Her eyes widened. ‘You are no longer in the army?’
‘I sold out.’ He gestured to his clothes. ‘That is why I am not in uniform.’ He met Tess’s gaze, but wondered if Amelie even attended to his words. ‘Napoleon is defeated. The war is over. Without the war, there is no future for me in the army. Regiments will disband, I fear. There will be fewer and fewer opportunities to advance.’
And who would promote a bastard when there were plenty of aristocratic sons wanting the higher ranks? When fighting in Spain, he’d been passed over for field promotions. Captaincies had been given to men with fewer skills and less seniority.
‘But what will you do?’ Tess asked.
He could not resist a glance at Amelie, who sat primly, eyes lowered, hands folded in her lap. ‘I plan to return to Brussels.’
‘Brussels? With Mama?’ Tess’s voice rose.
Tess and her sisters had not known their mother was in Brussels, let alone that Edmund had corresponded with her for several years and stayed with her when his regiment was sent to the area. Because of Edmund, Tess and Lady Summerfield had forged a reconciliation, albeit an ambivalent one. Unlike Edmund, Tess had not forgiven her mother for abandoning them.
But this was not the time to discuss Lady Summerfield.
‘There are fortunes to be made on the Continent, now that the war is over,’ he said instead. And Count von Osten had a talent for finding them.
‘You sound like Papa,’ Tess accused.
Their late father had always chased an easy fortune, finding instead only debts and failure. When his half-sister Lorene sent him money to purchase a captaincy, Edmund had been surprised there had been any money left to inherit. While Edmund recuperated in Brussels, he used that money, not to purchase an advancement in the army, but to make the very sort of investment his father might have made. Except, unlike his father, Edmund made good profits from taking the risk. Now that he’d sold his lieutenancy, he had even more money to invest.
‘I’ll do well enough, Tess,’ he assured her. ‘Besides, I only have me to worry over.’ Not a wife, three daughters and a bastard son, like their father.
‘No more talk of money,’ her husband said cheerfully.
‘Then tell me of Lorene and Genna,’ Edmund said, glad to change the subject. ‘Are they in London, too?’
Their sister Lorene had married a very old man, a reclusive earl who lived near their village in Lincolnshire. She’d married him for his money, which seemed unlike her. Edmund had never met the man.
‘Lord Tinmore has retired to the country.’ Glenville’s voice rang with contempt. ‘He has filled Tinmore Hall with guests who are invited for the bird shooting.’
‘Guests?’ Edmund said. ‘I thought he was an old recluse. Was that not what was said of him when we were growing up?’
‘He probably has invited his eligible gentlemen friends in an effort to get Genna married off,’ Tess responded. ‘He is eager to be rid of her, I think.’
‘How old is Genna?’ Edmund asked. ‘Is she not too young?’ His eyes darted to Amelie again. How old was she? he wondered. Had she been too young? He’d not given that a thought that fateful night.
‘She is nineteen now.’ Tess rolled her eyes. ‘Plenty old enough, but she professes to be against marriage. She sometimes vows never to marry, but it is unlikely Tinmore will allow her that choice.’
Edmund was alarmed. ‘Surely he will not force her!’
Tess exchanged a look with her husband, who answered, ‘I fear Tinmore is capable of almost anything.’
‘What of Lorene?’ Edmund asked. Could he take care of both Lorene and Genna if it became necessary? ‘Does he treat her ill?’
Tess shook her head. ‘He is indulgent of Lorene as far as I can surmise. She wants for nothing, but he wants Lorene all to himself, not shared with her sisters.’
Edmund curled his fingers into a fist. ‘You will tell me if he mistreats either of them.’
‘We will not let them be mistreated,’ Glenville said emphatically.
The butler entered the room to announce that dinner was served. Tess took Glenville’s arm. There was nothing for Edmund to do but offer to escort Amelie. Her graceful fingers wrapped around his offered arm.
‘How are you, Amelie?’ he asked in a lowered voice as they trailed behind Tess and Glenville.
She raised her blue eyes to his for a moment but quickly averted them again. ‘I am well enough, I suppose.’
She appeared altered, though, not full of sparkle and happiness like when he first met her in Brussels. She was different than when he’d made love to her, as well. She seemed...worried.
In the dining room she was seated next to him, and he was aware the entire time of her closeness. He found himself wanting to see the expressions on her face to gauge how she was feeling.
There were so many questions he wished to ask her. Was she ill? Was she still affected by Fowler’s behaviour in Brussels? Did she ever think of the night they’d spent together? If so, did she remember it as he did? As a transforming experience? Or did she feel regret, remorse, or worst of all, shame? Should he have left her at the hotel door?
He hardly attended to the conversation at the table, hardly knew what he’d said to anyone. He’d talked about his investments, his plans to travel to wherever a fortune could be made. He and Glenville debated what countries that might be and also what the end of the war might mean to the economies of Britain, France and the rest of the Continent. If only he could remember what they concluded. A part of his mind had fixed on Amelie and would not let go.
* * *
Amelie made a show of eating, although she mostly pushed food around her plate. She’d not had an appetite of late. Would he notice?
She’d forgotten how handsome he was. Out of uniform in a beautifully tailored coat and trousers that showed his muscular legs, he was an impressive sight.
Was he glad to see her? She could not tell. There was no way to talk to him alone, and she dared not reveal that she knew him a great deal better than Marc or Tess could ever imagine. Perhaps his reticence to even look at her was to help keep their secret. She hoped so. She hoped it was not that he disliked encountering her again.
* * *
After dinner he and Marc did not linger over brandy. Instead they all returned to the drawing room for more conversation.
She’d thought she might never see Edmund again, thought he’d return to the army and be sent somewhere far away, but here he was and now she needed to make a decision. To speak to him now, to tell him of her—situation—or to have him find out later, perhaps in a letter from Tess.
It had bothered her greatly that he would find out after the fact and not hear it from her own lips.
He was here now, though. This might be her only chance.
But how to speak to him alone?
She could not think of any excuse to do so. He seemed not to pay her much mind, so would likely miss any hint she could try to send him to let him know she wanted to see him alone, with no one around. Just her and Edmund.
Eventually she excused herself, saying she was going to bed. Instead she put on her cloak and sneaked outside. She’d stand in the chilly September air until he walked out the door.
She waited in the stairs that led from the street to the servants’ entrance, hoping none of them opened the door and caught her there. The wind and damp seemed to find their way to her hiding place, making the minutes ticking by move even more slowly. How easy it would be to simply