Ah… that is why.Evidently, in thinking about his mother, he had been dwelling upon his own mortality. That was something she could understand, for whenever she thought of her own mother, she too considered what might happen if she died young.
A sudden memory came to her, her eyes widening with something like excitement.
“Your nightmares!” she gasped, clasping her hands together. “Goodness, why did I not think of it before? I have been wracking my brain, trying to think of a solution, and it was right there!”
Lionel’s head jerked back. “I do not wish to discuss my nightmares, Amelia.”
“Yes, I know, but I really do think I can remedy them,” she urged. “When I was a child, I used to suffer from terrible night terrors. My mother used to make me a special tea to help me sleep, and as long as I drank it, I never had night terrors again. Well, I had the occasional one, but otherwise… nothing but deep and pleasant dreams.”
To her surprise, he smiled. “With respect, Amelia, I do not have the same sort of nightmares that a child might have, nor do I think that a simple tea will help. I have already tried every tea and tincture and tonic—all the Ts—that the best apothecaries could conjure. Unless you are a secret witch, I doubt you can do anything for me.”
Amelia turned away from the mirror, gazing up at him, her resolve unwavering. “But it is not just the tea, Lionel.”
Hesitantly, she raised her hands to his face, resting her fingertips upon his temples. He frowned but he did not pull away, and as she slowly began to massage in small circles, remembering how that same touch had felt when her mother did it, and how she had tried to mimic it by herself when her mother was gone.
A moment later, Lionel’s eyes closed, the tension fading from his face, a deep sigh making his chest rise and fall.
When his eyes opened again, they were glassy with relaxation, shining with a warmth she had not seen in his gaze before. Not directed at her, at least. It encouraged her to keep massaging, taking a half step closer so she could apply more pressure without straining her arms.
“That is… not unpleasant,” he murmured, gazing down at her.
Her breath caught in her throat as his eyes flitted to her lips and his head bowed slightly, as if he meant to bend all the wayto press his mouth to hers in a kiss. He paused, splitting his attention between her eyes and her lips, as if asking permission.
She began to breathe quickly, so flushed she felt like she had a sudden fever. Half of her wanted to step away to avoid temptation, while the other half was stronger, keeping her where she was, offering her silent permission to him.
His hands came up to cradle Amelia’s face, his thumb lightly brushing the hot apple of her cheek. His head bent lower and she raised her chin up, ready to meet his kiss with one of her own. Perhaps, this was the beginning of something more for them—the real beginning of a real marriage.
A mere inch from her lips, he stopped and pulled back. “No,” he said, though she did not know if he meant the promise of a kiss or something else. “I do not think that will work at all. If you will excuse me; I have taken up enough of your time.”
He drew his touch away from her face and turned without another word, leaving in such haste that she could only wonder what she had done wrong.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
That night, Amelia waited until the household had fallen silent, everyone asleep in their beds, and went in search of her husband. She had a promise to keep, and she meant to follow through with it, whether he wanted her care and attention or not.
She had already spoken with the cook, who had agreed to make the special tea she had requested. And as Amelia stole through the silent manor, a thrill rippled through her. She would not have dared to act so boldly on her own before.
But what if I anger him? What if I push him further away?Her excitement dwindled, transforming into worry. She still did not know what she had done wrong, prompting him to separate from her in haste, but maybe he would explain if they were alone together.
Maybe he will kiss me, this time.Her excitement soared again, her determination fierce as she hurried on through the darknessto the kitchens, to retrieve the special tea. Indeed, if Lionel slept well because of her efforts, perhapsthatwould encourage him to reward her with a kiss.
“I made it just as you instructed, My Lady,” Mrs. Bishop said as Amelia entered the steamy heat of the kitchens. “It doesn’t smell very appealing, but medicine never does. My own ma used to tell me that the worse a remedy tastes, the better it is for you.”
Amelia chuckled. “That is what my mother used to say, too. But she would always add some honey, and it tastedmuchbetter.”
“Well, there’s honey here.” The cook gestured to a little glass pot. “I reckon you’ll need the entire thing to improve the flavor.”
Amelia took the cup and saucer, inhaling the bitter scent of the tea, and diligently drizzled in a healthy dose of the viscous honey. As she did, she became aware of Mrs. Bishop watching her closely.
“Might I ask what you want the tea for?” the cook asked at last.
“To help with sleeping,” Amelia replied, deliberately vague.
Mrs. Bishop quirked an eyebrow. “You’re still having trouble? I could make you some warm milk again.”
“No, thank you. This will work wonders, I assure you,” Amelia replied, inhaling the scent of the tea again. The almost floralsweetness pleased her senses, all hint of the earthy bitterness gone. At least in the smell of it.
The cook shrugged. “Well, you let me know if it doesn’t. I’ll be awake for a few hours yet.”
