Though Amelia had done her best to conceal the streaks in her makeup before returning to the ballroom, the distress on her face was still plain for everone to see by her red, puffy eyes. She could only hope that people would attribute this to her supposedly hurt ankle and made sure to keep up a subtle limp as she searched for her uncle.
Thankfully she didn't have to look for him long. He stood leaned against the wall near the corridor that she entered through, seemingly waiting for her.
"Amelia" he said as he noticed her, then he lowered his eyes towards her ankle.
"I am fine, I just seem to have twisted my foot. Would it be alright if we left though? It still hurts quite a bit."
Arthur frowned, clearly dissatisfied with her.
"Certainly. A few guests have already gone so it will not be an improper time to do so. We should however give our goodbyes first."
He paused, as if he just took notice of Amelias face.
"How about I accompany you to the carriage instead? You can wait for me there."
"I think that would be best" she answered, suddenly feeling embarrased.
Her uncle took a steady hold of her arm as to help her offload some weight. As they walked she didn't dare to look around the room in case she'd see the marquis again. She couldn't bear it, not when her hands still tremored so.
The ride back to Dario's estate with her uncle was as quiet as when they'd left it. On the surface everything was the same as before, except maybe for Arthur's inebriation and her own utter exhaustion. Yet everything felt different compared to only hours ago.
As to not forget a single detail of hers and Radfords conversation Amelia kept repeating it in her mind. But her thoughts continued to drift in another direction.
Infertile.
She hadn't known the meaning of the word before it was said to her by the family doctor. Yet after that day, she couldn't go a single day without thinking of it.
She'd been seventeen when the madam had ordered the doctor to examine her. Until then, Amelia had never even suspected her body to be abnormal. Her monthly was far from regular and more akin to a discoloration in her undergarments than a bleeding, but since she'd never had anything to compare it to she did not think much of it at the time. Hence, she was utterly shocked when that dreadful word was first uttered.
For a girl who's only purpose had been to marry and bear the child of whichever man her father chose, the news were liferuining. She still remembered how her father and the madam fought, and the cutting glares directed at her. But most of all she remembered the shame and humilation as they discussed the fate of their worthless daughter.
"It is no harm done, we will simply send the brat away" her father had said.
"And have a girl who looks so much like you whore herself out in a brothel? How do you think that will reflect on us?"
"It's no different to how it would have been had we never learned of her existance."
"It is very much different you fool. The word of your bastard has already spread. People already know!"
"Then we will send her far, give her the means to support herself!"
At those words the madam had thrown a vase towards Amelia in sheer fury.
"Support her?! Haven't I already given enough? I have allowed her the clothes on her back and the food in her belly, without complaining even once about having to raise the child of your WHORE!"
It was after that night that her father's eyes had turned from indifference to hatred whenever he looked at Amelia. When life became so hard she'd sometimes wish she wouldn't wake in the morning and when the loneliness started gnawing at her sanity like a rat on rotting meat.
Maybe things would actually have been easier if they had let her go, even if that had landed her on the street.
"Why did you have a falling out with my father" Amelia asked her uncle.
She could see that the question angered him, yet she did not care.
"You already know of my secret. Will you not tell me yours?"
"Why would you want to know?"
"Just curious. I doubt we will have much to do with each other after tonight, so is there truly any harm in telling me?"
Arthur sighed.
"There is not much to it. My brother felt I risked his position and simply made it known to me were I actually stood."
While his tone was bitter there was also sorrow beneath his words. Amelia wondered if the two had actually been close before that.
"Are you glad that he died" she asked him instead.
"It is not as simple as being happy or sad. I imagine you know that as well, do you not?"
She had never truly thought of it. What came to mind when she remebered the night of her family's execution certainly wasn't grief, but neither was it glee or happiness. If she had to describe it, no word suited her feelings better than relief. If there was sorrow, it was for the father, brother and stepmother that she could have had.
The two went back to being silent without a single word uttered for the rest of the ride. When the carriage stopped on the Beaumot estate courtyard and the coachman opened its door and assited her out, she didn't even turn to look at Arthur. But as she took her first steps, determined to finally leave her paternal family in the past, her uncle said his final words to her.
"You look like him, you know."
Amelia turned to him with a bitter smile.
"So do you" she said.