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Amelia was in the nursery, playing pirates with Foster and his older brother Marden when Tessa burst through the door.
“You’ve received flowers!”
After making one final parry with her wooden sword and handing it off to Marden, Amelia gave her sister a sardonic look. “It’s been known to happen. One other time, perhaps?”
“Auntie Amelia will be back in a trice, children,” Tessa said. Then she lowered her voice as she escorted Amelia out into the corridor. “Women who break an engagement do not usually receive flowers so soon afterward.”
“Perhaps they were sent by some grateful young lady who’s secretly been in love with Stephen these past few months,” Amelia mused.
Tessa shook her head. “You and your imagination.”
As they descended three flights of stairs, Amelia’s curiosity climbed. Stephen had never sent flowers when they were engaged, which fact emphasized all the more how unromantic he truly was. She didn’t doubt he loved her, but still, something had been missing. Anyway, she distracted herself from hoping overly much that those flowers were from James. She would be so disappointed if they weren’t.
It had been a day and a half since she’d left his bed in the wee hours of the morning. She had not even caught a glimpse of him since. She’d tried not to be disconcerted but not speaking to him, not catching his eye across the dinner table, not being able to sneak to his room again—all these had unsettled her and made her wonder if she’d dreamt the whole thing.
Suffice to say, this was not how she would have written it.
They reached the entry hall and Tessa triumphantly waved a hand toward a beautiful spray of flowers already neatly arranged in a vase. Red roses and violets provided a vibrant splash of color, complemented by little sprigs of white sweet peas. Amelia leaned over and inhaled the heady fragrance of the roses while picking up the accompanying card. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the note.
Every fair lady deserves to have a poem written in her honor.
My ode to Lady Amelia:
That night your gown was silver,
And so was my waistcoat;
Tonight I will wear blue,
And offer something more than a biscuit.
Amelia laughed and clutched the card to her bosom. Tessa stared, but Amelia paid her no mind.
The flowers were from James.
James had sent her flowers.
She looked at the card again, read the awful, laughable poetry in that neat, compact script once more and giggled. She’d been surprised by, yet always loved, his silliness.
“Are they from James?” Tessa asked impatiently.
Amelia looked at her sister from beneath moist eyelashes, feeling ridiculously giddy. “An admirer,” was all she would say.
Tessa raised an eyebrow. “An admirer who makes you laugh?”
Folding the note into her palm, Amelia slipped past her sister. “That’s the best kind, isn’t it?”
Yes, she would certainly forgive him for deserting her. Especially when he must mean to propose that evening.
The hours until Amelia could begin dressing for that evening’s entertainment were interminable despite being hounded to play game after game with the children. Finally, the two boys sat down to their supper, and Amelia headed to her room, more enthusiastic about a social affair than she’d been in a long while.
Stephen, of all people, had given her an unexpected boost. She had received a letter from him stating his intention to retire to Wakebourne for a few days. More importantly, he encouraged her “not to put his reputation above her happiness.” He claimed his place in Society was secure thanks to her family’s countenance and continued friendship.
So thoughtful of him. And oh, how she hoped he was right in regard to his standing. Society could be so fickle. She would still temper her enthusiasm, at least in public.
“I want to wear the sapphire satin tonight,” she finally informed her abigail. No one else would know she had matched her gown to what James intended to wear. She couldn’t wait for his proposal, even knowing they would have to keep it secret.
The maid brought out the gown Amelia had worn to James’s homecoming dinner. It hadn’t been appropriate for that event, but it would suit tonight’s rout perfectly and Amelia descended the stairs forty minutes later, breath held in anticipation of James’s reaction.
Alas, only Victoria, Taviston, and the dowager waited in the entrance hall. Amelia stemmed her disappointment. Perhaps James was simply late.
Peyton and Tessa were staying in for the evening as her sister’s condition had worn her out of late.
“You look lovely,” Victoria said. Then her gaze strayed to the top of Amelia’s head. “What pretty flowers. Are those from the bouquet you received?”
“I thought they complemented the dress.” Amelia resisted the urge to pat the sweet peas wound through her upswept hair. She’d had her maid fetch them, as the mere thought of wearing something James had given her made her feel ridiculously...quivery. As if he were trailing those soft white petals across her skin, followed by the whispery touch of his lips. She very nearly shivered.
“They do look stylish,” Victoria replied, linking her arm with Amelia’s. “Let’s be off.”
Amelia and the younger duchess stepped carefully down the front steps and then turned north, heading one block over to Mount Street. Taviston and his mother followed behind. As they walked, Amelia resisted the urge to ask after James. His note had indicated he would see her. She should trust that he would make an appearance.
Her resistance didn’t last long. “Do you know where James is?”
“Halston said he left early this morning and hasn’t been back since.” Victoria squeezed Amelia’s arm. “He’s been much more social since his return, though. He’s more mature, more confident. I wonder what he will do with himself?”
A good question. He’d said he was returning to the Continent to spy again and had adamantly refused to consider Amelia’s suggestion to stand for Parliament in truth instead of pretending to do so. That was unsettling now that she gave it thought. He didn’t live the life of a gentleman, and she wasn’t certain spying qualified as an occupation. It was a questionable one at best, especially for a man with a wife. He did want to marry her, didn’t he?
“Here we are,” Victoria declared. She turned and hugged Amelia, whispering in her ear, “It’s not always easy to get where we’re meant to be in life, but the journey is usually worth it. Don’t lose sight of your dream, Amelia.”
Then she was gone, gathered close to Taviston’s side as they entered the party.
Amelia and the dowager made a tour of the rooms, speaking to friends, acquaintances and those who looked at Amelia as if she were infected with a new variant of the Bubonic Plague. Because of the latter, she was not at all distressed when the dowager accepted an offer to dance from a handsome, white-bearded gentleman and she could escape to a quiet corner to brood and train an eye on the entrance.
The minutes ticked away slowly. Half of her was angry and frustrated that James hadn’t made an appearance. The other half was worried he’d been injured in the course of his work. The information she’d provided about Stretton should have been enough to clear that lord’s name off James’s list. Did that leave only Stephen?
Her hand flew to her mouth. Stephen had gone to Hertfordshire. Had James followed him? When would James realize Stephen was innocent? Amelia mentally kicked herself for not having found the “proof” James needed to cross Stephen off the list while she was searching out the other information. Why had she worried about Stretton when she should have focused on Stephen?
“Perhaps we should plant you in a pot and be done with it.” Eliza Cranstoun sashayed in front of Amelia. “If you intend to skulk in the corner, you should at least pretend to be decorative.”
Amelia had very little patience left. “Isn’t there some gossip you wish to pursue, Eliza? Or someone from whom you can extract a pound of flesh?”
Eliza’s smile was feral. “I was hoping to receive payment from you...or Kensworth, to be more precise. Where is your strapping former betrothed?”
“Not here,” Amelia replied.
Eliza’s thin black eyebrows rose lasciviously. “Licking his wounds, is he? Perhaps I could help.”
“I really must—”
“I don’t see your brother-in-law either. The tall one with the mysterious air about him.” Eliza bit her painted lower lip. “I wouldn’t mind an introduction to him as well. But then, after witnessing your waltz with him last week, perhaps you’d like to keep him to yourself.”
Amelia’s fingers curled into fists before her brain commanded them to relax. She would not hand Eliza gossip. Forcing herself to smile she said, “I am uncertain of Lord James’s whereabouts, but when next I see him, I will mention how desperate you are for an introduction.”
Eliza looked ready to flounce off, so Amelia gathered her skirts and swept past the woman first. She felt a headache coming on.
As she walked around the room, uncertain of her destination, she couldn’t stop herself from searching for James. He wasn’t there. Finally, finding herself near the refreshment table and being perfectly capable of getting her own food, she plucked a raisin-filled biscuit from a plate.
It did not taste good.
She waited an hour. Then two. Then three. People talked to her, but the conversations were of the stilted and awkward variety that ensued when one party had the lead role in much of the circulating gossip.
Playing at espionage was not the lark she’d once thought. Prying into the lives of the Strettons, dealing with people like Eliza Cranstoun, who cared for no one’s feelings; these weren’t things she could enjoy. Besides, she needed stability and at least the illusion of permanence in her life, not this unreliability that seemed to be part and parcel of James and his work.
Once they were married things would be different. Or so she told herself.