On Monday, with Daniel at the Court of Chancery pursuing the lawsuit, Eliza decided shopping was what she needed to curb the edgy restlessness inside her.
She’d look at small things only—new gloves, maybe a ribbon. Pins even, like pin money was ostensibly for. She wouldn’t go near any music shops. The last time she’d entered one she’d spent too freely, to her own detriment.
With Betsey behind her, and not bothering with a footman, Eliza ventured out in a freshly trimmed visiting dress and spencer. She looked the part of Lady Daniel.
Nevertheless, she went to the less-fashionable, more eclectic Soho Square in hopes to not be noticed or recognized.
She pursued ribbons and trims, but even the colorful mix of people and the delicious scent of French pastries didn’t help to lift her mood. She pinched her mouth in dissatisfaction over everything she saw and purchased little.
It was best to be frugal. Just the hackney to reach this area in anonymity was an extra expense.
She exited the latest in a line of shops, walked outside, and a spike of alarm shot through her. Her young cousins, Henriette and Margaret Broughton, stood only a few feet away on the pavement.
Their eyes connected. It was too late to pretend they had not seen each other. She nodded to them and turned to go the opposite way.
“Cousin! Oh, cousin!” sixteen-year-old Margaret called out and scurried over to Eliza. “Cousin Eliza!”
Eliza halted. As painful as it was to see her cousins after the events and suspicions of the last two months, Eliza’s heart gave a squeeze at the sound of Margaret calling for her. She was young and affectionate, and Eliza had helped care for Margaret since she was thirteen.
Eliza smoothed her expression and turned toward her cousins. They approached, tall gawkish Margaret with an eager expression on her face, her shorter elder sister Henriette looking sour, a maid and footman behind them, laden with packages.
The girls were a study in contrast. The elder sister took after their mother, beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed, of medium height, with a trim figure. She was intelligent but shrewd and ambitious. Margaret took after their father, Mr. Broughton, with a disproportionate face, enthusiastic gangliness, and more jolly good humor than sense.
“Good day. How do you do?” Eliza’s voice was a murmur.
“It’s Lady Daniel now, isn’t it? Are you really married?” Margaret asked with bright curiosity.
“Yes, of course I am, Cousin Margaret.” Eliza’s stomach squeezed. It was not Margaret’s fault her parents had played false.
“You are, you are!” Miss Margaret bounced on her toes. “A titled lady! So exciting! And you are staying at Ashton House, with the marquess?”
“With my husband, his brother the marquess, and their stepmother and sister.”
“Quite a step up from the Magdalen Hospital.” Henriette’s voice was dry, with an undercurrent of mocking.
Eliza stiffened.
Henriette lifted a blonde brow. “I’m surprised you settled for the younger son and a courtesy title only. Couldn’t prevail upon the elder brother?”
A cold jolt ran through Eliza. Henriette had always picked at any perceived weakness, but her words held a level of spite that jabbed at Eliza.
“Henriette!” Her younger sister gave her a shocked expression. She leaned toward her from her greater height, and false-whispered, “That wasn’t polite. Didn’t you learn anything in finishing school?”
The sisters’ interaction, so reminiscent of their parent’s relationship, reminded Eliza that Mrs. Broughton, with her stronger will and greater intelligence, was the one who controlled the household. Mr. Broughton didn’t like anything that cut into his enjoyments. He let his wife do as she pleased as long as her own will didn’t interfere with his amusements. He did not bother with anything he wasn’t interested in.
It must have been Mrs. Broughton who decided what to tell Eliza of the state of her dowry. And Mrs. Broughton who must have acted to ruin Eliza’s chances.
Henriette sneered at her sister, then turned back to Eliza. “How convenient it must be for you to be staying with the marquess. You are perfectly placed for when you’ll be seeking an even more powerful protector than a mere second son. We know the ways of your type.” Cousin Henriette’s lip curled with distaste.
Eliza clenched her fists, her entire body stiffening, but she controlled her expression and lifted her chin. “You are insulting, cousin. I must say a good day to you and end this discussion. It was good to see you, Margaret. I hope you’re well.” She nodded to her blameless younger cousin and turned to walk away.
Henriette moved to block her. “You have no right to sue us!” She hissed up into Eliza’s face, her blue eyes darkened from a deep scowl. “You have no right to any money at all, with your whorish ways! There is no dowry for us if you keep up this stupid lawsuit.”
Eliza tightened her mouth and moved around her. There would be a dowry for her cousins, legally at least, but it appeared Mr. and Mrs. Broughton were lying to their daughters as well. Eliza clutched her skirts and kept control of herself by a thread.
Cousin Henriette’s voice followed behind Eliza. She could feel her close on her heels. “You have no right to anything! Just because of some fusty old documents!”
Yes, the same fusty documents that allowed their father to inherit the estate, rather than Eliza, the natural heir.
Hearing Eliza’s own objections thrown at her with such ignorant vitriol, Eliza realized she could not oppose Daniel’s pursuing her rightful portion anymore. And she wouldn’t let herself be bothered by her cousins’ small-mindedness and lies any further.
So many lies.
She wasn’t beholden to her cousins any longer. She was free of them.
Daniel was her home and her family now.
Oh, Daniel. Wonderful Daniel. He gave her a safe home, a family full of kindness and courtesy instead of bickering squabbles and cold incivility. He gave her his strong arms to hold her.
She had a sudden, sharp need for his arms to be around her. She wished Daniel was home so that when she returned she could go straight into his embrace.
“Henriette, people are staring!” She heard Margaret hiss at her sister.
Eliza hurried faster, hoping for escape, Betsey at her heels. She looked ahead and stumbled to a stop with a jolt of shock. Pauline was exiting a hat shop a few feet away from Eliza.
Pauline, Eliza’s only friend from among the Magdalens of the Home, with her fresh, pretty face and pert nose. She was dressed finely, with multiple peacock feathers sweeping over her bonnet, a spencer with rows of trim in teal and deep rose over the bodice. It was a very modish ensemble, almost daring. Her brown hair was well curled, her cheeks rouged, and her lips painted a color that matched the trim on her spencer.
Eliza furled her brows at the sight. Those were expensive clothes, in the first stare of fashion, or perhaps a bit beyond it. Eliza would never choose to put those shades together.
Was it truly Pauline?
But it was. Her pretty profile was unmistakable as the girl turned down the street, not having seen Eliza.
Pauline had at least another year in the program at the Magdalen House. She should not be dressed extravagantly and out and about on the streets of London.
“Are you listening to me?” Cousin Henriette demanded. She had stopped in front of Eliza again.
She was unwilling to lose sight of Pauline. Eliza pushed past Henriette. “If you’ll excuse me, I must away.”
She hurried down the street crowded with shoppers. As she neared Pauline’s retreating form, she called out. “Pauline!”
Pauline heard her voice and looked her way. Pauline widened her eyes, turned, and made a mad dash across the street.
A hackney carriage pulled up in time to not hit the fleeing young woman, the horses and coachmen making angry noises.
Eliza narrowed her eyes, found a proper break in traffic, and hurried across the street.
“My lady?” Betsey called
after her, concern in her voice.
“Come along,” Eliza called back.
Pauline scurried along the fence surrounding the center garden of the Square and crossed the street again. Eliza picked up her feet in pursuit, scarcely paying attention if Betsey followed behind.
Eliza thought she lost Pauline in the London crowd for a second but then spotted her turning a corner. Eliza lengthened her steps. She couldn’t flat out run in the middle of Soho Square.
She turned the corner just in time to see Pauline hurry to the front door of a townhouse on a quieter street, unlock and enter it without looking back to see if she was still pursued.
Eliza entered the street and slowed her pace now that she knew where her quarry had gone. She reached the house and stared at the door.
She heard Betsey reach her with rapid breaths, and sent her an apologetic smile for leaving her behind.
Eliza knew nothing about this situation, but it did not look good. This house wasn’t Pauline’s family home, Eliza was sure, and if Pauline had left the Magdalen House for respectable employment, a respectable employer would not provide her with such clothes.
Pauline had welcomed Eliza into the Home, and though younger, had taken her under her wing. Eliza knew Pauline’s story and her nature. She had been taken advantage of before. She’d been hurt.
She was only sixteen.
Eliza was Lady Daniel now, and with rank came power. If Pauline needed saving, Lady Daniel might be able to throw her title around enough to come to Pauline’s rescue. Or she could call on the Marquess of Kentworth for assistance. Or Daniel. He claimed to want to help and defend the defenseless.
But she must know the particulars of the situation.
She didn’t stop to examine what she was doing further. Eliza knocked politely but firmly on the green-painted door.
They waited.
“My lady,” Betsey said in a low tone. “Your cousins are watching from the other street.”
Eliza glanced that direction and spotted her two cousins standing at the corner, not venturing onto this street. Henriette’s brows furled with a scowl. Young Margaret’s mouth gaped open, her eyes wide. They whispered together, and Margaret tugged on Henriette’s sleeve, trying to pull her away.
Eliza frowned and ignored them.
The townhouse might not be at the most fashionable address, but it wasn’t mean or miserly in any way. She could be mistaken in her assumptions.
She knocked again.
A young maid answered the door. The home behind her looked respectable enough, with elegant furnishings in the entryway, and a carpeted stairway leading up.
“May I help you, madame?”
“I am here to see Pauline—” Eliza’s tongue stumbled. She didn’t know Pauline’s family name. She brazened forward. “I believe she just returned?”
“Who should I say is calling, ma’am?”
Eliza fished a newly printed card out of her reticule. “Lady Daniel Ashton, if you please.” She folded over a corner. “But you may tell her Eliza is here to see her.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Yes, my lady.” She curtsied belatedly. “If you would come in and wait in the sitting room.”
Eliza inclined her head and swept in past the girl. Betsey came in behind her. The maid showed them to a sitting room. Betsey took up a proper position at a wall, her eyes wide as she looked at the room.
Eliza followed her gaze, and frowned, a lump of dread forming in her stomach. It was richly decorated to the point of excess, with multiple paintings in heavy gilt frames. But the art featured more nudity than Eliza was accustomed to: several baroque pieces of nymphs and satyrs, the Judgement of Paris, a Venus and Mars. On another wall, hung an Orientalist slave market with pale-skinned slave girls.
Pieces that in some households would be behind a curtain.
The lump worsened. Her neck prickled with discomfort. Eliza frowned. It appeared Pauline had fallen into exactly the situation they had been trying to avoid at the Home. But maybe she could get Pauline out of here.
A pianoforte stood in a place of honor in the room, an exquisite instrument of a model Eliza would love to play. Her fingers twitched at the sight of it, but a chill ran down her back.
Perhaps coming here had been foolhardy. Eliza resolved to leave when a clatter on the stairs stopped her.
Pauline descended. Her hair that had just been neat and modish, was now mussed. Her painted lips were smudged. She adjusted her dress and her eyes flashed with anger at Eliza.
She reached the bottom and grabbed Eliza’s arm.
“Why did you come here? What do you think you’re doing? You must leave immediately.” She pulled on Eliza’s arm in the direction of the door.
“Pauline, what’s going on? Why did you leave the Home?”
“I’ve found a better way to live than their strictures and moralizing.”
“A better way? Pauline, it isn’t better.”
She lifted her chin. “Fine clothes, money to spend, servants waiting on me. But I do have to work for my living. It isn’t too arduous. But so do you, I suppose. Similarly.” Pauline’s painted mouth twisted in a mocking way.
“What?” Eliza pulled away from Pauline’s tight grip. A noise of movement from above sent Eliza’s gaze upwards.
“Eliza.” Lord Crewkerne stood at the top of the stairs.
Chapter 42
Eliza flushed, and a wave of dizziness went over her. Her stomach roiled. The earl was in his shirtsleeves. He walked down the stairs, straightening his cuffs, his neckcloth missing, the top of his shirtfront gaping over his bare chest. An ugly smirk deepened the creases of dissipation on a face she had once found handsome, but now only saw with horror.
“Lord Crewkerne.” Eliza’s voice was faint. She turned back to her former friend. “Pauline. How could you? I told you what type of man he was. How could you put yourself in his power?”
Pauline’s face flushed and her eyes flashed with anger. She tilted up her nose. “I have a much better life now, Eliza. Some of us are rescued in a different way than others, but it’s still a rescue.”
Crewkerne chuckled, a noise that sent chills down Eliza’s spine. “She was wasted there. I’ve found much better uses for her.” He reached the bottom of the stairs and stared at Eliza with his sickeningly hungry eyes. “But I didn’t expect this lure.”
He stepped close to Eliza. Too close.
She steeled her voice to its coolest. “If you will excuse me, I will be going.”
He held up an underclad arm, barring her way. “No, this opportunity is too good to pass up. You should stay. I had these apartments prepared for you, you know. Then they remained empty for far too long.”
The fine hairs on her arms stood on end. She glanced at the pianoforte. The contents of Eliza’s stomach threatened to rise up in her throat. She swallowed down against them.
“Russell, would you stand before the door?” The earl’s voice was mild, as if this was a normal, everyday request to a manservant who had appeared from upstairs. The man hurried to stand in front of Eliza’s best escape. “Thank you, my good man.”
Her eyes darted between the blocked door, the stairs, the back hall, and the large front window, the curtains drawn over it despite it being midday.
Did she need to throw herself through the window glass to get away from this man?
“How wonderfully compromising this situation is!” Crewkerne’s lips curled up in evil delight. “I do think I shall let all the members of my club know you’ve been here. Yes, that would bring me pleasure. And it would be the absolute truth. How will your husband react when he hears that you’ve spent time in my little love nest?”
She stood silent, still, and as expressionless as she could manage. A trembling took over her hands. She clenched her cold fingers to stop the tremors. Her throat closed, tight and dry.
What if Daniel did learn of this? What if it pushed him away from her? He’d believed in her over rumors before their marriage, but this situ
ation was beyond the pale. She fought to keep her face impassive, to keep her horror at the thought from being visible to the cruel man in front of her.
“Or, I could tell no one,” Crewkerne continued, his voice cajoling. “Instead, I could assist you in leaving this house without anyone seeing you. I am quite skilled at helping ladies move clandestinely. Do stay and join me for a tête-à-tête in my bed chamber.”
A shudder of revulsion went through Eliza. Crewkerne smiled and reached for her. She flinched away from his hand.
“My lord!” Pauline’s voice interrupted with an offended, petulant tone. “What do you need her for? You’ve got me!”
Crewkerne did not look away from Eliza. “Yes, my dear. And you are delectable. But a connoisseur does not limit himself to one vintage of wine alone. Won’t you stay, my dear Eliza, and taste of what I offer?”
Eliza tightened her fists and snapped her gaze at the earl. “I have not given you leave to use my Christian name,” she said with her iciest voice.
“This is such an intimate setting.”
“Hardly. You do have witnesses, sir.” Three of them. Eliza’s gaze darted between Pauline, the manservant, and Betsey. Her maid’s eyes were wide, and her face white, but when their gazes connected, Betsey thrust out her jaw and moved forward.
“I’m here, my lady! And I ain’t leaving.” Betsey set herself solidly next to Eliza.
“Thank you, Betsey.” Eliza gave her a ghost of a smile, feeling strengthened by her stalwart maid’s presence.
Crewkerne glared at Betsey, but he quickly put the smirk back on his face again. “It is far too crowded here. Pauline, my dear, please go upstairs and wait in your room.”
Pauline’s mouth dropped open. “And just leave you with her?”
“Yes.”
“No, Pauline, stay.” Eliza turned to her. “Don’t you deserve to know what happens? To see how much he values you?” Eliza gave Crewkerne a look of contempt.
“Pauline knows exactly how I value her. You see how I keep her. Luxury, fine clothes, servants. The life you could have had. I believe your soldier is too purse-pinched to give you such finery.”
Beneath Spring's Rain (Ashton Brides Book 1) Page 25
