Eventually, the duchess sighed. “Very well, I will leave you in peace, but should you ever need a woman to talk to, I’m told I’ve been a comfort to others when they are troubled. I would always keep your confidences, my dear. The women in this family always support each other.”

  “I’ve nothing to share,” Amelia whispered.

  She watched the duchess leave, and sighed as the door closed before she crumpled into a ball of misery.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Milo took a deep breath and lifted his hand. He paused there a moment. He had not seen Amelia for the rest of the day. Upon his return to the manor after escaping Phillipa, the duchess had waylaid him and informed him that Amelia had become unwell and was lying down in the care of a servant. She’d asked not to be disturbed, so he’d taken the children away from the manor again, trying to explain why he’d married. Lucy didn’t understand still, but Adam thought it would be acceptable if Amelia sometimes tucked him into bed at night instead of a servant.

  But when Amelia had cried off from attending the dinner meant to announce their marriage, too, he’d become uneasy. He’d questioned the duchess about the seriousness of her sudden illness and been assured it was the minor inconvenience all women suffered.

  The duchess had lied to his face, but he’d held his tongue. He of course knew when his wife’s courses were due so he could only conclude that Amelia was avoiding him due to their earlier discussion of the Christmas holiday. He made no fuss in front of the guests, but determined not to let the night pass without speaking with his wife.

  They had argued, and she had stormed off before he could put Phillipa in her place.

  They were not off to a good start in this marriage, and while it was his fault they were at odds, he refused to grovel. He’d done that too many times before with his first wife to resolve their differences.

  He finally knocked on the door to his bedchamber and waited anxiously for a sound from within. It was slow in coming, but Amelia finally appeared, peeking through the gap rather than face him directly. She did not look unwell but her expression was one of distrust.

  “Can I help you, my lord?”

  “I hoped to have a word with you if you are feeling better,” he said quietly, but inwardly, he winced. He really had made a mess if this with her welcome. “In private.”

  Amelia came out into the hall rather than inviting him into his own room and crossed her arms over her chest. She wore a dull green robe that did nothing for her complexion. But it matched the mood between them.

  Sour.

  She stood stiffly, eyes shifting restlessly around the hallway behind him, refusing to hold his gaze for more than a moment. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “The duchess insisted you were unwell and not to disturb you today but,” he began, studying her face. “I could not stay away any longer. I had to know how you fare.”

  “I did not ask her to do that, and I am not ill. If I was, I would tell you myself.”

  He nodded. “She did it to keep us apart then.”

  Amelia shrugged. “I am not responsible for the actions of others.”

  “No, you are not and I did not think you were,” he agreed, glad to know his suspicions were correct, that the duchess meant to protect Amelia. “I wish to apologize for today. I should have realized that the decisions I made long ago required a discussion with you. I should have mentioned the winter holiday with my family.”

  “Yes, you should have on both counts.”

  “It is an adjustment, being part of a pair again,” he confessed.

  “I wouldn’t know what that is like,” she told him. “I have never been considered anyone’s equal.”

  He winced. “No, I suppose you might not have. But you will soon, I swear,” he promised, and meant it.

  Amelia regarded him steadily. “That remains to be seen, my lord.”

  He moved closer to the doorway. “Can I be forgiven?”

  “Are we staying?”

  “I’d like to discuss that with you.”

  Her brow rose. “Now, I assume?”

  “Yes, now,” he said. “If you will spare me a few minutes of your time.”

  When she opened the door, as if to let him pass, he shook his head and took a step back. He would not resolve an argument in a bedchamber they had to share. He’d learned his lesson the first time around.

  But the longer they were at odds, the worse things could become. He glanced down the hall as he heard a whisper of laughter.

  There was nowhere close by to sit together that was private enough, but there was somewhere they could stand, far from any casual observers. Milo gestured Amelia toward the front upper balcony and drew her outside with him.

  It was cold tonight, and he immediately removed his coat and offered it to Amelia so she would stay warm.

  Amelia accepted it after a moment’s consideration, and he gently placed it around her shoulders.

  There was not much light with which to see her face, but her arms were still definitely crossed over her chest.

  He wet his lips. “My father’s health concerns me, and his current mood bodes ill for peace between us all, too. My reasons for staying are to benefit us, in the end. If he accepts our marriage, accepts you as my wife, we can return often and ensure the estate doesn’t suffer. It has taken others’ decades to recover from neglect. I cannot leave my son a troubled estate if and when I am gone.”

  “You worry only about your son’s future, then?”

  He heard her inflection and caught his slip of the tongue immediately. “Forgive me. Our son. Our children.”

  “If there are to be any, at this rate,” she muttered under her breath, but loud enough that he heard. Louder she continued, “Your father seems perfectly capable of anything for a man his age.”

  They might never share a bed again to make good on his promises if he didn’t regain her fleeting trust now. “My father usually has more energy than I do, than men half his age. I can see a stark difference in him since Christmas. And it is not just my new brother that wears him down. It is Samuel, too.”

  “Your brother? What has Samuel to do with us staying?”

  “He’s here. Somewhere.” Milo sighed heavily. He hadn’t wanted to reveal the family scandal to Amelia until he spoke with his brother. “Samuel has taken leave of his senses and is currently living out in the Stapleton’s woods, more or less alone.”

  “I’ve considered the benefits of doing that more than a few times,” Amelia murmured. “In fact, before we agreed to marry, I was about to move to the small cottage I inherited to escape my family’s continued scorn.”

  His eyes widened. “You were?”

  “Yes, I was. I had funds enough saved, plans made, because I was growing tired of never being consulted. Never considered, always hushed. I wanted something of my own at last, even if my family disowned me.”

  He winced again. He hadn’t known that marriage to him had been her second choice. He understood her irritation better now. He was letting her down rather badly so far. Her dreams were a long way from being met, while his were almost realized.

  “Samuel refuses to dress as a gentleman and a Westfall or partake of any family festivities. He was absent at Christmas, and he hasn’t shown his face during this party, though Papa tried to lure him back many times.”

  Amelia frowned. “Samuel has two sons. Where are they?”

  He shook his head. “Running wild on the estate somewhere, too, although I believe the boys spend much of their time at a neighbor’s estate. My father worries about them all.”

  “I’d say he has cause,” Amelia murmured, her stance softening a bit more as he confided in her. “But I’m afraid I sympathize with Samuel’s desire to make his own way in the world. It is far too easy to become caught up in the problems of others and believe they are yours to fix.”

  “I cannot mend my brother’s broken heart any more than I can fix my own. But there are ways to grieve the loss of a beloved spouse that do not involve total isolation.” He stretched out a hand to her, then thought better of it. “If we could stay a little longer, I hope to bring my brother back to the life he was born for. He could be of great help to Father in my absence. That would lift a burden from my mind, and we could go home sooner.”

  Amelia sighed, and then her lips pursed in thought.

  Milo found her expression comforting. She was a deep thinker, his new wife. Quite different from his first, who reacted first and thought later, if at all. He could not forget again that he had decided upon this sort of marriage. He’d agreed to share the decision-making with Amelia.

  If he wanted this marriage to work, he had better keep all his promises. “As soon as matters are settled here, I will take you home to Devon. Until then, you will have every comfort imaginable and servants to wait on you hand and foot.”

  She inhaled sharply. “I never asked for an excess of servants to do my bidding when we agreed to wed. I only wanted the things you promised me, and a place for the items that are dearest to my heart. My family treasures, pieces most useful to me, were sent ahead by you without discussion, too.”

  At that, Milo closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. He’d given orders that Amelia’s things go directly ahead of them to Devon, imagining their stay here to be brief. “Everything should have arrived there.”

  Her brow rose. “How will I know that they arrived safe and sound, or even at all?”

  “I will write to my steward tomorrow and ask for assurances,” he promised.

  “It is not the same as seeing them with my own eyes, in my new home,” she noted, and Milo felt guilt slice through him again.

  He had not considered that her great eagerness for her new home was as important to her as the getting of children.

  He was also not sure what to do about the latter, either, to be honest. The consummation of their marriage had been awkward. Future bedroom encounters might always be, too. “How can I make it up to you?”

  Amelia sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “Would it help to stay angry with me?”

  “Probably not,” she admitted with a shrug.

  He moved toward her, tightening his coat around her shoulders, but only held her in place lightly. “I’m glad, because I’ve found I dislike being at odds with you.”

  She met his gaze. “Did you expect me never to oppose you?”

  He moved a little closer. “Perhaps I was lulled by your quick decision to accept my offer of marriage.”

  “I’m certain we will often disagree in the years ahead,” she warned. “You too easily confuse me for a wallflower.”

  “Years together sounds nice,” he murmured, tightening his grip on the coat, and thereby, Amelia. “Can I ask a favor?”

  “That depends on what you want now,” she hedged.

  He smiled at her cautious response. “Can we agree to always try to resolve our differences before we say good night to each other?”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “My late wife…” He shrugged. “She used our arguments to punish me. She wouldn’t speak with me for days on end if I disagreed with her, and…well, it wasn’t a pleasant experience being denied a place in our bed. I would like not to be banished to sleep in the hall again.”

  She nodded slowly, and her hand shot out to rest against his chest. “I am a grown woman, not a silly child who pouts and throws tantrums when I don’t get my way. But I will not be silent when you make decisions I disagree with.”

  “I expect nothing less. I did not want a wallflower for a wife,” he promised. “I chose a woman who knows what she wants, and what she doesn’t.”

  Amelia inclined her head. “You did, indeed.”

  Milo breathed a sigh of relief that their disagreement could be so quickly resolved through discussion rather than the alternative. He shuddered as Amelia caught hold of his waistcoat.

  She lifted her face to his. “Are you cold?”

  “No,” he whispered. Proximity to Amelia when alone seemed to generate an unexpected amount of heat. “Are you?”

  “My face is cold,” she warned, wrinkling her nose.

  Milo cupped her face in both hands to warm her skin. But she slipped away from his touch.

  He let her retreat, knowing his behavior wasn’t entirely forgotten or forgiven…but he was a little disappointed. He liked touching her, but he would never force the issue.

  Instead, he leaned against the balustrade and looked over into the dark of the Stapleton Estate. His childhood home was his future. Amelia was part of that future now, but he had done as much making up as he dared for one night. “Perhaps we would talk more about this tomorrow, after I find my brother.”

  Amelia moved to stand at his side, clutching his coat tighter about her shoulders. “Is there a particular reason your brother wants to live in the woods when he has a perfectly good room here?”

  “He was like me, a widower. However, my brother and his late wife never lost their love for each other. He cares not for women nor the advantages of wealth. I fear my brother cares not for anything at all, now that she is gone. For a time, I felt that way too.”

  “What changed for you? Why did you really decide to marry again?”

  “Last Christmas, watching my daughter long for a mother of her own to share the merriment with and to shower her with attention.” He faced Amelia. “We were all gathered around in the drawing room, opening presents together. The Raffertys were here. Rafferty’s daughter from his first marriage, Ava, is quite taken with her new mother, my sister, Becca, and I watched as my daughter saw them fussing over something quite trivial. It broke my heart that Lucy had no one to fuss over her that day, or belong to. Not that my first wife had done much fussing over either of our children while she lived. But still…”

  “Lucy has the memory, but not a flesh-and-blood mother to look up to, to run to when she was scared or frightened. From whom she could learn to be a lady.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “That is exactly what I mean.”

  “And you chose me of all people. A lady who could never live down a scandal. Who made a marriage without love and brought the ire of a duke down upon her head.”

  “But one who did so with elegant composure,” he noted with a smile. “You are brave, and I want my daughter to be just like you.”

  “Thank you for saying that,” she whispered.

  “You know, I remember seeing you just after the scandal must have occurred. I called on your brother, not knowing the changed situation when I came into his drawing room. You were there, pushed to the background while your family steered the conversation. I have never seen a room of people try so hard to pretend your sister’s marriage to your beau was cause for celebration. Your brother had confided in me that it was you the fellow had been courting. And they made you sit there, listening to their excited chatter about the nuptials. But your eyes red, even though you forced a smile as you wished them well. I knew you’d been badly let down and at the time, with your family in the room, I could not say anything that might comfort you. So I asked for tea, knowing your aunt had always sent you from the room to arrange such things before. I hoped you could stop smiling for a while.”

  “I did not realize that,” she whispered, looking at him in awe. “You left sooner than they expected, too.”

  “I could not stay to celebrate with them. It would have been cruel to you.”

  “Thank you. You are the only one besides my brother who thought I deserved sympathy.”

  He reached for her hands to hold them tight, and was granted them. “Friends?”

  “Not yet, but there could be hope for you,” she murmured.

  He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed the backs, noticing her chilled skin. He would have to end their conversation and return her inside, where it was warmer. “I’ll not let you down again.”

  “Don’t begin to make me any more promises, my lord,” she warned.

  “Very well,” he agreed, but he worried. Her trust in him was so very fragile. Only time would prove his commitment to making this marriage work for both of them.

  “Would you care to join my father and the guests in the music room tonight? Father announced our marriage, but the duchess explained your absence by saying you were unwell. There is time enough for you to change, I think. Perhaps a performance in the music room would break the ice.”

  “Only if you want them to dislike me more,” she noted.

  He frowned at her. “But you are musical?”

  “I play the harp, not the pianoforte, and nor do I sing. But my instrument is miles away at my new home, or so I hope.”

  Milo cursed under his breath again. “Damn.”

  “I think it’s best I turn in for the night and return your coat to you. You must be thoroughly chilled through by now.”

  “Yes,” he said, but he hadn’t truly noticed the cold. He found it invigorating to talk with Amelia. She was easy to be around—when he wasn’t disappointing her, that was.

  His reason for this marriage was complex, but he had wanted someone for companionship, most of all. Milo often found the nights the hardest. He frequently relived his unfinished arguments with his first wife, which, of course, could never be resolved.

  He held his arm out to Amelia and escorted her back inside to his bedchamber door. He stood back as she slipped out of his coat.

  Amelia hovered there by the door, studying him in the dim light as he put his coat back on. The warmth Amelia had left in the garment wrapped around him like a glove, and he hugged the comfort that it brought.

  “Good night, Chatham.”

  He inhaled Amelia’s scent on his coat and smiled. “Good night, wife. I’ll sleep in my brother’s chambers tonight.”

  Amelia stilled. “That is not necessary.”

  “I’ll do my best not to wake you when I come to bed later then.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and, after a moment, disappeared inside.

  Milo walked away, pondering if they could ever spend a full day in harmony together. He had to do better.