Absolute Surrender (12 page)

Charles wasn
’
t clear whether it was the hastiness of her retreat or the sway of her bottom as she ran up the stairs that gave him pause. But pause he did, to consider her retreating form and perhaps the hastiness with which it did so.

Charles knew two things for certain: He was treading in difficult waters, and he was very nearly to the point at which there would be no retreat. He knew he had to ascertain her suitability as quickly as possible. His want be damned. But he did want her. Oh, how he did
want
.

He watched her go, disconcerted by her reaction to his smile. He must have scared the wits from her. Hopefully, he would still be welcome when he called tomorrow. Had he really pressed into her in the parlor? Had he truly treated her in such a low manner? He pressed a palm to his forehead as if to stave off an ache as his body screamed at him to follow her.
Protect her.

Charles saw her mother speaking with Lady Mathorpe in the entry and cringed when they both turned toward him.

“Is aught amiss?” her mother asked. Her slight French accent skimmed his awareness, momentarily softening him, reminding him of his own mother.

Was
aught amiss? Charles wasn
’
t sure. Amelia had bolted at the sight of him. Was her mother looking for a confession, or was she concerned for her daughter
’
s behavior in the carriage above all?

“Ma
’
am, I
’
m to call on Amelia tomorrow.”

She gave him a smile. Albeit warily.

“Is she well?” he asked. “She seemed to be in a bit of a rush.”

Her mother stiffened, as if frozen from the ground up. He could see the freeze travel up her skirts and her spine until her head tilted back, and she looked up her nose at him. “Whatever do you mean?” She very nearly screeched it.

“I only mean that she was upset in the carriage, and I attempted to speak with her in the parlor, but may have…” He rubbed his chin. “I only meant to let her know that I was not offended by…what happened.”

Her mother cut a glance to Lady Mathorpe, who shook her head derisively. “What
did
happen?” Amelia’s mother asked, now quite concerned.

Charles looked to Lady Mathorpe and her haughty demeanor, then back to Amelia
’
s mother.

“We spoke,” was all he said. She studied him.

The shriek that rent the hall was so piercing, so fully realized, that everyone within earshot was rendered momentarily incapacitated. He imagined most of London, in fact, to be sure. As one, they looked up toward the origin of the sound, somewhere high above them. Charles, Lady Pembroke, and Lady Mathorpe. Possibly a butler and a housemaid or two. Certainly, the house cats and mice.

Then everyone moved at once, scattering. Lady Mathorpe turned to the parlor, shaking her head. The servants disappeared behind doorways, and the cats and mice faded into the shadows. Her mother bolted for the stair, and he followed.

They went up, then up some more, then through a series of turns. He was sure she was leading him into a trap. He would never find his way out again. At any moment, the lights would dim, Lady Pembroke would disappear in a gale of laughter, and he would be lost forever in the series of winding hallways.

Where do they keep her, for God
’
s sake?

Finally, a door swung open, and her mother ran into a room. This room was well lit, unlike the many hallways they
’
d traversed. He peered in and saw the smallest of figures in a heap on the floor. There was a lady’s maid next to her, comforting, whispering, and then her mother
’
s hellish voice broke the sad symphony. His body jerked in attempt to get to her, but her mother was there first.

“Amelia, Amelia! Get up and get dressed. It isn
’
t the thing to be half-made at this time of day.” The shriek made him cringe. Any softness he
’
d previously felt vanished with those words. If he
’
d grown up with that voice, he might have been insane by now as well.

Insane… No
, he couldn
’
t think that of her…or should he?
No
.

Charles needed to speak with her parents, with Ender again, with doctors, physicians, people who…people who would take his tale and spread it to the world—effectively ruining her in the eyes of society. And now Charles understood why there were so many stairs, and halls, and turns. He understood the delicacy of the situation. He understood how easily she could land in Bedlam. One wrong word. One misplaced comment, and she would be taken away and never heard from again. Bedlam was nothing but a hold for lost souls. For those who couldn
’
t be found, didn
’
t want to be found. Or for those who someone else didn
’
t want coming back.

Charles watched again. Amelia, his beautiful Amelia, was now sitting in a chair by the fire, curled in a ball, and her maid was trying to persuade her mother to let her be. The mother was adamantly opposed.

Was this
his
doing?

The blood drained from his head, and Charles steadied himself with a hand on the doorjamb.

“You act as if I don
’
t know my own daughter!” Another shriek, another cringe, and the maid shrank.

If you could sway while sitting, that was what Amelia did. She swayed, toward her maid and away from her mother.

He straightened his spine and his clothes and tried to convince himself—in this straightening—that he was strong enough to take on this woman. “Lady Pembroke. A word?” Charles’s voice was shakier than he wished it to be, and he cleared his throat. “Now.”
Better.
Much more commanding.

Silence. Stillness. The woman rose quietly, then turned as a well-oiled machine, without so much as a ruffle from her skirts. “Your Grace, I had no idea you—” She pasted on a smile. Charming, that.

“If we might speak. With Pembroke as well. I believe I have some questions.”

“
Of course, Your Grace, I
…well, I should see to my—” Her hand fell gently open toward Amelia.

“Now would be best. I
’
m quite certain she
’
ll be fine, yes? There isn
’
t anything terribly
wrong
with her…is there?” Charles asked innocently—and there he had her.

Lady Pembroke could not admit to any sort of true malady, not to him, and he knew this. He smiled, charmingly.

Her smile faltered as she nodded and moved from the room. As she swept past him, the maid rushed to Amelia and pulled her into a tight embrace, and Amelia seemed to melt. She seemed to not realize the scene about her, either—just the touch of this maid.

Charles watched as one tiny hand found it
s
way out of the blankets surrounding her and held on to the maid’s arm. He felt that touch on his own arm, and his want returned. To be that person for her. This.

This
was his most basic desire.

He pulled the door shut quietly, but not before he caught the maid’s eye, and the words from her mouth. “Thank you,” she said,
sotto voce
.

Charles followed Lady Pembroke back through the many halls and corners and down the stairs to the duke
’
s study. His mind raced, attempting to wrap itself around the events that had led him here. What could he have done differently? What should he have done differently? Kept his distance? But so much had been learned today…so much displayed. Dependent on a favorable outcome, he wouldn
’
t change a thing.

They entered the duke
’
s study, where they all stood and stared at each other. Well, Pembroke remained in his wheeled chair, but Charles and Lady Pembroke stood, though Pembroke did share in the staring bit.

Pembroke finally cleared his throat and looked to his wife. “My dear, is aught amiss?” he asked carefully.

This household, Charles was finding, was quite careful. In all things.

Be cautious when working with Pembroke,
his father had said.

Lady Pembroke looked at Charles and merely continued to stare.

So Charles looked to Pembroke and decided to lay all the facts of the matter out. “Your daughter seems to have an issue.” Charles then joined the careful dance with them. “What have you done for her in the past? Has she seen any professionals? Any at all?”

Something crossed Pembroke’s features so briefly that Charles would ordinarily have brushed it aside, but under the circumstances, he took note.

Pembroke sputtered,
“
Well, I
…my wife handles all
delicate
matters of the household. If she were in need of a physician or some such…” His voice trailed off, and they were back to looking at Lady Pembroke. And she them. In turn.

Quite the contest, in truth.

Charles tried again. “We have an agreement, you and I,” he said simply to her father, as if the agreement would have been forgotten in the mere minutes since they
’
d entered into it.

The duke nodded. “
We do.
” His eyes darkened, and Charles realized this man might not have been as ill as he presented. Perhaps that
was
how he kept his success, by keeping his adversaries on edge, by playing the illness. Perhaps that was why Charles’s father had warned him.

Charles realized he needed to tread lightly to play this game. He looked back to the lady as he spoke to Pembroke. “Our agreement remains in full force. I will return and expect to be admitted to see Lady Amelia. Without prejudice.” He felt the duke
’
s consternation, could see his head swivel from his wife and back to him, and knew he wasn
’
t to give any more away.

He kept his unblinking eyes on the lady. Until she nodded.

“You must understand in all things, it is my duty to find a suitable wife.”

Lady Pembroke
’
s eyes widened incrementally, and he realized then how difficult this all would be. It was his duty. His queen expected a
suitable
match. Followed by the begetting of heirs. He had to put aside the powerful emotions he
’
d experienced with Amelia today. He had a duty.