by Ingrid Hahn
Caruthers took her things, a soft warmth on his wizened old squinting face. “It’s good to see you again, my lady.”
She replied in an undertone. “How has she been?”
The butler took her cue and lowered his voice. “Not well. She’s missed you. We all have. We’re terribly happy for you, of course, and I don’t feel disloyal admitting it, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“Happy” was a dangerous word, because it was something she wasn’t entitled to have. Eliza might rejoice at being out of her mother’s house, out from under the burden of her rule. But that didn’t make what Eliza had done right.
She swallowed, looking down, a burst of hot shame threatening her composure.
If Lord Bennington were here, his strength would help keep hers within reach. But she’d spent so many years alone with her mother that it wouldn’t do to become so completely dependent on another at this stage, would it?
The question didn’t matter, because Lord Bennington was not here.
She forced her attention back to the matter at hand. “Thank you, Caruthers.”
He cast a suspicious glance at Daisy. “Is she…expecting that, my lady?”
Daisy yipped, startling the butler. Eliza scratched the pup’s ears. “Perhaps you ought to have a footman take her outside for a bit.”
As she ascended, her heart unexpectedly started pounding.
Outside her mother’s sitting room, she paused. Eliza drew in one final steadying breath before the inevitable happened. Maybe there was no right answer when it came to the problem of her mother. Nothing she could do would change the fact of their relation—a thought that had seen her through many days and nights wishing to be someone else living a completely different life.
Lady Rushworth was lying upon the chaise longue, bolstered by pillows and covered tidily in blankets. The room was warm and stuffy, and the air smelled faintly of bitter herbal tonics. A small table rested nearby, with various and sundry glasses, vials, and other sickroom items within arm’s reach. Her face was sallow, her lips thin. Her cheeks appeared gray and hollow, and dark circles ringed her eyes. She clutched a handkerchief bordered in lace.
It appeared her illness had not been exaggerated.
“The prodigal child returns.”
And so it began. Calling her prodigal was not fair, but Eliza was in no mood to point it out. If she opened the topic, her annoyance would have the better of her—and that was not what she wanted these first minutes with her mother to be. “Well, then, I shall look forward to dinner.”
“What?”
“It’s been so long since we’ve enjoyed fatted calf.”
“Disgraceful.” Lady Rushworth scowled, fussing with her coverings. “I suppose Christiana has married that soldier?”
She intoned the word “soldier” with more contempt than other people reserved for the muck that men wiped off the bottoms of their boots.
“He’s a brave and honorable man, with several commendations from high-ranking officers. We should be proud he’s now part of our family.”
“That man is no part of any family of mine, any more than your husband is.”
Eliza kept her voice dispassionate. It was important to stand up for herself. “You don’t get to make that decision.”
“Apparently not. But I should have. I’m your mother. How could you have done this to me? A Landon.”
“I think even you would be in awe of all he’s accomplished. Remember what I told you Grace said about the condition of the house when they were forced to leave it?” Come down to it, there was no point in arguing with Lady Rushworth. Still, Eliza couldn’t help but feel it was important to her to maintain her resistance. “You would never dream she was talking about Idlewood, in the state it’s in now.”
Lady Rushworth waved a hand. “So he made a few prudent investments and can hire workmen. How is that supposed to impress me?”
“You were going to force him to marry Christiana.”
Eliza studied her mother’s reaction. Her mother knew about Christiana’s true parentage. She knew, too, of course, but Lady Rushworth didn’t know they shared the secret. For the first time, it struck Eliza that her mother must be a very lonely woman—alone and isolated in a cold world of her own making.
“That’s entirely different. He’s an earl. Any other girl would have been grateful to marry a distinguished man instead of a nobody.”
Eliza shook her head. She did not understand why her mother chose to live in the grip of such anger and resentment.
Refreshments arrived, saving Eliza the trouble of saying anything else. She poured them both tea. Judging by the tray of food, it seemed Cook had anticipated her, having prepared all her favorites.
Perhaps later she would have more of an appetite.
Her mother spoke at last. “Aren’t you going to ask how I’ve been?”
“I know how you’ve been. And I’m sorry I’ve been such a disappointment to you.”
She’d spent a good deal of the journey to London debating whether she owed her mother any sort of apology for what she’d done. She’d been undecided on the matter, so it was a surprise when the words came forth anyway.
Lady Rushworth waved. “You’re my daughter. And a beautiful woman, Eliza. You owe more to the world than to have married that derelict.”
“That doesn’t make the least bit of sense.” As if by being beautiful she owed something to the world. Absurd.
“You weren’t in your right mind. You’ll get the marriage annulled.” She spoke as if obtaining an annulment were as simple as buying ribbons on Bond Street.
“No.” Her mother’s words only redoubled Eliza’s resolve. “That isn’t going to happen, Mother.”
Lady Rushworth narrowed her eyes. “Are you doing this to spite me, you ungrateful child?”
“In fact, I’m not.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Eliza remained calm. With all she had yet to face with Lord Bennington, her mother’s pettiness didn’t ruffle her in the slightest. “I didn’t think you would.”
Chapter Seventeen
Eliza was sitting in the lesser drawing room with Hetty, catching up on all the London news. Hetty was all light and happiness, with a pleasingly plump figure. She made a becoming picture.
“Do you like being married?” Hetty took a sip of tea. She’d asked the question as if it were in the same category as asking if Eliza enjoyed London.
A crumb of Hetty’s shortbread fell to the floor, which vanished immediately under Daisy’s vigilance.
“It’s difficult to say after so little time. Ask me again in a year.”
“You waited long enough. Grace did, too, I know, but you hadn’t any of her impediments.” Impediments was a polite way of referring to being penniless and having a father soaked in infamy.
If Hetty knew what had kept Eliza from marrying… Warmth spread over her cheeks, and she busied herself with stroking her dog’s ears. No, it was better nobody knew. She couldn’t trust anyone with that part of her past.
Not even Hetty.
It was too easy to think herself safe. Too easy to think she had someone in whom to confide. Someone who would stand by her side. She’d made that mistake before. It had cost her dearly.
She was completely alone. Alone with her secret. Alone without a friend for company, despite appearances to the contrary, which was the very worst way to be alone.
The sensation of isolation was all the more acute now that she’d had a taste of a new life.
Daisy lost interest in waiting for another crumb and started chewing on the wooden foot of Hetty’s chair. Eliza scooped her up before her tiny puppy teeth could do much damage. The dog rolled on her back and stretched out, giving Eliza a significant look that she’d come to know was the canine way of saying, “This is my belly—won’t you be so good as to rub it gently?”
She smiled. At least she had Daisy.
Hetty’s round cheeks went a shade pinker than usual. “You’re goi
ng to keep them all guessing, aren’t you?”
Eliza took a sip of her tea. “Keep all who guessing?”
“Oh, everyone,” Hetty said. “First you shock everyone by clandestinely marrying a man your mother has made no secret of despising—”
“It wasn’t a clandestine marriage.” The protest felt weak. Strictly speaking, the marriage had been everything but.
Hetty ignored her. “Then you return to London—to your mother’s house—after being gone with your new husband less than a week.”
“My mother fell ill. She needs me.” Eliza took another yeasty confection from the tray. “When is your next musical afternoon? I thought it might be nice to join you. That is, if you’ll have me.”
A musical afternoon would be a welcome reprieve. A chance to be with her friends and make merry while enjoying the chance to sing and play.
“Oh, we’d love to have you.” Hetty brightened. “I’ll talk to my brother. It’s one of the few things he actually likes to do with people outside the family—other than argue in Westminster—so we try to arrange them around his schedule.”
“Is Miss Chapman still coming?” Eliza prayed her tone sounded as offhanded as she intended.
Hetty leaned back, shaking her head. “She hasn’t come in a few weeks. It’s such a shame. Her mother has taken up with this…” She made a face. “…man. None of us like him. Well, like I told you in my letter, I don’t like him. Grace is indifferent, and my brother has no patience for him but doesn’t think much else one way or another. And Lady Tutsby is making such a fool of herself over him. I’m inclined to think him some sort of magician who’s put a spell on her. I can’t imagine he’s up to any good. And that he denies us Fredericka’s presence makes me despise him more.”
Eliza bit into her cake, the crumb dry and tasteless in her mouth.
Somehow she would keep the young girl from the old lecher’s clutches. What had happened to Eliza would not happen to Fredericka.
Chapter Eighteen
Jeremy scanned the ballroom. “You promised me she’d be here.”
Grace swatted him on the arm with her fan. “Patience, cousin. Really, one would think…well, I don’t know what one would think, but this behavior is baffling, to say the least.”
He ground his teeth together. The past few days without Eliza had been impossibly long. Since she’d left, he’d seen her in his dreams every night, but she was walking away and couldn’t hear him calling her back. He’d wake up in a confused panic, his mood thoroughly fouled by the sense of being out of control while he slept.
He scanned the room again. And saw her.
No sooner had he fixed his gaze upon her than the smile faded from her lips and her head turned. Their eyes met. A charge of energy shot through Jeremy, renewing him in his purpose. It was like there was something greater than anything else drawing them helplessly to each other.
He was all too ready to surrender. He’d never imagined a wife might have such power over him. If someone had suggested as much, he might have turned in revulsion at the thought.
But what was between them was anything but revolting.
Why must there be so many people here tonight? So many bodies stood between them, heedless of his need to be near her. A decidedly nonsensical part of him sparked in annoyance at the crowd, as if each person there were individually responsible for keeping him away from Lady Bennington.
Grace tapped him with her fan again. “I daresay I’m of no more use here.”
“What?” He blinked himself back into the present moment. “I’ll see you later, cousin.”
Almost too impatient to allow himself to finish the farewell, Jeremy began cutting through the groups of people, barely nodding to acquaintances as he went. For himself, he could endure being thought rude. Reparations could be made later—a realization as unanticipated as it was absurdly freeing.
The closer he came to her, the harder his heart began beating. It was a wild and untamed pulse, with the speed and rush that nearly matched the glow of euphoria after the most vigorous lovemaking.
She was aware of him—he could tell. She looked this way and that, trying to concentrate on her companions in the little group in which she stood.
But there was something about her concentrated expression, like she was trying much too hard not to look his way that suggested her mind was full of nothing but him.
It was a powerful feeling. One to which he could readily become accustomed.
As he was almost upon her at last, she touched her hair with self-conscious awareness.
And then a man appeared before Eliza. He had a mop of dark-golden curls and a smile Jeremy would have liked to remove by force. Great force.
Without the least awareness that he wasn’t wanted, the man bowed before Eliza and reached out his hand.
Possessiveness flooded Jeremy’s senses. It was unlike anything he could ever have imagined. Mine. It was all he could do not to stalk to Eliza’s side and shove the man away. She was his wife. Nobody else could, or would ever, have any claim on her.
What happened next played out in painfully slow detail, as though Jeremy were in a dream where he couldn’t move fast enough to prevent the disaster he saw coming. The curly-haired man was reaching for Eliza.
“I believe I have her for this dance, my good sir.” The golden-haired man shot Jeremy a ruthless scowl.
Jeremy’s teeth clenched. Hard. Didn’t this insolent pup know who he was?
And the unthinkable happened. She began to reach for the golden-haired man.
Before her hand met the other man’s, she sent a sidelong glance to Jeremy and blinked once, the message in her eyes as clear as if she’d spoken in a silent room. I’m sorry, she’d said.
And she took the other man’s arm. Together they turned, their backs to Jeremy as he stood helpless as the pair went to take their positions in the dance.
He could have choked on the injustice of it. She didn’t belong with anybody else.
Perhaps ten years of all but completely ignoring his own personal preferences had caught up with him at last. Pretending he didn’t have wants of his own, of living for no more than his name, his property, and his legacy—they’d all come to a head here and now in the sharp intensity of his want for her.
At a ball, of all places.
As little as two weeks ago, it would have been impossible to imagine his life coming to this. Here now, however, with the people moving about him, with the dance beginning and Eliza the partner of another man, it was impossible to imagine his life any other way.
…
Eliza did her best to conceal the landscape of her inner feelings from her dance partner. All she wanted to do was go to her husband. But she had an obligation to the person whose arm she held. Sir Harold Alcott was a fine man, always in a good humor and quick with his easy smiles. He was a friend, and an awfully good one at that.
Early in their acquaintance, it’d been clear he’d thought of her romantically. When she’d signaled appropriately, he’d respected her gentle rebuff. He’d never shown the least resentment at her lack of interest.
Stepping through the dance, her skin warmed with the awareness of her husband watching from afar. His gaze glowed with banked fire, never moving from her since she had gone to the dance floor with Sir Harold.
Knowing the earl attended her…knowing he waited for her, too…her patience stretched to the very limit. Eliza went this way and that, working through the figures by rote. She kept a smile on her face and listened well enough to supply the correct responses at the appropriate times.
“You’re distracted.”
The dance had ended at last, and Sir Harold was walking her back to her group of friends.
She kept her eyes fixed forward. “Am I?”
“Well, I won’t pry, my dear.” Giving a knowing nod, he patted her hand. “You know that if you ever need anything, you can always come to me.”
“Thank you, Sir Harold.”
He gave one of h
is easy grins. “Will you forgive me if I tell you that you look more lovely than ever?”
“How kind of you to say so.”
“Oh, it’s not kindness. No, nothing of the sort. I’m afraid I’m rather ruthless in these matters, you see. And I have a very discerning eye.”
He teased, of course.
She caught Lord Bennington staring at her, and her breath caught. She looked away. “Have I ever told you how much I value our friendship…how much I value you as a friend?”
“Never you worry on that score.” Sir Harold spoke with mock sincerity. “I’m well aware of my many merits…there now, I’ve coaxed a smile from you at last. My evening is complete.”
Lord Bennington appeared before them. Sir Harold sized up the earl, his eyes narrowing in unspoken challenge—an expression Eliza had never seen cross his ever-affable features.
Whatever did these two men see in each other that put them at such odds?
Lord Bennington responded in kind, his voice cold as a Scottish mountain peak when he spoke. “Lady Bennington, would you do me the great honor of going somewhere where we might speak in private?”
“You don’t have to go with him, Eliza.”
“It’s quite all right.” She turned to her friend, the awareness of Lord Bennington’s closeness all too acute to be at ease. The best she could hope was to remain cool and allow herself time to think before speaking. “He’s my husband.”
Sir Harold’s mouth fell open. “This is the man you married?” He glanced between Eliza and the earl, looking like he didn’t want to believe it.
“Indeed.”
Calm came over her as she took the earl’s escort.
A few glances came their way as they wound through the other guests. Her cheeks warmed a little. They were making a spectacle of themselves—and more than simply by being together in Society as husband and wife. Everyone had to know about their marriage by now. And everyone had to know she’d returned to London alone. Now they also knew that the earl had come after her. How that was going to set tongues wagging.
