Persuasion

“Is it a ball?” Momma asked excitedly. “Oh, darling, are we going to a ball?”

Lucas patted her hand. “Momma, it is I, Lucas, and, no, we are attending the funeral for Lady Grenville.”

Momma was a tiny, gray-haired woman, even smaller than Amelia. She stared blankly at Lucas. Amelia was no longer saddened by her condition. She was so rarely coherent these days. As she often did, Momma thought herself a young debutante again, and that Lucas was either their father or one of her previous beaux.

Amelia stared out of her carriage window as Momma sat between her and Lucas. She had done her best, these past two days, to focus on the tasks at hand. She had a huge list to get through if she were to close up the manor and remove herself and Momma to town. She had already written Julianne, apprising her of the current events. She had begun to pack up linens, store preserves and put away their winter clothing, and organize what they would need for a season in town. Keeping busy had been a relief. From time to time she had worried about Lady Grenville’s children, but she had managed not to think about St. Just, not even once—but his dark, handsome face continually lurked in the back of her mind.

There was no denying her anxiety now. She was riddled with tension and she could barely breathe. Yet it was absurd. So what if they came face-to-face again after all these years? He was not going to recognize her, and if he did, he would not even recall their foolish flirtation—she was certain.

But images from that long-ago affair kept trying to creep into her whirling thoughts as her carriage moved forward. The urge to indulge in those memories had begun the moment she had arisen at dawn.

Amelia knew that she must keep her wits about her. But she had begun to remember how crushed she had truly been when she had learned that he had left Cornwall. Not only hadn’t he said goodbye, he hadn’t even left a note.

She was beginning to remember the weeks of heartache and grief; the nights she had cried herself to sleep.

She had to behave with pride and dignity now. She had to remember that they were neighbors, and nothing more. She hugged herself.

“Are you all right?” Lucas’s grim voice cut into her thoughts.

She didn’t try to force a smile. “I am glad we are here. I hope I have a moment to meet the children before the service begins. They are my most pressing concern.”

“Children do not attend balls,” Momma said firmly.

Amelia smiled at her. “Of course they don’t.” She turned back to Lucas.

He said, “You seem very tense.”

“I have been so preoccupied with getting everything done before we leave for town,” she lied. “I feel as if I am on pins and needles.” She smiled at Momma. “Won’t it be wonderful, to go back to town?”

Momma’s eyes widened. “Are we going to town?” She was delighted.

Amelia took her hand and squeezed it. “Yes, we are, as soon as we can be ready.”

Lucas’s stare seemed skeptical. “You know, if you are thinking about the past, no one would blame you.”

She choked as she released her mother’s hand. “I beg your pardon?”

“It was long ago, but I haven’t forgotten how he played you.” His gaze narrowed. “He broke your heart, Amelia.”

“I was sixteen!” she gasped. Lucas clearly hadn’t forgotten a thing. “That was ten years ago!”

“Yes, it was. And he hasn’t been back in all that time, not even once, so I imagine you might be somewhat nervous. Are you?”

She flushed. Lucas knew her so well, and while she did not keep secrets from him, he hardly had to know that she was foolishly anxious now. “Lucas, I forgot the past a long time ago.”

“Good.” He was firm. “I am glad to hear that!” He added, “I’ve never said anything, but I’ve seen him now and then, in town. It has been cordial. There did not seem a point in holding a grudge, not after so many years.”

She whispered, “You are right—there is no point in holding any kind of grudge. Our lives took different paths.” She hadn’t realized that Lucas had socialized with Grenville, but he was in London often now, so of course their paths would eventually cross. She almost wanted to ask him how Simon was, and how he had changed. But she knew better. She smiled a bit, instead.

He stared for another moment, searching her gaze with his own. “Well, something is keeping him. My understanding is that he has yet to arrive at St. Just Hall.”

Amelia was disbelieving. “That is impossible. Wherever he was when Lady Grenville passed, it has been three days. He would certainly be here by now!”

Lucas looked away as their carriage finally halted, not far from the chapel’s courtyard. “The roads are bad at this time of year, but I would agree, he should be here by now.”

She stared blankly. “Surely they will not hold the funeral without St. Just?”

“Everyone in the parish has turned out.”

Amelia looked out of her window. The grounds were cluttered with coaches and carriages of all descriptions. Grenville had to have arranged for the funeral. Only he could postpone it. But if he were not present, how could he do that?

“My God,” she whispered, distraught, “he might miss his own wife’s funeral!”

“Let us hope he arrives at any moment.” Lucas alighted, then turned to help Momma down. He held out his hand for Amelia. Still shocked, Amelia stepped down carefully. Maybe they would not meet that day after all. Was she relieved? If she did not know better, she would almost think that she almost felt disappointed.

A somberly dressed crowd was streaming into the chapel’s courtyard, on foot. Amelia paused and glanced sharply around. It was a gray, bleak, blustery day and she shivered, in spite of the wool coat she wore. It had been ten years since she had been at the hall, but nothing had changed. The house remained as imposing and stately as ever.

As they left the drive, intending to follow everyone else inside, her low heels sank into the ground. The lawns were thawing and somewhat muddy. Lucas steered her to the stone path leading toward the chapel’s courtyard.

Was the rest of the family already inside? Amelia wondered.

She glanced back toward the palatial front entrance of the house and faltered. A slender man and a plump, gray-haired woman were just coming down the front steps with two small boys.

Those were Grenville’s sons, she thought instantly, oddly shaken.

She did not move. They were both dark-haired, and dressed in dark, somber little jackets, breeches and pale stockings. One boy was about eight, the other perhaps four or five. The smaller boy held his older brother’s hand tightly. Now she realized that the governess carried the infant, bundled in a heavy white blanket.

She hadn’t met the boys the day that she had had tea with their mother. As they came closer, she realized that both boys so resembled their father—they would grow up to be handsome men. Her heart lurched. The younger boy was crying, while his older brother was trying so hard to be stoic. Both children were clearly grief-stricken.

Amelia’s heart broke. “Take Momma inside. I will be right back,” she said, and not waiting for Lucas to answer, she started determinedly toward them.

She hurried toward the two adults and the children, giving the gentleman a firm smile. “I am Miss Amelia Greystone, Lady Grenville’s neighbor. What a tragic day.”

The gentleman had tears in his eyes. Although well dressed, it was obvious he was a servant of some sort and a foreigner. “I am Signor Antonio Barelli, Miss Greystone, the boys’ tutor. And this is Mrs. Murdock, the governess. This is Lord William and Master John.”

Amelia quickly shook hands with the tutor and Mrs. Murdock, who was also near tears. But she did not blame them; she imagined that Lady Grenville had been well loved. And then she smiled at William, the older boy, realizing that Grenville had named his heir after his deceased older brother. “I am very sorry for your loss, William. I met your mother recently and I liked her very much. She was a great lady.”

William nodded solemnly, his mouth downturned. “We saw you when you called, Miss Greystone. Sometimes we watch callers arrive from an upstairs window.”

“That must be amusing,” Amelia said, smiling.

“Yes, it can be. This is my little brother, John.” But William did not smile in return.

She smiled at John and squatted. “And how old are you, John?”

John looked at her, his face wet with tears, but his eyes were wide with curiosity. “Four,” he finally said.

“Four!” she exclaimed. “I thought you were eight, at least!”