Love is an Archer

7. True

After the scandalous events of the night before, an awkward – and noticeable – silence had descended upon Hameldown. Over breakfast, Lady Callista was the first to raise it with the table, as each of her present children sat with blank expressions and pale countenances. Across the way to her left, the Barrows siblings toyed with their food and avoided anybody's gaze unless spoken to – though once a response had been given, they would turn their eyes back down to their food. Lord Cressley-Archer would whisper a query to his wife only after the young ladies and gentlemen had left the room, though he too had spotted the peculiar awkwardness that had followed – in his eyes – a lively and boisterous dinner.

"Perhaps it was the wine," Lady Callista supposed when they were alone. It was the only reason she could think of.

Distanced from the breakfast table and the prying eyes of their parents, the sets of siblings broke off, Dickie insisting on taking a walk with Robin, while Lydia wished to read, and Tristan beckoned Amelia to join him in the drawing room to discuss the happenings of the prior night in private.

Once alone in the drawing room, the true scale of Tristan's fear became apparent – even before Amelia had closed the door. She watched as her brother paced back and forth, biting his nails. His eyes were sunken, hair a mess, body sluggish; he'd clearly not slept since the interruption, nor during the hours which he spent sitting sentry outside Amelia's door, hoping for her to answer so that he might explain.

Amelia had already chosen resolutely not to speak first, and so she took a chair instead and let her eyes linger on a most handsome portrait of her grandfather hanging to the right of the door.

"Amelia," Tristan said suddenly, stopping in his tracks before rubbishing the thought and continuing to pace. He made a few more laps around the large rug patterned in blues and deep oranges and then took a new position, crouching in front of Amelia. He took her hands in his own and searched desperately for an indication that she was returning his direct gaze.

"It is absolutely imperative that I be allowed to explain. Please. Please, Amelia."

His sister merely shrugged – he owed her no explanation, she thought.

"I have been acquainted with Mr Barrows for some time now, I should tell you that to begin with. I'm ashamed that I didn't tell you as soon as you brought Cupid's note home. I'm more ashamed of the abominable acts we have performed on one another. Or...at least I think I'm supposed to be – ashamed, that is. In truth, dear sister, I am quite...fond of Mr Barrows."

At his confession, Tristan's eyes grew glistening and hopeful, his smile both pleading and joyful in equal measure.

"Cupid's note wasn't about Mr Barrows," Amelia said, flatly, her voice hoarse from lack of use. Tristan's joy deflated somewhat, replaced by puzzlement.

"Then who?" he asked, thinking back to the parchment. Had he needed a reminder, he could simply have asked his sister – little did he know that she kept it tucked close to her heart, between breast and dress. And then the puzzlement lifted into surprise, Tristan's eyebrows rising to heaven, his eyes widening, and his mouth taking the shape of an 'Oh' long before he spoke the syllable aloud.

"I was looking for her when I saw you and Mr Barrows... fraternising."

Amelia shook her hands loose from her brother's, placing them instead on either side of his face. Morning stubble greeted her, though she gently stroked the roughness with her thumbs regardless.

"I suspect we are more alike than you think, brother. In our proclivities, that is. Miss Barrows and I shared a kiss last night," she said, reflecting the expression that had been on Tristan's own face, only to invert it with a lack of hope, a loss of joy paired with the pleading. Amelia could say no more, shaking her head as the tears came again. Tristan rose just enough to hug his sister tightly, drawing her body close to his, sharing their understanding in a private moment alone.