The Runaway Duke by Rebecca Dash

Author:Rebecca Dash
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2017-07-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Amelia strolled through the orchard at night. The apples were lit up with white halos. The moon was out and casting a glow over everything, making the countryside a glorious land of dreams. This was her sanctuary. It was where the world seemed right again. She went there often. Her family became more unsettled with every week that passed. Her mother could not escape her own misery. Luke was growing angrier with his work on the farm. Happiness was a distant memory. But Amelia did remember by night as she stood in that orchard and picked an apple because he had offered it once. Taking it reminded her of Lord Thoram. The first bite was ecstasy. She wondered if he ever returned there, searching for her. Sometimes she stayed longer than others.

***

Forks clinked on their plates. The fireplace crackled. Dinner had become a silent affair. Amelia preferred it that way. Anything was better than the alternative. Luke had taken longer to get home. His clothes reeked of alcohol and sweat. He looked down at the food in front of him, stabbing at the meat.

“This lamb is too dry.” He stared at Amelia.

“It tastes fine to me,” said Prudence.

Luke never turned his gaze. “Do not defend her. Cooking and cleaning are the only things she is tasked with and she cannot even get that right.”

“My cleaning is bad as well?” said Amelia.

“You should spend more time on it.”

“I spend every moment looking after this house. It is my whole day.”

“Then maybe it should be your night as well, instead of wasting it with your walks.”

“My walks keep me sane.”

“I walk all day long. It does nothing for me,” said Luke.

“My walks are different.”

“You put one foot in front of the other, do you not?”

“The walks are different because you are not on them.”

“You are quick with your tongue.”

“I get it from our father.”

“He should have slapped you for it long ago.”

“Striking people is a very uncivilized thing to do.” Prudence tried to interrupt.

“Sometimes it gets the point across,” said Luke.

“What exactly is the point?” Amelia raised her voice. “That you are looking for any excuse to berate me? That you are inventing reasons? Or that when you are on the cut, you also become a contemptible fatwit?”

Luke slammed his fist on the table and scowled. “Do not speak to me like that! You will do a better job if I tell you it is necessary.”

Amelia glanced at their mother. Mrs. Grant was looking down at her plate, ignoring the argument, even after they began to shout. Some days were better than others. Amelia would catch her crying silently, or spending far too much time in bed. She wasn’t capable of much else at the moment. Even if that meant a fight.

“I will do a better job when you learn to harvest a decent crop,” said Amelia.

“This again? First you go to the barn and embarrass me in front of my friend, then you bring it up again here.”

“It is fairly embarrassing to call that footman your friend to begin with.

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