Page 36 of Royally Wed
Lady Wentworth’s hand went to the gold pendant hanging from a long, dainty chain around her neck. “Yes, it is. I’ve had it for years.”
“It’s very pretty. Are those your initials I see engraved on it?” Amelia squinted. “Oh! It’s yoursand Lord Wentworth’s. How sweet.”
The older woman nodded. “Yes, W and H, for Wilhelmina and Henry.”
The lump in Amelia’s throat showed no signs of dissipating as she tried—and failed—to imagine herself thirty years into the future, proudly wearing a locket with hers and Holden’s intertwined initials etched onto its surface. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at their initials on the weddingstationery. “I love it.”
Holden slipped his arm around Amelia’s waist. “Shall we sit down? We’re having pudding before the curtain goes up.”
Pudding. While poor Madame Butterfly sat sobbing her heart out.
Amelia reminded herself that the tragedy playing out onstage wasn’t real. It was make-believe, just like her pending marriage. “Yes, let’s.”
A waiter entered the red-velvet room, carryingslices of Battenberg cake on cut crystal plates. Lord Wentworth commented on the perfectly symmetrical pink-and-yellow squares of the cake’s sponge filling, and Amelia took another sizeable swallow of champagne. She’d never much cared for Battenberg cake. Too much marzipan for her taste. She was almost certain Holden knew this, as they’d discussed it when choosing cake for the wedding reception.
He’d obviously forgotten. He glanced at her untouched plate. “Are you not hungry, darling?”
Darling.So they were using endearments now? Gregory was grinning from ear to ear.
Amelia reached for her glass and realized it was empty. “Not really, no. But the champagne is rather nice.”
Holden motioned for a waiter to come refill her champagne flute. She sipped away and did her best to ignore Gregorywhile Holden and his friends discussed the upcoming opera season. They had some strong opinions about the inclusion ofLes Pigeons D’Argileon the repertoire, which Amelia could understand. Who wanted to see an opera about pigeons?
All in all, it hadn’t been the worst date of Amelia’s life, probably because it didn’t actually feel like a date. She felt more like a child who’d somehow been placedat the grown-ups’ table by mistake.
She wished Eleanor had come along. Maybe next time she could. It wouldn’t be strange to bring her stepdaughter along on every date, would it?
A bell chimed, signaling the end of intermission.Thank God. She was suddenly very ready for the night to be over.
The final act of the show was devastating. Amelia could barely watch. When Butterfly blindfolded herson so he wouldn’t see her take her own life, Amelia reached for Holden’s hand and squeezed hard. He squeezed back, and the tiniest bud of hope blossomed deep in her soul. Maybe their marriage could work. Maybe she was worried about nothing. Holden was a good man. A good father. Thingscould be so much worse. She was acting like a spoiled child.
When she returned to the palace, she stopped bythe banquet room on the way to her suite. She didn’t bother turning on the lights. She simply stood staring for a moment at all the extravagant gifts, things that would soon decorate the home she and Holden would live in as husband and wife.
Tomorrow she would start writing the thank-you cards. It was a small victory that she could bring herself to walk into the room now. She told herself itwas because the night at the opera had helped her accept her fate, conveniently forgetting that Asher had been the one to help her first cross the threshold.
But as she walked the length of the Queen’s Hall with Willow chasing the beaded train of her ball gown, Amelia began to hear the wafting tone of Asher’s cello. It filled the darkened hallway, washing the palace in lyrical beauty that soundedalmost heroic. The ache she’d heard in his music when he’d played for her at Westminster Abbey was still there, but this time it was buried beneath a frenzy of rapid notes and bright spots of unrestrained passion.
Amelia raised her hand, poised to knock on the door. Willow pranced expectantly at her feet.
She paused.
I can’t keep doing this.
She was attracted to Asher. More attracted thanshe’d been to anyone in a long, long time. If she’d been free to explore her feelings, she wouldn’t bother knocking. She’d walk right in and surprise him. He’d pretend to be frustrated by the interruption, but she knew better. A blind man wouldhave been able to see the appreciation in his dark gaze when he looked at her. Amelia’s heart beat hard at the thought of it.
She drew her hand back.
Her wedding was in less than a week. Asher wasn’t her friend. If he were, she wouldn’t spend quite so much time imagining how it would feel to have his musical hands on her body. Or what it would be like to kiss him again. As much as she wanted to invite herself inside to sit at the foot of his bed and watch him play, she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
Instead, she pressed her palm to the door, closed hereyes, and let the deep, sultry tones of his music vibrate through straight down to her toes.
How long she stood there, she couldn’t really say.
