How tall Amelia had grown! Her piquant face was surrounded by a curtain of long, black hair so like their mother’s. But Amelia’s eyes retained the child’s innocence Maria remembered from their past, and the gratitude she felt for that was nearly overwhelming.
A sob broke the silence. Maria realized it was hers and covered her mouth with the kerchief. Her free hand lifted of its own accord, reaching out. It shook violently, as did her entire frame.
“Maria,” Amelia said, taking a tentative step forward, a lone tear slipping free and sliding down her cheek.
Maria, too, took one tiny step, but it was enough of a welcome. Amelia ran the short distance between them. She threw herself into Maria’s arms with enough force that Christopher caught Maria’s back and saved them both from a tumble.
“I love you,” Maria whispered, her face buried in Amelia’s hair, dampening the raven locks with her tears.
Together, they sank to the blue and green Aubusson rug in a puddle of floral skirts and lacy underskirts.
“Maria! It was so awful!”
Her sister wailed loudly, making it difficult to understand everything she said, the words pouring out of her mouth in a jumbled deluge. Horses and fighting and someone named Colin . . . Something about Colin being killed . . . and Lord Ware and a letter . . .
“Hush,” Maria soothed, rocking Amelia. “Hush.”
“I have so much to tell you,” Amelia cried.
“I know, my darling. I know.” Maria glanced up at Christopher and saw his tears. Simon, too, stood with reddened eyes and a hand over his heart.
Maria rested her cheek on the top of Amelia’s head and hugged her tightly. “But you will have the rest of our lives to tell me everything. The rest of our lives . . .”