“I suppose I could travel and visit her,” Christiana said, looking as though she were contemplating the idea. “Would he go after me, do you think?”
For a moment, Amelia imagined it. He would most certainly go after her, but Hugh in a towering rage chasing after his wife was notquitethe picture of romance she had hoped for.
“Let’s not be too hasty.” Amelia fluffed her skirts as she hopped onto a small, round table and perched there. “All you need to do is speak to him. He’s not unreasonable.”
The look Christiana shot her suggested she disagreed. “He is notusuallyunreasonable, but when the matter is about you, he most certainly is.”
“Heisstubborn,” Amelia conceded. “How tiresome.”
“Indeed.”
With him working against her, Amelia would have to try even harder to force him into happiness. Time was slipping away from them—nearly a month had passed since Christiana’s arrival, and there were only a few more—six or seven, perhaps—before the Season began. Hugh must befirmlyin love before that happened.
“But there will be a solution,” she said, more to herself than Christiana. All they needed was to engineer a situation in which they had no choice but to talk.
She would think about that.
In the meantime, she had more pressing questions. She kicked her legs idly. “Have you made any progress on the seduction front?”
Christiana’s already pale face went a shade whiter. “Hush! What if the servants hear?”
“So what if they do? Is it so very strange for a lady to desire her husband’s attention?” Amelia examined her nails. “WhenImarry, I intend for my husband to be so taken with me, he has no eyes for any other ladies.”
“Then I wish you luck,” Christiana said dryly, “but that hardly helps my current predicament.”
“If you are in any doubt, kiss him,” she said, tapping her lip thoughtfully. “That ought to do wonders for your argument as well.”
“Your brother will not concede in exchange for a kiss.”
Perhaps, perhaps not. Amelia had given very little thought to Hugh’s tastes in that department, and she wanted it to stay that way. Once she had gotten them into a situation, what they did there was entirely their business.
A plan formed in her mind. First, she would need to steal Mrs. Partridge’s keys. Then she would need to set up a meeting from which there could be no escape, thusforcingthem to talk. And perhaps she could convince Christiana to change her gown to something more flattering. That morning dress was all very well, but for Hugh to be swept off his feet, she would need something a little more daring.
Amelia would have a word with Christiana’s lady’s maid and come to some kind of arrangement.
Christiana herself leaned against the chair, lost in thought, big eyes pensive and determined.
Yes, Hugh would come around. He had never wanted an insipid miss for a wife.
Thus decided, Amelia beamed. “Shall we retire to the library? I have a novel I would like to finish reading, and I know you are rather bizarrely fascinated by those books on mathematics.”
“One must know the basic principles in order to apply the same rules elsewhere,” Christiana said, and Amelia wanted to laugh. Hugh had, entirely by accident, stumbled across the very lady likely to pique his interest the most, and he hadn’t even known it.
All it would require would be for Amelia to orchestrate their falling in love, and Hugh would be happy for the remainder of his days.
Chapter Nineteen
Hugh massaged histemples as he stared down the neck of his brandy decanter. His head pounded, his scars ached, and he felt as though the day had gone on forever. Christiana’s demand infuriated him—did she not know how hard he had worked to keep Amelia’s reputation as clean as possible under the circumstances?
Her friend had made her bed; now she must lie in it. The burden of her consequences was hers and hers alone.
“She stood by me during my marriage to you.”
The words stung an unholy amount.
He had known she had not wanted to marry him. Hell, he had not wanted to marry her, either. But he had not known marriage to him would be such a sacrifice—so difficult—that it would necessitate her friend supporting her.
He almost laughed to himself, the sound bitter and angry. What pride he had, even now. He was the Beast of Somerset—a monster prowling his castle in search of new victims and fresh blood. Of course Christiana had felt some reluctance to marry him; of course her friend had offered support should it go wrong.