Absolute Surrender (20 page)

“Amelia.” Charles’s voice was strained, and she knew he was attempting to control everything he was and everything he wanted of her. She didn
’
t want him to. She wanted him to be free to act on his want, on his need. For this, she hated herself. Her control had now extended beyond herself to this man, this amazing man, who wanted for nothing more than to be with her.

I changed him. I changed him.

She was suddenly overwhelmed by the thought, and her head leaned as though the spin would start. It was then the carriage came to a halt, and he backed away to his side, leaving her cold and bereft of his heat and strength.

When the door pulled open and Charles stepped down, she was truly alone. Even the air had followed him from the carriage. The solitude was piercing, sitting in this dark, small space, an overwhelming loneliness that she knew she would suffer for the balance of her life if she could not find a way to let Charles in.

Amelia closed her eyes and let the silence sink into her bones, so as not to forget the feeling, to persuade herself to reach for what she wanted, to be strong. Amelia felt it, she owned it, she carried it. She let that loneliness weigh upon her…then Charles’s warm hand reached into that darkened door, grasped hers, and pulled her out to him.

Amelia faced the mirror, waiting for the twitch. Scanning every bit of her face, looking for the signs and practicing her response. She
’
d received a missive from Charles that morning. He and Hugh would be calling on her within the hour. All Amelia need do was survive this day. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

When she thought on the much larger goals involved in this meeting—
there it was…
the twitch, and so she was determined to survive this meeting, this one outing. With both of them. Hopefully, by the end of today there would be some definitive plan for her future. The future they seemed to be plotting without her.

Both of them.

Twitch
.

There at the corner of her eye. She breathed deeply.

They both cared for her. They both wanted what was best for her. Yet they both wanted…her. Something they both could not have.

Twitch.

This time, just at the edge of her jaw. She breathed again, attempted to calm her nerves. Attempted to relax all the muscles that gave away her discomfort. She could do this. She could see them both.
Together
.

She believed that she and Charles had come so far in the mere span of one day. So much had happened. As though they endeavored to rewrite history with their present. Charles and Hugh had come to an agreement of sorts. Granted, she had believed herself to be quite left out of their decision at the time, but she had been quite truly wedged in the middle of that decision in the end.

A tremor coursed her spine, raising the hair at the back of her neck and casting a chill across her skin. Being with both of them had been…simply amazing. As well, it was simply
impossible.

They were all known in the
ton
. It wasn
’
t like the three of them could disappear together and live happily where nobody would know about them As well, it just wasn
’
t the thing. How selfish of her to want for both of them, yet she wanted for both of them in entirely different ways, because somehow they managed to complement each other so easily—a fact of which she wasn
’
t entirely sure even they were aware.

Did they know they
’
d breathed the very life into her last night? That moment, lying upon Hugh
’
s safe haven, while Charles kissed her. Caught between a friend and forever, between strength and safety. That moment had been the best, truest, calmest in her life. To think something like that would never happen again left her truly insecure, bereft, and…
twitchy
.

Damn
.

She smoothed her fingertips across the skin at her temple, attempting to relax the muscles beneath, trying to convince them that this action was completely unnecessary. Hugh would see it—he saw everything—and he would know that all was not right. Somehow, Hugh would know before any outward signs showed themselves.

That thought calmed her a bit. The knowledge that she truly couldn’t hide from Hugh. This man she
’
d loved from childhood. She remembered everything about Hugh, from the moment they met. How his smile canted to the left when he was truly happy and how his smile leaned to the right when he was annoyed. Funny, that.

How she could see with just a glance that Hugh knew she was upset and would help her, however he was able. How was it that she
’
d become so reliant upon him? Hugh had been part of her life, long before her condition seemed to spiral out of control. And her joy had always been wrapped up in whether he was there—until Charles had arrived.

Charles was a completely different sort. Charles wound her up, as opposed to Hugh’s gentle release. They conflicted, not merely in personality and opinion, but their very beings seemed to be such that they could not be in the same vicinity without quarrel—and that quarrel, as it was now, was coming to tea.

She marveled at their frank speech with each other, how they had easily discussed her. As if the frogs had happened in an entirely different lifetime, or to entirely different people. They were men now, had the responsibilities that came with such. And they both believed themselves responsible for her.

There now, several minutes had passed and nary a twitch.

The door to the parlor opened, and the butler announced them, both of them.

Twitch
.

She closed her eyes and sighed. So she wasn
’
t truly as controlled as she would like.

She nodded to Smythe but remained in the mirror. Perhaps the first glance through the glass would be easier for her than the overwhelming reality that was to come through her parlor door in mere moments. Through the reflection she could see shuffling in the entryway as hats were removed and handed off, a great blur of black and white. So severe of tone, so easily reassuring.

She loved that neither of these men were fussy. No fancy waistcoats. No shiny, slippery satins. They were both of a serene fashion. The beauty had to be searched out in the patterns and textures of the fabrics they chose. Thick, textured fabrics, beautiful more to the hands than the eyes. Their respective clothing wasn
’
t gaudy and intense, but a much more close and intimate experience.

A throat cleared behind her, and she realized they were there, behind her, watching. She reduced them both to their beautiful brocade waistcoats, one in dove gray, the other in black, and turned to them.

Both of them.

They all stared at each other for an inordinately lengthy amount of time. Hugh knew that at any moment the tension in the room would sink into Amelia, and they would be left to deal with her state rather than her needs of them, so he spoke.

“Can Louisa attend us, or must it be your aunt?” he asked plainly.

Amelia shook her head and looked to him with a bit of confusion in her eyes, then at her aunt, who had followed him and Jackson into the parlor. “I…well. I don’t see why not,” Amelia said.

Hugh turned to Lady Mathorpe and raised one eyebrow as though to say,
Well? What are you waiting for?
The lady returned the regard for a moment, then turned in a huff and went upstairs.

“Shall we sit?” Amelia asked quietly, motioning to the settee and chairs placed in a convenient gathering around a tray table.

Hugh and Jackson moved together toward the individual chairs, then Amelia followed. Once they were settled, she sank into the center of the overstuffed settee across from them. She motioned to the tea service on the tray with a smile. Hugh noticed that she was holding herself together rather well at the moment and took this as a good sign, that the ride home the night before had gone well. That she hadn’t been returned a complete wreck, as he’d feared she might be.

He and Jackson both raised their gloved hands, declining the tea.

“It’s Earl Grey,” she said quietly, pouring a cup. As gentle as the statement was, he knew it to be more than a suggestion. He looked to Jackson, who looked back to him and shrugged. He supposed they had to wait for Louisa to prepare herself…

“On second thought, we will take tea with you,” Hugh said.

She smiled so brightly he knew they both felt it across the tray, because it was magnificent.

It was tea—tea, for goodness’ sake.
Hugh shook his head. When they had a moment together he would have to ask her why that simple acquiescence had brought her such joy. Hugh looked at Jackson. Why couldn
’
t he ask her in front of him? Particularly after last night. Hugh looked back to her.

“Why did this simple task of tea make you happy?” he asked finally.

“In Japan, the taking of tea is a ceremony meant to put everyone on level footing. From the servant, to the warrior, to the master. It
’
s a ceremony of peace. We thank the maker of the tea. We pardon the person drinking before us, and thank the person for allowing us to drink after. The formalities of the service are meant to remove all external forces, open our hearts and minds, to help us to find the truth.”

“Japan.” Jackson’s voice was low and gruff, as though he’d overused it the night before and had yet to warm it up today. “And we
’
re bringing these traditions to your parlor, in Great Britain?”

“Not necessarily. The thought just occurred to me that perhaps we all needed a moment, with clear minds, to take tea together…as friends,” she replied, looking up, between them, as though afraid to look to one then the other. Finally, her eyes flickered quickly over Hugh, then turned to Jackson. “To forgive each other the past, to move forward in trust. To begin as friends.”

Friends.
The word hung in the air like a particle of dust in a shaft of light.

“I rather like the idea,” Hugh replied.

“Sugar?” Amelia asked.

“No, thank you,” Jackson replied.

She handed the cup to Hugh, and he passed the cup to Jackson with a nod.

“Thank you,” Jackson replied.

Amelia added a lump of sugar to the cup in her hand and passed that cup to Hugh. He smiled and thanked her as well.

“She knows how to prepare your tea,” Jackson stated.

“And now she knows how to prepare yours as well,” Hugh replied, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Jackson smile.

Amelia poured a dash of cream in the bottom of a third cup, added the tea, then two lumps of sugar. She smiled over the rim as she drank quietly.

It was the quietest tea service Hugh had ever attended. In general, tea was accompanied by many ladies with many opinions and voices each attempting to outdo one another. Though, he imagined if men took tea on a regular basis as women did, formally, in the parlor with others, tea would become more of a thing. Much like the pub. The tea room seemed the feminine version of the Iron Duke. But he wasn
’
t willing to break the incredible peace of the silence in this room, for the silence wasn’t at all uncomfortable, though he thought it should have been.

“Louisa, won
’
t you join us?” Amelia said without shifting her gaze.

Louisa moved to the settee next to Amelia. “Milady! I
’
m so sorry to keep you waiting.”

Apparently, today, disruption would be Louisa
’
s job.

“Not at all, Louisa.” Amelia smiled…but Hugh could see there was strain.

He hadn
’
t noticed the strain before and wondered whether it had come with Louisa. Perhaps it was that she was being watched? For he knew they both watched her intently. Possibly scrutinized. They needed to
not
do that. Somehow.

Hugh stood and Jackson followed, placing their cups silently on the table. Then Amelia and Louisa joined them.

“
Well,
” Amelia said, “shall we?” She straightened her skirts, then took up her gloves, but she clenched them a bit tightly. She seemed so very, very in control of herself—considering.

Hugh followed Jackson to the front of the house, where Amelia stopped, examining the conveyance they
’
d arrived in. She turned to them, her brows raised.