Once there, she thumbed her fingers across the titles, grateful the room was empty as she looked for something, anything that would distract her. She could read Dalton’s Atomic Theory, or Davy’s Elements of Chemical Philosophy. They were bound at least to put her to sleep.
Her eyes unwillingly bounced to the settee where she’d lain with Deveric, trapped in his arms, staring into his deep emerald eyes. She’d been so hopeful then.
A small book casually discarded on the far end of the settee caught her eye. She strolled over and picked it up, opening to the cover page. Sense and Sensibility. Ah. She’d thought the binding looked familiar—it was the copy Grace had been reading those few weeks ago. She sat down, leaned back on the settee’s arm, and started reading, the opening paragraph well known and welcoming.
The family of Dashwood had been long settled in Sussex. Their estate was large, and their residence was at Norland Park, in the centre of their property, where for many generations, they had lived in so respectable a manner as to engage the general good opinion of their surrounding acquaintance.
The words were as comfortable as they were comforting. She didn’t know how many times she’d read this book, but it was the closest thing she had right now to a dear friend, and she let herself sink into it. She didn’t notice the sun setting until a maid came in to draw the window coverings.
“Oh, I’m sorry, my lady. I thought it were empty in here.” She was a pleasantly plump young girl, all cherry cheeks and big eyes.
Eliza yawned, setting the book down. “No need to apologize. I lost track of time. What time is it?”
“Six o’clock, my lady. Would you like for me to stoke up the fire again?”
“No, no. I’d better go. Thank you, —?”
“Dora, my lady.” The maid gave her a nervous curtsy.
“Oh, no need for that.” Eliza winked at her. “Please, call me Eliza.”
Dora smiled again. “The governess?”
“Yes.”
“Betsy says Lord Harrington’s been ever so much better since you’ve been here.”
“Thank you.” Freddy! She’d been in here for hours—she should have checked on him long ago. Poor kid, deserted by everyone on the same day. “Excuse me, Dora,” she said, grabbing her skirt in her hand, “but I have to go!”
Eliza ran out of the library and raced toward the hallway with the nursery. As she coasted around a corner, she ran smack dab into a tall, imposing figure. “Oomph.”
Both women staggered back. The hat the dowager was wearing slid off her head and landed with a thud on the floor. That thing must weigh twenty pounds, Eliza thought, as she gazed at the elaborate millinery creation, her head spinning.
A noise similar to a hiss emanated from the Dragon. “It is not seemly for a woman to ... to run!” she huffed as she straightened her skirt.
“I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” Eliza said, wanting only to get past her. “I was going to see Lord Harrington.”
Down the hallway past Deveric’s mother, the door opened and Deveric emerged, followed by Freddy. Eliza’s eyes widened, a tremulous smile crossing her face, as Dev picked up his son and enfolded him in a deep hug, his back to Eliza and the dowager. Freddy’s lips curled up in a smile. Whatever had happened between him and his father had ended happily, and Eliza’s heart swelled with the hope that Dev and his son might have a closer relationship from this point forward, regardless of what happened with her.
The dowager turned, following Eliza’s gaze. Both women watched as Deveric walked down the hallway in the opposite direction, his son clasped firmly in his arms.
She whipped her head back to Eliza and snapped in a low voice, “Hear me now, Mrs. Eliza James. You will not have my son. You will never have my son. Oh, he may want to bed you—and given the way you look at him, I daresay he will succeed—but he will not marry you. He will never marry you.”
Eliza stared at her, momentarily cowed by the menace in the woman’s voice. Her face drooped and her shoulders slid toward the floor. No, an inner voice cried. Eleanor Roosevelt. Eleanor friggin’ Roosevelt, baby!
She pulled up her spine and thrust her shoulders back, her stance confident, her eyes calm as she returned the dowager’s direct gaze. “I don’t believe that is for you to say, Your Grace. Your son is a grown man and I daresay he can make his own decisions.”
Triumph entered the dowager’s eyes. “Aha! You admit you’re trying to ensnare him!” She fixed a shrewd look on Eliza.
“No. I’m not.”
“You just said—”
“I said he can choose whom he wishes to marry. And, yes, I have hoped he would choose me. But I never, not for one minute, have tried to ensnare him.”
The older woman frowned, as if what Eliza was saying simply didn’t compute.
“I want his heart,” Eliza confessed in a small voice, almost more to herself than to Deveric’s mother. “But only if he gives it freely.”
“Rubbish,” the Dragon said, hurling the word at Eliza. “You are a fortune-hunter seeking to gain one of the highest positions in the land. Don’t think I don’t know your kind.” Her eyes snaked into reptilian slits. It would not have surprised Eliza if the woman breathed fire next.
“I do not know why you hate me so much! If you think so poorly of me,” Eliza responded, her voice rising, “why don’t you throw me out?”
“Don’t think I haven’t wanted to. The only reason you’re still here is that family takes care of family, and Claremont insists you are a long-lost cousin. My son does not lie.”
Eliza wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Should she insist Deveric had lied? Because he had. She was no more related to him than she was to the Queen of England, and they both knew it. Surely that meant something; that he’d covered for her at the cost of his own honesty. Except he’d had to, because really, how else could he account for her sudden presence, an American widow at Clarehaven? Nobody would believe the truth, and any other explanation begged for a scandal.
Eliza’s shoulders rose and fell as she stared down the dowager. How was this to end?
“Mother. Mrs. James.”
At Deveric’s deep voice, Eliza literally jumped. When had he returned? How had she not noticed him approach? And where was Freddy?
“Claremont,” answered the dowager with a tight nod, her eyes never leaving Eliza.
Eliza said nothing, instead pulling and twisting the tendril near her ear with such force it hurt. The air was so thick with tension, she could have cut it with that clichéd knife.
Deveric’s brow knit as he looked back and forth between the two women. “Is there some—” he started to say, but apparently thought better of it. He took a deep breath. “May I escort you both to dinner?” he asked, extending an arm to each of them.
“Thank you,” Eliza responded, her voice tight, “but I wanted to check on Frederick. Is he in his room?”
It was all she could do to hold it together. She wanted to rail against his formality, his distance. His mother. She wanted to bring back the man who’d spent the night in her bed—platonically—discussing airplanes and taking raunchy photographs. Attempted raunchy photographs, that is. That man and that night seemed so far away now. Her dream was slipping through her fingers.
“No. He is down in the kitchen, stealing cherry tarts from the cook.”
Eliza nearly smiled at the image of Freddy with cherry smeared across his face, but the Dragon’s hawk-like stare stopped her. “Maybe it would be better if I took a tray in my room this evening,” she said, breaking eye contact with the dowager. Perhaps that was an admission of defeat, but she was tired of the battle. Tired of everything.
“Of course,” Dev answered. “I will have someone bring up dinner for you.” Concern flashed across his face, but he instantly reverted back to a blank expression as his mother linked her arm through his.
“Thank you,” Eliza said stiffly, her heart in her throat.
He gave her the barest of nods. And then mother and son walked of
f without another word, leaving Eliza in the hallway, alone.
Chapter 33
Eliza stood a few minutes longer, shaking from her altercation with the Dragon. She cast her eyes to the ceiling, willing her insides to stop roiling. I will not let that woman have power over me. I will not.
She’d met viragos like Deveric’s mother in Charlottesville, embittered women whose sole purpose in life seemed to lie in making others miserable. Occasionally, she’d caught glimpses of the hurt, of the vulnerability lying beneath their caustic exteriors. It’d given her empathy toward those women, where others often had none. She wasn’t feeling empathetic now. Then again, she’d never herself been the subject of such viciousness.
The dowager duchess will not steal my sunshine.
The question was if Eliza remained under the same roof with that thundercloud, would she have any left?
Ugh. Regardless of what happened with Deveric, regardless of what happened with his mother, what Eliza needed was some time off, an evening free of worry or care. An evening with Sense and Sensibility. It’d be better with ice cream, but she’d take what she could get. Returning to the library, she grabbed the book before going back to her room. She didn’t want anyone to disturb her, wanted to pretend she was back in her own bed, in her own apartment, living vicariously through Austen’s prose, and forgetting for a while this mess of her own creation. Well, hers and Cat’s. Life was so much simpler in novels—especially when the happy-ever-after was guaranteed. No wonder Eliza had wanted to live that fairytale, Austen-esque romance; reality was messy, uncertain, painful. Better to return to the familiar, the expected, the beloved. Fiction.
She’d only been reading a short time when a knock came on the door. Who could that be? She quickly brushed her hair back behind her ears. Deveric?
“Eliza? It’s Emmeline. May I enter?”
“Sure.” Not Deveric. She stuffed down her disappointment. So much for her personal Darcy. Apparently, Dev’s feelings could be repressed.
Emmeline walked in, her face alive with excitement and some sort of magazine in her hand. “Mama said at dinner that Becca and I are to get completely new wardrobes in London. My brother insisted you are to get new dresses, too! I brought Ackermann’s Repository for us to look through for ideas. I have seen the most delightful spencer of a fine green.”
“Wait. De—I mean, His Grace—wants me to have new gowns?”
“Yes!” Emmeline plopped down on the bed and opened up the magazine to a page showing a sketch of a woman in a blue dress. “Mother protested you didn’t need anything, the silly goose, but he absolutely insisted, going so far as to say you should have carte blanche. He said he expects you to participate in all social events with the family, and so you must look the part.”
Eliza gaped at her. “What? But I’m not going to London.” Had Deveric had a change of heart? Was this the sign she was looking for?
“You are, indeed. You get to come to the balls! And the theater! And Almack’s. I’m sure he can secure you a voucher; my brother knows all the patronesses, of course.” Emmeline bounced on the bed. “I can’t wait!”
“But why would he do this?” Giddiness enveloped Eliza, in spite of her doubts. Emmeline’s enthusiasm was contagious. Almack’s? The Almack’s? She looked at the page to which Emmeline had flipped. And a gown like that, just for her? She couldn’t even imagine. London. With Deveric. Her heart swelled.
Emmeline shrugged. “You’re family, of course.”
Guilt crept across Eliza’s shoulders like a heavy coat. No, she wasn’t.
“Mama finally agreed maybe it was a good idea, to help you catch a husband. She said you didn’t even look all that old.”
Eliza nearly choked. A husband? Deveric wanted her to find a husband? All this time she’d been hoping, believing, and he’d been finding a way to get rid of her?
It was as if he’d punched her in the stomach.
No wonder Deveric’s mother was willing to go along with it—then she’d be rid of the nuisance, too. Eliza deflated like a balloon, her eyes welling with tears. He doesn’t want me. He wants to get rid of me.
Or could it be all the Dragon’s idea, this desire to marry her off? “Did Dev—did your brother say he wished me to marry?” Eliza asked, surprised at her own bluntness. But she had to know.
Emmeline shrugged again without looking up. “I don’t know, I wasn’t paying close attention. Oh, look at this bonnet! Don’t you love the way the brim rises up, and how the flowers match the pelisse?”
Eliza pretended to share Emmeline’s enthusiasm as she bent over the illustration, but she wasn’t focusing on it, fighting instead to keep the tears back. In spite of her best efforts, one slipped free and dropped onto the page.
Startled, Emmeline looked up. “What’s wrong?”
Another tear fell. Eliza shook her head, unable to say anything.
Emmeline’s eyes widened, her mouth rounding into an O. “It’s Deveric, isn’t it? You wish to marry my brother!”
Eliza remained silent, emotions coursing through her.
Emmeline clapped her hands, but then grew somber, the sides of her mouth turning down. “But it will never work, Eliza. Even if my mother would approve—and I dare say she would not, since you’re not of high enough social position—Deveric won’t marry again.”
Her eyes were sorrowful as she set a hand on Eliza’s knee. “He says he’ll never repeat that pain. It saddens me so. He could find a happy match if he wished, I’m sure of it. Our sister Cecilia secured one. But he’s adamant. He says he has his heir and needs never marry again; he just needs to marry us off. He claims that will be a challenge in and of itself!” She giggled a bit at the last part, but then stopped, looking sheepish.
Misery crashed down on Eliza, sucking her into its giant black hole. It had all been for naught. She was here for naught. How could Cat create someone who wasn’t emotionally available? Wasn’t that exactly the opposite of what Eliza had wished for?
Had Cat done it on purpose, so Eliza would use the escape clause and come home to her? Was this her ultimate way of proving to Eliza romance novel dreams didn’t come true?
No. Cat would never do that to her. If Eliza was here, it was because she was supposed to be here. Deveric was supposed to be hers. Then again, in creating such a backstory for Deveric, in having him lose a spouse like Eliza had, maybe instead of linking them through something in common, Cat had given him something he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, overcome.
Eliza fought to breathe. The Dragon hated her. Deveric was fighting whatever attraction he might have for her, tooth and nail. And Emmeline had just confirmed he wasn’t going to change, not for Eliza. Not for anyone.
She sighed. She’d been an optimist her entire life, determined to muddle her way through any odds, but this was too much. How hard was she supposed to fight? How much more did she need to go through? When did she get a break?
“I’m tired,” she said out loud. It was exhausting, watching her dreams crumble to dust.
I’m tired. Tired of fighting this battle. Tired of longing for what I can never have. Tired of wishing things were different.
Emmeline grabbed Eliza’s hand. “I’m sorry. I would love to have you as a true sister. But I don’t think...”
Eliza sucked in a breath. “I know. Your mother is right. I don’t belong here. I don’t fit in here. And even if I did, your brother ... His Grace ... You’re right; he won’t love me. Not the way I want to be loved. Not the way I deserve to be loved.”
“Perhaps going to London for the Season is what you need. You can find a new suitor!”
Eliza gave a pained laugh, one that echoed like daggers through her body. Oh, Emmeline. You are so young. Clearly, the girl had never been in love, or she’d know people couldn’t switch affections as easily as they switched shoes. At least Eliza couldn’t. Love didn’t work that way. And she did love Deveric. She knew it, felt it in her bones, in every inch of her. She did. Not just because Cat had created him fo
r her to do so. Not even because she thought she should, but because she did.
He was fierce, strong, every bit a man, but she had no doubt his stoic manner and reserved nature masked a man who felt deeply. She’d sensed it in the few times he’d kissed her; a well of passion, emotional as well as physical, lay below that calm exterior. She loved his quiet confidence, loved his love for his son—which she hoped he’d now show more openly. He was committed to those he cared for, as evidenced in how he interacted with his family, his sisters, even his mother.
“Maybe.” Crying over spilt milk won’t clean up this mess. Chin up. Attitude out. Wiping a tear from her eye, she gave Emmeline a weak smile. “Why don’t you show me which is your favorite dress?”
Emmeline clapped her hands before thumbing through the pages, chatting exuberantly about each dress she saw. Eliza sat next to her, not paying any attention.
I think it’s time for me to go home. This is getting far too painful. If she was going to be lost in a sea of unrequited emotion, she’d at least like to do it on common ground, with friends around who knew and loved her. With heat and Internet and coffee and cars.
“Oh, here’s a lovely riding habit.” Emmeline peered more closely at the page. “Perfect for an outing in Hyde Park. Don’t you love the deep green of the velvet? I’d add some epaulettes at the shoulders, but I’m sure Mrs. Shabner can do that.”
“Riding?” Eliza sat up straighter. “You’re right. Hyde Park. I need riding lessons.” Turning to Emmeline, determination setting in, she said, “Do you think Becca would teach me?”
“I’m sure she’d love to. She’d much rather ride than pick out dresses. She’ll be thrilled if you ask her, rather than having me talk at her about gloves and shoes and spencers all the day. The poor girl. She’s hopeless. As if a man will ever want a wife as wild as she.” Emmeline clucked under her breath.
She would ride for the monolith, the mini-Stonehenge Cat had penned in as the place to which Eliza needed to go if she wanted to come home. Becca had told her last week it lay on the northern boundary of Clarehaven, some ten miles hence. Luckily, the young girl hadn’t thought to ask Eliza how she knew about it, or why she was asking; she’d merely rattled off the info. Eliza herself had hoped learning the location was just a case of ‘forewarned is forearmed.’ So much for that.
The Magic of Love Series Page 52
