“Among other things.” Like musical boxes and flashing candles and lips more succulent than any fruit of temptation ...
“Tell me truly, brother—who is she? What is she about?” The protective edge to her voice moved him. Amara had seen her own share of scandal, had weathered her own fair share of hurt. And yet here she was, looking out for him, her older brother.
“I wish I knew.” At Amara’s knitted brows and wrenched mouth, he added, “But she is as bewildered as we are by the recent changes in her life. I will give her the benefit of the doubt.” Until I can question her, that is.
She studied him before nodding. “Then I shall give her the benefit of the doubt, as well. If you vouch for her, I trust your judgment. Do you continue to insist she is a relation?”
“I insist you give me time to determine the appropriate course of action.” His voice was firm, though he gave her a smile.
“Understood, brother. But if she tries to hurt you or take advantage of you ...”
A true chuckle escaped. “You shall what?”
Amara’s eyes narrowed. “Never underestimate the power of a female. Particularly any to whom you’re related.”
“Indeed.”
He certainly shouldn’t underestimate Eliza James.
Chapter 8
“Good morning, Eliza!”
Eliza gave Rebecca a grateful smile as she entered the breakfast room, happy to hear a cheerful, welcoming voice.
“Rebecca! You address our guest as Mrs. James,” her mother chided. “You have not been given leave to use her Christian name.”
Eliza bristled at the cold tone, wanting to slink under the table in face of the dowager’s withering stare. Begin as you mean to go on, Lizzie. As Eleanor Roosevelt said, “Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent.” At that thought, Eliza threw her shoulders back and returned the dowager’s gaze, even as she swallowed the lump in her throat.
“I would like to thank you again, Your Grace, for allowing me into your home. I understand my arrival was a surprise, but I will endeavor not to be a burden on your family. I am ready and able to work to assist you.” There. That sounded confident. Right?
A glimmer of surprise and then respect flashed in the dowager’s eye, but before she could respond, Becca cut in. “I’m sure you could hardly be a burden, Mrs. James. Please, sit here, and have some breakfast. The footman will bring you a plate and pour your coffee.”
Well, at least Rebecca didn’t seem intimidated by her mother. And coffee? The word was heaven to Eliza’s ears. She sank into the chair next to Emmeline as a small plate heaped with eggs, cheese, and toast was set in front of her. Not quite an Egg McMuffin, but thank goodness for familiar foods. “Thank you very much,” she said automatically to the footman, who looked at her in surprise.
Everyone at the table stilled, including the footman.
“We do not thank servants, Mrs. James,” intoned Deveric’s mother in that condescending voice.
Oops. “My apologies; I did not mean to err. My mother taught me the kind thing to do is thank people who perform a service for you.”
All eyes flew to Eliza. She wanted to clamp her hand over her mouth. Why had she said that? She’d tried to justify her faux pas but instead sounded like she was schooling the dowager. Definitely not her intent; she didn’t need to get into a war with this fierce old biddy, whether Eliza thought thanking servants was appropriate or not.
“It is simply not done,” the dowager said after a pause, her voice pure starch.
Eliza took a bite of the rather over-brown piece of toast from her plate, determined to not let that woman get her down. The toast was dry in her mouth; she missed the big, sugary muffins she used to get from the coffee shop across from the bookstore already.
“Do you not care for it, Mrs. James?” Emmeline asked.
Eliza was unsure of her tone; it was neither welcoming nor unwelcoming. Disinterested, perhaps. That was better than openly hostile, was it not? It would not surprise her if the whole family had doubts about her this morning.
“No, no, it is delicious.”
After a moment, Deveric’s mother set down her teacup, her eyes fixing on Eliza. “Tell me again, Mrs. James, what is the connection between our two families?”
Eliza’s forkful of eggs stopped in midair. The dowager was openly challenging her. According to what Deveric had said last night, the family had known of their American cousins, though distant. She’d have to be careful what she said.
“To be honest, I am not quite sure. My father always said we had relatives in England, but I did not know much beyond that.”
“You are from where in Virginia?”
“Charlottesville. Home of ... Thomas Jefferson.” She’d nearly said the University of Virginia, but it hadn’t yet been built. What a bewildering thought.
The dowager sniffed. “I am no great admirer of the rebellious upstart.”
Eliza had to bite her lip to keep from retorting. She wasn’t here to win over the dowager. She was here to win over Deveric. Though it’d be a lot easier if everyone else liked her, too. Tears prickled behind her eyes.
Emmeline broke in. “Would you like a tour of the house today, Mrs. James?”
“Yes, that would be wonderful.” She breathed out a sigh of relief. Thank you, Emmeline, for putting an end to that particular conversation. “I am surprised Deveric and Lady Amara are not with you all this morning.”
The dowager drew herself up in her seat, impaling Eliza with a baleful glance. “You may do things differently in America, Mrs. James, but here in England, we expect people to address their betters properly. It is inappropriate for you to address the duke by his Christian name.”
“My betters?” The words slipped out before she could stop them. But, dang, this woman raised her hackles. Why did Dveric’s mother hate her so? Because you don’t belong, and she knows it.
“Indeed,” answered the Dragon, as Eliza decided she would now call her. Internally, at least.
After a moment, she exhaled and gave the Dowager Dragon a wan smile. You win this battle. I retreat. For the moment.
Rebecca reached over and put a hand on Eliza’s, which Eliza had unconsciously clenched in a fist. “I don’t mind if you call me Becca; everyone in the family does. And you’re family. Right, Mama?” Becca’s face expressed only guileless cheerfulness, but rebellion flamed in her eyes.
An ally. Thank God.
“Perhaps,” the dowager answered after a moment. “That remains to be seen.”
A short time later, Deveric’s mother left the room, announcing she had matters to attend to regarding the afternoon plans for the guests. As she exited, Becca relaxed in her seat and Emmeline sighed.
Eliza chewed the inside of her cheek, which she’d been doing ever since the Dragon had made that crack about Jefferson. She’d wanted to retort Thomas Jefferson was one of the greatest men who’d ever lived. Er, was living.
Her eyes narrowed. She could hold her own against that Dragon; she refused to let the woman cow her. Outwardly, at least. The woman was rather terrifying. But making enemies with the dowager was ill-advised, especially if Eliza hoped to be Duchess herself someday.
Still, the interaction stung. She’d read about the class system in England in both her academic realm and her romance novels, of course, but it was certainly different to be confronted with it face-to-face. Eliza suddenly wanted to hug Betsy and apologize for everyone who’d ever made a servant feel inferior.
“We’re sorry about Mama,” said Becca. “She is quite lovely much of the time, truly, but fiercely protective of the family name and, well, of our brother, considering everything he’s gone through.”
Emmeline gave her sister a sharp glance.
“Everything he’s gone through?” Eliza couldn’t help but ask, before taking another bite. The eggs, at least, were delicious.
Becca’s eyes darted to her sister.
Emmeline answered after a moment. “My brother’s wife died
in childbirth three years ago. His newborn daughter, too. And these past few months, Harrington has been quite sickly.”
“Eliza is our cousin. Surely, we needn’t be so formal, Em,” Becca interjected. “His name is Frederick. We call him Freddy.”
“Frederick?”
“Deveric’s son.”
Eliza’s mouth fell open. Wait, what? None of that was in Cat’s story. Not that it had been detailed enough to account for everything Eliza would face here, but first Deveric had a brother, now a son? And he’d lost a daughter? What other unexpected surprises lurked in her future?
Her heart squeezed at the thought of all he’d gone through, even as her stomach knotted with anxiety. She set her fork down, appetite gone. Eliza had lost a spouse, and then her parents. That was awful enough, almost beyond bearable. But losing a child—she couldn’t fathom that pain.
“Oh, my God. The poor man.”
Both sisters nodded in agreement.
“He bears it well,” Emmeline continued. “He never shows sadness.”
“He never shows much of anything,” Becca interrupted. “I’m far younger than he is, but I remember he used to laugh and play a lot more. With me. With Freddy.” At Eliza’s wrinkled brow, she added, “Now it’s all duty, even with his son.”
“How old is he?”
“Thirty-two.”
Eliza chuckled. “Okay, that’s good to know, but what I meant was, how old is his son?”
Becca wrinkled her nose in confusion. “What is this oakey? Why do you address us as such?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She was trying so hard to blend in, to not to mess up language-wise—at least she hadn’t yet said awesome—but okay was such an integral part of her vocabulary, she didn’t notice when she said it. She’d have to try harder. “It’s an American expression, I suppose. It means something like ‘all right’ or ‘good’, or even maybe ‘I agree.’”
“Very good,” said Becca. “Or maybe I should say ‘Very oakey?’”
Eliza laughed.
“And Freddy’s just turned five,” Becca added. “He is such a sweet boy. I do wish Deveric spent more time with him.”
Emmeline cleared her throat, her lips pinching in silent reprimand. Not supposed to be telling me so much, I guess.
It was hard to imagine Deveric with a five-year-old son, given in her mind he was the devilishly romantic hero Cat had conjured up for her. A son. So she was to be a stepmother. She choked on a sip of coffee.
That’s quite a leap, Eliza James. You’re sitting here, a penniless distant relation whom the Dowager Dragon clearly doesn’t like, and you’ve already married yourself off to her son.
Well, a girl could dream.
Chapter 9
Clarehaven was built sometime in the sixteenth century,” Becca said as she led Eliza through the house. “Legend has it that when the original duke showed the land to his new wife, who was of Scottish descent, she declared it to be ‘Clear Heaven.’ The architect accompanying them misunderstood, thinking she’d said ‘Clarehaven.’ He assumed it went with the ducal name of Claremont and wrote it down on the plans. The moniker stuck. This estate has been known as ‘Clarehaven’ ever since.”
Eliza fingered the heavy wooden banister of the stair railing as they passed through the main hall. “It’s marvelous. I can’t imagine growing up in a place so grand. I can’t believe I’m standing in one, to be honest.”
Marble columns flanked the hall, and an intricate, inlaid mosaic of birds and flowers covered the floor. Eliza half- expected a museum guide to pop out. She stuffed down the urge to ask where the gift shop was.
Becca swished her dress from side-to-side, eagerness radiating from her. “Would you like to see the stables now?”
“She’s seen but one wing, Becca. Patience,” Emmeline said. “Your horse will still be there.”
Becca’s lip jutted out in an adorable pout, but she trailed after her sister as Emmeline led them into another room.
“This is our drawing room, though we rarely entertain morning callers in the country,” Emmeline said. “That’s why it’s such a delight to have so many guests here at the moment; Clarehaven is quite dull otherwise. I cannot wait to remove back to Town.”
Eliza couldn’t imagine ever finding such a magnificent home dull. These sisters didn’t know what they had. Several of the rooms were nearly the size of Eliza’s apartment.
Emmeline’s last words suddenly registered. Eliza stopped walking. “We’re not in London?”
The two sisters gaped at her. “You must be teasing,” Becca said after a pause.
Great, Lizzie. Way to keep suspicion away from you and blend in. Eliza’s thumbs wrestled with each other as she fought back a nervous giggle. “Um, well, of course.” She wanted to kick herself. Not that she’d been near many windows this morning—and last night was dark—but surely something should have clued her in that they were not in the city. The lack of outside noise, perhaps. On the other hand, Clarehaven was so monstrous, and so solidly built, was she wrong for assuming it insulated them from everything? “I, uh, slept some in the coach yesterday. I must not have realized how far we traveled.” How far were they from London?
“You must have been quite exhausted to be able to sleep in a traveling coach,” Becca said. “I never can.”
“You would have been, too, had you just spent weeks on a ship,” interjected a deep voice as Deveric strode into the room.
It was all Eliza could do to keep her mouth from dropping open. Damn, the man could give Colin Firth a run for his money when it came to sex appeal. Regency sex appeal, that was. He wore buckskin breeches, a shade darker than those of the day before, perhaps, but still molded to his thighs, and high riding boots—top boots, Eliza recalled, the type modern English riding boots liked to imitate, with that distinctive brown upper, black lower half. She loved them. His tailcoat was less formal this morning, cut of deep rich forest green velvet that made his eyes pop, his waistcoat ivory underneath. All was immaculate. And, oh, that wind-blown hair.
Drooling. I’m drooling. Reading about a hero in a novel was nothing compared to the sheer physical impact of standing face-to-face with one. Though she wasn’t truly face-to-face with him; he was across the room. And likely didn’t think of himself as a romantic lead. He cocked an eyebrow at her and shot her a smile. Or maybe he does, given that smug look on his face.
This man? This vision of perfection? I’m supposed to get him to fall in love with me? Little old pudgy Miss Nobody me? Eliza’s heart raced, nervousness feathering out over her skin. She tugged on one of the tendrils hanging near her ear and stared at the floor. When she peeked up again, his eyes were fixed on her.
“Oh, were you riding, Deveric?” Becca exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.
“You know I ride every morning. I’m sure you’re chafing at the bit—no horse humor intended—so go and change into your habit. I shall continue the tour with our ... cousin.”
Becca gave a little excited hop and raced from the room. “Thank you!” she called as she left.
“I have never known any woman to be so besotted with horses.” He strolled across the room. “Do you like to ride, Mrs. James?”
Was that a suggestive undertone in his voice? Surely not. “No. To be honest, I’ve never been on a horse.”
Both brother and sister stared at her. “What? You’ve never ridden a horse?”
“Well, no. They scare me, actually.”
Emmeline clasped her hands together. “I fell off my pony when I was ten. Ever since, I’ve been nervous, as well.”
“They don’t have horses where you’re from?” Deveric’s tone assured Eliza he hadn’t forgotten their conversation the night before—and that he didn’t believe her claims.
“Oh no, they do. Most people just, um, don’t ride them anymore. We, uh, walk or ... use other means.”
“Other means?” Deveric challenged.
Shoot. How am I going to get myself out of this one?
“I
mean, we often use a ... wagon.”
Emmeline nodded, satisfied. “Frankly, I prefer to walk; coaches and the like can be so jarring. Our curricles and rigs are well-sprung, so they’re not bad, as long as my brother doesn’t make us go too quickly.”
“What can I say? I like speed.”
Eliza grinned at him. Oh, if only you knew. A horse was nothing compared to zipping down the interstate at seventy miles an hour. Or flying across the ocean in a matter of half a day.
His eyes twinkled. He seemed ... relaxed. How could he be, when every inch of her was aware of him, of how immensely attractive he was? This isn’t fair. Self-doubt crept in again. Maybe she wasn’t his type. Maybe he preferred tall, willowy brunettes. Ones bred for the role of an aristocrat. Crud.
Nope. Not going there. Cat said he’d be attracted to you, and last night, you could tell he was. Yeah, but that was last night, the other side of her screamed. Maybe today he’s decided you’re a nutter, and he’s calm because he’s about to toss you out on your ear.
“Emmeline?”
Eliza turned to see a dark-haired woman enter the room.
“Oh, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Nonsense, Grace,” said Deveric. “I’m glad you are here. Are you feeling better? Amara said you had the headache last night.”
Emmeline’s lips tipped up in a grin. “More likely she was reading that book again and didn’t care to make an appearance at the ball.”
“It’s a wonderful book,” protested Grace as she walked farther into the room. “I quite like the character of Elinor.”
Eliza couldn’t help herself. “Are you talking about Sense and Sensibility?”
Grace’s eyes lit up. “You have read it? Is it not delightful?”
“It’s wonderful. I adore Jane—,” Eliza answered automatically, and then bit her lip, hard. Jane Austen originally published her works anonymously. Few of the general public knew her as an author until after she had passed away. Crap. I’ve got to stop messing up like this.
Grace looked at her. “Jane? I don’t recall that character.”
The Magic of Love Series Page 34
