She bit her tongue.

  Hard.

  The duchess came forward again. “Your what, my dear?”

  It was her heart that hurt so badly, but she shook her head denying Chatham had such a great hold over her. “My patience.”

  “Of course, my dear,” the duchess said softly. “We understand perfectly.”

  Amelia had not thought a marriage of convenience could cause so much grief and confusion so soon. It had seemed a simple undertaking at the beginning: marry Chatham, take charge of his household and his children, share his bed to conceive—and one day they would be a family.

  But they could not be a family if Chatham ran away over a ridiculous misunderstanding he’d created. It wasn’t as if she had any means to chase after him, either, and she would not do that, even if she could. She did have some pride. Yet, right now, she was smarting and lashing out at the only people around.

  The duchess excused herself and headed back to the manor, leaving her alone with the duke, who would only blame her for his son’s disappearance. Yet what else was she to do but wait here for Chatham to realize his mistake and come back?

  If he ever did.

  Her cheeks grew warm when she realized he might not. The party guests could lap up her humiliation and the scandal with their hot chocolate over this morning’s paper, when the servants whispered of it.

  “I’d like to be alone.”

  “I think not,” the duke replied. “Come back to the manor and to the duchess, now.”

  She could not refuse the duke—but she wanted to, very much.

  The duke marched her back to the residence at a brisk pace, hand under her elbow. He was silent for a while…but then he cleared his throat. “I… I would like to explain my reaction to your marriage to my son better.”

  She shook her head. “There is no need to explain, Your Grace. It is understandable that you would be upset your son chose so poorly.”

  “I never expected him to ever wed a second time of his own free will. My son was grievously wounded by his first wife’s betrayal. When he expressed disinterest in making a second marriage, we argued about it. But in the end, I admit I was relieved that he would be spared further pain. He needed time to forget that it all went so terribly wrong before he returned to the marriage mart.”

  “And then he married me. A virtual stranger without any courtship.”

  “But you are not quite the stranger I first believed you to be, are you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You understand my son better than most.”

  She sighed. The duke was fishing for information and she couldn’t see any reason not to answer his questions. “He was my brother’s friend for a long time. We have met, dined together, and even spoke during my one and only season. But that was before he met her.”

  “And married her so quickly,” the duke finished.

  “Yes.”

  “Forgive me for being indelicate…but had there been anything between you then?”

  She looked at the duke with complete astonishment at the question. “Your son was good company, pleasant and charming. But there was never any hint of romance between us at any time. There was no ‘us’ then. Nor is there now, it seems. We were simply…near each other. His first wife had, and still has, his complete attention.”

  “And she had the attention of many others, too,” Stapleton replied darkly.

  “I’m sorry for that. No one in love should be so betrayed.”

  “But you were betrayed, too,” he said.

  “Yes. That was why he chose me, and why I accepted. We both knew what it felt like to not be enough.”

  “Do you still regret the loss of your beau?”

  “No, I don’t. He was everything a beau was supposed to be. Charming, and attentive. He flattered me but I was not the only recipient of his false praise,” she confided. “He was not a good man in the end and I am glad to be spared his company now.”

  The duke walked on a few more steps in silence, pondering what she’d just confessed. Then he said, “Marriage takes work. Do not give up on my son so easily. And do not make excuses for him, either.”

  “I cannot give up on someone who has already given up on me, can I?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be back.”

  She shrugged. “For his children, at least.”

  “For more than that,” the duke told her. “He only gets upset like this when his emotions are involved.”

  Before she could respond, he led her up the stone steps of the terrace.

  The duchess was waiting at the top, and when their eyes met, she gave a little cry and rushed to embrace Amelia as if they had been apart for some time.

  At least someone liked her here. Amelia bore the motherly embrace for a few moments and then gently attempted to push the woman away.

  “Come inside for tea, my dear.” The duchess put her hands on Amelia’s cheeks, cupped her face, and smiled brightly. “There’s someone waiting to meet you.”

  “Who?” Amelia murmured, though she hardly had the will to face anyone new. She followed the duchess inside, doubting tea would lift her spirits but willing to try.

  What she found instead was a room full of Westfalls. Jessica, Rebecca, and a lady who could only be Fanny, the Duke of Westfall’s other daughter, given her similar features. All had crystal glasses in their hands, rather than tea.

  “Here she is!” Jessica cried. “I told you she was perfect for him, didn’t I?”

  She dipped them all a curtsy, and they all dipped back.

  Then the ladies rushed over and fussed around her. A glass was pushed into her hand, and her marriage was toasted as she was led to a round table surrounded by chairs. A deck of cards lie in the center, along with a little silver tray of sweets and two bottles. “You must try these,” Jessica whispered, popping one into her mouth.

  Amelia declined.

  “We all knew it would take an extraordinary woman for our brother to make a second marriage,” Rebecca confessed. “And here she is. He made the perfect choice this time, and I’m so relieved he chose you, Amelia.”

  “Welcome to the family,” Fanny said, smiling widely. “You must think it odd we drink before breakfast.”

  “A little.”

  “In my case, I have not slept since I left London. It is a fleeting visit, and the duchess agreed we could celebrate before I must leave again. I hoped to speak to you both and extend my congratulations.”

  “But we are all still cross with Milo for not inviting us to the wedding,” Jessica announced, laughing. “We mean to ring a peal over his head about it quite soon.”

  “Yes, we are,” Rebecca said with a dark scowl. “Quite rude not to have at least one of us present.”

  She glanced at the duchess, unsure of her welcome again.

  “You are among family, my dear,” the duchess said. “What an ordeal these past few days have been for you. Cook has made us some wonderful pastries to lift your spirits.”

  “And Papa has opened the wine cellar for us, as well, and offered his best vintages. Our special tea,” Fanny added, with a wicked laugh. “He does not do that for just anyone. He must like you very much.”

  Amelia shook her head, confused. After the shock of learning her husband had left her, Amelia thought their jovial mood and the celebration of her marriage was poorly timed. Chatham could very well have gone to London to have the marriage annulled, for all she knew. But she did not say that aloud.

  “Drink,” Fanny urged. “I’m sure my brother is entirely at fault for whatever happened last night.”

  “Oh, he was terrible. I’ve never seen him that way,” Jessica whispered.

  “I have,” Rebecca replied, a look of distaste crossing her face.

  “I have too, unfortunately,” Fanny agreed, but they said no more. “He will apologize when he comes to his senses.”

  Amelia glanced around the table, her cheeks flaming. They all knew. They knew Milo had left her behind.

  She started to rise, but the duchess was suddenly behind her, pushing her back down into a chair. She held tight to Amelia’s shoulders. “We ladies like to get together from time to time to discuss our imperfect spouses and their foolish beliefs that they are always right,” the duchess said, then moved to sit again. “We gather to complain about them and offer each other any advice or support we need.”

  Amelia shook her head. “There’s no advice for this.”

  “Oh, I’m sure there could be.” Fanny smiled. “Our brother is—and always has been—the most stubborn of creatures. The most serious.”

  “The most impossible,” Jessica complained.

  “He can be charming,” Amelia said, rising to his defense.

  The duchess hummed. “Much like his father in that regard. It’s effortless how they can disarm a lady.”

  “When he does smile—which, let’s face it, has been most infrequent since she died—he is almost frightening in his intensity,” Rebecca accused.

  “He is always handsome,” Amelia argued.

  Fanny drawled, “Well, he’s not had that much to be happy about with her goings on.”

  As the family dissected her husband’s first failed marriage, his character flaws, the constriction around Amelia’s heart eased a little. His behavior seemed to them nothing short of the usual. And the more they shared, it all started to make an awful sort of sense. He would think the worst of her, or any woman, after his first wife’s antics. Not that anyone believed he should be allowed to continue that way.

  She sipped her wine, listened as they counseled patience, then the subject turned to their own husbands.

  “Gideon has taken to waking in the dead of night, and I found him sitting up with our child in his arms again yesterday. I’m feeling terribly neglected. I miss waking up in his arms.”

  Rebecca complained that her husband, Lord Rafferty, was always underfoot—and hinted that the man was obsessed with touching her. Amelia found that endearing rather than troubling in a marriage, though.

  And Fanny… Fanny confessed that married life the second time suited her very well. Perhaps better than the first, as her husband was an energetic and inventive lover.

  The duchess presided over all their chatter, a serene smile on her face.

  “And what of you, Your Grace?” Jessica asked. “What has Father done to irritate you lately?”

  “Aside from this nonsense with your brother’s marriage.” The duchess set her glass down. “Your father wishes me to learn to swim before next winter.”

  Jessica reached across the table for her hand and squeezed it. “Oh, dear. Not skating again”

  “What’s wrong with ice skating?” Amelia asked. It was one of the few things she’d enjoyed every winter.

  The duchess winced. “Before His Grace and I married, I almost drowned falling through the ice on the lake here.”

  “Oh!”

  “I was extremely lucky. It was shallow, but it gave us quite the scare. He couldn’t get me back on the ice due to my pregnancy. And although I expressed an interest in going with him again, I wish I had not. But now he’s sensed my hesitation and has come up with the bright idea that I need to learn to swim in the lake first—just in case I should ever fall in a spot where the bottom is above my head.”

  “That sounds sensible,” Amelia murmured.

  “For heaven’s sake. I’m much too old for learning to swim now.”

  “You’re not that old,” Jessica cried, but her sisters laughed. “Papa thinks it will make you both happy. You were doing well on the ice until suddenly you were not.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. But I do admit to being worried about skating now. There’s Charles to consider, but I… I don’t want to disappoint Nicolas.”

  Amelia nodded. She felt the same when it came to Chatham. But it was difficult when he kept so many barriers between them. Of course, that was to be expected in a marriage like theirs.

  Only… Amelia did not think she wanted things to be that way anymore. She wanted to be closer to her husband, and to be trusted. To be his confidant, friend, and lover. As close as two people in a marriage could possibly get, perhaps, without actually being in love.

  She was bound to him now. Her life was inexplicably linked to Chatham, his family, and the ducal estate. Only death would separate them, and she did not want that day to come too soon.

  She glanced out the window, wondering where her husband had gone, and if and when he would remember he had a wife to return to.

  Her glass was refilled—not that she remembered draining it—and as the wine flowed through the morning and they laughed together, she realized something dreadfully, dreadfully sad.

  One day, she might care too deeply for her husband.

  And yet, that had never been part of her plan.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Milo groaned as someone kicked him awake.

  “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!” Rafferty yelled, making Milo groan again.

  Something cool and wet slapped over his face, and he threw it away even as something round was pressed into his other hand. But the effort to grip it made him remember the indulgences of the night before had been great.

  “Drink it.”

  He cracked one eye open and realized Rafferty was holding a tankard under his nose. “What is it?”

  “Ale.”

  He pushed the tankard away. “Water.”

  “No, ale. It’s best for what ails you right now.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m waiting for my carriage, to take Becca home again. Got tired of watching you snore your head off.”

  Milo took in the stall around him and blinked. He had slept in the stables. And apparently, he’d drooled on his coat sleeve, too.

  He sat up quickly, wiping his mouth. “What am I doing here?”

  “Ensuring the survival of your marriage I suspect. Samuel here aided your departure from the ballroom last night, to prevent you from making a bigger fool of yourself than you already had, but you took off when his back was turned.”

  “Then why am I in the stables?”

  “That’s a good question. We think your horse brought you back when you fell asleep. It’s a miracle you didn’t slide off and break your neck. The stable hands put you in here, rather than risk your reputation as an expert horseman. The horse is fine, by the way.”

  Milo frowned, trying to remember the evening before with any clarity. Amelia, the ball, and…

  He drew a blank. He only vaguely remembered part of the evening—dancing with his wife, Rafferty upsetting her, then drinking too much whiskey as his marriage was toasted again and again to the sound of a distant harp. His stomach growled alarmingly, and he turned his head quickly to cast up his accounts all over the straw piled up beside him.

  It was so violent an eruption that he barely managed not to collapse into it when he was done.

  “I told you he’d do that!” Rafferty crowed. “You owe me a shilling.”

  “That you did,” Samuel answered. “A stable hand will have to clean that up after he’s gone.”

  Milo sprawled against the ground again, better yet feeling worse, somehow. His head pounded now, and he thought he might be seeing double because there were two horses in the next stall, and they never did that here. “Kill me now.”

  “You don’t get out of this so lightly,” Rafferty argued. “Apologies are required.”

  “Sorry,” he said wincing as he caught his brother’s eye.

  “Not to us.”

  Rafferty hauled him upright by his lapels and shook him hard. That did not help his memory, or his stomach but his vision improved dramatically as a result.

  He shook off Rafferty’s grip and smoothed down his waistcoat. “Did you get me drunk on purpose last night?”

  “You did that yourself, fool that you are. For the good of your marriage, I abducted you to father’s study, but you couldn’t stand still. I turned my back for a moment and you were gone,” Samuel complained. “You can clean up in the freshwater barrel if you need to, but you still won’t be as handsome as me.”

  Milo considered punching his brother, but a good dunk might indeed help with his memory. He glanced down at the clothes he’d been wearing last night and winced. He was badly rumpled, but that hardly mattered around his relatives. “You’ve seen me in worse condition. I’ll change later.”

  “I’ll bet your wife hasn’t seen you in such a sorry state,” Rafferty warned. “Becca would throw a fit if I came home in such a condition.”

  That gave him a moment of doubt, but then he shrugged. “I’ve lived through a wife’s theatrics before.”

  Rafferty clapped his hands together once. “It’s your funeral.”

  Milo winced at the loud sound and dragged himself over to the barrel and threw his head into the cold water anyway. He came up sputtering. A shake of his head to flick away the excess water had him seeing stars, and he had to find something to cling to for support.

  Rafferty’s carriage appeared, horses restless and stamping their feet. Milo looked at the carriage, then at the manor beyond, and winced at the distance he had to walk. He wasn’t certain he could make it that far without falling down.

  “Samuel?”

  “He’s gone. Don’t worry, we kept your father in the dark, too, about last night. He’ll only yell and your head will hurt worse. Now, climb aboard before you faint.”

  That lifeline gave him some steel in his spine, and he strode to the carriage and climbed inside.

  They got underway immediately, but Milo frowned at his brother-in-law. “Where are you going again?”

  “The side door of the manor with you, then I’m going around to collect your sister and my daughter. I can only hope neither one sees you. My wife would relish the chance to ring a peal over your head before your wife can do the honors.”

  His stomach lurched as a hazy memory of Amelia and Dunstan whispering swam before his eyes. “Stop the carriage.”

  Rafferty knocked on the ceiling, and the carriage came to a complete but rough stop. He put his hand on his belly, fighting the impulse to cast up his accounts again. “What exactly happened last night?”