She missed her friend. It’d been easy, too easy, to take their friendship for granted when they’d been together so long. Cat had tried to talk her out of this madcap scheme, tried to keep her with her. Their separation was so much harder than Eliza had imagined. She’d been so focused on where she was going, she’d ignored the reality of what she was leaving behind. Namely, the best friend a girl could ever have.
Should she have stayed? She’d made progress with Amara today, she was sure, and it seemed as if all were going well with Deveric. But was it? Was this going to work out?
She sighed.
“Are you all right, my lady?” Betsy fixed a pearl hairpin into the hair she’d arranged on top of Eliza’s head. “Did I pull too hard?”
“No, no, Betsy, you’re fine. And my hair ... my goodness, it looks wonderful!” And it did. Eliza stared at her reflection. Betsy had braided her hair then fastened it into an elaborate bun before weaving pearl hairpins through it that glowed in the light. She’d left two thick tendrils hanging down around Eliza’s ears, which tickled her neck as she turned her head to and fro, sending shivers through her.
Betsy gave her a bright smile, evidently pleased at the compliment. “Do you want a hint of rouge? You looked a little pale when I first walked in. Emmeline likes this Pear’s Liquid Blooms of Roses.” Betsy held up a small bottle she’d plucked off the dressing table.
Pale? She’d been on fire. Deveric’s green eyes flashed before her. “Thank you, Betsy. Though it’s not as if I have a gentleman to impress, right?” She gave a high-pitched, fake giggle—the kind she hated. Thank goodness the maid said nothing about Eliza’s suddenly odd behavior.
As Betsy deftly applied the cheek color with a light hand and then set about cleaning up the hair implements, Eliza lost herself in daydreams again, fantasizing about what London looked like in this era. Amara had told her it was doubtful Eliza would accompany them into Town for the Season— as the governess, she’d stay with Frederick—but Eliza hoped otherwise. She’d visited London with her parents while in high school. The Tower, St. Paul’s and Westminster Abbey were amazing, of course, but her favorite memory was the afternoon when she’d wandered around Mayfair, Piccadilly, and Hyde Park, trying to imagine them as they might have been in Jane Austen’s era.
How far to London was it from Clarehaven? For that matter, where was Clarehaven, exactly?
“Betsy, what’s the nearest city?”
“City? Why, Winchester. My ma and da live there.”
“How far away is it?”
“Not far at all; four or five miles. An easy walk.”
Nobody walked four or five miles in modern Charlottesville unless they were doing so for fitness. How times changed.
Eliza pursed her lips, picturing her wall map of England in her head. “If we’re near Winchester, we must also be somewhat near Chawton, correct?”
“Yes, my lady. I think it’s about twice as far. I’ve never been there. It’s only a small village.”
Eliza fought to keep her outward demeanor calm, but inside she bounced up and down. Jane Austen! I’m near Jane Austen! Right now!
She knew Jane had moved with her sister and mother to live in a small cottage on her brother’s estate in 1811. That cottage was where Jane did the majority of her writing— or would do, Eliza corrected—until her death. Maybe she’s writing right now!
“You may go down now, my lady.”
Eliza wanted to race around the room, so excited she was to know she was this close to Jane Austen. The actual Jane Austen. Instead, she gave the maid a nod before making for the door.
Shivers of delight teased her skin as she passed Deveric’s chamber. Meeting Jane Austen had long been her ultimate fantasy. Until the spectacular sight of one naked duke in a tub, that is.
Chapter 20
Deveric’s head rose as Eliza walked into the parlor, her slightly too-tight dress from that first evening pushing up her breasts in far too enticing a fashion. Damn. He’d barely managed to get himself under control before coming down for dinner, and here he was, every part of him instantly aware of every part of her. Especially the most luscious parts.
Numerous house party guests milled about, waiting to proceed into dinner. He hadn’t noticed their comings or goings, much to the matrons’ dismay, several of whom had overtly nudged their daughters to walk near him, casting eyes.
But enter one Eliza James, and everything in him stood to attention. It was disconcerting, this constant reaction. It was exhilarating. She looked stunning. The gown was the same as her first evening—he’d have to remedy that—but her hair was swept up in a far more elaborate coiffure, and the two tendrils that fell down below each ear framed her face, drawing attention to the curve of her neck.
He wanted to touch her there, to trace his hand along its creamy expanse, to drop kisses on her warm skin and hear her sigh in delight.
He shifted positions, willing his pantaloons not to betray his reaction to the delightful, perplexing, and extremely alluring mystery that was this American “cousin.” She moved further into the room, scanning the crowd. Suddenly, she smiled and walked away from him, toward the opposite corner. Who had she seen? He craned his neck.
“Looking for someone?” Arthington clapped a friendly hand on Deveric’s shoulder. “Let me guess, it’s not me.”
Deveric gave him a wry grin. “Just seeing to where my sister had gone. She does like to get into trouble.”
“Which one?”
A chuckle escaped Deveric. “True. Although in this instance I was thinking of Becca.” He barely tripped over the words. “I’m hoping she changed for dinner and won’t walk in with the stench of horse dung on her slippers.”
“I believe she’s over there,” Arth said. “With Grace. And it looks like your cousin has joined them, as well.” He gestured across the room, where Eliza chatted animatedly with Grace. His normally shy sister’s face glowed with excitement; what could they be talking about?
Casting one last quick glance their direction, he forced his attention back to Arthington. Emerlin made his way over to them a moment later.
“I don’t suppose either of you would like to take one of these sisters off my hands?” Dev quipped, desperate to discuss anything but Eliza.
Emerlin grinned while Arth snickered. “Not on your life,” Arth said. “First off, we’ve got our hands full just trying to handle you. Second, you’d kill us if we laid a hand on any of them. Besides, they’re like sisters to us, too.”
That was undoubtedly true; Em and Arth had known the girls practically since they were in the nursery. Becca had fancied herself half in love with Emerlin at one point—on account of his magical dimples, she’d said—but he still called her ‘Little Scamp’, much as he had when she’d followed him around as a toddler, whenever he’d come home from school with Dev. Which was often; venturing to Ireland was too far for the holidays.
“You two are too old for any of them, anyway. Except perhaps Amara.” Deveric was not thinking of Eliza James. He was not. Definitely not.
“Too old?” Em arched a fine eyebrow. “My mistress would tell you otherwise.”
“You’re acting as if we—and you—have one foot in the grave!” Arthington exclaimed.
“For all your talk about marrying, I’m starting to wonder if you two are going to grow old together, rather than commit to any one woman.” Deveric raised his own eyebrow. “Now that would cause conversation.”
Arth elbowed him good-naturedly. “Emerlin is like the brother I never had. The one I can tease mercilessly all day and carouse with all night. But have no doubt, there are women involved. Definitely women.”
“Did I imply otherwise?”
All three men laughed as the butler announced dinner. Men and women lined up as they were accustomed to enter the dining room. Deveric couldn’t help but look back at Eliza, who was wandering about, twirling a tendril, clearly unsure as to where she belonged. She started toward the back of the line.
H
is mother expected Deveric to escort her. He’d done so since Mirabelle died. He headed toward Eliza, anyway. “Escort my mother, will you?” he threw back at Arth, not waiting for an answer.
“Allow me, Mrs. James,” he said as he reached Eliza’s side. He offered her his elbow, smiling as she took it.
Murmurs echoed around them in response to his unexpected actions. Deveric didn’t care. He looked back at his mother. A hint of disapproval crossed her otherwise expressionless face as Arthington politely extended her his elbow. With a pointed look at her son, the dowager took the proffered arm.
“Did I commit another faux pas?” Eliza whispered to Deveric, her brows crinkling in the most delightful way.
“No.” He led her toward the front of the line. “I did. Traditionally, as Duke and host, I escort my mother, the hostess, into dinner. But she and our guests understand that making a new family member comfortable in unfamiliar surroundings ought to be my highest priority.” His mother understood no such thing, he was sure. He’d hear about this later.
“Oh my. I don’t think this is going to endear me to her.” She folded one arm over her stomach, her cheeks white.
He held her other arm in his, keeping her steady. Ushering her forward, he led her to a seat next to the head of the table. “Never fear. I shall keep you safe.”
Eliza’s shoulders tensed as the other guests rather awkwardly adjusted their seating arrangements. This was causing quite a stir. People were looking at her, some with open disdain.
On the other hand, Lizzie, he’s paying attention to you. A lot of attention. In front of everyone. This is a good sign. Right?
Or maybe not. Maybe he wanted to ensure she didn’t babble to the other guests her crazy notions of being from the future. Easier to keep her under tabs if he kept her close.
She sighed. Figuring this out was exhausting. One the one hand, he was made for her. Literally. And he’d shown interest, that much was clear. Sexual interest, at least. But could she trust that? Could she trust that whatever was going on between them, whatever might be developing, was real, not pre-programmed? She understood Cat’s dilemma more fully now, that’s for sure—it was hard to accept that a man created specifically to love her could do so of his own accord.
On the other hand, she’d told Cat not to make it predestined, to give both Deveric and her a choice, and Cat had done so. In that way, this wasn’t much different than finding your “perfect match” on a website, right? You entered what you were looking for, you were given a match, you gave it a go, but there was no guarantee it would work. And if it did, that didn’t devalue the feelings that developed, just because they were helped along by technology. Right?
But this was different than any dating website scenario. There were so many more hurdles. If, by some miracle, Deveric did fall in love with her, would it be possible to go from American “cousin” to Duchess of Claremont? The social opposition she’d face was obvious, as evidenced by the pointed looks guests were throwing her way. And this was a mere fraction of the ton. Panic clawed at her throat. She couldn’t pull this off; she’d never blend in.
She fingered the edge of the tablecloth as she surveyed the table. The Dowager Dragon stared at her from the other end, her eyes ice, even from this distance. Eliza was thankful so many feet separated them. On Eliza’s end, Deveric sat to her left, and Lord Chance, whom she hadn’t seen since that first night, to her right. Across from her was a young lady Eliza had seen, but not yet met. From the way the lady—girl, really, she looked all of eighteen—was making moony eyes at Deveric, it was clear she relished sitting next to the duke.
Jealousy furled low in Eliza’s belly, greener than Deveric’s eyes. Why couldn’t one of the older, far less attractive women have been seated next to her duke? This girl, whoever she was, had radiantly red hair and delicate ivory skin, accentuated by her mint green dress. With her huge eyes, she reminded Eliza of Ariel. The Little Mermaid’s Ariel. Compared to her thin frame, Eliza felt like Ursula—all bosom and derriere, and not a chance of snaring Eric. Er, Deveric.
Chance spoke to Eliza in low tones, disrupting her depressing train of thought. “So nice to see you again, dearest cousin. I have wanted to spend time with you, but alas, my brother has suddenly found a never-ending list of tasks for me.” He flashed her a winsome grin. “I can see why he wants to keep me away.”
Well, he certainly is a charmer. She smiled more widely than she should, glad to have a friendly face near. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Deveric’s scowl as he stared at his brother. Good. If she could instigate a little jealousy on the duke’s part, distract him from the confection to his left, that couldn’t hurt, right?
At that moment, the footmen set shallow bowls of soup in front of the guests, working with brisk efficiency and in better synchronization than many a swimming team. She studied the bowl. The famous Regency white soup, she guessed. It looked innocuous enough, so she took a bite. Not bad. A hint of almond.
Chance sipped from his wine glass. “How are you finding Clarehaven?”
“It’s magnificent,” Eliza replied without hesitation. “Beyond anything I’ve ever seen. I feel as if I’m visiting a museum, with how splendid the house is.”
He winked at her. “A museum? We need to liven things up, in that case.”
“Oh, I’m having adventures enough already.” She didn’t answer his quizzical look, instead taking a drink from her own glass. The wine was rich and heady, and tasty, but she would have preferred a glass of ice water with lemon or even the mildly bitter hot chocolate Betsy had brought her before.
She eyed the small finger bowl of water near her plate. Would anyone notice if she drank it, rather than rinsed her fingers in it?
“And here I thought we were in the middle of a rather dull house party.” Chance’s words pulled her out of her musings. His eyes sparkled. “With the men away for the hunt, what fun could you ladies have possibly had?”
“Yes, because women ought only to think of men all day?” Her tone was sharper than intended. She was hardly one to criticize, considering she’d traveled through time for a man.
“Isn’t that as it should be? After all, we only think of you,” he countered smoothly.
Oh, he would be dangerous in a few years. Right now he was a puppy—an adorable, floppy-eared, fun-loving one, but a pup all the same.
“I thought you were hunting foxes.”
“Foxes, vixens: one brings the other to mind.”
“I should hope not—lest you want to skin us for our pelts.”
She spoke the words before realizing how suggestive they sounded.
Chance choked on his wine. Deveric, who’d been conversing with the enamored young woman at his side, broke off to watch them.
“I’ve never heard it put so boldly before,” Chance whispered, his lips twisting into a leer. “But I would love to see your pelt.”
Eliza’s eyes widened. That had crossed the line. Had they been in the twenty-first century, in a bar, she’d have been tempted to throw her drink in his face. Here, she said nothing, but turned pointedly to Deveric, to let Chance know he was barking up the wrong tree.
“Ah, the cut direct.” The side of Deveric’s mouth quirked up. “Nothing more than my impudent younger brother deserves. What did he say?”
“Nothing important,” Eliza said. “I hope I did not interrupt your conversation.” She nodded at the girl across from her. The girl narrowed her eyes a touch before pasting a fake smile across her face.
“Not at all—” began Deveric.
“—We were discussing plans for His Grace to visit us in the coming weeks,” the woman broke in. “I would love to welcome him to Crestville.” Her eyes flashed triumphantly.
“Well, please, don’t let me keep you.” Deveric had agreed to visit this chit? So much for the jealousy game. She’d lost; it was eating her alive. “By the way, I’m Eliza James.” Cat would be proud of the polite indifference she’d infused in her voice, an indifference she certa
inly didn’t feel.
“Forgive me for not providing a proper introduction,” Deveric said. “Lady Parcine, this is Mrs. James, our cousin visiting from America. Mrs. James, this is Lady Parcine.”
“Ah, Mrs. James. Is your husband here, then?”
“No. He passed away years ago.”
Deveric’s eyebrows puckered as he watched Eliza. What was he thinking?
“A fellow widow. My condolences. Are you returning to America soon?” Lady Parcine asked, her face hopeful.
“Uh ...” Lady Parcine was a widow? She looked barely old enough to be legal.
Deveric broke in. “Having lost her entire family, Mrs. James will be with us for as long as she wishes to be.”
Lady Parcine approximated a sympathetic look. “It is so kind of His Grace and his family to provide for the less fortunate.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Witch. Dang, these women were cutthroat. Thank goodness Deveric’s sisters were kind, lest she think all women of the ton so vicious. Perhaps when the only option for a woman of rank was marriage, the competition did what it took to win. Mean girls from her century could learn a thing or two from Lady Parcine. Lady Harlot, too. Eliza was thankful, at least, that Harriet was at the other end of the table, flirting outrageously with a popinjay to her side.
“Yes, it is,” Eliza managed to respond, her own mouth tight.
Deveric looked as if he was about to speak, but the Witch quickly interjected. “I do hope, Your Grace, you have saved a dance for me.”
Deveric’s eyebrow popped up. “My apologies, but there is no dancing this evening, Lady Parcine.”
“I meant whenever we next meet. Please say you will remember you are promised to me.”
Damn, but the chit was good.
“May I serve you?” broke in a voice from Eliza’s right. Chance’s sheepish smile indicated his desire to make amends. Eliza scanned the table. All of the men were serving the women food, as she knew was custom. Eliza couldn’t decide whether she found that sexy or sexist. Perhaps a little of both, if Deveric had been the one serving her.
The Magic of Love Series Page 43
