The Return 0f Lord Avondale (London Season Matchmaker Book 1)

by Lucy Adams

  “You are quite pretty.”

  Eliza was jerked back to the present moment by the sound of Lady Montrose’s high pitched voice. It was faint, although well spoken, and Eliza had to strain to hear what the lady was saying. It was as though Lady Montrose wanted everyone to have to fix their attention solely on her, so that she could be heard and her words held in their minds.

  “I thank you, Lady Montrose,” Eliza replied, quickly, not wanting to appear rude despite the shock of her visit. “You are very kind to say so.” She allowed herself a few minutes perusal of the lady in question, seeing the similarities between Lord Montrose and his mother. They shared the same dark brown eyes, as she had seen before, but also the long nose and thick brown hair, although Lady Montrose’s hair was well mixed with grey and white. She did not find any friendliness in Lady Montrose’s eyes, nor did she see happiness over her son’s choice of bride.

  Stiffening slightly as they all took their seats, Eliza forced herself to appear quite at ease, pasting a smile onto her face that she did not feel. It did not matter what Lady Montrose thought of her, given that Eliza had no intention of marrying her son. It would come as a grave shock to the lady, she had no doubt, but after what her mother had said and after being assured that her sisters sought the same thing, Eliza was beginning to become fiercely determined not to wed Lord Montrose. Her heart would never be happy again if she did so.

  “You are the eldest, I believe,” Lady Montrose said, sniffing as though she found this distasteful. “And almost on the shelf!”

  Eliza’s smile became fixed. “I am the eldest, yes,” she managed to reply, feeling heat crawl into her cheeks.

  “And with a substantial dowry, I imagine?” Lady Montrose added, looking towards Lady Whitehaven with a slight lift to her brow. “As the eldest, I presume she will have the greatest portion?”

  Stunned at this lady’s demeanor and rude questions, Eliza saw her mother lift her chin a notch, her eyes narrowing just a touch. “Indeed,” she said, softly, not looking towards Eliza.

  For the next hour, Eliza was forced to endure Lady Montrose’s company, finding her more arrogant than anyone of her acquaintance. She disliked the tea, turned her nose up at all offers of any other refreshments, continued with her sharp questions and regarded Eliza with a slightly disappointed gaze, as though she believed her son could do a good deal better than the daughter of a marquess.

  Eventually, the visit was at an end and Eliza allowed herself a breath of relief as Lady Montrose took her leave.

  Lord Montrose, on the other hand, bowed over her hand, his lips pressing against her skin for a moment.

  “I do hope, Eliza, that I might be permitted to call upon you tomorrow afternoon?” he said, looking up at her from his bow, his eyes filled with hope. “Perhaps we might take tea together and then enjoy a leisurely walk someplace?”

  Thinking to herself that she would only require an afternoon visit from Lord Montrose in order to break off their engagement and bid him farewell, Eliza nodded, feeling the first sense of happiness that she had experienced for some days, simply at the thought of being parted from him forever.

  “I should like that very much, Lord Montrose,” she replied, truthfully. “Tomorrow afternoon. I shall be prepared for your visit, you may have no doubt.”

  Lord Montrose grinned at her, let go of her hand and turned towards Lady Whitehaven. A stream of insincere apologies flew from his mouth, bowing and scraping so that he might try and encourage Lady Whitehaven to forgive his impropriety in allowing his mother to visit without first procuring an invitation. It was, he said, simply because their families were soon to be joined and that he knew just how kind and gracious Lady Whitehaven was.

  Eliza watched this with sharp eyes, finally realizing that everything that had been said of Lord Montrose was, most likely, true. She did not need to know the specifics of what Lord Hollard had meant, nor did she need to understand all that had gone before she had met Lord Montrose, but to see him now, so arrogant and so calculating in equal measure, Eliza had no doubt that he was precisely the gentleman Lord Hollard and Lord Franks knew him to be.

  He was not kind. He was not generous. He had not turned his back on his past. When she had tried to question him, when she had tried to discover the truth, he had flung such guilt upon her shoulders that she had no other choice but to remain entirely silent, her questions forgotten. His manipulation of her stood out starkly, making her wince at her own weakness.

  She ought to have put an end to their courtship upon the very first doubt she had felt about Lord Montrose. Even without Lord Avondale’s return, she should have considered her heart more carefully, should have seen his character for what it truly was.

  A marriage partner was not something to be taken lightly.

  “Good day to you, Lord Montrose,” she heard her mother say, her attention now back on Lord Montrose as he walked from the room. “And we shall see you again the morrow.”

  Eliza waited until the door closed behind Lord Montrose before looking back at her mother, who was frowning darkly in the direction of the door. Apparently, her mother had also not taken to Lady Montrose, although Eliza could hardly be surprised at such a thing.

  “Eliza,” Lady Whitehaven said, sternly, turning towards her. “I must warn you again about considering going forward with this marriage. After what we have just experienced, I cannot allow you to go forward knowing what kind of life you would have with both Lord Montrose and his mother present. It would be –”

  Eliza held up one hand, stemming her mother’s words. “It is quite all right, Mama,” she said honestly. “I have thought about what you have said, and you are quite correct.” She allowed a small smile to creep over her face, seeing the relief leap into her mother’s eyes. “If you are quite certain that my sisters would be at ease with my crying off, despite what harm it may do them, then I have every intention of bringing my supposed engagement to Lord Montrose to an end.”

  Her mother closed her eyes, tipped her head back and let a long sigh of relief escape her. “My dear Eliza,” she said, happily, looking back at her daughter. “I can assure you, that despite your many differences, your sisters love you dearly. They will be as glad as I am to know that Lord Montrose is no longer to be a part of your life.”

  Eliza smiled, her heart growing warm at the thought of Lord Avondale. “I intend to seek out Lord Avondale thereafter, Mama,” she said, aware that the lack of surprise in her mother’s eyes was evidence that she had already expected this. “I may have to return home sooner than I had intended.”

  “Which,” Lady Whitehaven replied, with a laugh, “most of your sisters and certainly your cousin will be glad of!” She shook her head and reached out to embrace Eliza. “I am glad it shall all be at an end very soon, my dear,” she said, holding Eliza close for a moment. “You have been through a great deal and I would see you happy – although not with Lord Montrose!”

  “No, indeed not,” Eliza replied, laughing. “It shall be put to an end tomorrow, Mama, just as soon as he walks through the door.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The return to Jeremy’s estate was not as welcoming as he had hoped. The journey from London had been a long one and Jeremy had been tormented by troubling thoughts, unable to sleep or to even lay his head back to rest. He had thought of nothing but Eliza, the words of her sisters pouring over him and yet again, filling him with regret.

  Not that he intended to return to London and speak to her, as they had asked. He would not mortify himself, not when she had clearly made up her mind to marry Lord Montrose and set herself away from Jeremy for good. They were not to share a life together, it seemed. It was all at an end and, somehow, he had to find a way through these dark and difficult days.

  And he would have to do so entirely alone.

  The staff had been as welcoming as he had expected, not making comment about his hasty and unexpected return to his country estate even though he knew it must have taken them a little by sur
prise. He had done nothing but sit in his study these last few days, trying to find a way to look through the cloud of darkness that surrounded him in the hope that he could find a way back to the light.

  There came not even the smallest chink of brightness, not even the smallest modicum of happiness or contentment. His own home did not seem to want him, for he felt lost and out of place. Here, too, memories assailed him. Memories of bringing Rebecca home as his bride, of setting her up in her own rooms and reassuring her that he had no intention of making her his wife in the physical sense until a good deal of time had passed.

  They had lived very separate lives within this large house and he had very rarely spent time in her company. Even now, her rooms lay to one side of the house, untouched and unopened since they had been set to rights after her death. The staff had seen to that, setting all of her possessions to one side and spreading sheets over it all.

  Was it the sadness that came with the loss of his wife and her baby? It had indeed been a grievously distressing time, for she had been his wife after all, and to lose two lives in one moment had been a terrible fate. Quite how he had endured it, he still was not certain, for his heart had already been thoroughly broken by his love for Eliza that could never be given to her, and then to lose his wife had added yet more difficulty to his heart.

  “Will you not spare me more trouble?” he whispered, sending a prayer to heaven in the hope that he might find some comfort there. It was not as though he could blame the Almighty for what had been his own decisions, however, knowing that it had been his choice to do as his uncle had asked and marry Rebecca. To now have had the chance to restore his relationship with Eliza, only for it to be taken from him and smashed to pieces at his feet was more than troubling, for his heart and mind screamed with the pain and agony of it, the regret he had always worn as a cloak about him seeming to tighten around his throat every time he thought of her.

  Closing his eyes, Jeremy pushed himself out of his chair and rose from his study desk. He had correspondence to read, yes, and there were matters of the estate that he could deal with, but there was no urgency to do so and he certainly did not have the desire to take things forward either. Perhaps it was time to do what he had been avoiding for so long.

  Time to look through his late wife’s personal things and set them to order. Some would be given away, but the majority would be returned to his uncle so that he might decide what to do with them. Jeremy had not given Rebecca very much by way of wedding gifts and she had seemed to have always had what she required, so there would not be a good deal for him to sort through.

  Perhaps it was time to do so. It would give him strength to open those rooms again, to have them cleared, aired and made useful, instead of a constant reminder as to what he had been forced to do and what had become of Rebecca thereafter.

  “I am to go to my wife’s rooms,” he informed his butler, after ringing the bell for him. “Send up some brandy, will you?” He saw the butler nod, quickly hiding his look of astonishment. “And a few things to eat,” Jeremy added, as an afterthought, not quite able to remember whether or not he had broken his fast that morning.

  “Of course, my lord,” the butler murmured, bowing. “I shall have the maids remove the dust sheets from the rooms immediately. If you would be pleased to wait for a few minutes?”

  Jeremy nodded. “Of course.”

  The butler withdrew and Jeremy contented himself with wandering to the large window that overlooked a large portion of his estate – as well as giving him view of the neighboring lands that belonged to the Whitehaven estate.

  Eliza.

  His heart ripped afresh and he turned away from the sight, not wanting to let his thoughts become so deeply morose all over again that he would struggle to find any incentive to do anything at all. How much brighter the world had looked then! How much he had loved being in her company, reveling in the intimacy growing between them.

  You could have spoken to her, said a quiet voice within him. You could have begged her not to wed Lord Montrose, spoken to her about Rebecca whether or not she wished to hear it.

  “No,” he said aloud, closing his eyes tightly. “It is her choice to make. I will not impose myself. I will not impose.”

  His eyes fell upon his study desk as he considered his dear, sweet love. He would not set himself before her eyes again, would not insist that she listen to all that he had to say, but he might, mayhap, write to her. He could tell her the truth about what had occurred, could tell her that he had never let a day pass without thinking of her, without his heart being filled with love for her, but that he wished her well and would pray that her marriage to Lord Montrose was one filled with all the joy and happiness that she deserved.

  His heart knotted at the thought of writing and thereafter sending such a letter to Eliza. It would not be what he had wished to do, for he wanted to grasp her by the shoulders, to beg her aloud not to marry Lord Montrose before kissing her senseless, but it would, mayhap, bring a little relief to his misery and a little contentment to his heart.

  Besides which, he needed to allow his staff time to prepare Rebecca’s room for his perusal. Moving towards the desk, Jeremy sat down with a deep sigh escaping from his lips. Without hesitation, he took out all that he would need and, within a few minutes, was letting his heart write itself onto the page.

  * * *

  Rebecca’s rooms were not as dark nor as dusty as he had been expecting. Part of him had thought that there might still be a smell and stench of death from within it, worrying that he would be tormented by the harsh memories that came the moment he stepped inside, but much to his relief, nothing of the sort occurred.

  It was almost as though a burden had been bodily lifted from his shoulders, allowing him to breathe a little easier. Walking to the window, he pushed it open a little more, dragging in a lungful of fresh, morning air before letting his gaze travel around the room all over again.

  Rebecca’s things were not that many in number. The dressing table bore some of her more personal items and there was a small trinket box that had a tiny gold lock on the front. The rest of her things appeared to be clothes and the like, which did not interest him particularly. Her prayer book was sitting by her bed and he could imagine her reading it each night, before she fell asleep.

  He hoped her faith had been of some comfort to her in the last few hours of her life.

  A wave of sadness washed over him as he walked to the dresser, picking up her hairbrush before setting it back down again. There was nothing of particular interest here and he could tell his staff to simply pack up all of her things and send them to Lord Northgate.

  The trinket box, however, caught his eye again and he found himself reaching for it, peering at the gold lock and wondering why she had occasion to hide something away. Trying to lift the lid did him no good at all, for the box was locked tight and, for what appeared to be quite a delicate lock, it was quite unrelenting beneath his prying fingers.

  Frowning, Jeremy began to scour the room for the key, already feeling disheartened, given that it would be remarkably small and could be very easily lost. In the seven months he had been married to Rebecca, he had never allowed himself to pry into what she felt or feared, what she prayed for and what she hoped. He had always reminded her that he was her husband and would treat her with kindness and understanding, should she ever wish to speak with him, but whilst she had nodded and thanked him, she had never sought him out. They had lived separate lives, which Jeremy had accepted with the hope that, in time, they would begin to find a way of coming together and finding some semblance of happiness.

  Therefore, it was to be expected that he had no knowledge of where this key might be, or even a thought of what might be hiding within. Nor could he explain the reason for his interest but Jeremy knew that, even if he set the trinket box back down upon the dressing table and returned to his study, it would continue to nag at him, its secrets holding a mystery that he simply had to solve.

 
Shaking his head, Jeremy let out a soft groan and rose from where he had been searching, thinking that he was beginning to undertake what would prove to be an impossible task. Mayhap he should simply force the trinket box and break it open, for no-one would be particularly upset with him.

  Looking around the room one last time, Jeremy’s eyes fell upon the prayer book. He had not looked there, although he did not think that such a small book could contain anything of the kind. Picking it up, he leafed through it quickly – only to discover that a small gold chain was caught in between two pages. Pulling it out deftly, he saw, to his delight, that the gold key was hanging on the end.

  “Let us see what secrets you have to hide,” he muttered to himself, his heart pounding as though it expected him to find something truly terrible within. The key went in smoothly and he turned it at once, delighted when it opened without hesitation.

  What he saw within made his heart stop dead.

  Letters tied in a red ribbon, nestled in the depths of the box. He lifted them out carefully, astonished to discover yet more written underneath, although these were tied with a black ribbon and had been flattened down hard. What secrets had Rebecca been hiding from him?

  Still feeling as though he were prying in some way, Jeremy quickly set the trinket box back upon the dressing table and, with the two stacks of letters in hand, quit the room and hurried back along to his study. Closing the door tightly, he set the letters down upon his desk and went to pour himself a small whisky. He felt as though he could do with a little sustenance.

  “My lord.”

  The butler scratched at the door.