The earl halted on the gravel behind him, and Thomas likewise stopped on the stairs to turn and stare at his friend.
“Actually, I have something other than business that I wish to discuss first.”
Evanston’s brow lifted, and he turned to sardonically scan the landscape. “Do you wish to discuss it here on the drive? Or shall I accompany you inside the house?”
William stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Eliza is inside the house, and I do not wish to be overheard.”
Eliza.
An image of William’s sister, lovely and lush, invaded his thoughts. With a start, he wondered if Ashworth had finally discovered the truth about his stolen kiss those many years ago. He imagined if he had, the man wouldn’t be nearly this calm.
“What is it you have to say?” he asked, his tone suddenly serious.
“You cannot hazard a guess?”
“I would rather not.”
“Fine,” Ashworth said with a scoff. “Let me be clear, then. Should you encounter Eliza in London this summer, you are only to treat her as a sister.”
He stared at him, evaluating. “Has Eliza said something to indicate that I—”
“No. I speak simply from my own observations and my knowledge of you.”
“And what are your own observations?”
“Come now,” William grumbled. “Playing dumb doesn’t suit you. I’ve seen enough questionable banter between the two of you to feel this tête-à-tête is more than justified.”
There was a moment of tense silence as Thomas considered his words. Yes, he had flirted with Eliza in the past, although whether or not she had reciprocated was certainly up for debate. It had been difficult to help himself. Despite the grief of losing her husband, father and brother in a tragic carriage accident just two years before, she had somehow bloomed in the face of such overwhelming adversity. Eliza had always been a beauty, but now she possessed something else as well . . . an effortless sensuality that many women desperately tried for and never achieved. She was also highly intelligent and powerfully dedicated to ensuring her young daughter’s security. Although she disliked the blinding glitter of the ton, Thomas knew she would endure it with the same stoic determination she’d drawn on since the accident . . . all to provide a better life for her child.
He’d never found himself lacking for ample female attention, but even distracted as he was, Thomas couldn’t deny that he admired her—both as a friend and as a woman. Oddly enough, William’s censure of him today was only serving to remind him of this. He guessed it was not quite the effect Ashworth had been hoping for.
Thomas dragged his eyes back up to meet William’s. “You want me to act like her brother?”
“Yes.”
“So . . . possessive and overbearing?” he inquired sharply.
The muscle jumped in Ashworth’s jaw. “I believe you mean protective and concerned. If this annoys you, then my apprehensions are likely founded in truth.” William sighed. “Look, Thomas. I revere you as a friend, but you and I both know how you are with women—”
“And you believe I would treat Eliza no better than some meaningless dalliance if given half a chance?”
“I’d like to believe the best about you, but it’s the uncertainty that must be resolved before her season. And there is no chance, Evanston,” he asserted meaningfully. “Half or otherwise. My sister is forbidden.”
A thought suddenly occurred to Thomas. And while he immediately hated himself for it, it did hold a certain allure.
That almost sounds like a challenge . . .
Straightening, he smoothed a hand over his ebony hair and hitched his broad shoulders into a shrug. “Eliza has grown into a lovely woman, William, and I won’t deny that I enjoy flirting with her. You wouldn’t believe me if I did. And while we could argue for days about the blackened state of my character, it would all be for naught. She would not have me, even were I so inclined.” He did, after all, remember her angry rebuke after their kiss.
Ashworth appeared to be awash in relief. “So you are not inclined?”
Rather than saying the words, Thomas merely shook his head.
“And you will behave blamelessly in London? Shall we shake on it?” William held out his hand.
Evanston nimbly reached beyond his hand and clapped him on the back before pulling him close.
“Let’s drink on it instead.”
Eliza sighed restlessly in her chair, scanning the ballroom while toying with her gloved fingers. She smiled at her friend Caroline, appearing charming this evening in a cornflower-blue dress ornamented with ivory lace flounces, and couldn’t help but notice the mischievous smile that was tugging at the corners of Caroline’s lips.
“Are you happy for a brief respite from Lord Titherton’s attentions?” Caroline asked.
Eliza laughed. “My goodness, yes. What would I have done without Clara?” She glanced gratefully at the Countess of Ashworth, her brother’s new wife, who was currently occupying said gentleman’s time with a dance. As the dark-haired beauty spun around, she affected an enthusiastic laugh for one of Titherton’s comments while casting a conspiratorial wink in Eliza’s direction.
Eliza’s chest swelled with sisterly affection for the woman who had managed to gain the love of William, herself and Rosa—and under the guise of a housemaid, no less. She still couldn’t believe the lengths the wealthy heiress had gone to in order to escape the baron who would have been her husband. She had sacrificed everything to get away from the awful man, desperate enough to go into hiding as a domestic servant at Lord Ashworth’s estate. In doing so, she’d not only won the love of the earl, she’d brought him back from the brink of a dark depression that had taken root after the accident. It had earned her the tremulous fascination of the ton as well . . . not that she gave two figs about the ton. It was yet another aspect of her delightful nature.
Still smiling, Eliza heaved another sigh and glanced at the floor. There was a squeeze of Caroline’s hand, reassuring and warm, upon her own.
“Why so glum?” she inquired. “Are you feeling anxious about your impending departure?”
“Are you not?” asked Eliza, turning her hand upward to return a gentle squeeze. “And if not, I’d like to learn your secret. We leave tomorrow for London, and I swear it wasn’t nearly half this distressing when I was but fifteen years old being presented before Queen Victoria herself.”
Caroline’s amusement turned sardonic and she raised an elegant chestnut eyebrow. “Perhaps I am more at ease because I enter into this season holding no illusions of tempting a suitor tonight, or any other night.” Her head swiveled back to face the crowd and she released her friend’s hand to touch her coiffure, unconsciously gauging its tidiness. “But you, Eliza . . . I should think your return to London society will garner quite a lot of attention—”
“That is an unkind evaluation of your charms, Caroline, and not at all true.”
“You are my friend, and I thank you for your charitable opinion,” the girl replied with half a smile. “But you have much more to offer a prospective husband than do I. You are the sister of an earl.”
“You are the daughter of a duke . . .” Eliza answered with a disbelieving stare.
“Yes, but we both know my parents have essentially deserted me. And so does the ton,” she added bitterly. Caroline smoothed her skirts before continuing. “You are the widow of a wealthy man who was well-respected amongst the landed gentry and aristocracy alike.”
“Who just lost any claim to my late husband’s lands or finances due to his heir being located.”
For a solitary moment Eliza worried Caroline’s temper might overshadow her manners. Her friend crossed her arms over her chest, soft gray eyes darkening to black in her fury.
“Caroline—” Eliza whispered pointedly.
“You can’t expect me to accept it,” she finally replied. “To turn out a widow and her child? It’s barbaric,” she railed in disgust.
Eliza sighed. It would
not be the first time they’d had this conversation. “It is the right of first-born males to inherit the family estate,” she said. “And it’s the law, no more, no less. You know that.”
Her friend shook her head in repudiation. “You’ve just finished your period of mourning, only to be booted out of your home by an American. If the estate had gone to a nephew, or even a cousin . . . but to go to a man whose relation to your husband was so remote it took two years to find him?” Caroline glanced away and sniffed.
Eliza was sure the man was, in fact, a cousin of some sort. Still, she could not disagree with her friend. It did seem unjust for her to lose her home, her daughter’s home, to a man Reginald had likely never even heard of and had certainly never met. But so it was, and so it had been for countless years when no closer descendant could be found.
Caroline had not taken it well when Eliza and Rosa had found themselves ejected from the Cartwick estate and relegated to Lawton Park’s Dower House. She was also likely irritated at the prospect of neighborly dealings with the new heir. Inwardly, Eliza did not envy that man, however much he had inconvenienced her.
Speaking of inconvenient men, she caught sight of Lord Evanston on the dance floor, whirling around with one of only many eager female partners here tonight. Eliza didn’t know the girl well; she was pretty and petite with champagne-colored hair, and currently Thomas was smiling down at her as if she were the only woman in the world. Eliza snorted quietly to herself and turned away. It was part of his appeal, she supposed. He had the uncanny ability to make ladies feel as if they were something truly special . . . right up until he walked away to charm the next one.
“Nonsense,” said Caroline lightly. “That is a situation which happens to many widows anyway and is certainly no fault of your own. You are still the sister of the Earl of Ashworth, who, I might add, has caused quite a stir by choosing the daring Clara Mayfield for his countess.” Her eyes shifted back to Eliza. “And now it is expected that you shall remarry and cause an equivalent commotion.”
“Hateful necessity that it is,” Eliza interjected moodily. “If only London society could keep their opinions to themselves, perhaps the season would only be half as miserable.” She scowled down at the blush-pink satin of her gown, gleaming and luminous, bathed in the glow from the chandeliers above. “Now I know how William felt, with the ton sniffing at his heels.”
Caroline reclined ever so slightly in her seat to examine her friend. “I know how you have suffered, Eliza. First, losing your husband, and nearly your entire family . . . then your home. You’ve been through so much. But you’ve also been alone for a long time, and as you’ve discovered, a widow’s situation can be unpredictable.”
This was certainly true. Her world had been a nightmare of changing landscapes over the past two years, with the appearance of the next male Cartwick relation serving as the latest obstacle. As difficult as it had been to leave Reginald’s family home, it was that much harder to pretend as if all was well for Rosa’s sake. She still couldn’t imagine marrying again, but knew that doing so would provide a sort of protection they just couldn’t achieve otherwise in society. The Dower House was a temporary solution, but not something she wanted for Rosa in the long term, and Eliza would do just about anything to keep her daughter from feeling adrift ever again. She could only hope her youth had prevented her from absorbing the enormity of it all.
“Yes, it can be,” she agreed softly.
Caroline glanced over at the Earl of Ashworth, who had reclaimed his bride from Titherton and was currently on his way to spending an unfashionable amount of time dancing with his wife, much to the scandalized delight of his guests.
Her gaze softening, Caroline lowered her voice. “And you don’t truly wish to be alone . . . do you?”
Eliza sighed, and the discontent she had been trying to ignore came crashing back down around her, leaving her feeling brittle and exposed. Unhappy.
The fact was, she was scared. Reginald had turned out to be a good husband, and during their brief marriage, a warm friendship had grown between the two. At some point, she found she’d actually felt quite fortunate in the pairing, and months later, her belly had grown heavy with his child. Given time, there could have been love.
But his time had been cut short. Not only had death taken him, it had dispelled any illusion she might have had of her own security.
Caroline’s brow creased. She looked worried now as she whispered, “Do you wish to be alone?”
Eliza cast her eyes towards the windows, now black with night. What she wished was to escape the maddening circus that was to become her life these next few months. But venturing to London for the season made sense for her now. And for Rosa.
Realizing she had not answered her friend, she glanced over guiltily. “No,” she managed, her voice catching. “I don’t want to be alone.” She supposed it was the truth.
Relieved, Caroline’s gaze returned to the men and women at the ball, making and receiving introductions, socializing. “And what about here, tonight. Is there any man worth knowing better?”
Staring out at the guests, Eliza observed politeness and restraint. She perceived men in their immaculate black jackets and crisp white linen shirts, and women, most younger than her, floating about the dance floor in their layered gowns of tulle and muslin. She noted a girl concealing her demure giggle as a gentleman lauded her with compliments. She witnessed proud country mamas belaboring the numerous virtues of their daughters. She watched those girls, terrified and vulnerable, perform before the stark lens of the high-society people they had painstakingly polished and primped themselves to impress.
And of course, she saw the broad shoulders and sleek black hair of Lord Evanston, turning beneath the glow of candlelit chandeliers as he danced with yet another partner.
Eliza shook her head and looked away with a frown, and Caroline tipped her head in inquiry, searching the floor to discover what had caused her friend’s upset.
“What is it?” she asked, craning her neck.
“It’s nothing.”
Her friend gave her a cynical glance. “I don’t quite believe you.” Caroline rose up slightly to gain a better view of the ballroom, and Thomas happened to pass by at that moment, aiming a sly wink in Eliza’s direction as he resumed his circuit around the floor. A bloom of heat rose to her cheeks as Caroline sank back down into her seat and turned to gaze at Eliza with a wry look stamped across her pretty features.
“Oh. Him.”
Eliza raised her eyebrows and nonchalantly tugged at her gloves. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she replied.
“I’m sure you know exactly what I mean,” Caroline said with a laugh. “You’ve always been a bit awkward around Lord Evanston, who is—forgive me for saying this—not a proper sort of man.”
“Come now, he’s not as bad as all that.” Even if it was the truth, Eliza felt a distinct reaction at having Thomas insulted.
“You’re right, he’s worse,” countered Caroline, grasping her hand tightly. “You are a beautiful woman, just twenty-one years old, with so much to offer a prospective suitor. Don’t waste your time on someone like him—”
“You mistake me. I never would,” Eliza answered brusquely, retrieving her hand and shifting uncomfortably in her chair. She scanned along the dance floor, but the viscount had disappeared from view. “He is not suitable in the least, and Father warned me against him when he was alive. But he has been a good friend to my family, regardless of whether you approve of his lifestyle or not. And he has been a friend to me too.”
Caroline arched a slender eyebrow. “Why would your father need to warn you against him at all? Did you proclaim a preference for Evanston when you were younger?”
“Preference is too strong a word,” she fibbed, “but Father wasn’t taking any chances. Trust me, I am fully aware of the viscount’s baser tendencies. I am not interested, and William would never allow it even if I were. Thomas and I are simply friends,” she said, fanning her fac
e with her hand. It had grown stiflingly hot in this ballroom, and the current topic of conversation wasn’t helping.
“What if the day comes when he no longer wishes to be your friend?” Caroline asked. “What if he wishes to become your lover?” Eliza flashed a warning glance at her friend, who raised her palms in surrender. “I’m not saying he would, but a friendly conversation with that man could easily turn into seduction. Can you ever really trust a man like that?”
It was a good point, and the answer was a resounding no. Lord Evanston was definitely not a man to be trusted, at least not in matters of love. Or lust. And despite the increasing frequency of his flirtations with her this past year, she did not believe his feelings for her contained a scrap of anything other than friendship. As their kiss in the sitting room had proven, he was not interested in seducing her, and he was not interested in her. Not truly.
She sighed.
“No. Of course he’s not to be trusted,” she finally answered. “But he is still a friend and will be in London for the season, too. That makes the situation . . . complicated.”
Caroline scooted her chair closer to Eliza and slipped a protective arm around her shoulders. “What if we were to find you a proper eligible husband before things become too complicated?” she suggested, gazing out towards the couples. “Come now. Are there any other men here who might tempt you?”
Eliza scoffed. “The selection in the country is woefully inadequate. This year’s London season will have a more varied assortment of potential suitors.” Unable to prevent a giggle from rising to her lips, she added, “And you know, of course, that the viscount is one of England’s most eligible bachelors, don’t you?”
Her friend smiled impishly. “Oh, did I say eligible? I meant appropriate.”
Their laughter was interrupted by a rich baritone voice, deep and familiar.
“Which viscount?”
She froze, both at the sound of the familiar voice beside her, and at the look of surprise on Caroline’s face. Both of them shot to their feet, chairs scraping loudly on the floor as they did, and Eliza raised her eyes to confirm that yes, it was Lord Evanston. He looked attractive as usual—stunning, if she was being honest—and was smiling as if he were privy to a joke that Eliza had yet to hear. It appeared that he had finished his dance and had come close enough to hear their last snippet of conversation, which was mortifying to say the least. Eliza did her best to ignore the heat of embarrassment that was spreading across her cheeks.
Viscount Can Wait, The EPB Page 2
