The period of dusk had just turned slow, and streaks of lavender mingled with golden hues. The estate, suffused with amber rays of the sun, silently witnessed the slow change that had begun to pervade its interiors.
Amelia had not for a moment slowed down since leaving the stables. With every rhythmic click of the cane against the stone path kept time with the pounding in her chest, she cursed herself for not being able to keep her cool. She should not have paid attention to how Claude had softened his voice; she should have ignored it when that touch turned hesitant, uncertain, and finally almost desperate.
She had risen like the phoenix from the ashes of her former self.
Something rustled gently in the hedges around her. Some little brown rabbit had come across her eyesight as it scurried across the path; it paused just but a few feet away from her person, nose twitching in measurement as those large eyes looked upon her with cautionary curiosity.
Slowly, with no thought but to remain stable through the pain of her leg, Amelia crouched down. "You are rather bold, aren't you?" she murmured, extending her hand.
With tiny, cautious hops, the rabbit edged forward until the boldness waned, hopping away from her touch after getting a good whiff of her fingers. A tiny smile appeared on her lips.
"You are very good with them."
She stood frozen.
A familiar voice—once low, smooth, now unsoothed with the glaze of chillingness.
Not needing to turn to confirm, she knew Claude must stand a few feet behind her.
"So you like to be nice to them," Claude continued on.
Amelia sighed as she stood up. "There are many things you never realized, Claude."
An oppressive silence stretched between them.
He had followed her again; it was becoming his habit to stage these quiet intrusions.
Claude moved in closer, hands folded behind his back, and said, "You have changed."
She turned to him, looking into the unreadable face. "Was that unexpected?"
His lips thinned into a line. "Perhaps not." He sighed ponderously, gazing at her as if truly seeing her for the first time. "I just can't figure out whether I find it revolting or enchanting."
Amelia laughed, a short, bitter sound. "Is that why you keep watching me?"
There was a pause before Claude answered. There was tension in his jaw, and the blue of his eyes narrowed slightly.
"You speak as if I am the only one who has changed," he said at last.
She tightened her grip on her cane. "You're not."
But then she still didn't know if he had changed for the better.
Just then, hurried footsteps echoed from the manor.
"Your Grace!"
Breathless Grace came round the corner and barely acknowledged Claude, hurrying to where Amelia stood with a letter in her hands. 'This came for you,' said Grace as the letter was thrust into Amelia's hands.
She took the letter, furrowing her brows as she recognized the seal.
Claude saw the shift in her expression. 'And who might that be from?'
Under hesitance, she broke the wax and unfolded the parchment. A thoughtful stillness fell on her face as her eyes swept over the words.
'It's from my uncle,' she murmured.
'Odd,' Claude frowned, 'what does he want?'
For some time, Amelia stayed mute about this. Instead, she folded the letter carefully and tucked it in the pocket of her dress.
'He wants to visit,' Amelia finally said.
Claude's eyes darkened. 'Well, he never cared for you in the past. Why now?'
Amelia's lips were pressed. 'I intend to find out.
Grace shifted uncomfortably beside her. 'Would you like for me to arrange for a reply, Your Grace?'
Amelia nodded. 'Yes. Inform him that I will receive him in three days' time.'
Grace gave a quick curtsy before hurrying back toward the manor.
Claude was left standing by himself, looking at Amelia.
'You trust him?' His voice was quiet yet firm.
Amelia turned her head toward the horizon, where the last dying light of day painted the golden hue over the land.
'No,' she admitted. 'But trust was never a luxury that I could afford.'
Claude studied her, his hands curling into fists.
She was slipping further and further away from him.
And he didn't know how to stop it.
For the first time in years, Claude Everthorne feared that he had lost something he might never recover.