“All she has ever wanted was somewhere to belong. I thought she had found that with you.”
Before Hugh could answer, the door opened and the same innkeeper arrived, along with several servants, bringing through their dinner. The dishes steamed on the table, but Hugh’s appetite had long since vanished.
She had kept the painting because she liked it? Surely, that had to be a lie, a farce. When he looked at it, all he saw was his disfigurement, and all the ways he no longer resembled the man he had been.
His scars were a symbol of everything he had lost.
But what if to her, they were something different? A symbol of who he was now?
Could it be that she loved him in partbecauseof his scars and the fire?
He cursed under his breath. If that were true—and even if it weren’t—what was he doing here when she needed him? In her moment of greatest need, he had allowed his anger and resentment and betrayal to step between them. She had asked him to accompany her, and he had sent her on ahead, like a coward.
Amelia was right.
He had justified his actions as being for her sake when really, they had been solely for him. And now she was at her father’s house, enduring who knew what alone.
Amelia served herself some fish and new potatoes. “So?” she asked. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I ought to send you back home,” he said, angry all over again that she had defied him so openly. “Do you know what could have happened to you traveling alone?”
“You sent Christiana out alone,” she pointed out.
“Her coachman has a pistol.”
“If you are scared about highwaymen, don’t be. They exist only in novels, you know.”
She was wrong, but correcting her would not benefit him now. There was only one thing for it: he would have to take her to Barnsley Hall.
“When we return home, you are going to be in so much trouble,” he said.
She nodded serenely. “I had expected as much.”
“Do not think I will forget this, no matter the outcome with Christiana.”
“Of course not,” Amelia said. “As my older brother, you are practicallyobligatedto conceive of wild and outlandish punishments for perceived missteps.”
“This was not a ‘perceived misstep,’ Amelia. This was a critical misjudgment.”
“So you say, but I consider it a job well done.” She served herself some potatoes and carrots, dripping with melted butter, her appetite apparently undiminished. Hugh allowed the subject to drop; he had other things to consider.
Like how on earth could he persuade Christiana to forgive him?
Chapter Thirty-Six
By the timeBarnsley Hall came into sight, Hugh was revising his decision to allow Amelia to accompany him. She had arisen far perkier than he, and now she practically bounced in excitement at the prospect of meeting Christiana’s crotchety father for the first time, no doubt with grand dreams of putting the man back in his place.
He wished he had sent her back home with an army of servants.
“Can I meet Lord Barnsley?” she asked for the umpteenth time as they approached the estate. Bathed in the mid-afternoon sun, the golden sandstone held a certain charm, even if from a distance, Hugh could see the missing tiles and chipped facade.
All things he would rectify, even if it killed him.
“No,” he said shortly.
Amelia pouted. “Why?”
“Because that honor is not one reserved for you. Besides, he might not be alive.” Although there were no black flags flying, black sheets hanging from the windows, or any other demonstration of mourning.