The Secrets of Lord Lynford

by Bronwyn Scott

  Chapter Eleven

  Eliza hadn’t said no. Eaton preferred to view that as a victory, despite having had to cajole an acceptance out of her.

  He swung up on Titan. The day had been a heady one. It would be too easy to get caught up in the euphoria of it. A good canter over to the school to check in with Cade would help clear his head. Eaton kicked Titan into motion. He could appreciate a virtuous woman, but he couldn’t resist her, although he probably should. There had been small victories today. Eliza had spoken of her marriage and he’d had a glimpse into her world. Into her.

  One false step, one whiff of scandal.

  Such a statement was not hyperbole to her. She knew it first-hand and, if he wanted to pursue a deeper relationship with her, the trick would be in convincing her to try again, that he could be trusted with discretion.

  I’m a private person by necessity.

  Detford had lacked that discretion and she was paying for it, forced to use the concept of privacy as a synonym for remaining apart, he thought. She was alone by necessity. Not unlike himself. He knew how hard it was to live that way. It gave them something terrible in common and it prompted the question: Could two people, destined to be alone, be together? Could two adverse situations result in a more optimistic outcome like multiplying negative integers to get a positive? It was a dangerous equation to consider.

  Eaton gave Caesar his head on the long flat stretch before the school, letting the wind in his face obliterate any further thought. To travel down that particular road carried certain perils he did not wish to revisit.

  * * *

  At the school, he tossed his reins to a groom and went inside, listening unobtrusively at the open doors to the last lessons of the day in progress. He stopped at one door and smiled as bits of music filtered into the hall. Richard Penlerick would have been pleased.

  He strode to the headmaster’s office, poured a drink and settled in to wait for Cade. The dream was coming to life around him. Other dreams were coming to life as well, far less innocuous dreams—dreams of Eliza Blaxland and her darling Sophie, a family in need of completion. A Tantalus dream. That was what it was. Everything about today had whispered the old temptation. A widow with a child. A woman in need of a husband, a child in need of a father. On the surface, it could be the perfect arrangement. But beneath the surface, it wasn’t. It was fraught with limitations and compromises.

  Eaton took a long swallow of the brandy, letting it go down slow with his thoughts. Eliza Blaxland was not a widow looking for a husband. She’d made that extremely clear on the beach. She did not believe she could afford to remarry. She was unwilling to surrender her independence. It was for the best. He wasn’t looking to marry her even if she were hunting a husband or a surrogate father. Marriage to him would be a death sentence for her dreams.

  He took another long swallow, finishing the drink. He certainly couldn’t marry her after her confession today that she wanted more children, that she regretted Sophie was an only child. Marrying him would mean trading her independence and getting nothing in return. The old pain rose again. Today had presented him with a mixture of emotions, from the excitement of pursuing an attractive woman, to the bittersweet glimpses of what could never be. Sophie was an energetic child with a keen mind. He’d loved creating adventures for her, watching her eyes light up, and yet that very response was a painful reminder of all he could never have.

  Cade Kitto opened the door and entered, glancing at the clock. ‘You’re early. I apologise for the wait.’

  ‘I needed a moment with my thoughts.’ And now it was time to put those thoughts away. There were things he could not affect. He would never father a child. Medicine and science couldn’t change that. But he could make life better for other children. He could love his nieces and nephews. He could create opportunities for students at his school and perhaps even help Eliza create opportunities for miners’ children. He needed to focus his energies on what he could achieve. He knew from experience it was the best antidote to his own loss. And he’d spare some of that energy for planning an excursion to the Trevaylor Woods. It occurred to him, as Cade settled in to discuss the first week of school, that a search for antidotes was something else he and Eliza Blaxland had in common. They both dedicated significant effort to helping others in order to ease the emptiness in themselves—or perhaps to ignore that emptiness altogether.

  * * *

  The Woods. The sea caves on the beaches. A visit to the conservatory for a private recital from the upper-level students. Eaton had filled her days with excursions. This was all new territory for her—someone making plans for her, someone putting her first. Business as unusual had become business as usual, much to Eliza’s tenuous delight. Eaton had been as good as his word; the outings were discreet. He’d ridden roughshod over her insistence that she and Sophie didn’t need to be entertained. ‘I’m not interested in need,’ Eaton would say when she protested. ‘Perhaps I want to entertain you and Sophie.’

  Who was she to resist the smiles of her daughter and the compelling grin of Eaton Falmage? And so the days established their own pattern. In the mornings she worked at the mine office while Sophie did her lessons. In the afternoons, Eaton planned adventures: autumn hikes in the Trevaylor Woods to collect colourful leaves and mushrooms, with Baldor sniffing at their heels; salmon fishing in the rivers; a carriage drive with the top down to old promontory forts. The list seemed inexhaustible, like the man himself. What drove him? Surely it wasn’t simply the delight of her company. ‘We’ll save the adventures closer to home for when the weather turns,’ he’d tell them whenever she protested at the distance and effort each outing took, fearing it took too much advantage of him.

  Today, the adventure was the ruins of Bosrigan Fort, one of the many cliff ‘castles’ built along the coast. In truth, it was more of a wall or enclosure than a castle, but it provided adventure for Sophie. On the cliffs the wind was colder, the sky more grey, a reminder that autumn had arrived in full and time was passing. She’d been at the dower house for three weeks. The shareholders’ meeting was in five days and she was dreading it. There’d been no word from Miles, which had inevitably led to her thinking he would arrive any day, only to have those hopes dashed each evening. She was entirely alone in her efforts.

  ‘If the weather was better, we could walk from Bosrigan to the hotel at Gurnard’s Head for tea.’ Eaton helped Sophie and Eliza down from the carriage. ‘I think today, though, we should take the carriage to the hotel when we’re finished here. We’ll walk another time.’

  Eliza smiled distractedly. ‘Be careful, Eaton, you are building dangerous assumptions with your excursions and future promises.’ Eaton was always making plans for another time. Perhaps he did it unconsciously, a man used to leading, used to taking charge for others. But perhaps he did it for other reasons as well. In the weeks she’d known him, he seemed to be a man in constant need of activity. She understood the reason for it. He was grieving the loss of his friend, but he couldn’t hide from it interminably. ‘We will go home one day. Sophie will be disappointed,’ Eliza cautioned. People without children seldom understood how carefully they had to guard their words, how they had to refrain from making promises that couldn’t be kept.

  ‘Sophie won’t be the only one. I will be disappointed. What about you? Will you be happy to go home?’ Eaton asked, in all seriousness. They came to a jagged section where rubble had accumulated. Eaton offered her his arm and she took it without thought. Touching him had become too easy these days, just like the outings, but no less devastating for its repetition. He’d fit into her life effortlessly.

  ‘I will miss this, too,’ she replied honestly. Truro would be drab compared to the brilliance of the last weeks. But the brilliance was due to the temporary nature of their association and it would soon be tarnished if they continued at length. It couldn’t be sustained over the long term. ‘I must thank you for your discretion and your rega
rd for our privacy.’

  ‘It’s been a pleasure to spend time with you.’ There was a caress in his words. ‘Do you know when you might leave? I should not like to drive down to the dower house and simply discover you’ve gone,’ he joked.

  ‘The shareholders’ meeting is in a few days. I suppose we’ll leave shortly after that business is settled.’

  ‘There is no rush.’ Eaton smiled. ‘Stay as long as you like.’

  There was every rush, Eliza thought as he went to help Sophie scramble up to a lookout point. The longer she stayed, the harder it would be to resist the very natural temptation of giving in to him. He had not pressed the issue of kisses since the beach, but it was there in his eyes when he looked at her, it was in every attention he showed her. He was interested in her, in sharing more than conversations and outings. So was she, truth be told. She had a healthy curiosity about what it might be like to be with a young man, a man who held her in great regard, who wanted her for herself. The heir to a dukedom would not find her money alluring, nor would he find her child, her background, or her age an asset.

  Of course, he needn’t care on either account. An affair would be easy for him. He could love her and leave her when he chose. It would not be so easy for her or for Sophie. They would live with the memory of him for the rest of their lives. And yet, the longer she was with him, the more Eliza began to think it might have been worth it if there was only herself to think of, only herself to protect from the inevitable loss of him.

  Already, it might be too late. Sophie adored him. Not just for the outings he planned, but for himself. Evening had become Eliza’s favourite time of day. Eaton played cards with them after dinner, or Sophie would play the spinet in the parlour—sometimes he would read with them. Lately, he’d taken to reading excerpts of The Odyssey out loud by the fire. He was being reckless with them, leading them on, although perhaps unintentionally. She ought to be angry with him, but she was too addicted to the individual moments to relish ruining the larger picture.

  Eliza looked out over the water. She didn’t want to hurt Eaton. The longer they were together, the more she sensed he needed them. It was a realisation that had come upon her early in their stay. She was not naive. Eaton was grieving his friend. He was a man who thrived on projects to fill voids. She and Sophie were his current project. No wonder he wasn’t in a hurry to see them leave. What would he do next? Was he merely hoping they would fill the gap until Christmas when he could visit his sisters? Perhaps he was attuned to her loneliness because he was lonely, too. The man who claimed to have everything had nothing with which to fill his time, to fill his heart. Perhaps you’re the one doing me a favour, he’d said. Perhaps she was, but at what cost?

  ‘The view is breathtaking, is it not?’ Eaton was behind her, the bulk of him blocking the wind, the heat of him triggering an intense awareness of his body’s proximity to hers. ‘I feel very small when I’m up here. It’s a great reminder of my place in the grand scheme of things to see the sky above me, the crashing sea below and to know that I can do little to affect either. It’s quite humbling, yet sometimes it spurs me on to do more, to be more.’

  How was it possible for this man to be more than he already was? She turned and looked up at him, studying his face, a new awareness taking hold—not a physical awareness but an emotional one. She was learning to read him, learning to know him and his life, the events that had shaped him. ‘You’re thinking about Richard Penlerick,’ she said softly.

  ‘Yes,’ he confessed with a small smile as if he was pleased she understood this facet of his life, of his mind. ‘I was thinking, too, how very finite life is, how every moment, every choice, counts.’ His voice was low and intimate. It made her pulse race and her body warm. His words touched her, but here on the cliffs she wanted more than his words.

  ‘I want to wrap you in my arms, Eliza. What would you think of that? Is it too familiar?’ Ah, so he felt it, too, this need to connect physically, to have something tangible from this meeting of their minds.

  ‘Hold me, then, just for a moment,’ she whispered. Surely she could afford this one lapse? He did not hesitate. His arms were about her, gathering her in, her head against the strength of his chest, the breadth of his shoulders sheltering her. It felt good to be held, to be surrounded by someone else’s power as the wind blew.

  Out of necessity to be heard, his head bent to hers as he spoke, the wind wreaking havoc with his dark curls. ‘It’s only that I’m feeling my humanity, my smallness. Up here those things have a different meaning. The cliffs, the waves, the clouds, the wind, are all far more powerful than me. I cannot change them for all the money and land I own.’ It was honesty that prompted his words, not vulnerability, not weakness, and she responded in kind.

  ‘I’ve fought for every place I’ve occupied, knowing full well I could lose it. When I married Huntingdon I knew I would have him for a short time only and afterwards the mines were a fight. No one wanted me to have them. Everyone encouraged me to give them up. Even now, I must constantly prove myself.’ It was a lonely, wearying task she could never put down. But perhaps just for this moment she could indulge.

  She breathed him in, her head pressed to the lapels of his coat, the scent of him, all man and wind, in her nostrils. She closed her eyes, wanting to hold on to this moment: the sound of the waves below, the feel of his arms about her, as if he could keep out the world and all of its threats. If only that were true. But to even test that hypothesis, first she’d have to tell him her secrets, she’d have to give up a piece of her control, she’d have to risk letting him in, letting him see her vulnerability. She drew a breath, her decision made. She only had five days left before the meeting and she had no answers. She needed to reach out. ‘Eaton,’ she said, letting her eyes open, letting them rest on his face, ‘I want to ask your advice on something.’

  ‘Yes, of course. We can talk now or perhaps later at the tea room at Gurnard’s Head.’ He was all immediate concern, but there was something else in his dark eyes, perhaps joy that she had decided to trust him at last.

  ‘After dinner will be fine.’ She didn’t want to talk about it in public where she might be overheard.

  He nodded with a private smile. ‘After dinner it shall be.’ When he held her hand on the way back to the carriage, she didn’t resist the gesture. A line had been crossed and this time there would be no going back.

  But it seemed there would be a detour. They never made it to the Gurnard’s Head Hotel tea room. In fact, they didn’t even make it back to the carriage before Eaton’s tiger ran up to them with some news. ‘My lord, it appears we have a visitor.’

  Eliza looked beyond the boy’s shoulder, hesitating involuntarily. There, standing beside the carriage, not a golden hair out of place even in the breeze, was Miles Detford, here at last, and most inconveniently so. There was none of the relief she’d originally anticipated his arrival would bring. Eliza dropped Eaton’s hand, but it was an effort she feared came too late. From the look in Miles’s eye, the damage was already done. How long had he been standing there and just what had he seen? Had he seen her one moment of weakness, when she’d given in to the strength of Eaton’s arms? Was he going to hold that moment against her despite her years of strength and self-denial?

  * * *

  The visitor was unwanted. Eaton sensed it in Eliza’s hesitation. She didn’t want the man here any more than Eaton did. Damn the man for interrupting the outing now, when Eliza had been in his arms, when she’d finally let down her guard long enough to confide in him, not only the request to talk but that precious bit of information she’d imparted.

  ‘I’ve fought for every place I’ve ever occupied, knowing full well I could lose it...’

  It was the second insight he’d had this afternoon of what lay behind the impenetrable façade of Eliza Blaxland’s smooth features. For just a moment on the cliffs she’d been vulnerable and that was as intoxicating
as her strength. To be needed by her, the woman who needed no one.

  Eaton strode forward, putting himself between Eliza and the intruder. ‘Lord Lynford at your service, how can I be of assistance?’ He would make it clear that this man would answer to him should Eliza so desire.

  ‘I have business with Mrs Blaxland.’ The man gave him a hard stare, the strength of his gaze was perhaps the most impressive thing about him besides his tailoring. All else was quite ordinary, from his middling height to his middling build. Here was a man who wanted to appear more than he was.

  ‘I hope it is not an emergency? Although I fear it cannot be otherwise since you’ve chosen to seek us out instead of awaiting our return.’ Eaton’s polite tone was cold.

  The man’s gaze shifted over his shoulder, heralding Eliza’s approach. Miles Detford would be awful at cards; his face gave away everything. ‘Ah, my dear, there you are! I have answered your summons just as you requested.’

  Summons? Eliza had sent for this man and then hesitated upon his arrival? Eaton had barely posed the question to himself when Eliza snapped, ‘You are three weeks late.’

  ‘Not without reason, my dear. I bring news from the shareholders that I am eager to discuss at once.’ Something flickered in Eliza’s eyes. Concern? Interest? Interested concern? Eaton intervened before curiosity could get the better of Eliza. He recognised a flanking movement when he saw one even if she did not. This man, this medium-sized, interloping, upstart thought to separate Eliza from the herd.

  ‘We shall meet you at the dower house, then, sir.’ Eaton held out his hand to help Eliza into the carriage and then he reached for Sophie, making it clear the carriage was full. He was driving home with Eliza, not this man who invoked hesitation and called her ‘my dear’ every chance he got.