I have had a long day. Might I retire?"
"Of course," Amelia said. "Knock on the kitchen door and Judy will see you to your room."
"Goodnight." Delilah waved as she left for the kitchen.
Once she was out of the room, Henry leant over towards Amelia. "Your ladyship, much as I respect you, I cannot allow you to encourage Delilah's behaviour. My mother will not sleep easily until she is restored home safely."
"She knows that," Amelia replied sympathetically, her voice softer than Henry had ever heard it. "Delilah is a good girl. She will return tomorrow and I am certain she will not do this sort of thing again."
"So why-"
"She needs somebody on her side for once," said Amelia. "She needs somebody to talk to."
Henry pressed his tired eyes shut and shook his head. "As I stated, we esteem you greatly your ladyship and-"
"Get to the point."
Henry rolled his eyes. "She has a family to talk to."
"Yes, but she deciphered very quickly that she is not anybody's favourite."
Henry's index finger tapped against the polished wooden table. "She... She was Papa's favourite."
Amelia's face fell with realisation. Of course – they spoke of their father less than she spoke of Lord Thomas. She watched Henry speak as he stared determinedly into the table.
"He thought the world of her. Always buying her the prettiest dresses and taking her out to the park. She was only six years old when he died, but she refused to be anybody's favourite. She would not let anybody comfort her. She barely spoke to anyone in the house, until you arrived." Henry peered up with a small smile. "They asked me to invite you back. We are staying in London until winter. You could visit us for a few weeks. It would make Delilah's confinement easier. Could you be ready to travel with us tomorrow?"
"I do not know." Amelia took a deep breath, overwhelmed. She was considering returning to London at the beginning of the next season, not tomorrow. But could she wait that long when the opportunity was right there? "We should rest. Delilah was right. It has been a trying day."
"Goodnight. And thank you for looking after her." Henry gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze before stumbling into the hall. He would be asleep as soon as he reached the bed.
Once he was gone, Amelia rolled her shoulders and began to clean up the dinner table. Her Lady Amelia Warstone persona was not as trying as it was in London, but she was determined to keep a good hold on her humility and at least clean up after herself.
When she took the dishes into the kitchen, Judy had already started washing up the pots and pans. "So, will you return with them?"
Could she? Her mind knew it was a bad idea, an unnecessary temptation, but every fibre of her being willed her back to the city.
Whatever her being was, Charity or Amelia, servant or marchioness, she had to learn to trust it or she would never survive. She had asked her parents and the Warstones to have faith in her. She needed to have faith in herself.
"I think I will never forgive myself if I do not try," Amelia whispered.
Judy pulled her daughter into a tight hug, running her wet hands up and down her back. "Oh, I do so hope he will make you happy."
"I will always love you, Mama. I will write constantly. I will not let anything happen to you. But I need to do what is right."
Judy nodded. "You know, if he ever hurt you, I would do anything to protect you. We could run away again, find somewhere safe. We do not need all of this so long as we have each other."
"I know," Amelia murmured, but it was the last thing she wanted. It was not only her own future she held, but the Warstones' and dear Edward's. If things turned sour she could run away again, breaking so many hearts and promises as she fled.
She could be with him and not tell him. That was the only solution. She would carry the heartache and guilt for her whole life, but surely having him by her side would help her through anything.
She only hoped that poor Newton slept well before his second day of travelling to Denmead and back. If the Warstones dismissed him, Amelia might just find him a new place at Denmead... Or at her home with Edward, depending on how everything worked out.