“Yes, Mama,” he said in the mock tone of annoyance he’d always used when she’d begun mothering him.
She rolled her eyes.
Here was a glimpse of his old friend. If only he could find a way to hold on to this moment. He knew she would slip away again. Their interactions had followed that cycle ever since he’d found her in Stanton.
He pulled his jacket on, turned to face his reflection in the mirror, and straightened his lapels.
“You look properly dashing, Miles.”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I haven’t been horribly ugly in years.”
Another of her twinkling laughs filled the room. How he’d missed that sound!
“Mrs. Ash will be quite pleased to learn she didn’t raise a complete scamp,” Elise said.
“I did spend a lot of time in your nursery.” He and Elise had been rather inseparable before he’d left for school. “Mrs. Ash had the raising of me every bit as much as my own nurse and tutors.”
“And now Anne will have Mrs. Ash in her life.” Elise sighed. “I would have loved for Anne to have had that these past years.”
What else have you longed for? She still looked a bit underfed, but time would resolve that. She wore clothes made of rough homespun fabric. He would see to it that she had new clothes. She had always loved wearing his mother’s ball gowns when she was small, smoothing the silks and satins with her tiny fingers. As a school girl, she’d run across the meadow to Epsworth every time she had a new dress, intent on showing him her finery.
Elise would love a new gown. Several, in fact. At least one needed to be blue, as that had always been her favorite color.
“Miles?” Elise asked uncertainly.
He realized then that he’d been staring at her. “My thoughts were wandering, I’m afraid. I do believe we have a tea appointment. I would rather not keep Mrs. Ash waiting. She’ll take a switch to me.”
Elise shook her head at him. “She would never, and you know it.”
“I was not nearly as well behaved as you were, Elise.”
She laughed silently. “Now that is true.”
He walked by her side all the way to the nursery, glancing over at her repeatedly, attempting to convince himself that he wasn’t imagining the lightening he saw in her expression. She seemed less burdened, though heaven only knew how long the change would last. Miles simply had to think of what to do next to keep this change in her from evaporating.
* * *
“For me?” Elise eyed the letter on Humphrey’s silver tray.
The butler nodded and, after she took the letter, bowed and left the drawing room, no doubt to see to the many after-dinner duties he had.
She’d had time that evening to reflect back on the day. The arrival of Mrs. Ash had proven almost too much for her. The joy of being reunited with that cherished woman had quickly led to sadness for the loss of her other beloved associates from Furlong House, only to be replaced by relief at Mrs. Ash’s ready acceptance of Anne. Then followed gratitude at the realization that Miles had done this for Anne, mingled with elation at the success of Anne’s first meeting with her new nurse. Elise wasn’t entirely sure she’d prevented herself from spinning in celebratory circles.
She had spent the rest of the afternoon getting herself under control again. Emotional eddies could quickly turn to tidal waves. She was taking Mama Jones’s advice to heart. She allowed herself to acknowledge the kindnesses Miles offered her but did so cautiously. Letting her emotions run away with her was hardly the way to keep her head above water and her heart and her daughter safe.
Elise looked back at the letter in her hand, studying it. It was addressed to Elise Furlong, which was odd and yet not odd. No one who had known her as Ella Jones would be writing to her. But she had not been addressed by her maiden name in so many years that seeing it written out felt strange.
She stood alone in the room. Beth had taken herself to the necessary. Miles and Mr. Langley had not yet joined the ladies after their port. Elise crossed to where the candlelight glowed brighter. She slowly opened the missive.
There was no date, no greeting, only a single scrawled sentence.
Should your memory improve, so shall my aim.
The message was cryptic to say the least. She read it once more, and the mysterious nature of the eight words gave way to an ominous and threatening tone.
Elise shivered as she clutched the note. In a flash of remembered pain in her left shoulder, she knew exactly what the note referred to. She’d survived the murders all those years ago only because the shooter’s aim had been ever so slightly off, the bullet missing her heart by a mere two inches.
“So shall my aim,” Elise reread in a whisper. A threat, blatant and cold.
“Has Beth abandoned you?” Mr. Langley’s voice asked from the doorway.
Elise quickly refolded the letter and slipped it inside a pocket in her gown before turning to face the arriving gentlemen. “She will return shortly.” She hoped neither Mr. Langley nor Miles heard the slight break in her voice.
Mr. Langley nodded and made his way toward the fireplace. Miles crossed directly to her. Did her distress show on her face?
“I have had another brilliant idea,” he said.
“What is this brilliant idea?”
Years of careful study served her well. She’d managed to regain complete neutrality in her tone and return her face to the blankness that had saved her many times from painful questions.
Miles’s eyes narrowed, as if sensing she hid something. She didn’t allow anything but calm serenity to touch her expression. He continued without pressing for more information.
“I have missed four of your birthdays,” he said. “I have settled upon the gifts I mean to give you.”
Should your memory improve, so shall my aim. She couldn’t dismiss the words enough to respond to Miles beyond giving a nod of her head.
“I would like very much to give you a dress, one for each birthday I’ve missed.”
Should your memory improve.
“Of course, we will put it about that the dresses are from Beth so no one will question the propriety,” Miles continued. “Once Mr. Cane has contacted us regarding your account, you can see about anything else you need.”
So shall my aim.
“So, was that not rather brilliant?”
“Uh . . . yes . . . brilliant.” Memory. Aim.
“I will have your measurements sent tomorrow, then,” Miles said.
Elise nodded, allowing her eyes to lock with his for the first time since he’d come into the room. Something about those familiar brown eyes made her want to lean against him and tell him everything. But she knew better than that. Without caution, she would never truly be safe. She would address the problem as she’d learned to do.
“I should go check on Anne.”
“Anne will be sleeping by now.” Miles obviously sensed there was more to her departure than maternal concern.
“But it is her first night having Mrs. Ash with her in the nursery,” Elise extemporized. “She will be uneasy.”
“Not if she is asleep.” His gaze narrowed a bit. “What is it, Elise, truly?”
“Nothing.”
His disbelief showed. “Elise.”
“Please . . . don’t. I—” She stepped back from him and took a calming breath. “It is nothing.”
“It obviously isn’t ‘nothing’ if you are worried.” Miles closed the distance between them again. “I would like to know, no matter how trivial you may think the matter is.”
“You needn’t concern yourself, Miles.” Elise was on firmer footing here. She’d long since grown capable of seeing to her own worries without his help or anyone else’s.
“Allow me to help—”
“I do not need your help.”
“But if I can—”
“I solve my own problems, Miles,” Elise snapped. Then, appalled at the fierceness of her declaration, Elise bit her lips closed. For four years, she’d
managed to subdue all outbursts. What was happening to her?
Miles watched her with a look of hurt mingled with frustration. The rest of the room had gone silent. Mr. Langley stood watching her, brows knit. Beth, who appeared to have only just rejoined the group, stood near the doorway, her mouth open in shock.
Why did everything fall to pieces lately? She wasn’t treating them all with forced indifference as she had been, but neither was she pouring out her problems to them all. Perhaps this new approach wasn’t working as well as she’d thought. Or maybe she was simply doing it wrong. The arrival of the threatening missive had dealt a blow to her composure.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I spoke more sharply than I’d intended. I think I must be overly tired, or . . .” She let the sentence hang incomplete. How could she possibly explain what was happening to her when she didn’t really understand it herself? “Forgive me. I believe I will turn in for the night.”
No one argued. She didn’t slow until she’d reached her bedchamber. She slipped the letter from her pocket and simply looked at it a moment. She would have to decide what to do about it. A voice in her head insisted she tell Miles, ask him for his impressions. But she’d laid her troubles and most vulnerable worries out to him before, and . . .
No. I will have to do this alone. There was simply nothing else to be done.
Chapter Thirteen
“You missed breakfast.” Miles quickly realized it was not the most eloquent of good mornings.
“I am afraid I did not sleep well last night.” Elise was back to hiding behind her walls. Gone were the eager smiles of their discussion of Mrs. Ash. “I suppose that is to blame for my late morning.”
She pressed her fingertips to her temples, closing her eyes for a drawn-out moment.
“Are you unwell?”
“No.”
Would she not even tell him something so commonplace as the state of her health or well-being?
“You are in time for lunch, however.” Miles kept to a safe topic, though he could feel the tension in the air between them. “And we are having a picnic.”
“A picnic?” She looked up at him. Beneath her solemn demeanor, Miles thought he detected some degree of interest.
Miles silently thanked Mama Jones for the suggestion. “Under the tree, in the meadow.”
A hint of a smile crept onto Elise’s face. “We picnicked under our tree quite often.”
“Do you remember the picnic when you refused to eat anything that wasn’t red?” The Epsworth cook had actually enjoyed trying to put together an entirely red picnic. Everyone had adored Elise.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever eaten so many strawberries in a single meal.” The memory lightened her expression, though she still looked burdened.
He silently listed those things he’d done for Elise the past few days that had been successful in the hope of hitting upon something that might help now. Looking after Anne. Pleasant memories. Not pushing her to confide in me. She seemed to be happy about the picnic. “Mrs. Ash, Anne, Beth, and Langley will be making up the picnic party,” he said. “The weather is quite fine.”
“And I am quite famished,” Elise said with a hint of forced humor.
Miles tried to laugh in response but found himself far too concerned for laughter. Elise did not look well. She was paler and more withdrawn. When she’d been small and her worry lines had appeared, he had kissed her forehead. The gesture had seemed to help then. It would be entirely unwelcome now.
“Anne is still a bit shy with Mrs. Ash,” Elise said. “I hope that will improve with time, but she has always been very wary of strangers. Except for you, oddly enough.”
“What is so odd about that?” Miles shrugged with as much feigned arrogance as he could muster. “I’m a very likeable fellow. Hardly anyone has disliked me enough to shun me or push me out of a tree or put dead fish in my bed. Hardly anyone at all.”
“If I promise not to inflict on you any further bodily harm, may I attend your picnic?” Elise asked.
She did want to attend. He hadn’t missed the mark so entirely.
“I really ought to extract a promise from you not to teach Anne to push me out of trees,” Miles said. “I’m not certain I’m equal to the task of keeping both of you at bay.”
“We would be a very formidable combination.”
“I believe it.” Miles chuckled.
“When is this picnic?”
“Right this very moment, actually.” He found her surprised expression immensely enjoyable. It was unguarded and completely honest.
Beth’s abigail had taken Elise’s measurements after she’d awoken, Miles had been informed, and would be sending them on to the seamstress in Sheffield, who would begin several dresses for Elise and bring a couple at the end of the week for a fitting. The rest of the day, therefore, was open.
When they reached the back doors, Humphrey handed Miles Elise’s cloak. He draped it over her shoulders.
“Are the others already gathered, then?” Elise asked as he led her around the house and toward the back meadow.
“I was sent to see if you were up and about and desirous to join us,” Miles explained.
No sooner had they reached the picnic blanket than Anne began gesturing frantically. Elise responded in kind. He needed to learn their shared language so he could be part of those conversations. He hated feeling left out of Elise’s life. He’d missed far too much as it was.
“The staff will bring out the meal in a few minutes’ time,” Miles said. “What shall we do while we wait?”
Anne watched him very closely as he spoke. She has always been very wary of strangers. Except for you, oddly enough. Though Anne wasn’t entirely comfortable with him, she seemed to like him, at least a little. He would work at building on that promising beginning.
“What would you like to do?” Miles asked her, looking at Anne directly as Elise always did when speaking to her. “We can do anything you’d like.”
She seemed a bit confused.
“A little slower and with fewer words,” Elise suggested. “Your accent is unfamiliar to her. And speak a touch louder, so she can hear more of what you say.”
Miles posed the question once more but more simply. “What should we do?”
He asked twice more before understanding lit her eyes.
“Run,” she said.
Miles smiled at the hopeful enthusiasm in her face. He nodded encouragingly. Quick as that, Anne hopped to her feet and ran into the open field.
Elise watched her, a look of love on her face that Miles remembered well on his own mother’s face. A moment later, Elise was on her feet, chasing her daughter through the grass. Her laugh echoed and jumped. Miles held his breath at the welcome sound of it.
I have been unhappy for a long time. Elise’s words reverberated in his mind.
“You seem happy now,” he whispered to himself, watching her.
It was suddenly not enough to only watch. Miles slipped his jacket off, tossing it onto the picnic blanket, and ran after them. Anne glanced back at him again and again as if making certain he was still playing her game. Elise smiled broadly, and not even a hint of the weight he’d seen remained in her eyes. He had needed that moment, had needed to see, even for a fleeting instant, a carefree and happy Elise.
He found wildflowers and gave them, with an exaggerated bow, to Anne, who blushed quite endearingly. So Miles suggested they find a flower for the girl’s mother. Anne nodded her agreement and selected a daisy from her own bouquet and gave it quite solemnly to Elise. She accepted it and hugged Anne tightly before letting her run free once more.
Though Miles was far from perfect in his attempts to communicate with Anne, he was doing better. An impulse struck him, and remembering a similar experience with his father, he lifted Anne into the air and spun her around in a circle over his head. She squealed the oddest, most wonderful-sounding laugh he’d ever heard, which instantly had him laughing. Again and again he spun her until his own dizzines
s threatened to bring their game to an abrupt halt.
He set Anne on her feet. She swayed a little. When they were both finally steady, Anne gave him a brilliant smile—and had full claim to her very own bit of his heart. She ran in the direction of the blanket, no doubt to share their game with Mrs. Ash. Miles watched her as she ran, already formulating plans to improve his ability to speak to the sweet child.
He looked at Elise, intending to ask for suggestions on mastering Anne’s language, when he noticed a single tear slipping down her cheek. “Oh dear. What have I done now?”
Elise shook her head even as she swiped at her eyes. Miles’s handkerchiefs were in his jacket, else he would have offered her one.
“Are you upset?” he asked, unsure why she would be.
“No.” She even smiled a little. “Anne doesn’t laugh often. Hardly ever, in fact.”
Miles sighed in relief—these were tears of joy.
“And she smiled at you. She so seldom smiles. You must come try again.” Elise eagerly motioned him toward the picnic blanket.
Miles opened his mouth to answer but was cut off.
“Lord Grenton,” a woman called out from somewhere behind him.
He turned around and recognized her and the young lady at her side on the instant. “Mrs. Haddington. Miss Haddington. What a pleasure to see you again.”
The Haddingtons were his nearest neighbors, their estate sitting not a half mile up the road. They had been among the first to welcome him when he’d first arrived from the West Indies.
“We were passing by on our way back from Norwood and thought to ourselves, ‘We haven’t visited with Lord Grenton since his return to Tafford.’” Mrs. Haddington smiled at her daughter. “Didn’t we, dear? Didn’t we say that?” Her gaze returned to Miles. “We said just that.”
Miss Haddington met Miles’s gaze, an amused twinkle in her eyes. “Mother has missed you terribly, Lord Grenton.”
“I am rather missable.”
For Elise Page 8
