“You questioned your wife’s devotion to you within the hearing of several guests, all of whom have sympathy for the poor girl you married. You really ought to clean up if you wish to have any hope of being forgiven for that outburst. It’s clear she’s devoted to you, but I cannot fathom why she still would be. Let’s hope she’s the forgiving sort, at least toward you. If I’d spoken to Becca like that, drunk and rambling nonsense about some supposed betrayal, I’d have no bollocks left to scratch today.”

  Milo grimaced, but the memory of last night, the feelings, crept back. Anger and distrust were the most prevalent. Also, satisfaction that he’d spoken his mind to his wife.

  But in his memory, he only pictured his first wife, not Amelia, as the recipient of those harsh words.

  He’d spoken of Serena’s misdeeds with other men as if they were Amelia’s betrayals. As if she was embarrassing him, when he was the one causing a scene before Father’s friends and neighbors.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned out loud, because he knew now that his behavior deserved no forgiveness. He had lost his mind.

  Amelia and his first wife were so different, and yet they both appeared to bring out the beast in him. “I am so in the wrong.”

  “Yes, you were. Perhaps you should get out now rather than risk facing your sister, who is bound to share an opinion of your performance last night.”

  He nodded. Becca’s voice grated, especially when one was suffering, and she had limitless opinions when she was moved to speak her mind at any time.

  Milo stumbled out of the carriage, and he heard Rafferty ask a groom to follow his stumbling passage to the manor door. He made it without falling down and waved away the groom, even when he offered to help guide Milo upstairs.

  Milo hadn’t the first idea what he was going to say to Amelia when he saw her again. And she would have to see him, because they were still sharing a room. A bumbling apology for something he only half remembered was not likely to be accepted readily.

  He headed upstairs slowly, dragging himself up one stair at a time, holding on to anything he passed and thankful he encountered no one on the way to his bedchamber.

  But that was as long as his presence went undetected.

  Amelia sat at the window, wineglass in hand, watching him return with the coldest expression he’d ever seen on her face.

  He decided to speak before she could. “I probably cannot apologize enough for my actions last night and⁠—”

  “Enough.” Amelia set her wineglass aside and stood. “Enough of your wallowing in self-pity. I want you to tell me what happened that night.”

  He nodded. “I wish I could, but I don’t exactly remember last night well.”

  “Not last night. I want to know about the night she died.”

  He shook his head and regretted the action when his head spun. “I don’t want to talk about the past.”

  “Well, I do. In fact, I insist upon it. I’ve had enough of the whispers of your brother, and hints from Dunstan, too. If I’m to be your partner in everything, as you claim I should be, then I have to know the truth. Your brother hinted at some secret that I was going to ignore. But Dunstan’s sly comments have me curious. I almost had it out of him last night until you turned beastly. You had the wrong idea about our conversation. Your outburst sent him away, so now you must tell me everything, no matter how damning you think it is. You act as if there was a scandal to be hushed up, and yet no one else in your family, not even my brother or society gossip, suggests you were ever under a cloud of suspicion.”

  He gulped.

  “Tell me,” Amelia insisted, pushing him into a chair. He was in no condition to fight to stand, and he looked up at her with a sinking feeling. He’d have to tell her the truth and pray she wasn’t made afraid of him.

  She drew a chair to face him and sat with her hands clasped in her lap.

  He drew in a deep breath, clenched his teeth for a moment, and chose his words with care. “We were arguing. A lot.”

  “What about?” she asked. “Her affairs?”

  “Yes. I wanted her to give them up. Her beaus, as she called them. She refused.”

  Amelia nodded. “She was selfish.”

  “No…yes.”

  “You realize you are enough of a man to please any reasonable woman.”

  He shifted awkwardly in his chair, discomfited by her praise. He did not deserve it. He had not been a good husband to her so far. He had failed at it before, and still was.

  “Go on,” she said, refusing to let the matter drop.

  He raked a hand through his hair, his mind now clearer. “We were fighting.”

  “Where did it start?”

  He looked at her in confusion.

  “The argument that day. Where were you? Describe the location for me in detail.”

  He winced. “I had gone to her room. I’d suffered the smirk of her latest beau as we passed on the drive, as he’d just left her bed, I suspected. I went to confront her to see if my suspicions were correct. The bed was rumpled. She hadn’t even attempted to hide what she’d been doing.”

  “She didn’t care if you were hurt?”

  He shook his head.

  “And she didn’t deny the affair?”

  “No. She told me everything, in fact. About the others, too. More than I wanted to know—all the while smiling, obviously thrilled to cause me pain.”

  “You yelled at her.”

  “I raised my voice. I never do that.”

  “You were provoked,” she offered.

  He shook off her offer of explanation. “I’m not prone to tantrums.”

  “Everyone can be pushed to their limit, but you were provoked to it that night, without a doubt.”

  “Indeed, I was.” He bowed his head. “I lost that night. I lost all hope that there was any chance for us to live as husband and wife—happily, or even unhappily.”

  Amelia reached out and lifted his face toward hers again. “Go on.”

  “All of it started in her bedchamber. She flounced out of the room, telling me she would be leaving the next day for a rendezvous with another lover. But also seeking escape from my words, my complaints, too, I suppose.”

  “You followed her?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t stand the sight of her rumpled bed and sought escape from the house, as well. I pursued her along the hall and toward the staircase. I wanted to stop her and listen to me for a change and she did.”

  “At the head of the stairs, where she fell?”

  “Yes,” he said, remembering that night. Her body lying upside down on the staircase. Her head turned and neck obviously broken. Her skirts twisted up around her pale legs.

  He closed his eyes. The stockingless legs he found particularly disturbing and impossible to forget still.

  “She stopped at the top step and turned to me. Shouting out my inadequacies for anyone to hear. She sneered. Told me she would continue to do exactly as she pleased, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop her fun.”

  “That must have made you angry.”

  He paused. “No. It devastated me. I stood there—I remember just standing frozen, her words ringing in my ears—and I knew then that she likely had never loved me. She’d wanted to be a duchess above all else, and she would be one day. She would mire the duchy in shame with her debauchery, and it would last decades unless I divorced her. And even that would create its own scandal.”

  He was silent for a long moment, reliving those last horrible moments. The scorn on her face she didn’t bother to hide, which turned her as ugly as her heart. Her impatience for his father to die, just to wear the jewels he kept from her in the safe.

  “I turned away, and then she screamed⁠—”

  “You turned away from her before she screamed?” Amelia interrupted, sitting forward, brow raised.

  “Yes, I…” Milo stilled and stared at Amelia, too shocked for words by what he’d just said.

  He hadn’t seen the fall—because he’d turned his back on his wife and their marriage.

  Turned and took a few steps away, in fact, hiding his disappointment and disgust and tears.

  He’d not been standing close beside his wife, as he had always believed he’d been.

  Not close enough to save her.

  Amelia touched his knee. “Perhaps it was your pride, that great heart of yours, that imagined you could have saved her and your marriage.”

  He focused on Amelia’s eyes and her words, his heart beating wildly. She already understood what he had forgotten. “I turned away from her before she fell.”

  Amelia smiled gently. “You turned away. You were not at fault.”

  He sat back in shock. “I had turned from her because I knew our marriage was over. I knew she would never change. And it made me sick to my stomach—how she intended to trample my feelings. I turned away, took several steps, giving her up as a lost cause. And then she screamed.”

  “If you took those steps away, you could never have saved her,” Amelia said. “No one could.”

  “No. I couldn’t have. But how did you know?” he whispered, staring at Amelia in awe. Her belief in him hit Milo like a blow that cleared away his guilt, and his sore head, too. His fear that he was somehow responsible had always been there. That was at the heart over refusing to consider loving anyone ever again. “I would never have let someone I loved fall, had I been close enough to save her.”

  Amelia nodded firmly, her expression understanding. “That is what I suspected when I heard the rumors and put two and two together. You cannot feel guilt over such a death. Your guilt was not over her fall, but because you had given up on her and your marriage. But that was long after she had given up on you, Chatham. I see no reason for any guilt on your part at all. Yes, you fought. Yes, you were at odds. Yes, you had fallen out of love with her that day. That can happen in any marriage, I imagine. But it is also what happens when love isn’t returned in full measure. There’s only so much pain, betrayal, a body can stand. You were a good husband. You are a good man at heart.”

  He nodded, struggling still to accept her praise.

  Amelia stood and leaned over him, stretching out her hand to his face again. Her fingers brushed across his cheek, removing the moister there…and he realized he’d been crying.

  Something he hadn’t done in a very long time.

  He drew Amelia closer and pressed his face to her belly—and let it all go.

  Let go of his pain.

  Let go of his torment.

  He had been a good husband. He had played no part in his first wife’s fall and death.

  He clutched Amelia hard and sobbed against her body, little caring that he was allowing his emotions to control him again. The release was what he needed—a release from guilt, a release from everything that had been holding him back. Every emotion he’d struggled to suppress for years.

  He held tight to Amelia, and she let him cry his heart out for the guilt and pain of his failed first marriage…and he marveled at her compassion after what he’d said the night before.

  “It’s all right. I’m here now. I’m here,” she whispered. “I’d never hurt you like that. I’d never be so cruel.”

  He drew back from her and looked up. “I know.”

  Amelia smiled down at him and cupped his face. Held his head. Then leaned down to kiss his forehead like a mother would a child.

  He drew back to look up at her again. “I’m so sorry about what I said last night. I am so sorry that I embarrassed you in front of others. I do know that you’d never welcome Dunstan’s attentions.”

  “Certainly not.” She pulled a face. “Your father told me you left the estate last night and I believed him. I didn’t know what to do or when you’d return.”

  “I am sorry for that, too. It is not what you think.”

  “Was the duke wrong? You must have gone somewhere to make him say such things?”

  “I woke up in the stables, in a horse stall. My brother and Rafferty offering brotherly sympathy as I woke only to cast up my accounts,” he confessed.

  “That sounds unpleasant and explains the odor about you,” she said, but a tiny smile twisted her lips. “So, were you on horseback at some point last night?

  “Yes, it seems so.” He winced. “I think I was going to fetch your harp from Devon.”

  Her brows rose high. “My harp? From Devon?”

  He nodded sheepishly. “I thought if you had that back, you’d be happier here.”

  “A grand gesture but a foolish one, as all decisions made while under the influence of spirits surely are.” She sniffed the air and her nose wrinkled again. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Keep me,” he begged. “I promise to…

  Her fingers pressed over his lips, silencing him. “No more promises.”

  He nodded, agreeing with her request.

  “You need some time, Chatham. You need a bath, a shave and definitely fresh clothing to wear. Some food in your belly couldn’t hurt, either. We will not speak of your first wife again. We can both move on, content with our marriage and building a life together if that is what you still want.”

  “Of course I still do,” he swore.

  But contentment?

  Had he ever been that in a marriage?

  Every day, he discovered he hardly understood the remarkable woman he had married. His first wife had caused chaos every day of her life, but Amelia smoothed it all away. Amelia wanted a peaceful existence with him. That was what they had promised each other in the beginning, and she was holding true to her word even after last night.

  He nodded. He had made a wise choice in marrying her, but he hadn’t ever known Amelia’s true value when he’d proposed.

  He did now.

  She drew back, slipping from his fingers before he was ready to let her go.

  She smiled gently at him. “Now, I am expected to return to the duchess and your sisters’ little party. I’ll leave you alone and perhaps you can come and find me later today.”

  He didn’t want her to go, but he did need time to adjust to the truth. The revelation had changed him. “Yes. I’d like that.”

  “Do let your father know you never left the estate. He was worried.”

  Amelia smiled and slipped from the room without another word, leaving him to rebuild his composure on his own terms. Finally facing a future without the guilt that had been haunting him for so long, he cursed his late wife roundly. He’d no idea she’d been controlling his emotions from the grave all this time.

  Thank God Amelia had come to rescue him from his misery.

  He wiped his face to make sure he was free of tears and stood, determined to make another new start. Those tears would have shamed him once upon a time, to have any woman see. He would never have cried in front of his late wife, but Amelia looked at him with compassion instead of scorn.

  His second wife was one of a kind, it seemed.

  They might not ever feel love for each other, but he respected her more and more each day. Given enough time, he was sure he would feel something akin to love…but of course, he would never say so out loud. That went against every ideal their marriage strove for.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Amelia covered the top of her glass with her hand and yawned. “I think I have had enough to drink for one day.”

  She had celebrated the return of her husband with his family—and privately, his good sense, too—since she’d left him alone in his bedchamber to compose himself. She hoped his suffering was at an end now. The past could not be changed or forgotten, and this was a particularly horrible last memory of his late wife. She couldn’t imagine how difficult that day had been for him. It was no wonder he blamed himself.

  But it was over and left behind now, she hoped.

  Beside her, Jessica sighed. “I’m afraid I must pass, too.”

  Jessica’s head fell onto the duchess’ shoulder after the empty glasses were set aside. “Should we ring for proper tea, Mama?”

  “Perhaps sweetened coffee?”

  “Oh, that made my head pound horribly last time we tried it,” Jessica whispered. “I fear I will need my husband to carry me home.”

  “I’m sure he will be happy to,” the duchess promised. “Unless he is carrying Xavier.

  “Yes,” Jessica sighed. “Sometimes I think he loves our child more than me.”

  “That is simply not true, and you know it,” the duchess chided. “He is devoted to both of you in equal measure.”

  Being surrounded by so many women who’d made love matches had almost made Amelia cry today. It was the wine, of course, tugging on her heartstrings. She was always more emotional if she indulged during the day. But she would have to compose herself. There were guests to be dined with tonight.

  However, today’s indulgences had given her the confidence to confront her husband about his behavior and clear the air, so she had no real regrets about how she had handled him.

  A door creaked open, and a woman sidled into the room. Amelia’s good mood vanished at seeing Lady Ashcroft again.

  “Lady Ashcroft,” the duchess cried out, sitting up and gesturing urgently for the woman to join them. “We were just wondering where you’d gotten to?”

  “I was walking the long hall with Lord Chatham,” she said, chin rising a little as she smiled. “I found him wandering alone and in desperate need of company.”

  “I’m sure he was vastly entertained by your conversation,” Jessica murmured dryly, casting a worried glance toward Amelia.

  Amelia had already told the pair that Chatham was found and well and there was no further cause for concern about his disappearance. They’d not questioned her.

  “Yes, he was entertained by our conversation,” Lady Ashcroft said, as she sat across the table from Amelia. “We have so much to catch up on still. He’s always been a good friend and confidant. In fact, I’ve always felt like I was part of the family when I came to call, because of him.”

  Amelia straightened herself upon hearing that. She had hoped she’d misunderstood the woman’s purpose in attempting to steal her husband away. Amelia would be wise to keep an eye on him and this woman, so she, herself, was not taken by surprise by any affair. Chatham claimed he wished for no emotional attachments with any other woman. She did not believe Chatham was unfaithful to her so soon but theirs was not a love match and one day he might be tempted.