Lionel resisted the urge to chuckle. “Do you have any idea of how large the Americas are?”
“Yes, I know that, but stranger things have happened.” Amelia pouted a little, turning her gaze away from him.
They fell into a not-uncomfortable silence as the carriage rattled on, and as the twilight of evening gave way to the shadows of true night, Lionel’s heart swelled as he gazed down at his wife and realized she had fallen asleep.
She leaned against him, her head falling onto his shoulder, and though he knew he should not overstep, he could not help but put his arm around her, holding her closer to him.
For comfort,he told himself, knowing full-well that it was because he longed to.
She stirred briefly in her sleep, mumbling something under her breath. “I will not… be wooed, Lionel.”
He smiled. “Nor shall I try to woo you,” he whispered, “until you have heard all that I have to say. But I do pray that you can forgive me for deceiving you. I should have been honest from the start.”
Indeed, the more he thought about it, the more he suspected that Duncan had been right: she deserved to make her own decision, with all of the information available to her. It had been wrong of him to keep something so important from her, and it had been wrong of him to think that he knew best, without consulting her first.
Even so, it will never be the marriage you deserve—an everlasting love,he lamented, brushing a lock of hair out of her face.How could it be, when ‘forever’ might be far shorter than you think?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Amelia stirred some time later, to the darkened interior of the carriage, and Lionel’s arm around her. A lantern swung in the center of the carriage, flashing light upon his slumbering face, illuminating his handsome features before casting them in shadow again.
His hand was still holding hers, so tightly—even in his sleep—that she had no hope of extricating her fingers without waking him.
What are you dreaming of? Are they nightmares or good dreams?She observed him intently, watching his brow furrow and relax, noting how his mouth moved as if he was talking to someone, though no sound came out. But he did not appear to be in any distress, his hand occasionally squeezing hers as if to make sure she was still there, even though he was not properly conscious.
“What am I doing?” she whispered. “Why am I letting you do this to me?”
She jolted in fright as the driver called down from his box. “We are at the gates, My Lord!”
Lionel awoke with a start, hurrying to draw his arm away from her shoulders, though he still refused to let go of her hand. Perhaps, he thought that if he did, she might vanish or might insist on being taken straight back to the docks, to board the next ship across the ocean to faraway shores.
“I did not mean to fall asleep,” he said apologetically.
Amelia shrugged. “You must have been tired.”
“I confess, I have not slept properly for days.”
“I can tell,” she remarked, for it was impossible to ignore the dark crescents beneath his beautiful green eyes and the ashen pallor to his skin.
Still, she would show no sympathy. There was no point, not until she understood why she had been hauled away from her well-laid plans and brought back to Westyork. Was there some prop or something that he required, in order to tell her what he could not tell her at the townhouse? Or had she fallen into some manner of trap that would put her back where she had started, too enchanted by her husband to realize?
As the carriage pulled to a halt at the bottom of the porch steps, a figure hurried down to greet them. Caroline threw open the carriage door, took one look at Amelia, and cried out, “Oh, thank goodness! I am not often a praying woman, but I prayed with all my might that you would return together.”
“Grandmother, now is not the time,” Lionel said calmly. “She has returned for now, but there are things we must discuss. You can swarm her later.”
Caroline waved a dismissive hand. “That is not why I am relieved, Lionel!” She gestured back at the manor, apparently unable to form words. “There is something you must see! Quickly, come!”
“What is it?” Lionel asked, getting out of the carriage, leading Amelia.
She stepped down behind him, wondering if he would ever let go of her hand as he headed up the porch steps, tugging her along. Of course, she probably could have pulled her hand forcefully out of his, but she had grown accustomed to the comforting feeling. Even if the coming conversation was anything but comforting.
“A miracle, Lionel!” Caroline shouted back over her shoulder as she hobbled up to the front entrance.
As the trio stepped into the entrance hall, Amelia frowned at the sight of several unfamiliar faces. A man and woman stood awkwardly to the side of the foyer, the latter holding an infant inher arms. The man formed a nervous smile as he looked toward Lionel, whose face had suddenly transformed into a cold, furious mask.
“What ishedoing here?” Lionel asked his grandmother in a frosty voice, before addressing the man directly. “Did you not believe me when we last spoke, Uncle?”
After two years, Lionel had not been able to forget the havoc that John had wreaked upon his household. Yes, everything that had been sold had eventually been bought back, but whenever Lionel looked at the James Lambert landscape on the wall, of the cottage in the woods, he was reminded of how hard he had had to work to restore his fortunes. And he was reminded of how Rebecca and Caroline must have suffered while he was at war, oblivious to the problems.
