Amelia went to her mother, taking her hands. “Embarrass me? Mama, after what I have done, if anyone is to be embarrassed, it’s you.”
“Don’t think I have nothing to say to you on that account, Amelia,” her mother said, her voice scolding, which was a tone Amelia rarely heard from her. “But now isn’t the time.” She gestured to the window where the coach could be seen approaching.
“Oh, dear. I don’t think I can do this!” Amelia squeezed her mother’s hands tightly.
“You are a Blackstock, Amelia. We don’t run from trouble. It runs from us.”
It was something her father had been fond of saying, and Amelia smiled at the way her mother imitated her father’s way of saying it. But she couldn’t help think that her father had never had to contend with the Dowager Marchioness of Averstow.
The carriage ride to Battle’s Peak was far too quick, and in a matter of minutes they were climbing out of the conveyance and being guided inside the large manor house.
Amelia had not really looked at the grand entry when she’d been led inside the night before. She’d been too distraught. Now she noted the width and height of the foyer and the expanse of polished wood flooring, laid in an intricate pattern. The dark wood gleamed under the light of the candles sparkling in the crystal chandelier. A grand staircase in marble curved gracefully up to the first floor and Amelia spotted at least two paintings by Renaissance masters on the walls. A large vase of daffodils was set in the middle of a round mahogany table in the center of the floor. The scent was lovely, and Amelia inhaled deeply then caught her breath as Lady Florentia appeared. They had not been formally introduced, but Amelia had seen her in Hungerford a few times these past few months and knew who she was.
Lady Florentia was a few years older than Amelia and considered a spinster. Regardless, she did not look like a spinster. She had dark hair and dark eyes and offset them with a dress of cream with gold embellishments. She looked like she might have just arrived from ancient Greece, which Amelia supposed was the effect she wanted. The Grecian style of the drawing room made perfect sense now.
“Mrs. Blackstock. Miss Blackstock!” Lady Florentia gave them both a stunning smile and a curtsy. Amelia and her mother followed.
“Thank you for the dinner invitation,” her mother said. “We are delighted to attend.”
Amelia couldn’t help staring at her mother. She hadn’t heard her speak like that in years.
“It is long overdue,” Lady Florentia said, coming forward to take Amelia’s hands. “And of course, we have such good news to celebrate. I am overjoyed that we shall soon be sisters.”
“Thank you,” Amelia said, her voice catching in her throat. She hadn’t expected such a warm welcome.
“Please come to the dining room. Lady Averstow and the Dowager Marchioness are waiting.”
Amelia exchanged a nervous look with her mother and then she returned to the drawing room where her fate had been sealed the night before. A liveried footman opened the door, and they entered, finding the marchioness and the dowager seated on pale couch whose upholstery gleamed in the lamplight. Amelia and her mother both curtsied and the marchioness smiled in welcome. The dowager made no attempt to make them feel welcome. Amelia felt her eyes sweep over her in a dismissive manner.
A footman brought small glasses of Madeira for Amelia and her mother, and once everyone had been seated, the marchioness asked after their health and made a few comments on the weather. They were the sort of comments intended to put one at ease, but Amelia could hardly feel easy when the dowager stared at her so intently.
“I was so sorry to hear of Mr. Blackstock’s passing,” Lady Florentia said after they had discussed the recent rains in as much detail as possible.
“Thank you,” Amelia’s mother said, looking down. Amelia clenched her fists, hoping that her mother did not tear up or suddenly fall ill with a megrim before they had even gone to dinner.
“I did not know him well,” Lady Florentia continued, “but the few times I encountered him, he was always smiling and seemed to have a very amiable disposition.”
“He was always in good spirits,” Amelia said, sparing her mother from having to reply. “He always had a kind word or a wry observation. Indeed, he always made us smile.”
“He will certainly be missed,” Nicholas’s sister said.
She was kind, and she was trying her best to show Amelia that she would welcome her with sisterly affection.
“When did your father pass away?” the dowager said, her voice harsh after Lady Florentia’s quiet tones. It was the first word the dowager had spoken.
“Almost seven months ago, my lady,” Amelia said.
The dowager’s gaze swept over Amelia again, and she forced herself to sit still in her chair and not to fidget.
“And you have already set aside your mourning clothes,” the dowager observed.
“That is my doing,” Amelia’s mother said, much to Amelia’s surprise. She hadn’t thought her mother strong enough to speak when the conversation had turned to her late husband. “Amelia is young and has spent most of her life caring for the sick or infirm. I did not think she should spend a moment longer than necessary in mourning.”
“She is not so young,” the dowager observed. “How old are you, Miss Blackstock?”
Amelia did not particularly like the question, but she did not see how she could avoid it when it had been asked so directly. “Six and twenty, my lady.”
The dowager looked back at Mrs. Blackstock. “Not so young. Practically on the shelf.”
“Mama,” Lady Florentia chided. “Miss Blackstock barely looks a day over twenty.”
“And from all accounts, she behaves as though she were closer to sixteen. Have you encouraged her reckless behavior as well?” the dowager asked her mother.
Amelia watched her mother stiffen and her spine straighten. How dare the woman say such things to her dear Mama? Before she could offer a rejoinder, though, her mother held up a staying hand. She cleared her throat. “My lady, I am fully prepared to take responsibility for all of my daughter’s actions.”
Amelia didn’t think her mother quite knew the extent of those actions or she might not have claimed them all.
“I am aware that some in the area like to whisper about trivial matters over tea.”
“Trivial matters?” the dowager said, her brows rising.
“Yes, such as whether a lady of six and twenty needs a chaperone or dances with the same man too many times or laughs too loudly at a public inn. These matters do not concern me.”
“I see.”
“At the end of the day, what really matters is whether or not my daughter or I or any of us has a rich, fulfilling life. I have learned that life can be short and in a single moment, everything can change. One must live life to the fullest because we never know what day the Lord has set as our last.”
Lady Florentia was nodding her head, but the dowager looked angry. Her cheeks had dark splotches of color on them. “It would seem you actively encourage Miss Blackstock’s wild ways.”
“I would never do so, but I also know my daughter and she is not wild. She is a good girl and always has been.”
Amelia felt hot tears prick the backs of her eyes, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. How could her mother defend her? She knew Amelia had been ruined. She was not a good girl.