Page 53 of An Earl's Christmas Seduction
“Was something the matter earlier on? I wanted to talk to you. I asked my mother about what I overheard. I demanded she told me the truth. She admitted there’s something going on, but she won’t tell me what,” Amelia said, as they twirled gracefully with one another.
“I’m sorry about earlier. I was preoccupied. Harry overheard something, too. Something Sir Samuel and his wife were talking about setting things straight and not keeping a secret anymore. It leaves me wondering how many people here know the truth, or a version of it at least,” he replied.
Amelia was confused. She knew of nothing linking her mother with the Bennetts. Yet it seemed they, along with Lady Turner and Lady Thornton, were possessed of different parts of the puzzle.
“But perhaps they only know one side of it, my mother another, and so on. Perhaps everyone here holds a piece of the puzzle,” she said, and Nicholas sighed.
“Then it makes the whole thing an impossibility. Oh, I don’t think I’ll ever know the truth,” he exclaimed.
“But you can’t give up now. You know someone knows. You were right to bring us all together like this. It’s just a matter of working out the parts, but we need something more,” she said, and Nicholas smiled at her.
“How glad I am to have met you, Amelia. You’ve given me hope for a better future,” he said.
Amelia blushed.
“With me?” she asked, and he nodded.
“Don’t you think so? I know I was far too forward with you during the ghost story, but…” he began, but Amelia shook her head.
“I wanted you to be. I desired you then, more than… oh, I just wish the matter was resolved and you knew the truth about you mother,” she said.
“I’ll find it. We’ll find it together. The things we’ve overheard, the facts as we know them. I don’t believe my mother was who I think her to be, as much as it saddens me to admit it. I love her, and…” he began, but Amelia interrupted him.
“But you can still think of her as your mother, even if the truth proves unpalatable. She was the one who loved you as such, and you loved her. The rest doesn’t matter. That terrible saying, blood being thicker than water, it’s not true. Those we love most aren’t always those with whom we share blood,” Amelia said, and Nicholas nodded.
“You’re right, Amelia. I don’t need to think of her any differently. My mother, I mean. The rumors about me, they don’t matter, but the truth does. I want to know. I won’t find peace until I do,” he said, and Amelia smiled.
“Then we’ll find it together,” she replied, as the music came to an end.
“Bravo, bravo! What a delightful sight ye all are,” the viscount said, clapping his hands together.
Harry rose and laid his Spanish guitar aside.
“I think I’ve had enough of playing now,” he said, but the viscount shook his head.
“Nonsense, we need to finish the dancing, the best dancers to return to the fray and perform for us. Clara and Edmund, Lord and Lady Thornton, and our host and Lady Amelia,” he said, holding out his hand to them.
Quite what had qualified the viscount to make such a judgement, and decide the course of the dancing, was uncertain, but it seemed he would not take no for an answer, and Harry was pressed into performing one last piece, though he insisted on Mrs. Bennett accompanying him at the pianoforte.
Amelia glanced at Nicholas, who held out his hand to her, oblivious, it seemed, to the look of anger on Constance’s face. There was no disguising her obvious jealousy, and as Amelia stepped forward to take Nicholas’ arm, she did the same. Her foot stepping on Amelia’s hem. A ripping sound ensued, and the material of Amelia’s skirt tore along the back.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Constance exclaimed, as Amelia turned, her skirts hanging in tatters.
For a moment, Amelia did not know what to say. There was no suggestion of deliberate sabotage, only an accident, and Constance’s profuse apologies were worthy of the stage.
“I… oh… my dress,” Amelia stammered, as the rest of the party now turned to see what was happening.
“Oh, you poor thing, Amelia. It’s torn in two!” Isobel exclaimed.
“How clumsy of me. These dresses are so fragile, all lace and silk, it’s so easily done. I was only stepping forward to say how well you danced, Amelia,” Constance said, as Amelia picked up the hanging trails of her skirts.
Harry had risen to his feet, setting aside the Spanish guitar, and with a look of relief on his face as Mrs. Bennett, too, turned from the pianoforte.
“Oh, but we must still have the dance,” the viscount said, but no one was listening to him.
Nicholas had, it seemed, realized what Constance had done, and now he stared down at Amelia’s torn dress in horror.
“Constance…” he said, but he could not grow angry with her.
