Edith sighed, shaking her head. “Is there not some consolation in that? He never received it, so ye canna know how it would be received. This isna jilting, if he’s not seeing your letters.”
“Isn’t it?” Amelia whispered, the letter crinkling in her lap now. “If he isn’t receiving them, where is he? Why am I not having letters from him? What purpose is there in corresponding with someone who, for all intents and purposes, no longer exists to me?” She clamped down on her lips hard, turning away. “I’m not a woman with an impenetrable heart, Edith, and I do not always wear the countenance of sunlight, as everybody thinks. I have a vulnerable heart, and it is breaking in pieces, but nobody will know that, because he refused to court me for the world to see.”
This was unbearable. How was Edith supposed to comfort the lass when there were no answers to be had? When Edith knew nothing of love herself, only the dream of it? How could she soothe a broken heart when her own had not been whole for years?
And who was this man that had broken Amelia so?
“Refused?” Edith repeated, though she likely should not have done. “How…?”
Amelia shook her head. “He said it was not possible but could not say further than that. I didn’t mind; I only wished to be with him in my own small way. Now, even that is gone.”
Edith reached out again, this time taking Amelia’s hand without hesitation. “This is your disappointment? Lass, this is heartbreaking, even in hearing. What can I do?”
“You’re doing it.” Amelia turned to her and smiled through her tears. “Being here with you, away from my mother’s questions and efforts, away from my home, is a cure beyond anything.” She wiped at her cheeks again, sniffling. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to turn watering pot on you. I think I’ll go to my room for a time to collect myself. When I’m better company, I’ll come back down.”
“No rush, lass,” Edith insisted. “And you needn’t go up; I’m no’ fit company much of the time. But if ye need some privacy, I understand.”
Amelia rose and slid the letter between her fingers absently. “I believe there are more tears yet to cry, Edith. I freely admit to feeling guilty for crying them in front of you, given all that you’re contending with at present.”
“Pain is pain, Amelia. It needn’t be compared.”
“And you’ve got more of it than me,” Amelia told her with a serious look. “I’ll recover from mine, but we’re all trying to find a solution to yours. Once I’ve cried my tears, I’ll be better suited to helping you, and that will cure my disappointment, as well.” She smiled once more and left the drawing room, leaving Edith to her thoughts.
There were no words for the girl’s offer, and Edith would not pretend there were. How could she expect to forget her heartache just to give Edith some aid? Her situation was dire, it was true, but it did not, could not, negate the pain of anyone else. Especially something as tender as a lost love, or, at the very least, a disappointed one.
She and Amelia had been mere acquaintances before this, hardly close enough to engender this kind of loyalty or effort on her part. Or that of the others who were moving heaven and earth to help her. Her friends in the Spinsters, perhaps, but their husbands? Henshaw? Lord Radcliffe?
How did someone repay such a debt of kindness when it was so little deserved?
“What happened to yer curious friend?”
Edith looked towards the doorway to the drawing room, sighing a bit at Owen’s furrowed expression. “She went up to her room for some rest. She’s… well, she’s got some private pain, and needed a moment.”
Owen shook his head, surprising her. “Poor wee lass. What kind of a man would injure a bonny thing like that?”
“I dinna ken,” Edith murmured. “She willna say, and I dare not ask it of her.”
“I’ll ask. He deserves a solid thrashing.”
Edith gave him a look. “Really, Owen, ye canna thrash a man wi’out knowing the truth of it all. He may be just as keen on Amelia as she is on him.”
Owen scowled. “If that be the case, he’s no’ worth the tears she’s shedding, abandoning her like this.”
A pounding at the door saved Edith from having to explain any laughter, as Owen turned from the room to answer it, but she gave in to the impulse the moment he was gone. Her burly manservant, a rough and gruff Highlander, was a romantic? Took personal offense at the pains of Amelia Perry after only a week of knowing her? It was far more a surprise than anything else Owen had ever said or done, and it could hardly have been expected or anticipated. What in the world would he say or do next?
Shouts sounded in the corridor from the front of the house, effectively eliminating any laughter Edith was prone to.
Owen almost never raised his voice, being much more prone to using his size for intimidation than to engage in actual fighting. Who in the world could stir him into such a fury?
The question was answered moments later when Owen appeared in the doorway yet again, his face tense, his jaw twitching.
“Yer mangy brother, mistress.”
Edith’s jaw dropped in amazement. “My what?”
“Mangy?” echoed an outraged voice that stopped Edith in her tracks. “I ken yer eyes are weak, Owen, but if ye’d open them a bit wider, ye’d observe this is the cleanest I’ve been in years.”
It couldn’t be… There was only one voice in the world filled with that particular blend of gravel, cynicism, and charm, and he couldn’t be here.
He couldn’t.
But then he rounded into the room, and no amount of blinking cleared him from her sight.
“Well, Edie, are ye no’ going to kiss me in greeting?” Lachlan asked with a grin, spreading his arms out as though she would run into his arms.
Edith stared at him, from the unfashionable length of his dark hair, to the scar down the left side of his face, to the kilt he currently wore.
Nothing about the sight made her want to run to him. Not a thing.
“No,” she snapped at last, her jaw clenching as her mouth closed.
Her brother looked confused by her tone. “Edie… Tha an teaghlach as cudromaiche.”
Edith barely restrained a snarl. Family was most important? He would claim that? To her?
“No, Lachlan,” she ground out. “No. Tha fuil a ’ciallachadh dad, dìreach dìlseachd.”
The widening of his eyes told Edith her brother understood more than she thought. That blood didn’t make them family without loyalty. That his actions had broken their family for her. That they were not family now.
They couldn’t be.
Taking advantage of his silence, Edith went on. “The last I saw ye, mo bhràthair, I was dragged into Father’s study to meet the man ye sold my hand to. Ye gave me to him, Lachlan, as though I were yours to give! An’ for what?”
“Don’t you think I know what I’ve done?” he cried, truly sounding upset. Lachlan exhaled slowly, his eyes steady, the shade so similar to hers. Then, he swallowed and scratched the back of his head. “Will ye have grace enough to let me explain afore ye rightfully set me out on my arse?”
Edith eyed her brother as though she’d never seen him before, and he certainly did not appear as himself. He was haggard and drawn; his eyes held shadows that she had never seen in him, and it was clear he had lost some weight. He had never appeared thus, not even when he was insensibly drunk.