Page 149 of The Lyon Whisperer
The frank question took her by surprise, but she saw no reason to lie. “More than I thought humanly possible.”
A smile flickered briefly over the woman’s face. “And Lord Culver, does he love you?”
She shifted on the sofa, smoothing her skirts. “He has never claimed to.”
“But he treats you well? He does not beat you, or malign you? He does not overly constrict your day-to-day activities?”
She shook her head. “He is a fine man in every way. He indulges me whenever possible, and is slow to anger, even though I have repeatedly thwarted his attempts to moderate my behavior.”
Another small smile played at the woman’s mouth.
Amelia was not amused. She was aghast. “Dear God. He stands to lose everything—thanks to me. Thanks to my unwillingness to toe the line.”
Lady Harriet spoke up for the first time. “I have had quite enough of hearing how you do not measure up, Amelia. Any man who cannot see the precious gem he has in you does not deserve you.”
Amelia shifted on the sofa to face Lady Harriet. Tears blurred her vision. “Don’t you see? He has been more than accommodating of my eccentricities, but my father holds all the cards. If I do not meet his exacting standards, he can demand payment in full and bankrupt the viscountcy, and likely the barony as it came to Chase in rough shape.”
“Are you so sure your father would carry out his threat, Lady Culver?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon asked.
A bitter laugh escaped her. “He has never approved of me, Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”
“Why do you think that is?” the widow asked.
Amelia gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Because I am so different from him?”
“Or perhaps,” she said, “because you are so like another.”
Amelia glanced at the woman sharply.
“Your mother, Lady Culver. You are your mother’s daughter.”
Her mouth fell open. “Do you mean to say you knew my mother?”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s mouth curved in a slow smile. “I met her in Paris, many years ago, shortly before she and your father married. She was beautiful, and wild in the way only a young woman who’s lived her life under constant supervision can be when she finally finds herself free of the constraints. She loved the coffee houses, the art studios, the poetry readings.”
Amelia drank up every word.
“She was kind, despite her blue-blood lineage. She once did me a service, the details of which I shall not reveal, but which I never forgot.”
“Ah,” Lady Harriet murmured. “Hence your avid interest in Amelia’s welfare over the years.”
She rose from the armchair with fluid grace. “I owed a debt. Not all debts are financial in nature, but they weigh heavily nonetheless. I consider the debt paid in full. What Lady Culver does with the knowledge I have shared is up to her.”
She glided to the door, then turned to glance over her shoulder. “One thing more. Your mother was not the only one who ventured to Paris that summer. Her intended also visited briefly. He missed her by a hair’s breadth.” She paused. “That man was not your father.”
Before Amelia could react to that piece of information, the Black Widow of Whitehall let herself out of the parlor, closing the door behind her.
Chase had arrivedhome in a fine mood, a spectacular mood.
Then he discovered Amelia had left on horseback hours ago and had yet to return.
“When exactly did she leave?” he demanded of the new groom. Lawrence was his name.
Lawrence shuffled back and forth on his feet, his cap gripped in both hands before him. “An hour or so after you, milord. She instructed me to ready her horse. Said she wanted to take a long ride along the river.”
Sally, Amelia’s lady’s maid, stood beside the groom, her head hanging so low her chin practically met her sternum. She sniffled every few seconds and tears dripped off her cheeks.
He sighed inwardly and geared up to question the hapless maid again.
