by Anna Bradley
CHAPTER THREE
Dinner Conversation
Eliza should have chosen to dine in the taproom amongst the other guests; she would have been a thousand times more comfortable. She’d have been ignored, as usual, and not been concerned about her appearance or making conversation.
Instead, she sat in Lord Crestwood’s private dining quarters, a warm fire burning in the corner and several candles set upon the table, feeling most out of place.
Miss Charlotte Fairchild sat morosely playing with her soup. A nervous energy emanated from Lord Crestwood’s son, who sat bouncing one knee unpleasantly after consuming his own soup in less than two minutes.
Crestwood seemed to be doing his best to ignore them all.
The soup was rather watered down. Eliza speculated that the innkeepers hadn’t been quite prepared for such a full establishment and needed to stretch supplies somewhat. It was only right, however, to appreciate what was set before her.
When one of the maids entered to serve a few loaves of bread, Eliza didn’t miss the furtive glances exchanged between the very young woman and young Mr. Fairchild. Lord Crestwood’s son had obviously already charmed the woman, if the fluttering lashes and smile were anything to go by.
Like father, like son.
Eliza had been working at her fiancé’s family’s inn in much the same capacity when she’d first met Henry. Mr. Wilson, the owner of the Dog and Pudding Inn, as well as her fiancé’s father, had told Eliza that Mr. Fairchild was a baron’s son and therefore should be provided with the best they had to offer. She’d been told to go above and beyond their normal standard of service in order to keep him satisfied.
Although they certainly hadn’t intended her to go to the lengths she’d taken.
Not only had he been incredibly handsome, but he’d been born into the aristocracy!
Eliza had not displeased him. Oh, no, she’d done her part to keep the scoundrel more than happy during his stay.
She’d be honest with herself, however; she’d enjoyed all of it up until the end—until he’d abandoned her. She’d not acted at all like an engaged woman. She’d acted like a trollop.
Her friendship with Henry had been quite innocent until he’d requested she accompany him and then show him around the nearby village of Misty Brooke.
They’d ridden together in his splendid carriage—alone. Mrs. Wilson had been busy, as had the other maid, and so no one had been available to accompany her.
After visiting her brother Thomas the previous summer and becoming engaged to Matthew Wilson, she’d returned the following year to work the summer months. She and Mathew’s nuptials had been scheduled for the fall, at which time she was to move into the inn with the Wilsons, and her brother would have the vicarage to himself once again.
Eliza had guessed Thomas would settle on a wife for himself at that point.
But Eliza had ruined everything.
The shunning she’d experienced over the next few years had been painful but well deserved.
“Would you care for some butter?”
Eliza snapped out of her musings enough to decline the plate Lord Crestwood offered.
“No thank you.” Only in truth, the bread was dry, and she would have appreciated a smidge of butter. But she didn’t want to take anything from him. It was bad enough she was here.
She refused to meet his eyes.
How churlish she was acting! “On second thought, I would.” She took the plate before he could set it down. “Thank you,” she added.
“How did the two of you meet, Father?” His son seemed willing to make conversation in order to relieve his boredom.
“While traveling.”
“I worked at an inn.”
They both spoke at once.
Oh, but he would wish to gloss it over for his children.
Lord Crestwood cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. The inn.”
Heavy silence fell once again. After the maid cleared away the bowls, not even a minute passed before the younger man excused himself to follow her. The innkeeper’s wife entered the room to refill their glasses of wine, and at the same time, Miss Fairchild excused herself as well.
Eliza would eat the last few spoonfuls that remained in her bowl and then retire for the evening. She had no wish to sit alone in Lord Crestwood’s company any longer than necessary. She took a sip of wine and dabbed at her lips.
As the door closed behind the younger woman, Lord Crestwood cleared his throat a second time. “I am sorry.”
Eliza did not look up at him, choosing instead to stare into her almost empty bowl. “That does nothing to change the facts.” She didn’t wish to dwell on this any more than necessary.
“I realize that.” He’d raised one hand to his forehead. “But I cannot forgive myself, if that gives you any satisfaction at all.”
“It—”
“And I know an apology means nothing. What I did… It was unforgivable.”
“It was.” Eliza finally forced herself to look up at him. “I never would have…” She could not bring herself to say the words. “I would not have!”
He stared back at her, and she required all her strength not to remember how gazing into his eyes had made her feel all those years ago. He’d always been so intense, and he was no different than that now. In fact, perhaps, he seemed even more so.
“It was unfair of me to take advantage of your innocence. My marriage made it even more deplorable.”
Deplorable. Yes, an excellent description for what he’d done.
“Your daughter says your wife has passed on.” He was a widower now. “Are you remarried?” Why would she ask this? She did not care if he was married.
“She has.” He nodded. “And I am not.” It was his turn to stare down at the table.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” She could not stop herself from uttering her condolences. It was what she did.
Even after he’d left her, she’d dreamt about him. She’d wished… And he’d had a wife all that time. It made all those dreams feel even more sordid.
“You never married,” he commented.
“Brilliant observation.” She half laughed. “No. I couldn’t remain at the Dog and Pudding Pot after you left. After discovering us… Matthew wanted nothing to do with me. His mother wrote to my parents and they disowned me. If it weren’t for my brother…” Why was she telling him all of this?
“The vicar.”
“Yes. Thomas took pity on me. I’ve been with him ever since. I assist him with parish duties.”
“So, your brother never married either. I remember you saying you thought he would marry once you moved out of the vicarage.”
He’d remembered that?
“No, Thomas never married either.” Oh, but she was making them sound pathetic. “We are quite content though. It is a very satisfying life.”
“Tending to the needs of others.”
“Yes.”
His returning stare seemed skeptical.
“It is,” she persisted most adamantly.
“I am not arguing with you.” His voice sounded languid again, now that they’d moved on from the subject of his horrific behavior. And hers… “I am only making conversation.” He leaned back, folding his hands in front of his flat mid-section. “Might I inquire as to where you were traveling to in the middle of winter? Some relative requiring caring for, perhaps? Seeing as you have become somewhat of an angel of mercy.”
Eliza stiffened her spine. “I have been invited to a house party for the holidays.” She was not some charity case, nor was she a martyr.
At her words, his brows rose. “Indeed?”
“The Earl and Countess of Kingsley have invited me to their country estate, if you must know.”
Upon this information, he shook his head and chuckled softly.
Eliza pinched her lips together. She hated that her gaze was drawn to the attractive creases that appeared at the corners of his eyes and that she wished he was laughing at some anecdote she’
d recounted rather than the notion of her attending such an exclusive gathering.
“The countess is a dear friend of mine.”
Lord Crestwood grew serious. “Her mother-in-law is a distant cousin of my mother’s, and I only recently met the countess in London this past summer. It is our destination as well.”
The countess? Olivia!
Had she done this on purpose? Last year, Eliza had told Olivia a rather innocent version of what had happened twelve years ago, while in the course of advising her not to carry on with the Earl of Kingsley—rather useless advice apparently—and she’d mentioned Henry’s name.
Had Olivia remembered?
But that would be ridiculous.
Olivia could not have done this on purpose. He’d said they were family… simply an unfortunate coincidence.
Eliza inhaled deeply.
When the storm let up, she ought to return to the vicarage and write to Olivia that she’d changed her mind. She could not spend thirteen days in the same house as this man!
The idea of returning home was appealing in some ways but quite disappointing in others. Eliza had been excited about the party. Something fun and different to break up the long winter months.
And what if Thomas had been anticipating some time to himself as well?
“You are traveling to Sky Manor as well?” She at least ought to verify the facts before making any decision.
“It seems we are to spend the holidays together.” He lifted his glass of wine toward her. “To the holidays.”
Eliza winced and ignored him.
With a shrug, he finished off his wine in one swallow.
Eliza closed her eyes. Thirteen days in this man’s company! Thirteen days with the constant reminder that she’d been complicit with him in committing the act of adultery.
How was she to endure it?
***
Henry was remembering why he’d been attracted to her in the first place. Not that she was the same as she’d been when they first met, but she posed such a contradiction of femininity, he found himself unable to abstain from teasing her—from goading her to speak her mind.
She sat across from him, stiff as a board, intent on proving to herself, to him, to anyone who cared to know her, that she rejected the needs most women had. That she was happy in her spinsterhood and felt no desire for anything more.
Guilt riddled his thoughts. She would have a great deal more if it had not been for him.
Vague memories flashed in his mind and forgotten emotions flooded in with them. Felicity had been incapacitated for two years at the time. He’d been in the depths of despair and Eliza… He’d been drawn to her light. Her lure had been so innocent. And the passion. It had erased his troubles for a time.
Had there been more between the two of them than physical attraction?
He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. She wanted nothing to do with him. She’d already told him she hated him. She could never forgive him. And she had every right.
Besides, he was firmly established in his widowhood. His most pressing concerns were his children and the management of his estate.
“Your daughter is quite lovely. She resembles you a great deal.” As though reading his mind, Miss Cline changed the subject. As soon as she spoke the words, however, she blushed, as though realizing she’d indicated he was lovely as well.
Henry would have chuckled but did not wish to add to her discomfort. “She was much easier as a child… These past few years, I feel as though I barely know her.”
The woman across from him shrugged, and her shawl slid down her arm, revealing some of the skin along her nape and the slim line of her shoulder. “Five and ten is not an easy age for a young girl. Caught between being a child and a woman.” Miss Cline’s features softened at her words.
He wished he could understand this concept. As much as he’d tried these past few years, everything he said to his daughter seemed only to anger or hurt her. “It’s as though we are speaking entirely different languages.”
Miss Cline nodded.
Henry’s gaze followed her hands as they drew her shawl around her shoulders once again. She was a tall, slim woman but not without a pleasant shape.
She continued talking to him about some of the young girls in her brother’s church, and he couldn’t help thinking she would have made a wonderful mother.
His own wife had not been given much of a chance.
Bart had been little more than four and Charlotte only two at the time of Francine’s accident. She’d been so young. And after…
He shook his head, dismissing the painful memories.
“Anyhow, I wouldn’t worry too much. She simply needs to find her way.” Miss Cline smiled at him for the first time all day.
In fact, she smiled at him for the first time in twelve years. Ah, yes, he remembered why he’d been drawn to her before.
CHAPTER FOUR
Change in Plans
Eliza hated that she dreamed of him that night. She’d done so almost nightly for the first year after he’d left, but then the dreams had gradually tapered off, become less vivid.
Having seen him again had stirred them up. They were all too real sometimes, causing her to awaken with longings that disturbed her throughout the day. Causing her to wish…
She opened her eyes the next morning with that renewed sense of wanting. Rather than lie in bed in such a state, she quietly climbed out from the trundle and crept over to the window. She’d given up the larger bed so that Miss Fairchild would not have to sleep beside a stranger. She could sleep beside her maid.
The snow appeared to have let up, but large mounds of the white fluffy stuff covered the yard. Small flakes meandered from the sky and in the east, it looked as though the sun might perhaps break through and make an appearance later that day.
“Probably have to wait a few days to travel,” Mrs. Blake said softly from across the room. “Hope the family doesn’t have to miss out on the party altogether.” She glanced surreptitiously toward Miss Fairchild, who snored evenly from the other side of the bed. “The children have not had an easy time of it.”
Eliza wondered. She did not wish to ask Lord Crestwood about his wife, or his family situation, but she could not help but be curious. “Lady Crestwood passed nearly a decade ago?” It was both a question and a statement. Ten years was a long time to mourn…
“No. But her ailment was rather morbid. She was cared for in a separate wing of the house, where the children would not be exposed to her… condition.” Mrs. Blake shocked Eliza with this information. But… Miss Fairchild hadn’t said she’d passed when she was five years old, she’d only said she’d gone without a mother since then. Eliza raised her brows in question.
“Lady Crestwood didn’t pass until last Christmas.” The woman shook her head solemnly. “It was time, though. Poor dear. Never was the same after the accident.”
Eliza’s curiosity grew even more. At home, she’d done her best to avoid gossip whenever possible. As the vicar’s sister, it had been her duty to set an example.
But she absolutely could not help herself. “When was the accident?” And what kind of accident? And why wasn’t she the same afterward? But Eliza couldn’t ask all these questions.
Mrs. Blakely twisted her mouth thoughtfully. “Almost fourteen years ago, I’d say. Miss Fairchild was just a wee little thing.” Realizing she might be revealing more of her employer than he might wish, Mrs. Blakely smoothed her skirt, reached for her apron, and turned away from Eliza. “I best be seeing about some chocolate for Miss Fairchild. If you’ll excuse me.”
Eliza nodded and watched the closed door for several minutes after the woman departed, not knowing really, how she ought to feel. Were his actions even more unforgivable knowing that his wife was at home, injured and infirm? Or was there more to it than that?
Miss Fairchild moaned and rolled over in the bed, bringing Eliza’s thoughts back to the present.
It changed nothing. He’d l
ied. Eliza took a deep breath. There was nothing to be done about it now. She glanced back toward the snow-covered landscape outside. Lord Crestwood had made his own choices, as had she. There was nowhere to go but forward. And now she had another choice to make: was she going to miss the Christmas party in order to avoid him and his family?
Eliza missed Olivia. Her long-awaited time away from the vicarage stood in jeopardy. Likely, Thomas had counted on his time alone as well.
She would go ahead with her original plans. First, though, she must locate her driver. Coachman John, as he had told her to call him, had been sent by Olivia and Lord Kingsley so that she did not need to ride the mail coach. She’d wanted to insist that the gesture was far too extravagant, but John had merely insisted he had to return to Sky Manor anyhow. She might as well ride along with him.
Of a mind to discuss when he wished to set out again, she was surprised to find him downstairs conversing with Lord Crestwood. They both looked as though they’d already spent some time out of doors, still wearing their coats and snow sticking to their boots.
Lord Crestwood glanced up first and grimaced at the sight of her.
Likely, he wondered if she would spew more hatred in his direction. Shame washed over her but part of her remained adamant that he deserved every word she’d hurled the day before.
“Miss Cline.” Coachman John seemed somewhat pained. “I’ve just been discussing the state of our coach with Lord Crestwood, here.”
Eliza pinched her lips together. There had been that loud cracking sound when they’d pulled up in front of the inn yesterday morning. She’d hoped whatever was the matter would only require a quick repair.
“The futchel is broken all the way through and can’t be repaired. I did some work on it yesterday, but until I can find a replacement, that vehicle isn’t safe.” Eliza’s heart sunk at the notion that she might be stranded in this inn over Christmas while the coachman went on to explain how this futchel piece connected some axletrees to splinter bars and other things she didn’t understand.
