“If you don’t mind,” he said, trying to keep his voice gentle. “I prefer to sleep alone.”
Even in the darkness, he could see the way she tensed. “Of course,” she said quickly. “I don’t mind.” She looked about, probably for her nightrail.
“Over there,” he said, gesturing to the floor.
“Thank you.” She slid off the bed, and he didn’t watch as she retrieved the garment. She paused at the door adjoining their rooms, and he glanced at her then. In the shadows, he could make out that she held the nightgown to her chest. “Goodnight then,” she said.
“Goodnight.” And he closed his eyes and didn’t open them for a long time after the door clicked shut between them.
Fourteen
Amelia had never been so confused or so hurt. She’d wanted to be with her husband so badly. She’d wanted him so badly. For some reason she had thought that once they made love, everything between them would be different. All the distance between them would evaporate.
But now, alone in her chamber, lying in her cold bed, she felt the separation even more keenly. What bothered her even more was that she felt...used.
She had not felt used after she had lain with Wickersham. But perhaps that was because she’d had no expectations of him. He’d used her, and she’d used him, and her feelings had not been so much as bruised when he’d left a few days later with his regiment. Why did she feel so awful now, after lying with her husband?
Because she cared about him.
Because she loved him.
Amelia shut her eyes tightly and willed the emotion away. She did not want to be in love with him. She did not want to care for a man who didn’t care for her.
He does care for you, that small voice inside her head said.
“It might have been better if he didn’t,” she told the voice. “Then I wouldn’t have hope that he’d come to love me as well.”
He’s scared, the inner voice said. He doesn’t want to be hurt.
“I don’t want to be hurt either. But I am.”
Because she couldn’t sleep and she didn’t relish another few hours of conversing with herself, Amelia rose and dressed and crept to her mother’s room. To her surprise, her mother was not sleeping. She was sitting in bed with a candle lit, paging through the magazine Amelia had brought her earlier.
“Mama, you are awake,” Amelia said, closing the door softly, extinguishing her candle, and setting it on the dresser.
“So are you,” her mother said, and Amelia was glad to see that her eyes were clear and lucid. They were still sad, the melancholy still lingering, but her mother was present, not lost in her grief or her memories.
“I couldn’t sleep and thought I would come and check on you.”
“I couldn’t sleep either. I probably slept too much this afternoon. But then I rather like being awake in the wee hours. It’s quiet and peaceful.”
Amelia crossed to the bed and sat on the edge. “You always watched over Papa through the night,” she remembered. “I remember waking on nights when he’d had a difficult day and coming out to see you sleeping in the chair beside him, holding his hand.” For some reason, the remembrance made her eyes sting and a tear trailed down her cheek.
“What’s this now?” her mother asked, putting the magazine aside and gathering Amelia into her arms. It felt so good to have her mother hold her that Amelia burst into harder tears. She buried her head in her mother’s bosom and wept. Mrs. Blackstock didn’t say anything, but stroked Amelia’s hair and patted her back as she had when Amelia had been a little girl.
Finally, her tears subsided, and she said, “I miss him too.”
“I know. Of course, you do.”
Amelia looked up at her mother. “I don’t want to lose you too, Mama. We lost Grandmama and then Papa. I don’t want to lose you.”
Her mother cupped her face. “You won’t lose me.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” She patted the space on the bed beside her. “Now come get under the blanket and tell me what else is bothering you.”
Amelia felt as though she were eight again, climbing into bed beside her mother after a nightmare. And just as she had all those years ago, her mother gathered her close and held her. She didn’t prod any further, and Amelia knew she would wait until Amelia was ready to speak. It was tempting to close her eyes and fall asleep there. She was drowsy now that she’d been comforted and spent all her tears.
Amelia murmured, “The problem is I’m in love with Lord Nicholas.”
“I see,” her mother said. “And he doesn’t love you?”
“He doesn’t.”
“Not yet,” her mother added.
“Not ever. He cares about me.”
“Yes, he does. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, how he speaks to you. He cares about you a great deal. I would not be here if he did not.”
“He’s a kind man,” Amelia agreed. “But he’s...afraid.” Afraid didn’t seem the right word, but it was the one that came to mind.
“Oh, that doesn’t surprise me.”
Amelia drew back. “It doesn’t?”
“No. Look where he has come from. Look at what has happened to him. It won’t be easy for him to love you back. It’s a risk.”
Amelia considered this. “His father was a marquess.”
“A fact his mother won’t let you forget. Your husband grew up in a family that valued appearances more than anything else. Their title, their family name, their status was everything. Those ideas are passed down from generation to generation in order to keep the family name strong and prestigious.”
“But Nicholas was injured. He no longer has the perfect appearance.”
“The dowager might have groused about him marrying you and pretended it was all for appearances, but she was glad not to have to push him back on the Marriage Mart. She knows others of her class also value appearance over anything else. It’s why she allows Lady Florentia to stay here as well.”
“What’s wrong with Lady Florentia?”
“Nothing except she has no interest in marriage. That’s not acceptable to her mother, so she prefers to keep her hidden away and show off her married daughter and her two so-called perfect sons.”
“I hadn’t considered that his past might be a reason he’s afraid to trust me.” She looked up at her mother. “We are having a house party.”
Her mother’s brows rose. “Lord Nicholas agreed to a house party?”
Amelia couldn’t tell her about Mr. Beaumont. “Not exactly. But all of his friends from the army are coming. The men he served with under Colonel Draven. They call themselves the Survivors.” Amelia put her head on her mother’s shoulder again. “He lost so many friends during the war. When he was injured, he had to come home before the end of the war. He never said good-bye to some of the men he served with.”
“You think he fears he’ll lose you too?”
“He may be afraid to risk it.”
“Give him time, my sweet girl. No one can resist loving you.”