Page 16 of Look at Her Duke
Amelia hated it as much as she hated the crushing weight in her chest, the knowledge Kipling Mancheste would never be hers…and now she was going to have to pretend to be polite all through dinner.
Perhaps she could feign a headache and stay in her room.
In her arms the hen shifted, and Amelia knew she needed to get the bird to the garden, lest she risk chicken shite on her pink gown.
“Shh,” she murmured, stroking the hen as below Emma tossed her head back and laughed gaily yet again. Anger spiked in Amelia’s throat. “Oh my God, Becky. Look atherduke.”
Becky, showing all the social nuances of a brain the size of its eyeball, squawked loudly.
Lord and Lady Stallings had already entered the parlor, but Emma swung around, taking Kipling with her, as her gaze went unerringly to the landing.
“Why, it is little Lady Amelia, our favorite animal lover! Amelia, darling, are you feeling quite well? Your throat is paining you?”
The mockery in her tone made it clear she knew Amelia’s reputation, so there was nothing to do but lift her chin, gather her skirts—and chicken—and march down the stairs. “Lady Emma,” she acknowledged coolly. “Your Grace.”
Emmatsked. “You should greet His Grace first, you know. He is aDuke.”
As if Amelia could forget. She turned her full attention to the man standing stiffly beside Emma. “Kipling,” she managed, past a lump in her throat.
Something flashed in those beautiful blue eyes, something like…gratitude? “Taking Becky out for a walk?” he asked nonchalantly.
Amelia hefted the chicken slightly. This was an easier conversation if she pretended Emma wasn’t here. “She helped me get ready. Now I need to deposit her in the garden with Charles.”
It was clear Emma was irritated at being left out of the conversation. “Charles?” She laughed shrilly. “A servant?”
Kipling stiffly explained, “Charles is Becky’s brother. Another Shanghai white.”
He…remembered Becky’s breed?
Amelia felt the band around her heart loosen a little.
“You havechickens,” Emma stated, as if she couldn’t quite comprehend something so ridiculous. “Which you carry around? As if they were…reticules?” She burst into laughter. “Oh, how delightful. I knew you were eccentric, Lady Amelia, but this is preposterous!”
Before she could giveanyonea chance to answer, she’d tugged Kipling toward the parlor. “Come along, Your Grace. You must introduce me formally to the Duke of Effinghell!”
Over his shoulder, Kipling shot Amelia an apologetic glance, but it didn’t help, not really.
Sighing, Amelia turned toward the back of the house and the kitchen gardens. This was going to be a truly terrible dinner.
Dinner was truly terrible.
Oh, Emma was polite enough, and Mother and Lady Stallings dominated the conversation, sharing stories of their time in school. Their shenanigans kept Alistair’s wife, mother, and sister Amanda giggling throughout, which was a bit of relief.
But Kipling was incredibly uncomfortable. It just seemed like such bad form to have invited the Stallingses to Alistair’s home, when the man was so reclusive.
Remember, Alistair suggested it.
In fact, the man seemed completely oblivious to any sort of tension. He ate hischicken à la King, he sipped his wine, he watched indulgently as his new wife Olivia kept the conversation moving…but he didn’t participate.
The other person at the table who didn’t participate was Amelia. In fact, she hadn’t looked his way since they’d all been seated. She took an occasional sip of water, she pushed her rice around her plate, and she occasionally picked out a mushroom or two…but she absolutely wasn’t enjoying herself.
Anyone could see that.
Anyone who could be bothered toreallyseeher, that was.
Every once in a while, Alistair would catch Kip’s eye and dart a gaze toward Amelia, and Kip would have to press his lipstogether and study his own dinner. He didn’t know what to say to her…how to engage her in conversation after that stunningly awkward encounter in the hall.
How to engage herat all.
