The hoofbeats had long since faded away, but Amelia remained rooted at the gates, gazing down the path where Claude had vanished.
She didn't know how long she stood there—seconds, minutes, perhaps hours. The morning fog clung to her skin, but she felt nothing.
He's gone.
She drew in a harsh breath, shaking her head at herself. Foolish. This was not the first time he'd gone to war. It was his duty. He would come back.
And yet…
A quiet voice inside her mind murmured: What if he doesn't?
The castle had never seemed so claustrophobic.
As Amelia stepped back inside, the great halls stretched out before her, emptier than ever. Servants walked quietly about, eyes cast downward. There was an eerie hush to all of it, as though even the walls mourned the master's absence.
Grace stood waiting for her by the stairwell, concern etched upon her face.
"Shall I have breakfast served to your chambers, Your Grace?"
Amelia hesitated. "No. I'll take it in the dining hall."
She refused to shut herself away like some grieving widow. Claude wasn't dead.
She wouldn't let herself act as if he was.
Days Turn to Weeks
Life at Everthorne Manor continued, but Amelia felt the absence of her husband in every corner.
The staff gossiped when they believed she wasn't paying attention. Some feared the war, others were guessing how long it would be. A few questioned whether Claude would ever come back.
Amelia ended such gossip with a single glare.
And yet, at night, when alone in their bed, she couldn't help but think about it herself.
The bed beside her was empty.
The smell of him—leather, smoke, and something so uniquely Claude—was disappearing from the sheets.
She despised it.
One night, she found herself walking around Claude's study. It was tidy as ever, though a thin coat of dust had started to accumulate over the books he so frequently read.
She trailed her fingers over the spines mindlessly.
Did he miss this place?
Did he miss her?
She scoffed at herself. Sentimental nonsense.
Claude Everthorne was not the kind of man to miss things. Or people.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Amelia had hardly sipped her tea.
The dining hall was subdued, with only the occasional clinking of silver against fine china. She occupied the head of the long table, her customary position, but the chair next to her—Claude's chair—was vacant.
She resented that she noticed it.
Grace had offered to have her guests over to distract herself, but Amelia was not interested in socializing.
Which was why, of all people, she didn't expect Clara to show up.
The woman who had once been Claude's mistress. The same woman who had practically draped herself over him the last time they were in the same space.
Amelia placed her cup on the table as Clara swept into the room, smiling with all the ease in the world, dressed in a dark red dress that was entirely too flattering on her.
"What are you doing here?" Amelia demanded, keeping her voice matter-of-fact.
Clara laughed as though the question tickled her. "You make it sound like I wasn't invited."
Amelia's gaze tightened. "You weren't."
Clara's laughter was low and untroubled. "And yet, here I am."
Amelia regarded her for a moment before letting out a sigh. "If you're here to chat, make it brief."
Clara sat down, serving herself tea. "I heard the news of Claude's leaving. Thought I'd drop by to see how his dear wife is holding up in his absence."
Amelia sipped her tea slowly, meeting Clara's gaze. "If you expect me to be weeping over his empty side of the bed, I'll have to disappoint you."
Clara smiled nastily. "Oh, I never said that. But he did leave you behind, didn't he?"
Something in Amelia flinched. "It was his duty."
Clara nodded, her head cocked ever so slightly to one side. "Of course. It always is with him."
There was something in what she said—something charged with a knowing that Amelia did not want to hear.
A silence settled between them before Clara took another sip of tea. "I must say, I'm rather surprised by you, Amelia. I thought you'd be more…" She trailed off, waving a delicate hand in the air.
"More what?"
Clara gave her a knowing smile. "Jealous. Resentful. You do know about me and Claude, don't you?"
Amelia didn't flinch. "I do."
Clara raised an eyebrow, as though expecting more. When Amelia didn't respond, she sat back. "You really don't care?"
Amelia looked at her for a moment before answering. "Would it make a difference if I did?"
Clara blinked, taken aback.
Amelia let out a deep breath, putting her cup down. "I won't play like I'm fond of you, Clara. You and I both know what kind of past you have with my husband. But you also seem to think I'm the kind of woman who loses sleep over the past. I don't."
Clara studied her for a moment before issuing a little laugh. "Well, well. So you're not as vapid as I supposed."
Amelia rolled her eyes. "And you're not as annoying as I supposed."
Clara smiled. "Careful, Your Grace. That was close to a compliment."
Amelia huffed. "Don't get too comfortable."
Clara's eyes flashed with something indistinguishable before she leaned forward a little. "You know… you fascinate me, Duchess."
Amelia raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know that was my objective."
Clara laughed, stirring her tea. "Oh, it wasn't. And yet, here we are."
Amelia wasn't sure if she'd label this as a friendship, but for the first time since Claude had departed, the hollowness of the room was slightly less claustrophobic.