Caroline cleared her throat in a pointed manner. “Rebecca, darling, perhaps we ought to let Amelia eat and drink something before you start making demands of her.”
“You see,” Rebecca said with a smile. “I am utterly mannerless.”
Still, Rebecca retreated to her own chair and allowed Amelia a moment of quiet to take a bite of toast, a sip of tea, and to gather her thoughts.
“I do not suppose you know when Lionel will be joining us, do you?” she asked, a short while later.
Caroline raised her gaze from the morning papers. “He has eaten already, my dear. He had a tray taken to his study about an hour ago.”
“What?” The word left Amelia’s mouth as a croak.
Caroline lowered the papers. “Did he tell you that he would be joining you for breakfast?”
“No, but…” Amelia grabbed her cup of tea and took a deep gulp, hoping to conceal the crack in her voice.
“I confess, I was equally surprised,” Caroline said, a look of determination upon her face. “You have had a nasty fright and a near miss. The least he could do is eat breakfast with you.”
Amelia’s cheeks burned, not with embarrassment but with anger. She agreed wholeheartedly with Caroline’s sentiments but, more than that, she was tired of having her heart flung back and forth as if it were a toy to be played with.
Either I am missing something important, or I have been so very blind and foolish…She took another gulp of tea, almost choking on the warm mouthful.
Why did he lie beside her makeshift sickbed all night if he did not care? Why had he taken hold of her hand, when he had not had to? Why had he carried her out to enjoy the snow? Why had he raced to her aid when he heard that she had fallen? Why had he kissed her, what felt like forever ago? Why had he carried her to her bed from the library, instead of just leaving her there?
The list of bitter questions was endless, each one whirling through Amelia’s mind in a violent maelstrom. The answers, however, were evasive, hidden behind a fog of utter chaos.
“Excuse me,” Amelia said, rising to her feet. “I fear I no longer have much of an appetite and must retire for a while.”
Caroline gave a discreet nod. “If you are feeling better this afternoon, let us take a walk in the gardens—just you and me. I do not walk fast these days, but I listen well.”
“I will… let you know in due course,” Amelia replied, realizing that the older woman knew exactly where she was headed. It was not to her bedchamber, but straight to the source of her turmoil.
Five minutes later, she stood in front of the bookcase that hid the entrance to Lionel’s private study. It took a minute more for her to muster all of her anger and exasperation and hurt and bewilderment, and push open that secret door to her husband’s inner sanctum.
Lionel sat in his chair, leaning back in a casual posture, a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. He was not busy at all, and his guilt showed on his face as their eyes met across the room.
“Amelia, this is… unexpected,” he said coolly, sitting straighter in his chair. “You should be resting.”
Amelia stepped further into the room. “Is that why you were not at breakfast? Did you think I would be resting?”
“It is what the physician instructed,” he replied without feeling, setting his teacup and book down. “You should adhere to it. I have seen plenty of head injuries. They are dangerous.”
She faltered at that, trying to imagine all of the horrors he must have seen on countless battlefields. A moment later, she shook her sympathy away, for if she backed down now, she had a feeling she would not be able to stoke up enough furious fire for a confrontation again.
“I feel perfectly fine,” she told him. “You would have known that if you had been there when I woke up, as you alluded to last night. Yes, I know you said you would stay with me until morning, but you are no idiot—you knew what I would think when you said that; that you would be there until I was awake.”
“I had things to tend to,” he said, his voice so hollow that it was like speaking to a different man entirely.
“Your tea and books? You could not have had them brought to the drawing room?” she countered defiantly.
“I was taking a brief respite before I began my work again,” he explained indifferently, stifling a yawn. “Not that how I arrange my schedule is of any concern to you.”
“No, Lionel, but having you nearby when that is what you promisedisof concern to me,” she rasped, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest.
He shrugged. “I left your lady’s maid with you. I would have been summoned if there was any trouble.”
She stared at him in abject disbelief, trying to find the man she was falling for beneath the cold mask he wore. He would not look at her in return, picking up a letter from his desk and reading through it absently, as if she were not even there.
I know this game, Lionel, and I do not care for it.He was pushing her away again, further than before, and if she let him, that would be it. She would have no fight left for someone who did not want to fight with her, for the future of their marriage, for the happiness she was certain they could have together.
