Absolute Surrender (15 page)

“And are you…hurt?” Charles asked quietly, dropping his hand to rest on his thigh.

“Am I? That has yet to be determined, I suppose. At the moment, I
’
m undecided.”

“As you are undecided in other areas.” This time,
pursuing the woman promised me
was left unspoken.

“My suit, you mean? Well, that was decided long ago. It
’
s only wrapping it through my brain that must be done. You see, the heart wants what the heart wants. Getting it to believe otherwise is the difficult task.”

“How easily you speak of hearts,” Charles said quietly. Men tended to shy from speak of hearts, love, anything of softness and lacking an edge. Not this man. It was unexpected. Charles had assumed him much colder, more distant.

Ender grinned as if he knew he
’
d just shattered a misplaced opinion.

Charles continued,
“And how can I ask you to help me, if you are here for you?”

“Oh, but you misunderstand. I
’
m here for Amelia. I always have been. That
’
s the simple truth of it. My bearing on the matter is inconsequential to me, and therein lies another catch. As inconsequential as this is to me, it
’
s
not
to Amelia.”

“Were it that simple,” Charles said.

“Does this all sound simple to you? I wish you would explain it to me then, for I
’
m having difficulty understanding why it is I
’
m here. This morning I went to break with her, but found I simply could not. Then to see you…
very well played
, sir, I might add. Had you called me out this morning, I would have been none too happy to fight your suit. But as it happens, between that and the reticule, you
’
ve now shown me a genuineness of character I find I quite like for
my
Amelia
. In truth…I believe you.”

“That
’
s unfortunate,” Charles said distractedly. He bounced a fist on his thigh, debating whether to truly be honest with Ender, or hold back his—possibly misguided—intentions.

Ender studied him.
“Meaning?”

“Upon leaving Pembroke House, I was determined…to pursue…what was best for Amelia. Whether that be my suit or yours.” Charles watched from the corner of his eye as Ender’s jaw dropped.

“
You can
’
t be serious,” Ender said finally.

“Quite, in fact. The thing of it is…I have that specific duty to the crown, as do you. But in my determination today, I found my concern for Amelia far outweighs my…
want
of her. Though ‘want’ seems a tawdry and unacceptable description for what I have, mind you. I do want her, in every way. But if the duties of duchess are more than she can take on, I would wish to see her happy…with you. A baroness is no simple chore, either, but not so much as a duchess—as
my
duchess. The expectations of such are…”

“Extensive.”

“Quite. So, you see, I cannot make this decision for her, not by measure. She has to be ready, prepared, able to perform the duties to the crown required of her. After today, I
’
m not sure these are duties she
’
s interested in taking on.” Charles paused, working up to what he decided he must say next, and when he did, he spoke so quietly, he wasn
’
t sure the air before him could even hear it. “I
’
m not sure these are duties she
’
s
capable
of taking on, even though you say she is. Though I wish it. I do. I want for it.”

Silence.

“So where do we go from here?” Charles asked quietly.

“I…am unsure. We must determine that Amelia is truly up to the challenge of a duchy, I suppose.”

“That seems unfair, that we should be the ones to determine it. She wants this. That should be enough,” Charles said determinedly.

“But it isn
’
t. No offense to you, but she has quite a bit of pressure from her mother to pursue your suit. She may not be seeing what will be required of her…after.”

“So my suit comes down to the technical of the position. How perfectly terrific.” Charles leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He let his head drop into his hands, his fingers sinking into his hair, pulling, requiring some tangible source of feeling.

“I sincerely hope not. You and I, we
’
ll work together. We
’
ll determine what
’
s best for her, where she
’
ll be safe, cared for…
loved.
” He said this last bit as though it wasn
’
t a possibility. That rankled a bit.

“I believe wherever she ends, she
’
ll be cared for. Deeply,” Charles countered.

Ender nodded.
“Love is blindness. I cannot allow for my feelings toward her to color this decision, and yet—”

“And yet, how do we not? Truly, I don
’
t believe I can be objective in this. When I hold her…” Charles shook off the thought, unable to discuss this much with Ender as yet. “This is not how I wished for this to progress,” Charles said, holding both hands up between them as if to physically push Ender away.

“Well, had you chosen a simple chit, you
’
d be well and truly wedded and bedded by now,” Ender said with a grin, a poor attempt to lighten the mood.

Charles merely shook his head then leaned back in the chair, smoothing his disarrayed locks as he did. He was desperately in need of more ale.

“I will help. I believe the first impediment is her…condition,”
Ender said.

“And how will you help me with this?”

“I
’
ll observe. Simply think of me as…another sort of chaperone. One who may have helpful suggestions.”

“You are going to teach me how to manage her?”

Ender visibly cringed. “That
’
s not how I wish to see it. I…you must understand it isn
’
t management she needs. It
’
s something more.”

“But I
don
’
t
understand. That
’
s precisely the problem.”

“And that
’
s what I
’
m here to rectify. But if you
’
re unable, you
’
re to cry off. I won
’
t have her in a marriage that
’s unsuitable.
” Ender was leaning toward him, pointing rather menacingly. “Are we in agreement?”

Charles considered him for a moment. He saw no reason why he couldn
’
t learn to manage—
to help
—Amelia to the point that their marriage on face would be successful. Perhaps if he had this knowledge, the ability to calm her… Quite the opposite of what he’d done today. Charles nodded once, then stood, pulling Ender from his seat with him. Charles put his hand out to Ender. They had a common goal. Even if they were on opposite sides of it.

Ender raised his hands, shook his head, and spoke softly, “You must understand. We are not friends. Someday, perhaps, but for now I simply cannot…”

Charles nodded, pulling his hand back and waving the statement off. “I understand. I do
hope
, for Amelia
’
s sake…but I also understand.”

“Do you? Truly?”
Ender asked.

“Do I…hope? Every moment of every day. I wish I could explain to you…but then—” Charles nodded. “Can we simply agree that I will call you Ender, and you will call me Jacks?”

Ender then lifted his hand with a smile, and Charles took it. “Yes, Jacks, this we can agree on.”

A tiny gasp came then from the doorway. “
Well, isn
’
t this…interesting.”

Charles and Ender turned together toward the entry to see Amelia. Watching…
listening.

“So very…interesting.” Amelia paused, not sure whether to run or go deeper into the web they were, quite obviously, attempting to weave for her.
Charles and Hugh. Hugh and Charles. Charles and—

“Amelia—”

She jerked toward them, unsure which of them had spoken, closed as her eyes were, every bit of her attempting to remain standing.

I won
’
t have her in a marriage that is unsuitable.

If you
’
re unable, you are to cry off.

We
’
ll determine what is best for her, where she
’
ll be safe, cared for…
loved.

She opened her eyes on the hand that held the doorjamb. Her fingers too numb to feel. She concentrated on that connection, willed her hand to feel the hardness, the smooth wood beneath her fingers. Had she gone to see Charles, which had been her first inclination, she would have been met with an empty house. As it happened, she was here, privy to a conversation that, quite obviously, she hadn
’
t been meant to be privy to.

She swooned and was caught up by strong hands on her, too many to count, carrying her, arguing over her, moving her, then releasing her to a soft bed of cushions.

Amazing how hands can argue.

She felt the safety of Hugh surrounding her, calming her, even as the insistent touch of Charles wound her to the core. She kept her eyes closed and merely attempted to feel.

“Amelia.” This was Charles.
Charles
… Her heart raced at the whisper of his name in her mind.

CharlesCharlesCharles.

“Amelia mine?” And this was Hugh. To effect a calm so completely with that phrase—only he could do that. She felt Charles bristle at the endearment.

She opened her eyes slowly. They
’
d placed her on a chaise near the fireplace. Charles on the floor at her shoulder and Hugh at her knee, both with the most concerned faces she
’
d ever seen on either of them.

“You mean to manage me,” she whispered.

Manage. Not love, but manage.

She
’
d thought they both loved her, of a fashion anyway. For she knew she was so desperately odd that she was truly unlovable. The realization was a true pain to her gut. She shrugged off their hands.
All of their hands.
She watched as they withdrew in unison, as if properly choreographed. All those big hands, hovering above her as if they feared that final step to retreat. As though once committed, they could never return.

Amelia could feel their fear as a palpable, graspable, touchable thing. A heavy fog in the air around her, weighing her down. She moved to sit up, and they were back, but she stayed them all with a glance.

So many hands. Four, to be sure, but it had felt like thousands.

She straightened her skirts as she righted herself. This was an interesting position. This, between them. They were both crouched low, now on either side of her knees, their hands still hovering a bit, not knowing where to alight, as though to find a resting place anywhere but on
her
would be a terrible concession neither could live with. “You mean to manage me. You both believe I cannot make up my own mind about what I can or cannot do.”

You do not mean to truly love me.
She closed her eyes, quickly.

They do not love me.
She stared forward, between their silences. There was more hovering, a bit of discomfited shifting, eye dodging and throat clearing. She could feel them both, the serene care to her right, that wild caution to her left.

“You think me weak.” She nearly dissolved from the inside out with these words, she felt them so keenly. A sob rent her countenance, and her hand flew to her temple to stave off an impending pain there.

“No. No, Amelia, we do not think you weak,” Charles said quietly, as though afraid of startling her. Causing her to bolt. Charles’s mouth dropped open, but this time no sound came out. He looked to Hugh, as though for guidance, and she became truly enraged then.

“I cannot abide this!” She motioned to them both, “This…whatever this is. You think me
weak.
” She held up one hand as they both began to shake their heads. The thaw had come, and they both seemed to realize they could, in fact, move. Speak. “What else would you be plotting here together? And you cannot lie, because I heard you.
I heard you.
Do not try to rationalize this with me. Do. Not. I—” They moved then in unison, and their movements did startle her, the two of them, hands out, placating. Cautiously.

She wanted to scream. To rend the very air with her frustration. Hugh had always been her safe place, someone she could be herself with, to rant, scream, love, and share her innermost thoughts. Charles…she adored him. She hoped he didn
’
t know her well enough to hate her, to believe that he
had
to come to Hugh, to believe that he didn
’
t think he was enough for her. Or worse, that she was unsuitable for him.

She
’
d always been able to relax with Hugh. She was herself. She did not have to control herself, her oddities, her wild thoughts. His very presence calmed those thoughts in her mind, made them irrelevant, more like whispers than the insistent screams they usually were.

But here, between the two, she couldn
’
t rest. Her mind tangled to decide where to lean, to control her mind and her body in that usual fashion, because Charles was here, and she didn
’
t want him to know…but he did know.
He
’
d seen. He was there.
She remembered.

She felt something like a seam come loose, straight up her middle, like a dress split for being too tightly sewn. She pressed her hand to her belly to hold back whatever was to spill forth as they moved to her sides. Hugh on her right, Charles on her left. A modicum of space between them all. Nearly immeasurable. She held very still, the heat emanating from the two of them tangible, and she knew if she came into contact with either—the conflagration of her soul would light London for a fortnight.

She breathed. Attempted to, at any rate. Endeavored to steady her nerves. She swayed toward Hugh, then stayed herself…knowing. She could not cut Charles in such a fashion. Would not. Regardless of whatever had transpired here tonight. She closed her eyes to stay at least that much of her senses. Her hands smoothed down her skirts to her knees, then tangled there, and she allowed it. Did not attempt to control that outward sign of tension. At least she knew where they were, what they were doing.

“I need to…I need to know what your intentions are where I
’
m concerned. I need to speak with both of you…separately. I need to know, precisely, what
’
s to come of me.” She waited patiently. Neither man moved. “I
’
ll not choose between you. The two of you must determine which of you is to be first. I will not. I cannot.” She waited.

After a time, the cushion on her left shifted, and she leaned to her right, nearly imperceptibly, as she steadied herself. She heard the door to the library close, and she melted into Hugh, latching on to his lapels.

“Damn you,” she said to his cravat.

“Amelia mine, it
’
s not as you think.” She shivered and burrowed into him a bit. “Or perhaps it is, but not…not without the very best of intentions.” She knew his hands hovered at her shoulders, not quite sure yet whether he would be welcome.

“And these intentions—that don
’
t take my wishes into account—are they like my mother’s
very best
intentions? Or are they more like my father’s
very best
intentions?” She pushed back and took his eyes with hers. “Tell me true, because I love you at this moment as I always have. Tell me what these
very best intentions
have to do with me.”

“Jacks came here, because he witnessed the episode this afternoon. After he offered for you.”

“He did not, in fact, offer for me. He left me wondering. He left me without a toehold. Hugh, I
’
m lost, and I came to find myself, and instead, I found that I
’
m not entirely sure I can trust you. Or him…” She glanced back at the door to the library. “He witnessed my—how much did he witness?” She shook her head, her eyes unfocused for a moment on the thought, then she looked back up at Hugh and concentrated. “I cannot feel my fingers.” She stared at them, sank her thoughts into the blinding numbness, willed that numbness to overtake the whole of her. Perhaps she could vanish there, somewhere, without feeling, without care.

Hugh took her hands then, unlatched them from his lapels as she watched, straightened each finger, and gave them each a bit of attention, until the pins and needles started, and she wiggled free of his grasp. She shouldn
’
t touch him again. Somehow, it felt a disregard for Charles to do such.

“Hugh, I need for you to explain.”

“I understand. This conversation between Jacks and I should never have taken place, not without your leave. I will tell you this: We have come to an understanding, one that I never thought to see from the two of us.”

“What is that?”

“That our sole purpose, both of us, is to see you happy. Regardless of your family, your mother, your current situation, either of our suits. That
’
s our intent. That is the driving force behind our
very best intentions.
”

She looked to him and read the truth of it in his eyes. She could always read the truth of him so easily that he couldn
’
t hide from her. He had the truest eyes, and she understood him at his very base. She supposed this was why he was safe. There was never any question. Charles, however, she didn
’
t know that well. She
’
d only hoped to. The wildness in him, the wildness he brought out in her, that wildness terrified and, at the same time, was exhilarating.

“And?” she pressed for more.

“That
’
s all. The exact method of our intent had yet to be devised. Though I know we intended to be with you, together.”

Her breath stopped, most likely following the example of her heart. Her eyes widened.
T
ogether
seemed terribly untoward. All those hands. All that strength. That overwhelming hardness, doubled. “Together…” She wasn
’
t entirely sure the word had been audible until he answered her.

“Yes, though not like this. We had hoped to come to you…I had hoped to speak with you about this. As I
’
m sure Jacks did. Neither of us intended for this…mess.”

She realized he hadn
’
t meant the images that her mind had called forth. He
’
d simply meant at the same time.
Which is the same as together
…but not the same.

She shook her head. “Together?”