"You wouldn't have persuaded me as the baron, or a pirate, or a highwayman, or anyone else, because they aren't real. They make my soul yearn for something, but they don't satisfy it."
He hooked a lock of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear, marveling at what a unique gem she was. "Amelia, I really think you ought to abandon this scheme and return to town. Even if you don't marry and you frustrate Lochner's plans for the rest of his life, I think you'd be so much safer. Rome, Paris, Madrid; you can visit all sorts of places for adventure without abandoning yourself to their mercy. Go back to town, please?" He held out his hand and she slipped hers inside of it. Patrick knew he shouldn't curl his fingers but did anyhow, and wondered at letting go.
Amelia drew a long breath and then nodded. "Since it's you who's asking, yes. Yes, I'll go back to London."
He broke their gaze and dropped his eyes to her mouth, cocking his head and leaning in to her. Sweet almonds and rosewater filled his next breath. He parted his lips and his eyes fell shut.
"Oh!" Amelia's hand struck his cheek and chin, and he startled away.
She brushed furiously at her face, looking oblivious, while he rubbed a smarting jaw and winced. "Oh, do I have another hair?" She tsked and swatted at her shoulders. "I brush so carefully but they're always on my coat or caught in my bonnet."
"Get some rest," he groaned, standing up and taking the coverlet, not feeling especially noble as he settled in the armchair and propped his boots on the cold hearth. "Tomorrow we'll start back to London."
She stopped, wriggling beneath the covers, and clasped her hands. "You'll go with me?"
"I will!" he declared. "I must. Who will break the awful news to poor Baron McTavish, if he accosts you on the road, that you don't care for him anymore?"
He heard a giggle and a sigh, and then she was quiet, leaving him too many dangerous hours for thinking.
* * *
The men and witnesses had returned to the village. Mrs. Gaveston seemed apologetic at intruding with the news so early, until Patrick informed her they would not be needing their suite a second night. Then, Amelia swore, the woman smirked triumphantly at their tired, puffy eyes.
Patrick went in search of buns or cakes from the baker's, in order to spare her another threat of porridge, and to arrange having their things brought down.
While he was out, Amelia changed into her brown satin traveling suit. It was saved from plainness by a wealth of deep pleats and creamy lace. She braided her hair and pinned it up in a fancier chignon than she would have picked for traveling. It was a day, like any other spent on the road, but she took delight in a bit of special attention to her appearance. When she was put together, she rifled in the bottom of one valise for a small, red leather case, and donned her mother's topaz earrings. They were of an older style, with lots of small ovals fit together in a kind of teardrop, but it was the sentiment that mattered most.