Page 11 of The Mistress (Foxgloves #1)
AMELIA
A melia felt better than she had all week. Her conversation with the Duke of Birmingham reassured her, and it filled her with the security she’d been lacking as more days had gone by without any word from him. Now, his deep, velvet voice circled her head as they sat down to eat in the dining room.
I am yours, Amy. And you are mine.
It was a relief to know he felt the connection between them, too. She had been fairly confident he did but hadn’t known for certain until now.
“So, Your Grace,” Lydia started as they filled their plates with the decadently fragrant food served to them by the circling footmen. “How are you enjoying the Season thus far?”
“It’s been the best yet,” he replied.
“As if you’ve ever joined the Season before,” Thomas scoffed, adding the seasoned fish to his plate.
“So, my response proves accurate,” he countered.
“Would it not then also be your worst Season, Your Grace?” Amelia asked, smothering her sarcasm in sweetness as she lifted a bite to her mouth.
Gideon narrowed his eyes from the seat beside her, but his lips pulled up into a charming and amused smirk.
“An argument could be made,” he acknowledged.
She swallowed her bite, glancing sidelong at him. “A rather sound one, I’d wager.”
“Perhaps,” and she felt a bizarre giddiness at the sound of his chuckle before he turned to his own plate and began eating. After he finished his first bite, he asked Lydia, seated across from him, “How is your first Season, Miss Lydia?”
“Much as I rather expected,” she replied diplomatically, taking a sip of wine.
“And that is?” he pressed.
“Full of unkind faces and whispers,” she supplied, picking up her fork and knife again. “But also lovely dresses, music, and dancing, so there is some balance.”
“At least none of those unkind faces are at this table tonight,” Thomas offered even as he nodded in agreement with Lydia.
Amelia noticed Gideon observing the couple seated in front of them as they ate, and she wondered if he picked up on the obvious connection between them, too. It wasn’t like the one she shared with Gideon, which had been instant, confusing in its potency, and one they were still exploring and understanding. They were building a relationship around it. Thomas and Lydia, on the other hand, had a lifetime of a relationship already in place, and for them, the connection still needed to be unearthed and acknowledged from within it.
“You mentioned you ladies were quite close to the Dowager Countess of Coventry,” Gideon spoke. Amelia took a pause in her eating, laying her utensils gently against the plate as she reached for her wine. “How did that start?” he asked.
“Mmm,” Thomas made a slight noise indicating he would answer once he swallowed his bite, which he promptly did. “Our fathers had been friends practically their whole lives, I think. So, when my father died, it was Lydia and Amelia’s father who first stepped in to care for me.”
“And then when our mother also passed on,” Lydia picked up the thread of Thomas’s story from beside him. “Thomas’s mother did the same for us.”
“We were much like a set of mismatched, broken pieces that all somehow fit together as a family,” Amelia explained.
“You are quite fortunate in that regard,” Gideon murmured to the table, and there was a note in his voice that pulled her gaze to him.
She had noticed it the other night. There was a deep sadness in Gideon, one likely connected to the awful story Thomas had shared with her about his past. It had to be since both that night at the Welsey’s Ball and tonight, they had been discussing families when she caught a glimpse of it. His sister. The Colbrook-Becham family. Perhaps he was also broken but hadn’t yet found all the pieces, beyond Genevieve, of course, that fit with him.
“Your Grace’s parents have also passed?” Lydia asked the obvious, and Amelia immediately wanted to kick her. If only her leg could reach under the damn table.
His voice came out hard. “They have.”
“Were you not close?” Lydia asked, hearing it and tilting her head.
Gideon laughed as he made a grab for his wine. There was no humor behind the sound. “Not in the least,” he replied.
“You don’t need to talk about it,” Amelia said to him softly. Unable to stop herself, she reached out a hand and laid it on his forearm.
Gideon’s head snapped to hers, and she registered the tightness of his clenched jaw. The heaviness of his memories weighing in on him. He blinked at her, and she was relieved to see the tension leave his face and his green eyes melt as he looked at her.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “I would like to tell you , I think. One day soon, if you will let me.”
She felt her heart flutter as her chest filled with joy at what he was offering her. Intimacy. Trust. Strengthening their bond in a real, tangible way.
“I would be honored,” she kept her voice low so their companions would have a more difficult time hearing what passed between her and the duke. “I am here for whatever you want to share with me, Your Grace. Whenever you’re ready.”
She smiled at him, and he seemed unable to return it. His proud expression masking a delicate vulnerability underneath it. She took back her hand and faced forward once more, picking up her utensils and cutting her next bite. Amelia did not acknowledge the way her brother and sister watched her and Gideon with obnoxiously pleased expressions.
“What should we expect at this garden party, then, Thomas?” Amelia calmly changed the subject.