The Magic of Love Series

by Margaret Locke

  Betsy assisted her out of her chemise and into the day dress without comment, walking behind Eliza to fasten the lacings. Goodness, it was tight; she could hardly breathe. Emmeline was definitely smaller in the chest than she was.

  Eliza tried to breathe in, looking down. Her breasts were smashed up so high as to almost overflow the bodice. Good. A satisfied smile teased at her lips. That would give Deveric something to think about when he saw her again. If he saw her again. He’d taken off for weeks before; was he was already on his way back to London now?

  “Is that too tight?” Betsy asked, a nervous edge to her voice. “I fear Lady Emmeline is a bit, er, narrower than you are, my lady.”

  Eliza snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.” She smoothed her hands down over her hips. In spite of the tight-fitting bodice, she had lost some weight here. She had no idea how much; there weren’t exactly bathroom scales lying around, something she found quite freeing. Not being able to try on her own jeans made it hard to know, but her stomach was slightly less round, her face a bit more angular. There was something to be said for not having food as readily available as it had been back home.

  Home. She missed home. She missed Cat. She missed Presley, the big ol’ furball. She sighed. You can’t always get what you want. The Stones’ song echoed through her head. It’d been a favorite of her father’s, so she’d heard it time on end, but never appreciated the sentiment as much as she did now.

  She certainly hadn’t gotten what she wanted so far. Was it time to go?

  A maid entered the doorway. Lucy, if Eliza remembered correctly. “Beggin’ pardon, my lady, but the dowager has sent notice to all the ladies of the household that we will be leaving for London the day after tomorrow.”

  “London?” Betsy squeaked. “But I didn’t think they were leaving until the end of the week.”

  The maid bobbed her head. “I think so; I heard it directly from the dowager. She’s planning Lady Rebecca’s coming-out ball and has decided she needs to make the arrangements in Town herself. Or so I heard her telling her lady’s maid.” The woman flushed as if realizing she shouldn’t be admitting to eavesdropping.

  “All right, then,” Betsy said. “We will have to pack. Not that you have much to pack, my lady, but I’m sure His Grace will set that right in London. There are lots of modistes there.”

  “Oh, I’m not going.”

  “Not going?”

  “The dowager has made it clear my place, if anywhere, is here, with Frederick.” Eliza fought back the lump of disappointment in her throat. She desperately wanted to see Regency London, to see the places she’d read about as they were in this era: Grosvenor Square, Berkeley Square, Hyde Park, Gunter’s. Yes, she wanted to see all of those places. Almost as much as she wanted to stay with Deveric.

  Betsy’s face fell.

  “What’s the matter, Betsy?”

  “Begging your pardon, Eliza. I did not mean to show disappointment. I had looked forward to seeing London, ‘tis all, going with you as your lady’s maid.”

  “You’ve never been to London?”

  “Oh, no, my lady. I stay here, at Clarehaven. There are plenty of servants at Claremont House; they’ve no need of a country miss there. I prefer the quiet of the country, anyway.”

  That was a big fat lie if Betsy’s crestfallen expression said anything, but Eliza didn’t call her on it.

  It certainly was quiet. Eliza missed the hustle and bustle of the first week when the house had been filled with guests. No wonder house parties that lasted for days or weeks were so popular—otherwise one could die of boredom on such an estate.

  She wanted to slap herself. My God, I sound like one of the bored, entitled debutantes I so despise. There were tons of things to do here. She’d sampled just a few. She certainly enjoyed her time with Freddy and the dogs. She’d sat for hours in the library while Dev was away, combing through the volumes. She’d read a fair number of novels, some familiar from her twenty-first-century studies, others not. She’d even tackled the Flora Britannica before deciding she wasn’t that desperate.

  And now that she’d met the cook, she wanted to spend time in the kitchen, getting to know more of the house staff and learning this century’s methods of cooking. How did one make food without access to a microwave, or a refrigerator?

  Yes, there was plenty to do here. If she didn’t go home, that is.

  An hour later, Freddy dragged her by the hand to the familiar stone hut. Though her own heart was heavy, she loved that his cheeks glowed with healthy exuberance as he chatted animatedly about Pirate.

  “He licks me all the time!” Freddy exclaimed. “And even though he hasn’t got an eye, he runs around just as easily as his sisters and brothers. And he’s only a little bit smaller, you’ll see!”

  Eliza wasn’t sure what the boy expected her to notice, considering they’d been down to see the dogs together every day, but she followed along dutifully, glad for some time away from the main house and the people—all the people—in it. She needed to think.

  Deveric’s son had run a few steps ahead when a booming voice called out over the courtyard. “Frederick! What are you doing out in this weather? You should be in the nursery, warming yourself under the covers.”

  Freddy froze in his tracks, his face anxious, though he tried to hide it. “Good afternoon, Father,” he replied automatically. “Lizzie and I are going to visit the dogs.”

  Deveric turned to Eliza, arching an angry eyebrow. “Lizzie, is it?”

  She shrugged. This? This is how he interacted with her after ditching her in the hallway that morning? By picking an argument over a nickname? Freddy had started calling her that a few days ago, and she’d decided she didn’t mind, especially since when he said it, it was laced with affection.

  He looked back at his son. “You should call her Mrs. James; it is what’s proper between a governess and her charge.”

  “Yes, Papa.” Freddy tucked his head down into his chest, his spirit visibly dimming.

  She wanted to clobber Deveric over the head for stealing his son’s joy. And for referring to her as the governess. The man was erecting fences left and right. Sadness seeped into the hole in her heart.

  “I told him he could call me that, Your Grace.” She emphasized his title. “Freddy and I get along well. Our daily trips outside have done wonders for him.”

  Frederick gaped at her with wide eyes as she challenged his father. He nodded enthusiastically, his small head bobbing up and down. “I have, Papa. I haven’t had a fever for weeks, Nurse says, and my throat hasn’t been sore at all!”

  Deveric paused before answering. “I am pleased you are feeling well, my child.”

  “Do you want to see the puppies, Papa?”

  “Puppies? Oh yes, Mr. Sayers informed me Bertha had whelped her litter.” He paused for a second. “Wait, have you been playing with the dogs? Those dogs are hunting dogs, meant to be trained and controlled. They are not playmates.”

  “But I have my own dog now,” Freddy protested, looking at Eliza for back up.

  Great. I go up against his dad, and now Freddy tries it. That’ll get me in trouble, for sure, teaching impertinence. She smiled at the boy. Deveric deserved all the impertinence in the world today, for the way he’d behaved. Could he not see how red her eyes were?

  “Mr. Sayers and Liz—I mean Mrs. James—let me keep him! Come to see!” Freddy ran down the path, obviously anxious to show his father his puppy.

  “You gave my son a hunting dog?”

  Eliza’s eyes turned frosty. “No. Mr. Sayers let Frederick keep the runt of the litter, an adorable little fellow with one eye that your son has fallen in love with and spent a lot of time nurturing.”

  “A runt? Why didn’t Mr. Sayers put it out of its misery?”

  “Because that runt has saved your son from his.”

  “His what?”

  “His misery.”

  Deveric scowled at her. “What do you mean? My son is not miserable. He has a good
life.”

  “A good life? Are you kidding me? Yes, he’s a duke’s son, so I suppose he has most anything material at his beck and call. But do you know what he wants? What he needs? That boy wants love. He wants attention. And he wants it from his father!”

  Her voice had risen until she was yelling at him, anger surging through her. How dare he come out here and treat her so formally, so coldly, as if she really were nothing more than a servant. How dare he act as if nothing had happened between them, as if he—and she—could bury the emotions, the desire, the connection between them.

  “He’s been sick for months now, and what do you do? Coop him up in a room with that ghastly Nurse Pritchett.” Her chest heaved with every word. “And instead of spending time with him, you run away for several weeks. I didn’t know—I mean, he didn’t know if you were ever coming back!”

  Chapter 32

  Disbelief immobilized him, left him frozen, as he stared into the blazing eyes of one very furious Eliza James.

  His own anger sparked. How dare she accuse him of neglecting his son? He always made sure the boy had everything he needed. He visited Frederick at least once a day, sometimes more, didn’t he? When he was here, at least.

  He shouldn’t feel guilty. Rest and quiet were what the doctor said, what Nurse Pritchett said, were best for an ailing child, so he’d been careful not to stay too long and overtire the boy.

  He did better than his own father, didn’t he? Samuel Claremont had never paid much attention to him, beyond drilling principles of proper behavior into his brain, not until Deveric had reached his majority and needed training in the running of the estates, anyway. And in truth, the estate manager took on the majority of that task. His father had preferred Town life, even off-Season.

  Deveric hadn’t wanted attention from his parents when he was younger. Most of what he got came in the form of disapproval, whenever he’d made a wrong step, whenever he’d not comported himself as a duke’s son must. He’d quickly learned to stop wishing for their attention and to start being grateful when they left him on his own.

  Eton had been an escape, as had Oxford. It was why he preferred his townhouse in London to Claremont House—fewer people underfoot, and less criticism from his mother.

  “I always come back. Frederick knows that!” he bellowed. “I would have come back sooner, but I... I...” He faltered. He couldn’t admit, shouldn’t admit she was the reason he’d stayed away so long.

  She stalked off ahead, clearly uninterested in his self-justification. He watched in disbelief, hands on his hips. She dared leave him, Claremont, a duke? Isn’t that exactly what you wanted? For her to stay away?

  With a growl, he headed toward the kennel, his long strides ensuring he and Eliza reached it at the same time. Deveric stopped in surprise. His son was rolling around on the floor, giggling, a tiny puppy trying to jump on him and licking him everywhere it could. Mr. Sayers stood off to the side, watching the boy with a fond expression.

  “Frederick!” Deveric bellowed. “Sayers! What is the meaning of this?” It was one thing for his son to visit the dogs against his wishes; it was quite another for the boy to roll in the dirt with the animals. What if he took ill again?

  The hounds master’s back went rigidly straight at the harsh voice before he reached down to pull the puppy off of the boy. “My apologies, Your Grace. I know you don’t like Lord Harrington to play with the pups. I should not have allowed it.” Sayers ducked his head as the puppy squirmed in his arms, wanting to get back to the boy.

  Frederick scowled at his father. “Why do you have to ruin it? Why do you have to ruin everything? You don’t even care! You don’t care about me! You wish I’d died when Mama did!” he shouted, tears streaming down his face. He turned and darted out the door.

  Deveric made to go after him. Eliza caught at his arm. “Maybe you’d better give him some space.”

  “How dare you—” Deveric thundered. Then, suddenly, he grew eerily quiet. No one said a thing as he stood, hand on a hip, his gaze never leaving the squeaking pups crawling around on their mother.

  Closing his eyes, he exhaled, willing himself calm. He looked at Mr. Sayers, at Eliza, at the puppy.

  “You are right,” he said. “You are right. I am grateful to you both for providing my son with some joy in his life, seeing as I have failed to do so.”

  Without another word, he exited the hut.

  Eliza and Mr. Sayers stared at each other in confusion.

  “I’ve never seen His Grace do that,” Mr. Sayers said.

  “Seen him do what?”

  “Back down. Admit wrong.”

  “Well, he should have. He is wrong.”

  “But he’s a duke,” Mr. Sayers said as if that explained everything. “For you to challenge him...” He looked at Eliza in wonder. Shuffling over, he placed the puppy back in the pen with his mother. Pirate whined, clawing at the dirt.

  “He’s a man, a human being. Same as you or me. And he needs to be a parent to his boy.” Eliza didn’t care she was imposing twenty-first-century values on a nineteenth-century situation. Frederick deserved better, and frankly, so did Deveric. Let not the sins of the father...

  She walked over and picked up Pirate, who licked at her fingers. “I think I’ll take him to see Freddy. I’m sure the boy could use some comforting.”

  “You’re playing with fire, my lady.” Sayers’ eyes held a mixture of respect and concern.

  “Probably. But it just might be His Grace who ends up getting burned.”

  Deveric fled to the stables, needing time—and speed—to clear his head, to get these overpowering emotions under control, to determine his next course of action. He rode Lighting hard for more than an hour, desperate for clarity, for answers. How had his world gone topsy-turvy so quickly? Because of a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed force of nature.

  He still wasn’t sure what to do about Eliza. His mind urged him to stay away, to enforce distance, lest he hurt her. He couldn’t risk that. Wouldn’t risk that.

  His heart, however, pulled him to her with its every beat. He needed someone like her, someone to speak plainly, to call him out in a way no one else dared. Someone who fired his blood like no one else ever had.

  But first, he needed to make amends to his son. There was truth in what Frederick had said. Not that Dev wished he’d never been born. Certainly not that. But in avoiding and shutting off everything and everyone since the loss of his wife and daughter, he’d shut his son out, too.

  And then when Frederick had been so sick, Deveric had nearly gone out of his mind with fear of losing him. He’d wanted to drop to the ground, scream his anger and grief at God, plead for his son’s life. He’d tried it before, bargaining to save his wife and daughter, but it hadn’t worked; God had taken them anyway.

  Instead, he’d thrown himself into work, into riding, into punishing himself every way he could think of. He’d brought in the best doctors, commanded Nurse Pritchett to tend him around the clock, kept the boy’s room warmer than any in the house, but he hadn’t done what his son had needed him to do most—be there for him.

  When Freddy was born, Dev had taken one look at that tiny, red, bawling face, and sworn he’d love him better than his parents had loved him, that Frederick would never want for anything, would never have to labor more than have fun. Societal expectations be damned.

  And yet what had he done? Abandoned his son at his greatest time of need. I truly am a monster.

  Sliding off the horse, he threw the reins at the stable master, not even staying to brush Lightning down, but racing toward the house. He needed to change—he was drenched in sweat from the intense ride—but then he was going to make it up to his son, whatever it took.

  Eliza stayed with Freddy until he fell asleep. He’d sobbed in her arms for a good half hour, hiccupping and asking Eliza why his father didn’t love him. She assured him repeatedly that the duke did indeed love him, but when Freddy demanded, “So why hasn’t he come now?” she had no an
swer.

  When he finally dozed off, she laid him back in the bed and covered him carefully with his blanket. She wanted to stroke his cheek, to wipe the remaining tears away, but was afraid to, lest she disturb him. Who knew that when I traveled through time for a duke, I’d end up loving his son, instead?

  Because she did love Freddy, loved him dearly. She’d started to think of him almost as her own son, which was a mistake, if for no other reason than things weren’t working out with his father.

  Could she stay here? Could she stay at Clarehaven if Deveric never returned her feelings? Could she spend days, months, years, watching him, living with him, loving his son, but never having him?

  She bit her lip in frustration. This wasn’t the happy-ever-after she’d longed for. This was no fairytale ending, no midnight waltz at a ball. Instead, every time they took two steps forward, her Prince Not-So-Charming took twenty back.

  Deveric didn’t want her. Yes, he desired her physically; of that she was certain. It was something. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted the deep, all-consuming love of which she’d always dreamt. And she didn’t want to constantly have to chip away at someone else’s iceberg to find it.

  She carefully stood up, tiptoeing her way to the door so as not to wake Frederick. Walking down the hallway, Eliza was at a loss. She didn’t know what to do.

  She longed to be sitting in The Grounds with Cat, nursing a cappuccino and talking about what kind of Easter activity to plan for the kids at the Treasure Trove. She wanted to be bowling with Shannon and Jill. She wanted to be where she fit in, where she didn’t constantly feel judged as lesser. Or worse, she didn’t want to feel lesser, which was certainly the case when she was in the dowager’s presence.

  Maybe a book would help. They’d always been her escape in times of trouble, her friends when she hadn’t had any. Changing direction, she headed toward the study she’d found herself in that first evening. Under Deveric.