Page 27 of A Delicate Deception
He nearly replied that he was on the way to the village with invitations; he even went so far as to reach for the invitation, but arrested the movement, instead brushing some dust off his sleeve. Her tone was so high and mighty; she was every last inch the aristocrat. He must have been out of his mind to think he could have so much as a friendship with her; he must have been out of his mind to even want to. “I thought you were kind. I knew you were flighty and unserious but I thought at least you were kind. I see that I was very much mistaken.”
“Flighty and unserious,” she repeated, the color rising on her cheeks. “I thought I had received every possible insult. I really did. Flighty and unserious!” She gave a bitter little laugh.
He took a steadying breath. “You are the way you are and I daresay you can’t change it. What I’m trying to say is that I realize now that whatever passed between us is a matter of little consequence to you. And however disappointed I am—”
And then—it happened so fast he hardly had time to realize what had transpired, just saw the tears in her eyes and felt the sting in his cheek. She had slapped him. He brought his hand to his face, stunned.
“Leave, why don’t you?” she snapped. “Why are you still here? You’ve said what you meant to say. Surely that’s enough.” Her voice held a note of rising panic that reminded him of that first time they had spoken, in almost this precise spot.
Now, his cheek smarting and his heart racing, he felt so far from that moment, so far from the man he had been, so far from the hopes he had later harbored. So far, too, from the man he wanted to be. He didn’t know exactly where he had gone wrong; she, after all, was the one who had revealed herself to be not at all the person he had thought her to be, but if she was looking at him like that, hurt and outraged, her cheeks flushed with anger, he knew he wasn’t blameless. Some part of him wanted to go to her and make things right, but it was too late for that. He turned and walked away, feeling all the while that he had been given a chance to hold an object of immense value, and had chosen instead to cast it on the floor.
Chapter Eleven
Amelia’s cheeks were hot with outrage, and that was the final straw. She had spent years perfecting her ability to wipe her face clear of any emotion and Sydney had stripped her of that. She was furious with him, she was furious with the entire world, but most of all she was furious with herself. She didn’t know how she had reached a point in her life where she assaulted a duke’s friend in broad daylight. Even her ultimate disgrace in London hadn’t quite risen to the level of public battery. Every last bit of armor she had constructed over the years was now ragged and useless, and she felt vulnerable and exposed.
“I slapped Mr. Goddard in the lane,” she said when she returned indoors. Attempting a walk had clearly been a misguided notion. “No, don’t ask, just use your imagination and you’ll get exactly where you need to be.”
“Are you all right?” Georgiana’s eyes were wide.
She opened her mouth to reassure her friend that she would be fine, that she was the same as ever. But why even bother? Georgiana could see the evidence for herself, in the tears on Amelia’s face and the color in her cheeks. “No. I’m far from fine. I can’t imagine ever being fine again. I’m afraid I’m going to spend the rest of my life alone in this cottage or in an institution for women with delicate nerves.”
“Oh, Amelia. I’m so sorry. First of all, you won’t be alone so long as I can draw breath, you absolute idiot. Second—no, be quiet, why in heaven’s name would you think working as a governess a preferable state to sharing a home with my dearest friend—second, nobody will put you in an institution, and I’ll murder them for trying. Third, tell me what transpired between you and Mr. Goddard? You were so fond of him.”
Amelia told her friend everything, from chance meetings and dog bites to that day in the ruins. Georgiana only offered fresh handkerchiefs and sugary tea.
“He said I was flighty and unserious and that he believed that what happened between us was of no consequence to me.” Amelia’s eyes pricked again with tears. “As if I’ve ever had the luxury of letting anything be inconsequential. As if I don’t weigh the consequences of every step I take and every word I say, even when I don’t want to. My God, if I could only stop doing that, then maybe I could leave.” She blew her nose. “And then he had the nerve to say I was unkind. He accused us of writing those letters with the design of mocking the duke.”
“What?” Georgiana squawked. “That’s outrageous. We intended no such thing. He had written a badly researched diatribe and we had a bit of fun poking holes in his argument. He then seemed to amuse himself thoroughly in poking the holes inourbadly researched arguments. His letters attacked our position as strenuously as we attacked his. Perhaps Mr. Goddard does not understand that people can amuse themselves by hurling polite insults at one another and accusing one another of sloppy research and utter illogic.”
Amelia felt heartened. “I don’t think Mr. Goddard understands that people can amuse themselves, full stop. I have no doubt that the duke amused himself greatly in our correspondence. That’s why he invited us—you, rather—to see him. If he thought we were insulting him, he wouldn’t have wished to see us.”
“And he seemed quite pleased to meet us. I’m afraid that this is a case of Mr. Goddard misunderstanding what amuses his friend.”
“That’s his problem,” Amelia retorted. “If his first inclination is to blame me rather than open his mouth and ask his friend, then he’s a terrible friend to both me and the duke.”
“Quite,” Georgiana agreed. “You’ll be well rid of him.”
Amelia knew her friend was correct, that it was better to see Sydney’s true character sooner rather than later, but she was stunned to have been so wrong. She had thought she could let down her guard with him, even just a little. She had liked him so much—more than merely liked, if she were honest with herself. But she had also thought he knew her and liked her too—such a small and paltry thing, to believe oneselfliked, but it hadn’t felt paltry coming from Sydney. She had felt valued, cherished even, which made his scorn and mistrust that much more painful.
It turned out that if you breathed slowly through your nose and out through your mouth, you could resist the urge to throw a potted fern at the nearest duke.
Temporarily.
“I say, Syd,” Lex said in tones of sincere fascination. “You can’t just go around getting yourself slapped by young ladies.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Sydney growled. He had been an idiot to mention it in the first place.
“I, however, very much want to talk about it. Enlighten me. Did you give her a slip on the shoulder? Make her an indecent proposal?” Lex asked, riveted. “I didn’t think mousy spinsters were in your line.”
“She isn’t a mousy spinster,” Sydney protested. “She has red hair and she can’t be five-and-twenty. Nothing mousy or spinsterish about her.” Now Lex was smiling much too broadly. “She covered her hair when she visited you,” Sydney clarified. “It was all part of her deception.”
“Bonnets do cover the hair,” Lex said slowly. “That’s what they do. That’s how hats work. Besides, you can’t go around getting assaulted by every redheaded girl you meet, for heaven’s sake. Don’t know how they do things in Manchester but it’s just not done in decent society.”
“I’m so glad to amuse you,” Sydney said through clenched teeth.
“Quite excessive of you,” Lex went on, ignoring him. He was enjoying this far too much. “One may be assaulted by at most a third of the redheaded girls one meets. Anything more speaks of a character flaw.”
“I did not set out to get myself assaulted by anyone of any gender or hair color.”
