by Lucy Adams
“This will take time, Eliza,” her mother finished, calmly. “You will not have to even converse with him, if you do not wish to. I will not say that you need never see him again, for most likely, you will be at some of the same social occasions as one another, and you therefore must be prepared for that.”
Sighing inwardly, Eliza nodded, making for the door. She no longer wanted to be in the same room as her mother, no longer wanted to hear what she would have to endure, now that Avondale would be in town.
“I shall, Mama,” she muttered, half-heartedly. “And in the meantime, I shall look forward to Lord Montrose’s visit to you, so that our courtship might finally begin.”
Lady Whitehaven held Eliza’s gaze for a long moment, not saying even a single word.
“I am quite certain that this is what I want,” Eliza continued, a touch defiantly, as though she could see her mother’s thoughts. “You will not refuse him, Mama, will you?”
“Of course I will not,” Lady Whitehaven replied, steadily. “Just as long as you are certain that it is still what you wish.”
Eliza nodded, pulling open the door and making to quit the room. “I am quite certain, Mama,” she replied, her voice echoing into the room behind her. “More certain than ever before.”
Chapter Two
Jeremy, the Duke of Avondale, felt his heart drop to the floor as he left Lady Whitehaven’s townhouse. That had been the most disastrous encounter of his life.
Making his way back to his own townhouse, Jeremy felt his steps drag, the heavy weight of his heart seeming to pull him down. There was no happiness in this. There was no joy in his heart. That had gone the moment he had been forced to step away from Eliza and do his family duty.
Eliza would never forgive him. That was more than apparent. The anger and upset in her eyes had said more than her words could ever explain. As much as she had stated that she cared nothing for his explanations, that she no longer felt even a single modicum of emotion for him, Jeremy could not believe it was true. There had been too much raw agony in her expression, too much ire spitting through her words for him to believe that.
All he had wanted was the opportunity to explain, now that he was able to do so. At the time, he had been desperate to tell her the truth but his loyalty to his family had held him back. He had been forced to make promises that had subsequently torn Jeremy’s life apart, and broken Eliza’s heart completely.
Climbing into his carriage, Jeremy sat back against the squabs and closed his eyes. The way that she had looked at him as he first entered the room was something he would never forget. Her face had paled, her eyes widened, and then color had burned in her cheeks. Her brows had lowered, her dark ringlets darkening her appearance as she had folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her gaze at him.
He had not been welcomed in that house.
Bursting into the room in the first place had been a mistake, of course, but the butler had insisted that, even though Lady Whitehaven and Lady Eliza Wells were at home, they could not see him – and his desperation had forced him to react. He had hurried into the drawing room, all sense forgotten, in the desperate hope that Eliza would give him just a few minutes of her time.
Goodness, she had been even more beautiful than he remembered. She was strong and determined, resilient and unafraid. But, worst of all, apparently already being courted by another.
Groaning, Jeremy shoved his head into his hands, his heart aching with frustration and regret. What had he expected? Had he truly thought that Eliza would continue to wait for him, for years and years, until somehow his marriage had been brought to an end? That was more than foolish, especially given just how poorly he had treated her, giving her no explanation for his departure. To lose his wife had been truly terrible, but to lose his wife and the woman he loved was more torturous than anything he had ever known before.
The carriage door opened and Jeremy was forced to leave his dark thoughts for a moment, stepping out into the warm London air that the Season brought. This year, the year 1815, was meant to be one filled with hope. Napoleon, it seemed, was on the cusp of defeat and with that defeat would come an end to the war. There would be a peace that had been absent for some time, an end to the fighting and the brutality. Those in London seemed delighted with such news, bringing a fresh joy to their hearts as they waited expectantly – and yet Jeremy felt nothing of the sort within himself. Yes, he would be glad to know of the war’s end and the fighting that went with it, but it would do nothing to soothe the agony within his own heart. He did not know what would do so, other than simply allowing the passage of time to numb him somewhat.
“Your Grace.”
Jeremy looked up to see his butler inclining his head, his hand outstretched to take Jeremy’s hat and gloves.
“You have a visitor, Your Grace.”
“Oh?” For a moment, Jeremy was filled with the bright hope that Eliza had decided to set her anger aside and had come to talk with him about what had occurred, only to realize just how foolish an idea that was.
“Lord Northgate is waiting for you in the study, Your Grace.”
Jeremy hesitated, thundering memories crashing into him. The last time he had seen Lord Northgate had been some months ago, at the funeral of Jeremy’s wife.
“Should I have a tray sent up, Your Grace?”
Dragging himself back to the present and sending up a silent prayer for courage, Jeremy nodded and walked quickly towards the study, pushing open the door without even pausing to catch his breath.
Lord Northgate unfolded himself from the chair and rose to greet him, having been sitting by the fire that had obviously been stoked for him. He was a tall, thin man who always gave the impression of being rather cold. Little wonder, then, that the staff had tried to ensure that the room was warm!
“Northgate,” Jeremy murmured, shaking Northgate’s hand and finding himself somewhat surprised by the sheer amount of strength that came from what appeared to be so thin and gaunt a person. Lord Northgate had a long, thin nose, small grey eyes and a thatch of white hair that seemed to float a little above his head. Jeremy did not know him a good deal, but then that came with having a large, extended family. The Earl of Northgate was his uncle, eldest brother to Jeremy’s late mother.
“I do hope you do not mind my calling upon you here,” Lord Northgate began, as Jeremy waved him back into his seat. “I know that it is entirely unexpected and perhaps a little untoward to have my calling upon you without writing to you first, but I did not expect to see you in town.”
“It is quite all right,” Jeremy reassured him. “I am more than glad to see you, Northgate. Are you here for Beatrice?”
Beatrice was the third and last of Lord Northgate’s children, who, having been out last Season, had been required to wait until her period of mourning was at an end. Now, of course, she could grasp a hold of the Season with both hands.
“Indeed,” Lord Northgate sighed, a small smile playing about his mouth. “My dear girl is doing her very best, of course, to be as entirely proper as she can be, without losing any of her elegance and poise.” His smile became sad. “She is determined not to do as Rebecca did.”
Jeremy’s heart dropped to the floor. “I know that the Season may bring its own fears to her heart,” he replied, softly. “I can well understand her worries and her determination, but I am quite certain she will not be pulled into anything similar.”
Lord Northgate nodded, a sigh escaping him. “I can return home once Beatrice is settled,” he stated, shrugging, as Jeremy got up to pour them both a small measure of the finest brandy. “Harrington is, as you know, already married and his wife will soon enter her confinement.”
Jeremy looked up in surprise, hearing Lord Northgate speak of his eldest son and heir to the title. “Is that so?”
“Indeed,” Lord Northgate replied, smiling. “We are praying it is a boy, of course.”
“Of course,” Jeremy agreed, waving in the footman as a tray was brought in. “Bu
t if it is not, I have heard that daughters can be most agreeable.”
Lord Northgate did not say anything in response, not until the footman had left and the door was closed tightly.
“Might I ask, Avondale, whether you are in London for any particular reason?”
Jeremy sat down opposite his uncle and shrugged. He did not want to speak of Eliza but knew that there was no reason to hide the truth from his uncle. “Lady Eliza Wells is also in London.”
A flicker of sympathy crossed Lord Northgate’s face. “I see,” he said, slowly. “And might I ask how your meeting went?”
A harsh laugh ripped from Jeremy’s throat, and he shook his head. “She is not willing to speak to me.”
Lord Northgate looked entirely sympathetic. “As I can understand. I am truly sorry, Avondale, for what was asked of you.”
Jeremy closed his eyes and took in a long breath, memories swarming around him. He could still recall the day that his uncle had appeared at Jeremy’s estate, breathless and grey faced.
That had been the day that Jeremy’s entire world had gone awry. Lord Northgate had told him that his daughter, Rebecca, had found herself in trouble. She was, it seemed, with child. The girl had refused to say anything about who had done such a thing to her, but Lord Northgate had been desperate to find a way to hide his daughter’s shame as best he could.
Should the truth have come out, then all of Lord Northgate’s children would have been smeared by scandal. Lord Northgate’s eldest, Harrington, was due to wed in a few weeks’ time, and Northgate feared that the engagement would come to an end should news of Rebecca’s predicament reach society’s ears. Beatrice too, his youngest daughter, would never be able to find a suitable match, should the world know of Rebecca’s pregnancy.
It had all been set onto Jeremy’s shoulders and he had not had any other choice but to accept the responsibility of it. Family came first, did it not? And, of course, he could not tell even Eliza the truth of why he had to suddenly go to marry another, why he had to bring an end to what had been between them.
He had married Rebecca, his cousin, so that his family might be spared the shame and disgrace that came with her being with child outside of marriage. She had barely said a word to him in all the months they had been husband and wife, becoming almost a wraith as she floated around the estate, pale and silent. Little wonder, then, that when the time had come for her to give birth, she had not had the strength to do so.
Both she and the babe had died.
“You need not think that I shall discourage you from pursuing what you have long desired, Avondale,” his uncle murmured, breaking through Jeremy’s colliding thoughts. “I know all too well that you cared deeply for Lady Wells.”
Jeremy shook his head. “Be that as it may, she is not willing to either see nor speak to me,” he replied, gruffly, hiding his emotion. “Which I can understand entirely. It is not to be, it seems. I am not to have any hope of reconciliation.”
Lord Northgate sighed heavily and sipped his brandy. “I would speak to her on your behalf if I could,” he stated, honestly, “but I fear it would bring shame onto our good family name, shame that we have tried so hard to hide.”
Jeremy nodded, feeling utterly miserable. “Lady Wells herself would not say a word, I am certain of it, but as I have already promised that I would not declare what had occurred with Rebecca to any other….” He trailed off, picking up his own brandy glass and draining it.
Lord Northgate watched him for a long moment, setting his now empty glass back down upon the table. “You are a gentleman of honor, Avondale. We are, of course, desperately grateful for your sacrifice and for your willingness to come to Rebecca’s aid when she needed you.”
Jeremy waved a hand, not wanting to accept any accolades. “I did nothing for your daughter, Northgate,” he stated, honesty pouring into his words. “We were not friends. We were barely companions. She did not speak to me during those short months, seeming to lose herself in memories and in regret.” He shook his head, sitting forward and placing his elbows on his knees. “She was my dear cousin, of course, but I confess that I felt nothing for her.” Guilt assuaged him for a moment, wrapping its arms around his neck, until Lord Northgate’s voice broke in and pushed it aside.
“We have never expected that from you, Avondale,” he replied calmly. “You did your duty and for that, we are grateful.” He held Jeremy’s gaze, a quiet look of appreciation in his eyes. “And I wish you the very best this Season. I shall pray that Eliza might return to you again.”
Jeremy shook his head, sighing heavily as he thrust one hand into his hair in a gesture of exasperation. “I highly doubt your prayers will be answered, Uncle.”
His uncle smiled. “But still, I shall pray regardless.” A seriousness flickered in his eyes. “What of my daughter’s things? Are they still at the estate?”
Jeremy nodded. “I must tell you that I have failed somewhat in my duties and have not yet looked through all of her belongings,” he said, sadly. “I have still to do so, even though my time of mourning is complete.” He flung a hand towards Lord Northgate. “But you may do so, if you wish it. Simply say the word and I shall write to my staff and inform them that you are soon to be present at the estate.”
Lord Northgate shook his head. “No, indeed not. You were her husband and therefore the duty lies with you. I shall not do so until you have done so first.” He smiled at Jeremy, who did not quite manage to return it. “I am not chastising you nor urging you to do so now. It will be done when you are ready, will it not?”
“Yes, it shall be,” Jeremy agreed, heavily.
“And mayhap you shall find something that will tell us which dastardly gentleman did such a thing to my dear Rebecca.”
The anger that flooded Lord Northgate’s voice had Jeremy looking up in surprise, seeing the grim expression writing itself onto his uncle’s face. In all the time he had been married to Rebecca, he had never heard her mention what had occurred and now, it seemed, she had not said anything to her own father either.
“You did not know that I was at as much of a loss as you,” Lord Northgate commented, seeing Jeremy’s surprised look. “My daughter refused to say a single word about the gentleman in question, not even when she was spoken to at length on the subject.” He shook his head, his white hair bobbing about furiously on the top of his head. “I could not get the truth from her. She was deeply ashamed and frightened of what would happen to her. She shut herself away, both inwardly and outwardly. No, Avondale, I have never been able to discover which gentleman it was that put my daughter into such dire straits.”
An idea began to flicker in Jeremy’s mind. “Then mayhap I should set my mind upon discovering who it was,” he stated, softly, letting his gaze travel towards the flickering flames of the fire, as though they might confirm his suggestion.
His uncle, however, frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You have always told me, Northgate, that the gentleman responsible for your daughter’s predicament refused to wed her. That he abandoned her and set her aside. Is that not so?”
Lord Northgate nodded. “It is.”
“Then it is only just and fair that I should discover who did such a terrible thing, so that amends might be made,” Jeremy continued, quickly. “Or at least so that this gentleman might be shown to be entirely unsuitable for any other young lady of the ton.”
Lord Northgate nodded slowly, rubbing his chin with one long, bony finger. “So that no other young lady is in danger of enduring what Rebecca was forced to endure,” he said, slowly, his mind obviously still chewing over the suggestion. “But how can you do so if you have no particular idea as to whom this fellow might be?”
Jeremy shrugged. “I can make discreet enquiries, can I not? I can talk of my cousin Rebecca, who was in London for the Season some two years ago and see who might remember her. Someone might know the name of the gentlemen eager to be in her company?”
Sighing heavily, Lord Northgate clo
sed his eyes. “If only that wretched woman had done what she had been paid to do,” he said, with a touch of anger in his voice. “Then my daughter might still be with us at this very moment!”
Jeremy stopped talking, seeing the frustration and the pain and allowing his uncle time to endure it. Lord Northgate was talking of the companion he had hired to take care of Rebecca during the Season, for his own dear wife had departed this earth some years before. The companion, Mrs. Stately, had done very little for Rebecca, it seemed, allowing her more freedom than she ought. And, of course, Lord Northgate had stated that Rebecca would have thought this truly wonderful instead of telling her father that her companion was failing in her duties.
“But enough, enough now,” Lord Northgate continued, heavily. “I shall not let it linger within me any longer.” A tight smile pulled his lips across his face. “To live in the past is to let it eat away at your very soul, I think.”
Jeremy nodded, feeling the same heaviness within his own heart. “I fear that I cannot remove myself from the past entirely as yet.” He got up and went in search of the brandy, feeling the need to pour them both another measure. “Mayhap in trying to discover who was responsible for Rebecca’s situation, I might be able to free myself of it entirely.”
Lord Northgate nodded, accepting another brandy. “Indeed,” he agreed, quietly. “And mayhap you will have the opportunity to tell Lady Wells the truth about the entire matter, in the hope that her heart may yet return to you.” He arched one white, bushy eyebrow in Jeremy’s direction. “I would see you happy, Avondale.”
Jeremy shook his head as he sat back down. “I fear happiness is long gone from me, Northgate,” he stated, unequivocally. “And I have accepted as much. Whatever occurs over the next few weeks, whether or not I am able to find the gentleman who treated Rebecca so callously, I have very little hope of ever recovering what was once between myself and Lady Wells.” The truth was like burning coals being spewed from his mouth, the fire and heat and pain of it seeming to burn all though him. “That is gone entirely, I believe,” he finished, sitting back in his chair as though that might relieve some of his agony. “And I will not allow myself to hope any longer.”
