Page 28 of His Abandoned Duchess

“Richard, are you,” Amelia swallowed, an odd tightness lingering in her chest as she watched her husband brush his fingers against the blooms as she had done, “are you quite all right?”

“I have not seen this place as such since I was a boy.” His voice was quiet, awe filling it in a manner that Amelia was wholly unfamiliar with. “It is so…lovely.”

She abruptly stopped in her approach to him. Richard appeared to appreciate the work that she had done in the space, and any words that she had been prepared to offer in her defense no longer seemed needed. It left her ultimately at a loss for what sheshouldsay.

Richard’s promenade through the room led him back toward her, and as they met stares, she noticed the gentle lift to the corner of his mouth, making a dimple stand out there.

“My mother was desperately fond of green things. This room had always been her favorite, bedecked with exotic varieties of whatever she might seize for herself. I have spent many hours in this room admiring the scenery. When she passed…I had thought it would never be so again.”

Amelia’s throat closed, further pushed into the recesses of silence thanks to Richard’s confession. He spoke so little about his family, the woman who had raised him with abundantly apparent care prior to her passing.

The profound serenity on Richard’s face faltered, and his eyes flicked down to the floor. An extended intake of air claimed him, and Amelia found herself trading her weight between her feet. This was hardly the Richard she was accustomed to seeing, and it affected her immensely to see her husband without the shielding of irritation.

“My father did not care for the plants, nor did he let the staff tend to them. It was only a month following my mother’s death that they too died, left brown and crumbling in his empty space.”

An invisible crack formed within her ribcage, and Amelia’s hand went to her mouth. She was forced to swallow roughly as her eyes began to burn.

“Richard, I…” He met her stare, the hurt and haunted memories plain on his face. “I am so sorry.”

She attempted to smile, to offer the man some type of comfort in this moment of unexpected vulnerability. It was a poor imitation of a true grin. Still, something told Amelia that it was her honesty that Richard would appreciate more than empty platitudes.

“I am glad that I might bring some life back into the space. In fact,” she crossed the room, drawing Richard’s attention to the dahlias that had been placed near a larger pot of sizable leaves so that they might receive only dappled sunlight, “these have been brought in especially for Heartwick. Dahlias. They are to be the most fashionable flower in all of the country. I am quite sure they will catch everyone’s eyes.”

As she looked back at him, Richard studied the plants, that nearly imperceptible smile still worn about his mouth. A moment later, he looked up at her, his head cocking to the side in a consideration that made the hairs on Amelia’s arms stand on end.

“You had no notion of my mother’s love of botany.”

She shook her head. “No, I did not. It is a fortuitous accident. I will admit that I also have an adoration for horticulture and the like.”

Richard stepped closer, still regarding her, with a darkened look in his blue eyes.

“You did not know this about the late Duchess, so it is reasonable to assume that you did not do this to impress or entertain me.”

Her stomach clenched as the realization of what her husband was circling around hit her. Richard had been momentarily distracted by the splendor, but his sensibilities were returning, and he had ferreted out the actual reason behind this unpredictably benevolent act.

Amelia moved to step around Richard, seeking to pass by and find her way to the door so that she would not be trapped in this increasingly cramped space with him. He stepped into her path, however, keeping Amelia boxed in between his larger frame and the dense leaves at her back.

“Why did you do this, Amelia?”

Her mouth was desert dry, parched as if she’d never had so much as a sip of water in her life. But she would remain steadfast. She would deliver the exact response that had been running through her mind as she awaited Richard’s return.

“Such a grand estate requires?—”

“Do not try that excuse again, dear wife. I am not of the mind to believe that you suddenly wish most ardently to adhere to my commands. Perhaps,” he took another step forward, reaching for her chin as she attempted to keep it held aloft defiantly, “you merely sought to frustrate me, hmm?”

She didn’t dare respond, not yet. Amelia knew her tongue too well, and it was liable to unleash a tirade should she not bite the thing into submission.

“I will admit, Amelia, that I do not care if you choose to spend money so flippantly. You’ve made it quite clear that there is little I can do about it. There are funds enough and then some for you to entertain yourself with your ridiculous expenditures so long as it does not result in the ruination of the hard-won Blackford reputation.”

The smirk Richard wore cut to the heart of her, and Amelia could no longer assuage her irritation with patience.

“And a fine fudge that might be, husband. You have expressed yourself that you take terrific offense to the way I might choose to spend the funds. Aiding the community around me as so provoked your ire. Yet you tell me know that you have no care toward what I do with the estate’s finances?”

He gripped her chin, his fingers becoming increasingly demanding. As she met his lidded stare with fervor, Amelia’s pulse jumped beneath the skin of her neck. Richard’s proximity stimulated her blood, and the Duchess fought against the hungering need that steadily rose within her.

As Richard closed the inches between them, his chest brushing lightly against hers, he dropped his voice to a whisper.

“Are you seeking out my wrath so that you might experience my punishment once more, Amelia? Did your previous tending leave you with an appetite for indulgence?”

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