She gave him a faint smile. “And that only made you more determined.”
“Exactly.” He looked into the fire again. “But that was later. After I’d come home.”
He heard her rise, and a moment later, he felt her arms go about his waist. “I’ve only met your mother briefly,” she said against his back. “But I can’t imagine that she was a doting nursemaid.”
He smiled. “She was not, but to her credit, she also didn’t interfere with my care. When I was strong enough, Florentia suggested I come here to finish my recovery.”
Amelia slid her arms around him and looked up into his face. He liked being held by her, being surrounded by her scent and her softness. “She probably hoped being around horses would help.”
That had been the plan, and Amelia was clever enough to discern it.
“It was, and I believe it worked. Working with the horses gave me a reason to get up every day, and my being here has had other benefits. My father would turn over in his grave if he heard me mention money, but since I’ve been in residence, we’ve made more from the breeding operations at Battle’s Peak than several other larger estates have made from farming and selling crops.”
“But you never rode again?” Amelia asked, her eyes seeing too much. Of course, she would focus on that one point.
“I can’t.” He moved to disentangle himself from her, and she released him.
“You could if you wanted.”
“I can’t control the horse with my legs as a rider should, and I have too much pride to allow a groom to lead me about like a young child.”
“You do have too much pride,” she said. “But that’s not why you don’t ride any longer. Or not the whole reason. What happened to Charlemagne?”
She was too astute, by far. “Buried in that field in France, I imagine,” he said, his throat tight as he thought about the horse who had been at his side for so many years. “I owed him better than that.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to ride anymore. My mother thinks it’s because I’m afraid I’ll be injured again. But that’s not it.”
“There’s no joy in it for you any longer,” she said. “It will only remind you of your friend.”
He hadn’t thought of Charlemagne as a friend, but of course, the horse had been his friend.
“After my father was shot and paralyzed, there were things he no longer cared to do. Sometimes I think they were because it was too difficult for my mother and I to manage them, but I think others just made him sad to remember what he had lost.”
Nicholas nodded. That was it. It seemed fitting for Charlemagne to be the last horse he had ridden. It honored the warhorse in a small way. “I didn’t know your father. I met him only a handful of times, but I can’t imagine he wanted you to spend your youth caring for him.”
Now she was the one who looked away, her expression pained. “No, he didn’t, but there was nowhere I wanted to be other than his side. I wouldn’t abandon him, just as I won’t abandon my mother.” She glanced back at Nicholas, seeming to say she would not abandon him either. “You don’t have to show me your legs,” she said. “If you never show me, that’s fine. I’ll respect your wishes. But don’t push me away. Don’t assume I will turn away from you without ever giving me a chance to prove otherwise.”
“I haven’t been fair, have I?”
“No, but you’ve made amends tonight.” He lifted his brows and glanced at the desk. Her cheeks colored slightly. “I meant because you told me how you were injured and about Charlemagne.” She gave the desk a direct look. “The other didn’t hurt either.” She moved to him, stood on tiptoe, and kissed his cheek. “Good night, my lord.”
He’d rather been thinking about exploring the desk further. “Good night?”
“I should check on my mother and then sleep. Now that I know something about these men coming to Battle’s Peak, I want to make sure everything is perfect.”
The door clicked closed, and she was gone. Nicholas couldn’t help the words that ran through his mind: She is perfect.
So why couldn’t he open up to her? Why couldn’t he trust her?
Because he was far, far from perfect.
Sixteen
Amelia sat at the window in the drawing room and watched Nicholas move slowly and awkwardly across the yard toward the stable. His progress was slow and looked painful, especially since he wasn’t aware anyone observed him. If he’d known she was watching, that she could see him, he would have hidden how much the effort cost him.
And yet he went every day, no matter the pain or how it must have tired him. He was a fighter, like her father had been. That only made her care for him more.
“Have you finished then?” Florentia asked from across the room. Amelia glanced her way and saw that both Florentia and her mother were looking at her. She wondered if they had spoken to her before and she’d been too engrossed in her thoughts to hear them.
“Not quite yet,” she said. She’d been tasked with writing the topics for charades. She had about two dozen already, but with so many attending the house party, she needed twice that. “How are the place cards coming?”
Mrs. Blackstock and Amelia sat at a table with heavy paper and watercolors between them. Florentia had written the names of all the guests who would be dining with them tomorrow (goodness! so soon!) in lovely black calligraphy, and Mrs. Blackstock and Florentia were decorating each place card with watercolor flowers.
Florentia sorted through the small stack of cards remaining. “We have Mr. and Mrs. Murray and Mr. and Mrs. Pope left.”
“Oh, Mr. Pope confirmed he would attend then?” Amelia asked. As of the night before, he’d been the only Survivor who had not replied to the invitation.
“Not exactly,” Mrs. Blackstock said. “But his wife wrote and said she would—what was it she said?” She glanced at Florentia.
“She said she would do her best to drag him kicking and screaming from Wentmore.”
“I think I will like her,” Mrs. Blackstock said. Amelia nodded, but she was not thinking about meeting Mrs. Pope. She was thinking how much her mother had changed in the past week and a half. The changes hadn’t been all that observable at first. She argued less about going out to the garden. She ate a bit more and slept a bit less. And then she would sit and listen to Florentia and Amelia plan the house party. Sometimes Beaumont and Nicholas joined them as well. The next thing Amelia knew, her mother was helping to organize things. Florentia said that having a purpose and something to look forward to had done the trick, but Amelia thought Florentia also played a role. The two women were years apart in age, but they got on so well that it seemed to Amelia they had known each other all their lives.
Amelia couldn’t remember her mother ever having friends. Surely, she had when she’d been younger, but she’d spent so much of her married life caring for her mother-in-law and then her husband, no doubt she had very little time for friendships. But it had become quite clear that Florentia and her mother were good friends now. Amelia had thought she might feel jealous, but she didn’t. They never excluded her or made her feel unwelcome, and she was happy to hear their chatter and laughter. She had been right to bring her mother to Battle’s Peak, and it pleased her that her mother would most likely be staying on for some time to come.