Page 13 of The Mistress (Foxgloves #1)
AMELIA
T he evening was perfect. The dinner. Seeing Gideon and Lydia talk. His admission of what he wanted to share with her. How he wanted to let her in. Amelia lost herself in thoughts of the future. Of the closeness with Gideon. Of nights like tonight becoming a regular occurrence. Of his sister joining them. Of their two families turning into one.
She could see what it would be like when the duke joined them every week. Because his intentions for her had never been clearer. He had only been moving slowly out of respect for her brother and guardian. Thomas had gotten it in her head that Gideon would move quickly, but it seemed in this, he wanted to do things properly.
The thought warmed her.
Once they excused themselves after dinner, Amelia and Lydia made their way to the drawing room.
“Well, it seems things are better now, aren’t they?” Lydia dove right into the topic as they walked. “Did His Grace explain why we didn’t hear from him?”
“Yes,” Amelia ducked her head so Lydia wouldn’t see the smile she was unable to hide. “He wanted to be respectful in Thomas’s eyes.”
Lydia scoffed loudly. “As if Thomas gives a damn about propriety.”
“He probably assumed he would in this.”
“We can’t fault His Grace for that, I guess,” Lydia put on a begrudging tone that made Amelia laugh.
“No, I guess we cannot,” she agreed.
“He’s probably seeking permission to court you right now,” Lydia said confidently as they entered the drawing room and sat down beside each other on the sofa, facing the warmth of the fire. “This is the perfect opportunity.”
“I hope so,” Amelia admitted. “I feel better after speaking with him, but I would like things to be more official so I need not second guess myself so often.”
Tea was brought in and set on the small table before them. Lydia leaned forward to pour them each a cup before handing one to Amelia.
“Understandably,” she assured her, relaxing back with her own cup in hand. “But there’s no reason for you to second guess yourself. He’s just a little cautious, that’s all. He’s clearly serious about you. It seems all men share such caution when it comes to love.” Lydia looked away, stirring her tea absentmindedly, and Amelia took the opening that finally, finally , presented itself.
“I take it Thomas is continuing to take his time, as well?” she asked.
“What?” Lydia’s head snapped back to hers, the blush creeping up her face. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Lydia, please,” Amelia rolled her eyes. “If I can be honest about the Duke of Birmingham, you can be honest about Thomas.”
“There’s nothing to be honest about,” Lydia mumbled.
“You love him,” Amelia said bluntly, lifting her cup and taking a sip of the warm liquid. “And he loves you. Can you blame him for being slow in his pursuit when you’re slow in even admitting it to me? I can’t even begin to imagine fighting it as long as you both have.”
There was a pause following Amelia’s words as they both drank their tea and watched the flames crackle in the fireplace. Amelia refused to speak first.
“I don’t know what’s taking him so long,” Lydia finally whispered, lowering her cup to rest in her lap.
Amelia wanted to jump up from her chair and cheer, but she knew that was exactly the wrong reaction. Instead, she smothered the urge with a smile and ventured, “I imagine he’s experiencing the same fear you are when you consider expressing your feelings.”
Lydia huffed, slouching back against the seat cushions and letting her frustration show. “But isn’t that his burden to bear, not mine?”
“Why on earth does that fall to him alone?”
“Because he’s the gentleman, of course. He should overcome his fear and approach first.”
Amelia raised an eyebrow at her sister before leaning forward to place her teacup on the table as she spoke. “I don’t think that’s fair. Perhaps if you had met as strangers at a party, yes, but then this fear wouldn’t be there either. Nor would he love you as he already does. Your story is different, and one of you has to take the first step. Otherwise, you’ll both spend your lives in love with each other, and only each other, but never own to it.”
“Will you give this same talk to Thomas?” Lydia replied, the petulance thick in her voice.
At that precise moment, the drawing room door opened and the subject of their conversation entered, followed by a man whose bright emerald eyes were already steadfastly fixed on Amelia.
“If you wish,” she made sure to answer Lydia before losing herself to the Duke of Birmingham’s attentions for what remained of the evening. “But each of you waiting for the other to make the first move helps no one, Lydia. Just think on it.”