So, no. He was not worried she had taken a lover. Still, it rankled.
Why not him?
His attention was pulled away from the stack of papers by a feminine shriek of joy. He rocked back on his heels, craning his neck to find its source. There was no sign of Eliza, but he heard laughter and muffled words echoing down the hallway. He followed the sounds to the entryway.
Where he stopped short.
Eliza was not alone. Lady Abingdon was with her. They grasped each other by the elbows, their foreheads almost touching. Sebastian stepped back, sinking deeper into the shadowy space behind a credenza, not wanting to attract their notice.
“How—How…” Eliza murmured.
Lady Abingdon gave a soft peal of laughter. “Oh, the usual way, I imagine. Although perhaps it was one of the more…ehrm…unusual times.”
“Hush, you.” There was such affection in her tone that Sebastian fairly ached from it. “I meant to say, how do you feel?”
“I am well.”
They beamed happiness at each other.
A wave of longing nearly brought him to his knees. He wanted that. The tenderness, the affection, the confidence. The happiness that increased tenfold when shared with someone who understood. The belonging to each other.
Why not him?
“I can’t stay. But I had to—” Lady Abingdon said.
“I know.”
Realizing they were parting, Sebastian hastily retreated so he wouldn’t be found eavesdropping. But not before he saw Eliza’s expression as she watched Lady Abingdon turn to the door.
Fear.
And with that telling look, he understood. He could very easily guess Lady Abingdon’s secret, and what Eliza’s reaction to such news would be. She would not be so cruel as to share those thoughts with her blissful friend. No, she would pour out her fears, her hopes, her prayers in a letter—to someone who was not Sebastian.
Jealousy pickled his stomach.
“Sebastian! There you are. I had a tea tray sent to the green parlor.” So called because it was green, as opposed to the gold parlor which was…gold. “Are you hungry? You must be, after your ride. Come.”
He turned to look at her. Her cheeks were still rosy from happiness, her brow slightly furrowed from worry. Was it too much to ask that she share both with him? Yes, he could guess her thoughts, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to hear them in her own words. He wanted her to turn to him for both comfort and joy.
She led him to the parlor and gestured to one wing-backed chair. She claimed the other with a soft whoosh of her skirts. She spoke of the weather as she poured his dish of tea, but he could tell her mind was still with Lady Abingdon.
Tell me. The words hovered on the tip of his tongue.
“Perhaps it will be less dreary tomorrow. I crave a bit of sun.” She handed him his dish. “I suppose it is too much to hope for a letter from Riya this soon. She left barely a fortnight ago, so they could not have reached Alexandria yet.”
“No, not yet,” he said distractedly. “It will be another month, at least, before she can write.”
He pondered his tea for a long moment. Dark, clear amber, for she never forgot to serve it strong and plain, not even once since the first time he had requested it two years ago.
He wanted to know her. He wanted her to know him. And while he couldn’t force the former, he could at least offer the latter.
He looked up.
“Eliza,” he said. “I detest tea.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Eliza felt as though the world had suddenly rearranged itself into nonsense. Solid ground was now ocean, ocean was now marmalade, and her husband detested tea.
“You…detest…tea?” she repeated, just to be sure.
“Loathe it,” he confirmed.
He took a bite of chicken sandwich, and then—in complete disregard for his own words, not to mention her poor nerves—gulped a large swallow of tea. She watched, fascinated and horrified, as his expression turned carefully blank before he replaced his dish on the table. Had he always masked his distaste so? How had she never noticed?
“I don’t understand,” she said helplessly. “Why drink it if you don’t like it?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Because it was offered. Haven’t you ever taken the path of least resistance?”
“What resistance? You’re a duke.”
“Yes, I am always aware of that. I could have refused the tea and left my hostess to ruminate on her failure. Or I could have confessed my dislike, couldn’t I? But it is quite terrible having one’s whims catered to. You’ve no idea. Would I like brandy? Coffee? Chocolate? There would be no more conversation. I would be poked and prodded until they had made me happy, and I would be miserable about it.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” Eliza said. “How much you must endure!”
His lips quirked. “You mock me, wife? And here I am, pouring my soul into your care.” Spoken flippantly, as always. And yet…there was truth there, too.
“Never,” she said softly.
He blinked in surprise, then smiled ruefully. “Ah, but you do, although I don’t know that I don’t deserve it.” Another bite of sandwich, another quick gulp of tea. “We have an estate in Hampshire, you know. His Highness would often stay a night with us there when he was traveling to Dorset. George had quite a lot of whims that my mother was so happy to satisfy. What a pleasure, she would say to his every request.” He looked thoughtfully at his dish of tea. “I believe her greatest pleasure was seeing him depart the next day.”
Eliza frowned at that. It was not hard to understand his point. “That would not be you, Sebastian. It would never be you. Everyone adores you, and not just because you are a duke, but because you are such a delightful duke.”
“I imagine they would find me less delightful if I didn’t drink tea,” he said drily.
“I doubt that very much. Abingdon likely wouldn’t even notice.” She paused. “Unless he already knows?”
“Of course I wouldn’t tell Abingdon.”
He said this so quickly that Eliza took notice. She regarded him quizzically. “Why not? He is your closest friend, and I am certain that his devotion has nothing to do with your feelings on tea. He— Oh.” An epiphany struck. “Oh. It’s not Abingdon with whom you are concerned. It’s Lady Wintham. It’s his mother.”
Sebastian contemplated the sandwiches and said nothing.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” she persisted. “You told me you spent the winter holidays from school at Haverly after your parents passed. You didn’t want her to be relieved when you left, as your mother was when the king departed.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “My parents were madly passionate and demonstrative in their affection—toward each other, as I have told you, but also in their treatment of me. My mother especially doted on me. If we were in the same room, her hands were upon me. An embrace, a touch on my shoulder, or perhaps she would ruffle my hair.” He paused with a sheepish grimace. “God, how I loathed that. When I was a young child, I did not mind so much, but as I grew older I pushed her away. Now, of course, I would give anything to have—” He stopped abruptly.
“You couldn’t have known.” Her chest constricted. She reached out, laying her hand on his.
“Hmm.” He turned his hand over, so it was palm to palm with hers, and laced their fingers together. “Such a strange thing, touch is. We don’t know how much we need it, how we crave it, until we are deprived.”
Her fingers tightened around his, quite unconsciously.
“I was sixteen when my parents died, you understand. Still just a boy, but suddenly I had to be a man. My uncle was named my guardian, but as he did not want to leave America, he allowed my father’s steward to continue to oversee the estates and business until I came of age. It could have been a disaster, but Danner is excruciatingly hones
t and is my man of business still. He saw me safely through the years where I was young and stupid and ensured my fortune would remain intact. But he was neither family nor friend, and always treated me as my title demanded. He never touched me. No one did, except my valet, and that was quite a different thing.”
His thumb stroked the back of her hand, as though to demonstrate what a valet most certainly would not do.
“But Lady Wintham fussed over me a good deal, especially that first year. Poor motherless boy, she called me, and was very affectionate. It bruised my pride a bit, but it was also exactly what I needed.”
Eliza watched him raise his tea to lips again. It was impossible to tell that he did so reluctantly, if one did not look very, very closely. “You always arrived just in time for tea, when you came to call. Why not avoid it all together, if you did not wish to put me out?”
A myriad of emotions crossed his face. Surprise, confusion, denial, resignation. Finally he shook his head slowly to and fro. “Do you know, a morning call is often no more than half an hour, but if tea is served, the visit might stretch for as long as an hour without seeming too presumptuous?” he mused, almost to himself. “I suppose my motivation was the same as it always was. I wanted to enjoy your company for as long as you would allow me to do so.”
The words fell with all the soft, unexpected devastation of an April snowstorm. Eliza blinked at their hands, still woven together. What did he mean? He couldn’t—
“Have you tried lemon?” she asked, a trifle desperately. “Or sugar? Or perhaps if you—”
“Eliza,” he interrupted gently. “I am not a problem for you to solve. I decided my course of action many years ago, and I see no reason to change it now.”
“Then why did you tell me?”
“You’re my wife,” he said simply. “I want to be known by you.”
She felt the words as a rebuke. She was his wife, so he trusted her with his secrets. And, oh, she was glad he had. Except… Did he expect the same from her? He knew she had secrets of her own. She had been honest there, at least. He had never demanded she divulge further—had never so much as hinted, as a matter of fact.
And yet.
She wanted him to know. Not that—not yet—but something. Something that was her.
“I am frightened.” The words were out before she realized her own intent.
He stilled. His gaze never left his dish of tea, as though the amber liquid was of all-consuming interest, and his voice was barely above an audible whisper as he said, “Tell me.”
“Alice is with child. I am happy for her. So very happy. But I am also terrified. What if she—” She stood abruptly, paced several steps away from him, and stopped. “God! It sounds so selfish when I say the words aloud. What if she does not survive the birth? How will I survive the loss of my dearest friend?”
There was a slight creak as he rose from his chair. A soft sigh of footsteps muffled by plush carpet as he came closer. And then the warm haven of his arms encircled her waist.
“Not selfish.” His cheek rested against the crown of her head. “Loving. You love her. You have suffered such losses before, so naturally you are frightened. You are brave, Eliza, because you continue to love even knowing it might end with loss.”
She leaned against his chest, allowing the strength of his body and the tenderness of his voice to soothe her. “What if…” The question dangled, incomplete. She couldn’t bear to finish it.
“What if, then? What if it is not then, but tomorrow? We cannot know. We cannot prepare ourselves for the pain. The pain will come regardless, whether you worry about it now or put it from your mind. Grieve her tomorrow, if you must. But love her today.”
She looked at him with amazement. “This, from the man who said to prevent pain one must forgo love?”
“So I did, and I stand by it. But you are better than me, Eliza. You can love, even with the threat of pain.”
“I don’t know if I can, entirely,” Eliza confessed. “I cannot easily refrain from worrying. But it feels better somehow, now that I have told you.”
His arms tightened, and she felt his cheek lift in a smile against her head. And in that moment it felt impossible that anything terrible could happen.
But if it did, he would see her safely through.
Chapter Thirty-Four
It was a gray, ordinary day in January when Eliza picked up Cobbett’s Political Register and had an epiphany. She read its contents first out of habitual interest in the world around her, and then again when a name therein triggered a hazy memory. She poured herself a cup of tea and read it a third time.
Lord Sidmouth Frees Prisoners.
Oh, had he indeed!
She pursed her lips, sat down in Sebastian’s favorite chair, and waited for her husband to return home.
She did not have to wait long.
“Hello, wife,” he said cheerfully, tossing his hat aside and coming to kiss her.
“Sebastian,” she said sweetly.
He froze, eying her warily. “Yes, Sigrid?”
“I came across something very interesting in the papers today.” She waved the sheaf at him. “Shall I read it to you?”
“The scandal sheets? By all means.”
“Cobbett’s.”
“No, thank you. You know politics bore me.” He took a seat across from her, loosened his cravat, and looked at the tea tray. “Are those biscuits? I’d fancy one.”
She made a plate of biscuits and a chicken sandwich and passed it to him. He nodded his thanks and took a bite.
Then she straightened the paper with a sharp snap.
“Lord Sidmouth frees prisoners,” she read aloud.
Sebastian glared but couldn’t speak with his mouth full of biscuit, not without being terribly rude.
“A mere ten months after Lord Sidmouth, the home secretary, demanded parliament pass the Habeas Corpus Suspension Act in order to curtail a traitorous conspiracy for the purpose of overthrowing the established government, it seems he has had a sudden change of heart,” she continued. “Many Englishmen were detained under the law and sent to Newgate with no hope of a trial to prove their innocence. Lord Sidmouth had often defended his actions by saying, ‘An organized system has been established in every quarter, under the semblance of demanding parliamentary reform, but many of them, I am convinced, have that specious pretext in their mouths only, but revolution and rebellion in their hearts.’”
Sebastian, having swallowed his biscuit, stretched and yawned.
“Shall I read the rest?” she asked.
“No. Suffering is tedious.”
“But now Lord Sidmouth has reconsidered,” she read. “Under the advisement of Lord Sutton and Lord Devand, both esteemed members of parliament, he has personally interviewed every Englishman detained under the Act. Several have already been released. Those that remain in Newgate will no longer be kept in solitary confinement.”
Sebastian examined his nails. “Imagine, taking advice from Sutton and Devand. Strange world we live in, isn’t it?”
“Sebastian. I know it was you.”
“But it was not me. Don’t you remember? Lady Freesia won a bet with Lord Devand and thus collected a favor, and she won the tournament and collected a favor from Lord Sutton, as well. It was she who asked the lords to speak to Lord Sidmouth on behalf of the prisoners. You must remember that.”
“I do, as I also remember hearing you tell Lady Freesia all about it over dinner, when you further told her that revoking the act was one of Colonel Kent’s pet projects.” Her spine straightened as she suddenly realized the truth. “You knew she was in love with him.”
Sebastian contemplated the ceiling.
“It was you! Why will you not admit it?” She smacked the papers against the armrest of the chair, frustrated.
At last he looked at her. “Eliza, what a
m I to admit? Did I set the prisoners free or release them from solitary confinement? No, I did not. Did I use the weight of my title to convince Lord Sidmouth to do so? Likewise, no. I did not speak even a single time to Sutton or Devand on the matter, though both would undoubtedly relish the opportunity to have a duke in their debt. If I did anything at all, it was this—I provided the right people with the right information, and then created an opportunity for which they could use it. Nothing more.”
Eliza puzzled that through. It was the truth, if a simplistic version of it. He had set bodies in motion—and determined bodies, at that, for Lady Freesia was nothing if not strong-willed—and guided them where they should go. He was, in this, the schemer, not the doer.
“You knew Lady Freesia would win the tournament and what her request would be,” she said. “You can’t deny that it was your intention all along.”
“So it was. But it was still her choice. She could just as easily have demanded Sutton and Devand be her lady’s maid for a fortnight. All I knew of a certainty was that she would win, because I formed the teams so that Kent and Eastwood—the only persons who stood a chance of beating her—never took a turn against her, and because Devand is a pompous ass.”
“Hmph,” Eliza muttered, discomfited.
His lips quirked with bemusement. “Are you angry with me? Perhaps I ought to have left Lord Sidmouth to his villainous purposes and allowed the prisoners to rot.”
“It is only that you have posed quite the quandary. On the one hand, your scheme seems like an awful lot of effort for something you claim not to concern yourself with. On the other, it seems like not enough work for something that perhaps you truly care very much about. Which is it?”
He seemed much more concerned with his biscuit than her question. “I scheme because it amuses me to do so, to try to create a certain outcome in as roundabout a way as I can manage. It is a game I like to play.”
She sighed. “Of course.”
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