In front of her, Sir Richard said something excusing himself. Still smiling like a cat who’d found the cream pot, he bowed and walked away. Eliza watched him go, frozen in shock and mounting horror.
The slightly shabby house, unfit for an earl’s household. The lack of funds for new draperies. The way Hugh appeared at the theater, after Papa maneuvered to keep her from inviting Georgiana. The dowager’s coolness to her—Henrietta’s and Edith’s disdain—even the way he seduced her so soon after proposing, ensuring she couldn’t change her mind.
Eliza covered her mouth with one hand as every kiss, every touch, every seemingly besotted act flashed through her mind in new and sinister colors. Had her father bought him? Papa had teased and teased about finding a penniless nobleman to marry her. But she hadn’t thought Hugh was penniless—it had lulled her into thinking he must actually care for her.
Had it all been a lie?
“Eliza!” Edith touched her arm. Her bright smile faded when Eliza jerked and almost recoiled from her hand. “Are you unwell?” the girl asked in concern.
“No, I . . .” Eliza pressed her hands to her temples. Could it be true? “What did you want, Edith?”
“Mama sent me to find you,” said her sister-in-law. Some of her excitement returned. “Lord William Parker-Jones has asked permission to call upon Henrietta. Mama wants to present him to you.”
Papa had always been a speculator. She’d had to tell him not to interfere in her marriage. He asked about grandchildren every time he came to visit—always when Hugh, as well as his mother and sisters, was away from the house. Was that coincidence? Hugh had hardly said one word about Papa since their wedding, despite being so involved in business with him before the wedding that he had to come to Greenwich several times.
Could it be true? Was everything about her marriage a lie?
“Eliza?” asked Edith in concern. “You look ghastly. Let me fetch Hugh.”
“No!” She seized Edith’s wrist. “No—I—I have a headache. Absolutely splitting, I’m afraid. Can—will you help me go home?”
“Oh no, let me fetch Hugh to take you,” the girl began.
Eliza squeezed her wrist. “No, no—I can’t wait.” The other girl stared at her in alarm, her blue eyes as round as saucers. Eliza tried to smile. “I don’t want to ruin everyone’s evening,” she said. “Not when Henrietta has such happy news. Please just . . . tell them I went home. I’m sure I’ll be fine after a cup of tea and some rest.”
“I really think—”
“Edith!” She squeezed again, harder. “Please help me. I want the carriage.”
“Hugh will take you home,” whispered the girl, now looking frightened.
Eliza did not want Hugh, not now. If she saw him now, she would say something she might regret later—or worse, something she regretted immediately. If she let Edith go, the girl would run to tell him. “Walk with me, please,” she said to Edith. “Then you may go tell Hugh. I need to go home.”
Edith slowly nodded. Eliza exhaled in relief, but when she took a step toward the door, she nearly fell. She had been standing so stiffly, her knees almost buckled when she tried to walk. With a startled exclamation, Edith threw her arm around Eliza’s waist and supported her. “My goodness, Eliza, are you certain you can make it home?”
“There’s nowhere to lie down here,” Eliza said.
“The retiring room—”
“It’s so crowded and noisy in there, it will make my head ache even worse.” She fixed her eyes on the arched doorway, flanked by pilasters festooned with swags of ivy and silk flowers. Lady Montgomery had spared no expense tonight. Just like Hugh, once he had her dowry funds. Once Papa had paid all his debts.
Edith said nothing more until they reached the vestibule. Then she asked a servant to summon the Hastings carriage, and sent another to find Eliza’s cloak.
“Stay with me,” Eliza said, a fine tremor in her voice.
“I will,” promised Edith, sounding worried. “I can send one of the footmen for a doctor—”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” She looked at Edith, who had hated her so much and been jilted because of her, and who now looked so concerned for her. Did Edith know? Eliza released the girl’s arm and mustered a smile. “It’s only a headache. I’m not used to balls, you know—I danced too much, and it’s so loud. I just need to go home. You’ll let Hugh know, won’t you?”
A wide, relieved smile broke out on Edith’s face. “Of course! I—I almost thought you didn’t want me to tell him, for a moment. But that was silly, wasn’t it? He’ll be right behind you, you know, no matter what I tell him.” She laughed sheepishly, shaking her head as if she’d been silly. “I could tell him you lost a shoe buckle and he’d follow you home. He’s as devoted as a puppy.”
A puppy. If Sir Richard was right, Hugh had been lying to her almost from the moment they met.
Eliza stepped into the carriage and sank into the seat. She waved at Edith, watching from the steps, and the girl waved back, smiling again. “Be well,” Edith called as the driver set the horses in motion. “Finch, drive slowly,” she added to the coachman.
Eliza let the swaying of the carriage rock her from side to side; she didn’t want to think or feel at the moment. Perhaps it was all wrong. Perhaps Sir Richard was a liar, or had misunderstood what Papa intended in buying his note from Hugh’s father. Perhaps Hugh didn’t even know Papa had bought the debt. She’d never heard Hugh or any of his family mention Sir Richard, for all the man’s claims to being an old friend. The shock of his charge had made her flee, but perhaps once she had some space, some time to think about it, a sensible explanation would come to her.
But he had planted a seed that had already sprouted a vile vine, thorny and malignant, and the only way to kill it was to dig it out, roots and all.
It took no time at all to return to St. James’s Street. Wilkins was surprised to see her again, and alone, but she told him she had a headache. Mary hurried off to prepare a soothing cup of tea, and Eliza went to her room.
Willy jumped up and barked eagerly at her appearance. Angus must have gone to bed if Willy was already in his basket by her hearth. Eliza’s heart softened at the sight of him; her dog was only allowed into her bedroom at night, spending the rest of the day out with Angus. She went down on her knees and Willy flung himself at her, licking her face wildly until she had to laugh.
“What should I believe, Willy?” she whispered, resting her face in his soft black-and-white fur. “Would Papa do such a thing?”
Willy sat back and regarded her quizzically, his tongue hanging out. He woofed at her. “You’re right,” she said softly, hating every word. “He would. But would Hugh cooperate with such a scheme?”
The dog licked her face again. He didn’t know, either.
She thought of Hugh, her husband, who declared he wanted her to himself for a day and took her to Primrose Hill. Who made love to her and told her he loved her. Could that man have been lying to her? She closed her eyes and remembered their first waltz, when he had taken her out into the mist on Lady Thayne’s terrace and kissed her so passionately, like a lover. He had wanted her then; she vividly recalled the feel of his aroused body against hers . . .
But wanting was not the same as loving. And he hadn’t said he loved her, or even cared for her, until well after they were wed.
Perhaps he hadn’t loved her when he proposed but had fallen in love with her since. Even if it began as an untruth, it was real now. Eliza wanted desperately to believe that her husband’s avowals of love had not been lies, or at least not complete lies. She could pardon old lies, she thought wildly, as long as he’d meant it when he said he loved her tonight . . .
But if she believed Papa could have bought all of Hugh’s debts and forced him to marry her, it was hard to believe Hugh would have forgiven that so easily and quickly.
As if in a trance, Eliza got to her feet and picked up a lamp. Willy followed her across the room, his tail wagging, and s
he didn’t tell him to stay. She opened the door and went down the corridor, meeting Mary with a tray in her hands.
“I’ve brought your tea, my lady,” said her startled maid. “Do you not want it in your room?”
“Hmm? Oh yes, in my room will be lovely, Mary.” Eliza smiled absently. “I’m just going to get a book from His Lordship’s study.”
She had seen Hugh in his study at his desk. He kept the ledgers himself. If his debts had been as enormous as Sir Richard said they were, Hugh must have made payments on them, and they would be recorded in the ledgers. She would just look at them. If there were no debts, she would know Sir Richard had lied to her. There would be no need to confront Papa or Hugh about anything. She would be quietly resting in bed, sipping her tea, when her devoted husband came to check on her.
The study was dark and hushed, making her feel like a criminal breaking in with nefarious intent. She put the lamp down on the desk. Where were the ledgers? The bookcase seemed an obvious place; she scanned the shelves and found several ledgers. They were all neatly kept, and all for past years. Only one was in handwriting she recognized as Hugh’s, and she set it on the desk.
It took a few minutes to decipher his notation. She had kept the household accounts at Greenwich, but the dowager countess still held the books here. Eliza was not accustomed to the scope of an earl’s estate, but she began to make it out. There were payments to servants, bills from the modiste, the butcher, the farrier. Eliza flipped the pages, scanning as quickly as she could.
The first one made her blink; mortgage on Rosemere. It was a large amount. Henrietta had told her Rosemere was let to tenants, which was a great pity because they all loved Cornwall dearly. There was a mortgage on another property as well—Norcross Hall, the Hastings seat in Essex. Now that she knew what to look for, the debts began leaping out at her. Eliza’s lips moved silently as she tried to add up the amounts paid and guess at the underlying debt. She gave up when the amount climbed over thirty thousand pounds.
Willy put his head in her lap and she stroked his head, staring blindly at the pages in front of her.
Well, plenty of estates were mortgaged. Georgiana said her brother was always writing to his bankers, negotiating new loans. Just because Hugh had debt didn’t mean he was in trouble. The wealthiest peers had incomes of tens of thousands of pounds a year, more than sufficient to pay their mortgages. If that were true, though, the income must be recorded somewhere else.
“I need the current ledger,” she whispered. Willy cocked his head and she gave him a decisive nod. “Yes. If everything continued on after our wedding as it had before, then it means our marriage changed nothing.”
She was making excuses for him and she hated herself for it.
The current ledger was not on the shelves with the other ones. Eliza returned to the big leather chair and opened a drawer of the desk. Nothing. Another drawer; still nothing. The third drawer held a familiar book, and she took it out with trembling hands. As she did so, a packet came with it, and fell to the floor.
She recognized her father’s handwriting first. It was only the word Hastings, written in Papa’s jagged scrawl on the outer wrapping, but it made her flinch. Slowly she unfolded the paper to see what her father had given Hugh. It might be a commendation to his boot maker, or a list of fine wines . . .
Paid in Full, read the top paper, a promissory note for two thousand pounds. Paid in Full, scrawled across a large bill from the carriage maker. Paid, on a summary of charges from the wine merchant. Satisfied in Entirety, across a deed for the property in Essex.
Eliza’s hand was over her mouth. Paid in Full. Paid in Full. Every page of the packet, dozens of bills and loans and promissory notes, all marked paid. She let them slide through her fingers, a flurry of damning proof that her father had bought Hugh’s debts just as Sir Richard Nesbit said. Feverishly she opened the current ledger, praying that there would be a notation indicating that Hugh was repaying her father, that perhaps Papa had done it as a token of kindness to his future son-in-law.
There was none. She did see clear annotations of some of her dowry funds, put into different accounts. Hugh tracked everything, down to the farthing. But there were no payments on any loan or mortgage since Hugh had come to call at Greenwich.
And Eliza knew, to her very bones, that Nesbit had told her the truth.
Chapter 27
Hugh was beginning to wonder where Eliza had gone.
The ladies’ retiring room, she’d said. With two sisters, Hugh knew that could lead to a long delay, so he was not surprised when she didn’t return quickly. He greeted friends, refilled his glass of wine, and managed to avoid coming face-to-face with Lord Livingston, who was holding court in a far corner of the room.
Henrietta found him, with a tall young fellow at her side. Hugh knew William Parker-Jones, youngest son of the Marquess of Downes, but it still gave him a start to hear the fellow ask permission to call upon Henrietta. His sister glowed every time Lord William glanced her way, and Hugh realized his youngest sister was not a girl anymore.
“I see from Henrietta’s expression I must say yes,” he told the young man. “But I must also tell you that I am determined she shall make her debut and have a Season next year.”
“Of course,” said Lord William warmly. “I never meant to prevent it.” He stole a glance at Henrietta, pink-cheeked and beaming. “I might hope to steal a march on all those other fellows who will be sure to ask your permission next year, though.”
Hugh chuckled. “You can do your best. Henrietta will decide more than I whether you succeed.”
The dowager countess joined them, and Henrietta shared her happy news. Rose exclaimed in delight, and they talked for a while. Edith came by and was presented to her sister’s new suitor, but slipped away when her mother murmured something to her. When Lord William left to go inform his own mother, Rose sent her regards to the marchioness.
“Henrietta, my darling, how lovely. He’s a charming boy, of such good family.” Rose squeezed her daughter’s hand.
“Are you truly pleased, Mama? Do you approve?” Without waiting for an answer, she spun to Hugh. “Did you mean what you said, Hugh—that I shall have my choice?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked in pretend affront. “Do you intend to choose badly?”
She laughed, but sobered quickly. “No! It’s only . . . a very novel thought, that gentlemen will be calling on me and courting me and trying to make love to me. It all looked so exciting and romantic when it was Edith, and I did almost die of envy, but now . . . You will tell me if you think I’m making a mistake, won’t you?”
Like Benwick, she meant. “I will,” he promised. “I want to see you happy.”
She sighed, her smile returning. “Where is Eliza? I cannot wait to tell her.”
“I don’t know.” Hugh raised his head and scanned the room. He didn’t see her, and she’d been gone quite a while. Off across the room, he spied Lord Livingston in conversation with his son and Sir Richard Nesbit. The viscount was facing him, and when Hugh glanced his way, their eyes met. Livingston’s lip curled, and he raised his glass in mocking salute. Hugh scowled and looked away.
“I sent Edith to fetch Eliza,” said his mother. “I wanted to present Lord William to her. I wonder why she’s taking so long.”
Hugh frowned. He couldn’t see Edith, either. Perhaps they were both in the retiring room, but that suggested Eliza was unwell. It must be half an hour since she’d left. “I’ll find them,” he told his mother and sister, and set off through the crowd.
He met Edith in the arched doorway of the room. “Oh, Hugh, there you are,” she exclaimed in patent relief. “Eliza asked me to find you.”
“What’s wrong?” He was instantly concerned. She’d been fine when she left. “Where is she?”
“She went home in the carriage.”
“What?”
Edith put up her hands at his sharp question. “I wanted to find you, but she insisted on going immed
iately. Finch will take her home safely, so I let her go.”
“Why did she want to leave?” he demanded. By God, if Livingston had said something to her . . .
“She said she had a headache, that it was so loud in here and she had danced too much.”
Hugh’s frown deepened. That was possible, but seemed very unlike Eliza. “Did she seem very ill?”
Edith hesitated, then confessed, “Yes. Or perhaps not ill, but very odd. She had a distant look, and I don’t think she paid attention to half of what I said to her. I believe she had something else on her mind. She looked almost dazed.”
God damn it. Rage, hot and violent, shot through him. It must have been Livingston or Benwick, the spineless little toad. He thought of Livingston’s malicious smirk. They were retaliating for Eliza’s set-down to Benwick, or perhaps his mother’s drawing room campaign to defend her. “I’m going home to make certain she’s well.”
Edith grinned. “I told her you would.”
He took Edith back to their mother and told her he would send the carriage back for them. “Of course, dear,” she said. “But Hugh . . .” She pulled him a step away from his sisters. “Be gentle,” she admonished. “There may be a very good reason for her abrupt departure.”
“I’m sure there is, Mother,” he said. “Eliza’s not rash or impulsive.”
“No.” She lifted one brow. “A very good reason. When a newly married lady suddenly takes ill . . .” She made a delicate gesture with one hand. “Be gentle,” she said again, beginning to smile.
His jaw dropped. But of course—he should have thought of that. His tension subsided, replaced by a dazed wonder. Could Eliza be with child? He would have preferred that she tell him herself, but his mother had borne children and he had not; surely she would know what she spoke of, urging him to be gentle and understanding. “I will be,” he promised his mother, and headed for the door again, this time plowing through the crowd impatiently.
An Earl Like You Page 23
