A carriage stood just beyond the front steps of the Ashford House. The polished surface of the carriage Aunt Margaret sent glinted faintly beneath the pale sunlight that had yet to fully rise. It was a strong juxtaposition to the well-worn facade of the house, dreary as it ever was. A pair of footmen stood by, their faces as impassive as the horses that occasionally shook their heads against the chill.
Charlotte emerged from the front hall, her gloved hands clasped together in front of her. Her traveling cloak, a deep blue trimmed with black ribbon, seemed too fine for the occasion. But they were making do with what they had. Her wide, hopeful eyes scanned the fog as if the very air held very little promise.
"I shall write to you every day," Charlotte promised, turning to Amelia.
"Every week will suffice," Amelia replied, tucking a stray lock of Charlotte's hair beneath the edge of her bonnet. "You'll hardly have time to scribble out letters when Aunt Margaret parades you around Bath's social circles."
Charlotte giggled, though there was a glimmer of reluctance beneath the sound. "Perhaps. But I know you'll worry."
"I always worry," Amelia said softly.
The distant sound of hooves echoed down the lane. A dark figure on horseback emerged from the mist, cutting through the grey morning with an infuriatingly casual air.
Sebastian.
He dismounted smoothly, handing his reins to a waiting stable boy. His gaze flicked toward the carriage, then to Amelia, and finally to Charlotte, who watched him with unmistakable curiosity.
"Lord Allendale," Amelia greeted, her tone carefully neutral. "You're early."
Sebastian's presence on her doorstep, as polished and self-assured as ever, sparked conflicting emotions that Amelia fought to suppress. Relief, sharp and undeniable, flickered through her first. As much as she detested the notion, knowing he would spend the day by her side brought a certain steadiness, and something else she would rather not think about. Whatever else could be said of Lord Allendale, he was reliable so far. And she needed that, someone with enough influence and stubbornness to stand against Thornton's machinations.
But alongside the relief came irritation, curling hot and unwelcome in her chest. The fact that she needed him at all grated on her. Amelia had spent years holding everything together with little more than determination and a fraying thread of pride. Now, that thread felt dangerously close to snapping, and the presence of a man like Sebastian, striding in as though he belonged in her affairs, was an unsettling reminder of how precarious her situation had become.
And worse still—he had come early enough to witness Charlotte's departure.
Amelia's stomach twisted at the thought. The two occupied such separate spaces in her mind that seeing them in the same breath felt oddly disjointed. Charlotte, with her soft smiles and delicate sensibilities, belonged in a world untouched by men like Lord Allendale, men who moved too quickly, spoke too sharply, and carried reputations that danced the edge of scandal.
She could already picture the scene, Charlotte offering polite conversation while Sebastian leaned against the carriage, half-listening with that maddeningly unreadable expression he always wore. Amelia didn't want to risk the possibility of Charlotte charming Sebastian, nor did she want Charlotte exposed to even the faintest reminder of the debts hanging over their heads.
It was easier, Amelia thought, to keep them apart entirely.
She tucked a stray curl behind her ear, smoothing down the front of her gown as if the gesture could iron out the awkwardness of the moment.
"I had nothing pressing this morning," Sebastian replied with an easy shrug. "I thought you might be an early riser as well. But I didn't realize you were setting off for something."
Charlotte beamed, stepping forward with the same unfiltered warmth she applied to most situations. "How kind of you, my lord! I'm glad Amelia won't have to face everything alone."
Amelia's eyes narrowed slightly, shooting a glance at Sebastian as if to will him into silence.
Sebastian, however, seemed thoroughly unbothered. "I'm merely offering assistance where it's needed," he said smoothly.
Charlotte lingered for a moment, then brightened suddenly. "Oh, I nearly forgot, my reticule! I left it on the vanity upstairs. Amelia, would you mind fetching it for me? How silly of me."
Amelia hesitated, glancing between Charlotte and Sebastian, clearly reluctant to leave them alone. She muttered something before disappearing into the house.
As soon as Amelia's footsteps faded, Charlotte turned to Sebastian with a warm smile. "I really must thank you, Lord Allendale. Amelia hasn't had anyone to rely on for such a long time. She won't admit it, but I know this will help her tremendously."
Sebastian's gaze softened. "It's no trouble. We have Genevieve as a mutual friend. And I would never leave a friend in need."
Charlotte's eyes sparkled. "You say that so easily, but I know it means more than you let on. Amelia has been so… serious since her first season ended. She used to laugh more, you know. She used to be lively. But now, it's as if she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders."
Sebastian's brow furrowed slightly, though he kept his tone light. "I suspect she feels responsible for much more than she lets on."
"She does," Charlotte agreed. "But it's good to see her surrounded by friends again, even if she won't admit how much she needs them." Charlotte hesitated for a moment, her voice softening. "You'll look after her, won't you? As a gentleman, of course."
Sebastian lingered on her words. You'll look after her. The request itself was simple enough, but something about the way Charlotte had asked, soft and trusting, as if the entire world rested on Amelia's well-being, stirred an unfamiliar spark beneath the layers of his usual detachment.
The idea of protecting someone who didn't want protection, of keeping Amelia safe long enough for her to stop wrapping herself in sharp retorts and colder glances, tugged at him with a quiet persistence. She carried herself like a blade, polished, defensive, but blades only sharpened when they were constantly pressed against the grindstone. And Amelia, for all her pride and quick wit, had clearly been sharpened far too often.
The thought that he might dull the edge, even briefly, planted itself somewhere inconveniently near his heart.
Sebastian straightened, irritated by the softness creeping into his thoughts. This isn't your fight. It never was. Protecting Amelia Ashford was not his responsibility, and worse, it was dangerous. Women who needed protection always seemed to demand far more than what was offered.
His mother's face surfaced in his mind, cold and immovable as marble. Lady Sinclair had worn disappointment like an accessory, each glance a reminder that sharp-tongued women were to be tolerated at best and avoided altogether if one had any sense. His father hadn't listened, of course. He'd been drawn to his mother's beauty and brilliance, mistaking her sharp edges for charm until he was left cut and bleeding from a thousand invisible wounds.
Sebastian exhaled, pushing the memory aside with practiced ease. He had no intention of following in his father's footsteps.
"I'll do my best," he had told Charlotte. And that, Sebastian decided, will have to be enough.
Charlotte smiled in relief just as Amelia reappeared, the reticule dangling from her fingers. Amelia eyed them both suspiciously. "I trust I haven't missed anything important?"
"Nothing at all," Sebastian replied smoothly. "Just a bit of sisterly concern."
Charlotte grinned but said nothing more, stepping toward the waiting carriage. "Take care, Amelia. And you too, Lord Allendale."
With that, the door closed, and the carriage began its slow roll down the road. Amelia watched until it disappeared into the mist, exhaling slowly.
"She'll be fine," Sebastian said, stepping beside her. "It's you I'm more concerned about."
Amelia glanced up at him, her expression guarded. "I've managed well enough so far. Come inside please," she said, her voice quieter now. "We have much to go through, it's all I was able to find in the study, and it's not much."
Sebastian handed his coat and hat to the lone doorman, the only servant he'd seen since stepping inside. The house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that settled in places where laughter had long since faded.
As he followed Amelia down the narrow hall, his gaze swept over the surroundings with idle curiosity. The house was clean, almost meticulously so, but there was no denying the signs of wear. The carpet beneath his boots had been trodden thin in places, the wallpaper faded to soft echoes of its former vibrance. There was nothing ostentatious here, no gilded edges or unnecessary finery.
It wasn't cheerless, exactly, but it was restrained, like Amelia herself.
The vases perched on the side tables held sprigs of greenery, fresh but plain. Laurel and ivy, their deep green leaves standing in where flowers might have once bloomed. Someone, it seemed, was doing their best to breathe life into a house that had little left to give. It was a house that spoke, in quiet ways, of survival.
By the time they entered the parlor, Sebastian's attention shifted to the heavy table in the center of the room. It bore the weight of a haphazard stack of legal documents, their edges curling as if time itself sought to unravel them.
Three tall windows overlooked the street, their faded yellow and blue drapes pulled back in an optimistic attempt to coax more light into the dim space. The sunlight filtering through revealed the faint outline of gold flowers, still visible beneath the years-softened pink wallpaper. The room, though modest and worn, bore the unmistakable imprint of care, an attempt to hold onto elegance despite the slow encroachment of neglect.
Sebastian's eyes lingered on the table. "I see your father had little organizational skills," he remarked, his voice light but edged with quiet understanding.
Amelia crossed the room, brushing her hand over the nearest stack. "He might as well have left me with kindling for all the use it's been." She glanced at him, her lips tilting into a wry smile. "I hope you're fond of deciphering terrible handwriting."
Sebastian chuckled softly. "I've endured worse."
The weight of the task ahead pressed in around them, but for the first time, Amelia didn't feel quite so alone beneath it.
Sebastian stood at the opposite end of the table, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing strong forearms that seemed oddly out of place among stacks of dull legal papers. They had fallen into a quiet rhythm, him scanning documents with an occasional arch of his brow, her sorting them into neat piles with brisk efficiency.
It wasn't until Sebastian reached for the same paper she did that their hands brushed, his fingers grazing lightly over hers. Amelia stilled, the contact brief but startling as if the room had suddenly grown warmer. She glanced up, half-expecting to catch him smirking, but instead found his gaze lingering on their hands, his expression unreadable.
He pulled back first, clearing his throat. "I didn't realize debt collection could require such… intimate teamwork," he teased, his voice light but softer than usual.
"It doesn't," Amelia replied, though the corners of her mouth twitched. "But if it inspires you to work faster, I won't complain."
A smile tugged at his lips, but before he could reply, Sebastian plucked a particularly battered sheet from the pile and held it up between them. The handwriting was atrocious, the scribbles more artistic flourish than useful record.
"Please tell me this is some form of ancient code," he said, squinting at the page.
Amelia leaned in to see, and the sight of the scrawled notes brought an unexpected laugh bubbling to the surface. "That's one of my father's more inspired attempts at bookkeeping. I believe he thought adding decorative loops would distract from the fact that the sums didn't add up."
Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. "Creative, I'll give him that. Perhaps he missed his calling as a poet."
"Or a forger," Amelia mused, folding her arms as she leaned lightly against the table. "Not that he was particularly successful at either."
Their laughter softened the edges of the room, warming the cold air that had lingered since the morning. And for a fleeting moment, Amelia forgot the weight of the papers, the looming debts, and the ever-present shadow of Thornton.
When she glanced at Sebastian again, she found his eyes already on her—not with pity, but with something quieter, steadier. He switched to studying Amelia with an intensity that made her shift uncomfortably when she finally noticed.
"Why Charlotte?" he asked at last, his voice low. "Why would Thornton target her over you?"
Amelia's fingers tightened around her shawl. "Charlotte's sweet and unspoiled," she said vaguely. "I doubt Thornton finds much appeal in the likes of me."
Sebastian didn't look convinced. "That's hardly a reason to bypass the eldest daughter. There's more to this."
"There isn't," Amelia replied sharply, turning to face him fully. "I was never the daughter men pursued. I was the one left to manage things when no one else would."
For a moment, Sebastian said nothing. There was something in her tone, something final, that made him hesitate to press further.
"Well," he said at last, adopting a lighter tone, "for what it's worth, I think Thornton's judgment is sorely lacking."
Amelia's lips twitched, misunderstanding Sebastian's comment. "You probably aren't the first to think so."
Sebastian grinned, but the question lingered at the back of his mind. There was more to Amelia Ashford's story.