One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(114)

“Amelia?” He chucked her under the chin. “When I said no one’s good enough for you, I meant it. And I include myself. I know I haven’t deserved half the help you’ve given me, but …” His lips twitched at the corner, tugging on Amelia’s heart. All the d’Orsay men made that face when they were struggling not to cry. “I’m grateful for it. Thank you for loving me, even when I’ve done my devil’s best to be unlovable.”

The look in his eyes, the catch in his voice … her heart squeezed. She was a breath away from flinging her arms around his shoulders and vowing to take him back home, solve all his problems for him.

Taking a step backward instead was quite possibly the bravest thing she’d ever done. But she knew in her heart, it was best for them both.

“Goodbye, Jack,” she said. “We’ll miss you. Please take care.”

Then she turned on her heel. Took one step. Then two. Every pace she took away from him felt like a step taken on wobbly foal legs, but as her boots clopped hollowly on the planked dock, she slowly gained in coordination and confidence. It had taken a little time and much sorrow, but she’d finally mastered the lesson Spencer had given her the night they first met:

Turn those hapless d’Orsay fortunes around. Learn when to walk away.

“Where shall I take you?” As they neared Charing Cross, Laurent turned to her on the carriage seat. “Home?”

Home.

Amelia mused on the word. She wondered which house her brother referred to: the Duke of Morland’s, or his own? Which one was “home”? That was the question for her to decide, she supposed.

“I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind.” No house felt like home without Spencer in it. And though he would still be at Braxton Hall, she couldn’t abide the thought of rattling around that cavernous town house alone.

“Of course you’re welcome. Winifred’s planned some sort of party tonight. Lucky for me we’re returning in time for it. She’d have my head if I left her alone to host.”

“Is it a large party?” Now this might change Amelia’s mind. After two days of carriage travel and a week’s worth of melancholy, a busy social gathering wasn’t really how she wished to spend her evening.

“No, no. A few couples over to dinner. Perhaps a bit of cards and dancing after, you know.”

Well, that didn’t sound too dreadful. As a matter of fact, dinner itself sounded most welcome. And as for the amusements afterward—she could easily plead a headache and slip upstairs. It wouldn’t even be a falsehood. She’d done so much ruminating and pondering and reconsidering in the past two days, her brain ached.

“Did I do the right thing?” she asked her brother, for likely the tenth time since Jack had sailed with the Angelica. “Will he be all right?”

“I don’t know how he’ll fare,” Laurent answered, reaching for her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “But you did absolutely the right thing.”

“I just still feel guilty, letting him believe his debts will remain unpaid.”

“You know he never would have left otherwise.”

“I know.” She bit her lip. “Will you have a difficult time finding another buyer?”

“I don’t expect so. It’s a choice piece of land, even if the cottage is modest. The Earl of Vinterre expressed some interest in it. Wants to tear down the place and build an Italianate palace overlooking the river.”

“Oh, dear. I may vomit.”

Laurent passed her the basin. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d been ill on this journey. Nor even the second, or fifth. Apparently her unborn child didn’t enjoy coach travel any more than she did.

Afterward, he soothed her back. “Don’t be upset. I’ll find another buyer.”

“No, don’t.” She pressed her sleeve to her mouth. “I think it would be easier to see Briarbank razed than inhabited by another family. Sell it to Vinterre, and do it quickly.”

The sooner all the dealings were completed, the sooner Jack’s debts could be paid. And the sooner that happened, the sooner Amelia could return to Braxton Hall, pockets empty but heart undivided. She would set about convincing her husband that she was devoted to him, above all.

The coach made its creaking turn into Bryanston Square and soon lurched to a halt before the house. Laurent helped her alight from the carriage.

At the door, they were met by a wild-eyed Winifred. After sparing Amelia a brief nod, she latched on to Laurent’s arm. “Oh, thank goodness you’re finally home. I’m beside myself, utterly. We need to order more wine—whole casks of it, likely. And spirits for the gentlemen.” She pulled her husband into the house, and Amelia followed them over the threshold.

“The fish course is a horrid dilemma. Naturally this would happen on a Monday, when there’s no decent fish to be had for gold or silver. Naught but common oysters in the market.” Her voice pitched a half-octave closer to hysteria. “I can’t serve oysters to a duchess!”

Amelia laughed. “I shall do just fine with oysters, thank you. You’ve served them to me many a time before.”

Her sister-in-law turned to her, wearing a puzzled expression. “Forgive me, Amelia. But of course I didn’t mean you.”

Of course not. Amelia sighed.