“Amelia,” Hugh said, interrupting her thoughts. “You’re making me dizzy.”
She stopped her pacing and whirled to face him. “How could you?”
His expression hardened. “I expect you to be polite and respectful to Christiana.”
“And of course I will be,” Amelia said impatiently. “She seems splendid, although not the lady I would have assumed you to choose.”
“And which lady was that?”
Here, Amelia paused. Admittedly, she had never seen Hugh court anyone. After the fire, he had not seemed interested in such things. But she had assumed he would select a beautiful, elegant lady, refined and ready for the position of duchess.
Christiana seemed capable, but not in the way of a duchess—rather, in the way of a housekeeper taking on a new household. Aworker.
“I’m not sure,” she said finally, conceding defeat. “But you hardly know her. And anyone can see she has no fondness for you.”
“I would not have assumed she did, given our short acquaintance.”
“She is yourwife.”
He stood by the window, staring out at the ground beside the lake. He often did so, and Amelia could only assume it was because he recalled how, on the day of the fire, the entire household had gathered on that particular patch of grass. Amelia could only remember flashes from the day itself, but although Hugh said nothing about it—and had not in quite some time—she suspected he remembered a great deal more than she ever would.
“She is content with the arrangement,” he said. “She consented to marrying me even knowing my situation. If she poses no objection, I hardly know why you should.”
Words brimmed in Amelia’s mouth, but she held them back before Hugh could scold her for speaking out of turn. When he got like this, a little morose and stern, he had less patience for her.
“Is that all you truly want from a marriage?” she asked at last. “A wife who merely tolerates you?”
“It is enough.” He turned to face her, hands behind his back. She could barely remember what he looked like without his scarring, and the sight had become oddly comforting to her now. He would not be the brother she’d known and loved without his scars—but she knew they gave him pain, and for that reason, she wished them gone.
Marriage would not solve that particular ill.
“I know you can’t understand my reasoning,” he said now, “but I arranged to marry her because she had no fondness for me or the rank I bear.”
“Then what? What are her charms?”
He regarded her steadily. “As I said: she tolerates me. Few enough ladies can, Lia.”
“Oh, fiddle,” Amelia snapped. “You are nothing so dreadful to look at, Hugh.”
“As my sister, you must admit to bias.”
“I will admit to no such thing,” she said, although he had a point. Even her friends in Bath had heard about the Beast of Somerset.
Amelia had done what she could to refute those rumors, but there was only so much anyone could do. Without venturing into Society and proving the rumors wrong, they would continue to spread, regardless of their veracity.
“Is she a lady?” she asked.
“She’s the daughter of a viscount.”
A viscount. Better than Amelia had hoped, although if she had ever planned her brother’s marriage for herself, she would have selected a higher-born lady. Still, it could certainly have been worse. “And you are positive she wasn’t chasing you for your title?”
His lips twitched. “Quite certain. In fact, I had to convince her to marry me.”
Amelia scowled and folded her arms. “For what reason?”
“A general reluctance to marry, at least in the manner by which she found herself obligated.”
“And which manner is that? She said her father arranged the match.”