“What are you doing in here?”
Eliza’s head jerked up at the voice. Deveric’s sister Amara crossed the room from the doorway, the corners of her mouth turning down.
“My apologies,” Eliza said. “I wasn’t sure what I should do or where I should be today. I didn’t want to disturb anyone, so I thought I’d, uh, read a book.” A small lie. But she couldn’t exactly admit she was spying, right?
Amara looked down at Eliza’s noticeably empty hands.
“I couldn’t remember where the library was.” Eliza’s cheeks burned, but she did her best to project openness and friendliness, despite Amara’s suspicious expression. She could win this woman over. She could. “I wanted to thank you for loaning me this dress. I greatly appreciate it.” Eliza smoothed her hands down over the fabric at her hips. “It’s grander than anything I’ve ever owned.”
“Grander than the ball gown you were wearing the other night?”
Eliza sucked in a breath. “Well, that technically isn’t mine. A ... a dear friend gave it to me.” She looked down at the floor. Raising her eyes again, she gave Amara her warmest smile. “I miss her. It would be nice to have a friend here, too.”
Amara’s mouth turned down even further. “You mean me?” She walked slowly around the room. Stopping in front of the window, she set her fingertips against the glass as she looked out. “Who are you, truthfully?”
Eliza gulped. “I am who I said I am. An American widow looking for a new life here in England.” That much was the truth.
Amara looked back at her, raising a brow. “And you are cousin to one of the wealthiest dukes in the country? How convenient.”
Eliza met her gaze, refusing to let Deveric’s sister intimidate her. “I am sorry you find my motives suspect. I assure you, I did not expect to be in this position, either. My friend helped ... fund my passage to Clarehaven. She knew there was nothing left for me in America after losing my husband and then my parents. I had nothing. I was ... lost.”
Amara jerked her head toward the window. “I often feel the same way,” she said after a minute. The words came out in a whisper, and the minute she said them, she ducked her head and looked in the opposite direction from Eliza, as if embarrassed by the admission.
Eliza walked over to her, stopping a few feet away. The two women watched as Emmeline whacked the shuttlecock into Rebecca’s face.
“I’m a good listener,” she offered to Amara. “If you need an ear, that is.”
Amara’s shoulders stiffened. “You think I would share intimate secrets with a stranger?”
Eliza shrugged. “It’s up to you. Loneliness hurts. I could use a friend. I thought maybe you could use one, too.” Amara’s walls were high and icy. If she could befriend this woman, she could conquer anything. Anyone. Right?
Dev’s sister studied her. “I admit, I appreciate your bluntness, Mrs. James. It’s a nice change from constant pleasantries, especially from people you know speak about you behind—”
She stopped talking as a maid walked in. “I’m—I’m sorry, Lady Amara,” the maid said upon seeing the two women. “I weren’t expectin’ anyone to be in here.” She started to back out of the room.
“What’s your name?” Eliza called.
“M-Mary, my lady.”
“Hello, Mary. I’m Eliza. I’m sorry if we’re keeping you from your work. We can go elsewhere, right, Lady Amara?
The maid gulped. Her cheeks flushed red as she glanced uncertainly toward Amara.
“Mrs. James and I shall leave you to your duties,” Amara said after a moment, her eyes fixed on Eliza as she spoke the words. She walked toward the door, beckoning Eliza to follow. As Eliza obeyed, she could have sworn Amara muttered “benefit of the doubt” under her breath. Huh?
Once in the hallway, Amara pressed her finger against her mouth. Wait, was she smiling? “That is possibly a first for me.”
“What is?”
“Vacating a room for a servant. Mother taught us to ignore the servants. They are to do their duties without comment, and are not to disturb us while doing so.”
No wonder Mary looked so nervous. “Gee whiz, that’s a snobby approach,” Eliza exclaimed before clapping her hand over her mouth. She really needed to think more before she spoke. It was a habit that often had gotten her into trouble in her own time, and it wasn’t doing her any favors here. She braced herself for Amara’s response, sure she was about to get a major set down.
Amara choked back a laugh, instead, the edge of her lips curling up. “I should be offended,” she said, “having been called a snob by an American. And yet I find it rather amusing. Refreshingly honest.”
Eliza exhaled in relief.
“A duke’s family is expected to be, as you put it, snobbish. We are of a higher station than others, of course.”
“You really believe that?”
“It is what I have been taught from birth.”
“Well, I believe all men are created equal.”
“How ... American.” The words were sharp, but Amara’s eye held an unexpected twinkle.
“Women, too, for that matter,” Eliza said, as they moved down the hallway together. In for a penny, in for a pound. Something about Amara’s feisty character suggested to Eliza that Amara wasn’t truly enamored of the way her society functioned.
Amara stopped midstride. “You believe men and women are equal?”
“Absolutely.”
“My mother undoubtedly deems herself equal to any man who might cross her path.” Amara smirked. “And I myself like the idea. Unfortunately, the rest of society does not. Men may be free to pursue what—and whom—they wish; women certainly are not.”
“They are where I come from. At least in principle.”
“Mr. Jefferson did not include women in his Declaration of Independence,” Amara pointed out. “All men ...”
“No, he didn’t. But that will change, I’m certain of it. Same with slavery. The end of that can’t come soon enough for me.”
Amara nodded. “You and I are in agreement on that, at least.”
“Heaven forbid we agree on something,” Eliza dared to say, relief flooding through her at Amara’s laughing response.
“Amara! Cousin Eliza. There you are!” a voice called from down the hallway. Becca scurried toward them. “I’m to tell you Mother wants you with us on the lawn.”
“She does? Whatever for?”
“I don’t know.” Becca shrugged. “She sent me to find you both; that is all.”
“Maybe she thinks my American ways will corrupt you,” Eliza said to Amara, her lips pinching together in amusement.
“More likely she’s worried about me corrupting you.” Amara heaved a sigh, ignoring Eliza’s questioning glance.
“We are coming, Becca. You may tell her.”
“Yes, sister,” answered Becca, before she skipped back down the hallway and out a door at the far end.
“She is so young,” Amara said. “To be that innocent again.”
“Agreed.”
Amara gave her a shrewd look. “Perhaps—” she started, before cutting herself off.
What had she been about to say?
“Come.” Amara made her way to Clarehaven’s back entrance, Eliza trailing behind. Accepting woolen pelisses from a maid, Amara handed one to Eliza. As they donned the warm garments, Amara gestured to the door. “Shall we?”
It wasn’t a declaration of friendship, to be sure, but that Amara was willing to stay in her company was a beginning, right?
Together, they walked out into the cold sunshine.
Chapter 14
Deveric’s attention flew to Eliza as she and his sister walked out onto the lawn. He’d tried to convince himself he wasn’t thinking of her, wasn’t wondering where she’d been yesterday evening and what she’d been doing, wasn’t wrestling with everything she had told him the previous morning. Whom did he think he was fooling? How could his mind be anywhere else? Not only were the things she’d told him so
wondrous they couldn’t be ignored, but she herself called to him like a siren to a sailor.
That in and of itself was disconcerting. He couldn’t remember having a stronger physical reaction to any female—and it’s not like he hadn’t had plenty of opportunities. Being a duke attracted women in droves. Being a youngish duke in possession of all of his teeth and, according to what a number of women implied, being of fine countenance, meant he never lacked for opportunity. Just interest. Until Mrs. James had appeared.
Part of him couldn’t help but still wonder—was he under some sort of spell? Who knew of what people were capable in this future of hers? She’d insisted she wasn’t a witch—but was it possible she had other sorts of powers, powers against which a man like him had no hope?
He shook his head. It couldn’t be. And yet, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. In truth, it wasn’t her physical person alone that drew him to her, though Lord knew he found her wildly, intoxicatingly, frustratingly attractive. No, though he’d only known her a few days, he already admired her spirit, her energy—and her keen mind. It was obvious from speaking with her this was no empty-headed, simpering miss. Indeed, she’d told him she’d been at university, working on being a doctor of literature, before she’d come to this place.
Women at university. It was hard to fathom, though he’d never held to the beliefs others of his ilk did, that women were naturally inferior to men. He’d seen the strength in his sister Amara as she’d weathered scandal, he’d seen the ferocity in his mother when she defended her family, seen the brilliance in Grace, with her literary creations he thought rivaled Ann Radcliffe or Fanny Burney. But his sisters at Cambridge or Oxford?
Eliza laughed openly at something Amara said, and the joy on her face brought an ache to his stomach. Or perhaps higher. Eliza was full of life. She was zest and exuberance and vitality. The opposite of how Deveric had felt for years. The opposite of Mirabelle, of many of the women of his acquaintance, who, if they had such vibrant personalities, dulled them down for the sake of decorum. This Mrs. Eliza James was a breath of fresh air in a very stale existence.
She drew him to her like a magnet.
Several times that afternoon, Arth and Em had ribbed him about his head being elsewhere. They’d trounced him at bowls. A number of the young ladies had pouted openly that the duke and his friends were paying them no attention, earning the women scoldings from their mothers.
It was true; he wasn’t paying attention. To anything. Thoughts of Eliza, this mystery woman, consumed him.
As the women neared, it surprised him to see Eliza link her arm with his sister’s. It shocked him even more that Amara didn’t resist, especially given her hostility that first evening. As far as Deveric knew, it’d been some time since Amara had shown interest in any female outside the family. And she well knew, if no one else did, that Mrs. James was no relative. How had Eliza won Amara over so quickly? Unease licked at his skin. What kind of magic did the woman wield?
No. No magic. No witchcraft. Those things were illogical, absurd. She was just a woman. A regular woman. He nearly snorted at that thought. Eliza James was anything but regular.
“Where have you been?” he blurted out when they were within earshot, his voice sharper than intended. Several guests looked at him. He shouldn’t be surprised at their interest, he supposed. A gentleman did not call loudly after women. He walked a few steps toward the women to ensure their conversation would not be overheard, glowering over his shoulder in the guests’ direction, lest they entertain the idea of eavesdropping. Many of them moved away. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to Amara and Eliza.
“Did you miss us, dear brother?”
“I merely wanted to check on our guest. She was not at dinner last night.” He hoped his tone conveyed polite disinterest. Nor breakfast, but he wasn’t going to admit he’d noticed. Amara’s sly grin and steady gaze told him he hadn’t fooled her.
“I’m fine. I was merely exhausted from ... traveling,” Eliza said. She leaned in and whispered to him. “I met your son.”
“Harrington? When? How?” What was the boy doing out of bed? He was in no condition to be up. Deveric’s heart constricted, his breath catching. Would Frederick worsen now? Sink back into delirium? “Is he all right?”
“Yes, he’s fine; he was hiding in my chambers yesterday afternoon, attempting to escape the nurse. Not that I blame him—once I met his nurse, I wanted to escape, too.”
His lips turned up in amusement. He’d often thought the same of Nurse Pritchett, but she was a fixture at Clarehaven. She’d been Deveric’s nurse when he was a small lad and was terrifying then, as well. He was sure one of the reasons he’d been so healthy all his life was his fear of being physicked by the nurse.
Eliza returned his smile. “He seems like a nice boy. Not too fond of me, though.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“Seems to think I’m trying to take his mother’s place.”
At that, his eyebrow shot up even farther. Amara made a noise in her throat, and Arth, who, damn him, had moved closer, noticeably stumbled at her words. Whispers echoed behind him. Others must have heard her, too.
Deveric studied the luscious woman before him. There was no comparison between Eliza and Mirabelle. His wife was as different from Mrs. James as night from day. There were times he could hardly recall his wife’s face, much to his shame, but he’d never forgotten her frailty. So small, so thin. He’d often worried he’d snap her in half.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that like it sounded,” Eliza stammered. “I just meant he was disappointed to see me in his mother’s chamber.” Her cheeks flushed a becoming pink.
The whispering behind him increased, but he quelled it with one backward glance. He knew why they talked, knew everyone was aware no one used Mirabelle’s chamber, ever, but no one should dare gossip in his presence. He was the duke, after all.
His eyes returned to Eliza and then fell to her full bosom, his loins tightening. He liked her rounded figure, liked that she was more a sunflower than a reed, all full blossom and heavier shape. She was sturdy, solidly built. She would never crumble, not the way Mirabelle had. In the short time he’d known Eliza, he’d witnessed the fire in her spirit and optimism to her outlook that he sensed were hard to dim.
“Are you o—are you all right?” she asked.
He nodded, a sharp motion, trying to douse the desire running through his veins. He was no school lad, incapable of controlling himself. With great effort, he slowed his breathing, his eyes now anywhere except on the tempting widow.
“A pleasure to see you again, Mrs. James,” Arthington commented from his side. “You are looking well.” The words were innocent, but the tone was not. Before he knew it, Dev edged closer to Eliza, in front of the other man, as if to shield her from Arth’s view. Arthington might be one of Deveric’s closest friends, but he had quite a well-deserved reputation as a rake, and a young widow such as Eliza would be easy prey. It was Deveric’s duty to protect her. Was it not?
Arthington coughed, acknowledging the strangeness of Deveric’s behavior. Eliza moved out from behind him to his side.
“Pay no attention to my brother, Your Grace. He seems not quite himself today,” Amara said, her lips twitching.
“We have something in common,” Arthington drawled to Eliza, disregarding Deveric. At her confused look, he added, “James. My given name. A fine name. I am the seventh James in our family.” He paused, his eyes falling to her mouth. Deveric stiffened as Arth’s lids lowered, his mouth pulling to the side, revealing that snaggletooth. Deveric knew that look, had seen Arth use it on numerous women, to great effect.
Arthington stepped closer to Eliza, ignoring Deveric’s glare. “Would you like to stroll with me in the gardens? Perhaps with Lady Amara and Emerlin? I’d love to hear more about the wilds of America. I’ve never been.”
“She’s promised a walk to me,” Deveric bit out. Amara’s mouth fell open.
“I di—” Eliza
began, but Deveric grabbed her by the elbow, leading her away before she could finish her protest. Over his shoulder, he called out, “Emerlin is over there surrounded by debutantes. He could use some rescuing.” He didn’t look back to see Arth’s response.
“Where are we going?” Eliza stumbled to keep up with his large strides. “And you don’t have to be so rough,” she snapped, pulling her arm free from his grasp.
He slowed. “I’m sorry,” he offered, taking a deep breath. What was wrong with him? He never behaved this way. Who was this woman, and why did she have this effect on him?
Undoubtedly, Amara and the others were wondering the same thing, having never seen him drag any woman off from another man, not even his wife. Not that many men had wanted Mirabelle; she hadn’t exactly been a beauty.
His marriage had been a marriage of convenience, a union agreed on between his father and his father’s neighbor as a way of consolidating wealth and property. Because of their marriage, Clarehaven now extended as far as the eye could see.
Deveric understood why his father had made such an arrangement. He’d gone along with it, figuring one woman was as good as another. He certainly appreciated a fine figure but had never had romantic notions about marriage. A Claremont does his duty. He’d expected to marry someone of appropriate rank and rearing, regardless of attraction or affection between the two of them. And Mirabelle had been kind-hearted at first if nothing else.
Of course, kind-hearted hadn’t proven enough. Watching her turn away from him after they’d consummated their marriage had told him it wasn’t enough for her, either. They’d got along tolerably well, as long as he hadn’t pressured her in the bedroom. He’d learned to sublimate his baser instincts.
The Magic of Love Series Page 38
