“Oh, Eric, that would be so lovely if it were possible!” Sarah turned to him, hands clasped in front of her, a pleading look in her eyes. “Could we not have Eloise stay? I would so dearly love to have her here!”
Eric glowered at Mallory, knowing in an instant from the man's mischievous features he’d never had selfless generosity in mind, but saw an opportunity to advance his own agenda. The anger Eric felt more often of late with his friend surged through him, but he knew Sarah had no such ulterior motive and would not want to hurt her for all the world. A brief look at Eloise confirmed via a similar fleeting show of enthusiasm that she also enjoyed the idea, even if she had the good manners to stifle the reaction shortly after it appeared. But the harm was done, Eric had seen her response and the combination of hopeful pleading from two feminine faces which meant a great deal to him sealed his fate.
Taking a calming breath and swallowing down his irritation at Mallory, promising himself to take the man to task for this in the very near future, he looked toward Eloise. “Miss. Marchand,” he began, “as it is my sister's heartfelt wish that you should stay with us, and I too am appreciative of your company, I am glad to invite you to stay at Heathermoore through the holiday season until such time as either your uncle requests your presence or we make our way to London ourselves.”
“I would dearly love to spend my holidays with Miss Sarah,” Eloise beamed, settling a look of happiness and contentment on Sarah. “I am very grateful for the invitation and will ask my uncle straightaway for his permission.”
Sarah, unable to contain her delight, took hold of Eloise’s hands. “Come, I’ll add my own request to the mix, I shall write a letter to your aunt which you can take home with you.”
The two then darted back toward the sitting room, their companions forgotten. Eric turned a deadly glare on his friend.
“What?” Mallory shrugged.
“You know full well, what.” Eric accused.
“Can I help it if I feel compelled to make the most of serendipitous events?” He waved off Eric’s concern. “Besides, it truly is a shame the poor girl being abandoned for the holidays, it won’t hurt anything for her to have some company.”
Eric clasped his hands behind his back. It wouldn’t hurt her, but what might it do to him? Mallory started on his way down the hall, but Eric hesitated, taking in his family portrait. Not for the first time he noted how out of place he seemed to be in the arrangement, not turned toward his father like his older siblings, but no longer in need of his mother’s support, he floated somehow in between certainties, never quite sure which direction to commit to.
CHAPTER SIX
TUCKING THE CARRIAGE blankets around her to stave off the winter cold, Eloise breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn't remember the last time her heart had been so light and happy. Though the Langdon estate sat not far from her uncle’s it seemed like a completely different world to her. The brief glimpses of an open and welcoming nature she’d witnessed in Sarah, enhanced by the brightness of the Langdon home, filled her with a sense of belonging and acceptance she hadn’t known since Alain had gone off to war.
Her cousin sparked a similar sentiment in her, but of a frailer variety simply by the fact it attached itself solely to him. Without him beside her, she remained in an unwelcoming home. The magic surrounding the Langdons remained evergreen because it resonated in the very air around her the nearer she drew to their estate. Wherever and whenever she managed to share company with them, that feeling revived, never completely dissipating.
The closer the carriage came to the Langdon estate, the more excited she became. She could hardly wait to see Sarah and ensconced herself in the home. A large part of her admitted to enjoying the idea of feeling herself a part of the family, a part of that warm and golden ambiance, even if just temporarily.
When she went to her aunt and uncle with the invitation to stay with the Langdons for the holidays while they were in London, she was sure her uncle would instantly deny the request, but to her amazement he seemed enthusiastic about it. The initial happy response this discovery prompted soon turned to despair, however, when Eloise remembered her own happiness mattered little to her relatives, meaning they intended to use her for some ulterior motive.
“Well of course you shall go,” her aunt insisted, looking at her as though she were simpleminded. “A stay in the Langdon home is possibly the best way to ensure you will have regular access to Sir Thomas. He is a frequent visitor at the Langdon home, and you will see to it that you take every opportunity to endear yourself to him.”
“But aunt,” Eloise had tried to argue, I have no desire to—”
“Your desires play no part in what I'm telling you to do. You will make yourself known to Sir Thomas and do your best to endear yourself to him. And you will send notices home every few days to let your uncle know what you have discussed with him.”
Eloise had no idea what information her aunt and uncle expected her to get, why it was so important, or why it required her to put up a false pretense with Sir Thomas.
Even more irritating, Eloise could not extrapolate what her guardians were up to. She knew if her staying with the Langdons pleased her uncle it should not please her. But the selfish side of her, rather than attempt to reject the invitation, gravitated toward it. Lacking any source of companionship or friendship in her uncle’s home, she wanted desperately to enjoy this retreat.
These consuming thoughts distressed her, but she refused to allow them any lingering hold over her as her conveyance slowed and the coachman pulled up beside the entry stairs to Heathermoore. She willed herself to tuck away any distress or uneasiness. This was her time to be happy, and she would guard it for all she was worth, knowing it wasn't likely to come again.
She hadn't quite made it up the stairs before Sarah Langdon came rushing out the front door and grasped her in a tight hug. Eloise you're here! She exclaimed with a giggle. I've hardly slept for knowing you would soon be here, and now I’m so very grateful that you are. I've spent the entire morning in pleasant fantasies of all the wondrous things we shall do. Until meeting you, I was convinced the holidays would be gray and sterile, but I am now overjoyed with the thought of preparing the household for warmth and festivity.
“I pray you did not assign too much of that proclivity to myself,” Eloise warned with a giggle as Sarah threaded her arm through hers and walked in time with her the rest of the way inside. “I have very little experience of the holidays, and next to none of British celebrations.”
“None of which matters in the least,” Sarah assured her. “Preparing for the holidays has always been a favorite event of mine, all I lacked this year was the appropriate muse, and you are she.”
Eloise laughed as Sarah effected a grand flourish of her hand to accompany the statement. “Well if all I must do is be a muse, I am sure I will do my best.”
“Of course you will,” She guided them toward the staircase leading to the second floor and the family quarters, “but though I would love to steal you away immediately, my mother would never forgive me if I didn't allow you at least a little bit of time to get settled in your room.”
They stopped in front of a door a short distance down the hall. “I've had this one made up for you especially because it's right next to mine. Should you need anything at all don't hesitate to find me, day or night.” She indicated a door a short distance away.
“How very kind of you, Sarah.” Eloise’s heart swelled. A silly reaction, but she couldn’t help herself.
A maid and footman approached them down the hall, the footman carrying Eloise’s trunk. The maid walked ahead to open the door and she and Sarah sidestepped to allow them entry to the room.
“All right, I've taken up enough of your time. Marjorie will help you get your things in order,” Sarah nodded toward the maid, “and I shall look for you at teatime. Feel free to make yourself at home and wander at will.”
“Thank you, Sarah, and I look forward to seeing you shortly.”
Eloise had packed little, having but little to call her own, so the maid finished her task in short order. Once the woman had gone, Eloise took a moment to sit at the desk and contemplate her best steps forward.
Though naturally inclined to completely forget her aunt and uncle, she knew to do so would be dangerous. They expected information from her, and if they received none, they would likely rescind their permission for her stay.
She wandered over to a small carpet bag she’d asked the maid to leave on the bed for her. Reaching inside, she retrieved a small book of verse and returned to the desk. The book acted as something of a talisman to her, holding it gave her a bit of confidence and strength. A cherished gift, it often provided her with optimism and hope when her own mind seemed incapable of accomplishing the task.
A moment before she opened the cover, however, she chanced to look up and through the window. A movement in the distance caught her attention and she squinted, trying to find the source. There on the grounds, past the gardens and near the banks of what looked to be a pond, a man stood. Facing away from the house, he stared out over the landscape. He stood as still as the trees and shrubs surrounding him, seemingly frozen in the winter landscape.
Eloise doubted she would've been so enthralled by the sight if she hadn't recognized immediately the height and build of Eric Langdon. He wore no hat, his golden hair contrasted beautifully with the muted colors surrounding him.
Something about the scene waxed mournful, and she wondered why he would linger in such a desolate spot on a frigid morning. Unsure how long she watched him, she startled out of her observation when he turned and began making his way back to the house.
Realizing her folly and her foolishness, Eloise set aside her book and quickly went about getting changed to meet Sarah. Within a few minutes she returned to the hall, eager to explore her temporary home.
A SOFT MIST ROLLED along the glass top of the frozen pond in a parody of the tales a family friend, Captain MacLeod, once entertained the Langdon children with. Eric gazed out over the expanse, remembering childhood days when the boisterous privateer would visit, regaling them with stories of murky Scottish lochs riddled with monsters and similar beasts deep beneath the seas.
In those days, an odd sort of curiosity took hold of him, displaying itself one day as a deathly fear that any number of vile creatures loomed in the depths of the pond, lurking just out of sight beneath the black surface and lying in wait for him to come near, the next as an insatiable urge to scurry out at all hours of the day to try and catch a glimpse of them. Now he was grown, he no longer held any lingering belief the pond might harbor some insidious creature. But the lure of it remained, especially on stark winter mornings when bare, black, finger-like branches clawed at a sky of icy promise and mists concealing both friend and foe edged across the estate in languid ownership of it.
He woke with a start that morning, unwelcome memories seeping into his dreams as they so often did. He'd sat up in bed, heart racing, knowing any further sleep would elude him. At times like these, when the accumulated energy of sympathetic fright clawed at his limbs demanding release, there was nothing for it but to find an open expanse in which to move. Walking briskly about the grounds generally helped dispel the nervous energy, but this morning it failed to help the memory fade.
Once the sun rose high enough to dissipate the sinister fog of his surroundings, Eric settled into a vague facsimile of calm. Taking in a deep breath of icy air, he let it out as a prolonged puff of smoke, wondering if perhaps the pond remained vacant because the monsters of his childhood had taken up residence within him.
Closing his eyes, the dream came back to him, though not as profound or harsh in this muted light of day as it had been in the consuming darkness. He stood in a meeting room at Montford’s, a local lodge often used to conduct business, having received and agreed to an invitation from his neighbor, Lord Pembroke.
“What’s this about, Pembroke?” He’d asked the moment the man closed the door on their meeting.
“Professional advancement.” The man responded, pouring himself a glass of brandy, not bothering to offer a glass to Eric.
Eric reached in his pocket, never taking his eyes off the man he’d lived so near to his entire life and never trusted.
“Don’t bother,” Pembroke sneered. “I know you don’t need that notebook.”
Eric froze, then forced himself to relax and exude an air of calm despite his heart taking up a frantic pace. How had he found out?
“The fact is,” he continued, “You and your kin have become a thorn in my side. Every time I think I’ve got ahead, one of you shows up to stifle me.”
“What are you blathering?” Eric had no patience for meaningless word games.
For the longest, I didn’t understand it, thought I just had bad fortune hounding me, but then, the last time I stopped in at Cecil and Mary’s lady luck was good enough to hand a starving man a morsel.”
Eric rolled his eyes. “Pray get to the point, Pembroke, if you carry on for a few more sentences, you’ll have run out of both metaphors and idioms.” He crossed his arms in front of him to prevent the tremors in them from showing. Cecil and Mary’s was a public coffee house on the Strand in London, it’s location and popularity making it a frequent stop for men dealing in business wishing for an anonymous meeting as well as those dealing in secretive projects. Eric patronized the locale often enough himself.
Pembroke glowered, opening his mouth to respond, but something drew his attention to the door. The floorboards rattled under Eric’s feet as something heavy hit the floor outside. Concerned, he took a step toward the door.
And that was his mistake. He’d taken his eyes off Pembroke. The bullet slammed into him like a hot poker searing into his upper chest and throwing him off his balance.
The pistol shot which had roused him so violently from his sleep now provoked his eyes to shoot open. But the quiet landscape, brightening with every passing moment, provided no answers.
“There's a connection with it all,” he whispered into the dissipating mist. Pembroke, Lars, And now the Durands. Something isn't right.”
Somehow his dream had acted as a catalyst to converge elements from the past with those of the present. He didn't know how, or what it all meant, but when he woke, he knew with unsettling certainty there was a connection he hadn't made.
It wasn't a connection he wanted to make. He'd tried for the past year to convince himself whoever was behind the search for Langdons had either given up or was no longer a threat. In the back of his mind, he never really believed it, but he desperately wanted to.
A shiver ran through him as the temperature in the air dropped, the final frigid moments before the sun broke fully through the mist. With a sigh, he turned himself toward the house. He'd been outside long enough that his nose and cheekbones were numb, and even his hands professed to a chill despite being in his pockets. Whatever the answer was, he thought to himself, he wouldn’t find it this morning. He walked back to the house, letting himself in as he attempted and failed to let go of the questions battering him since the predawn hours.
So it happened that, wandering on instinct through the halls and not paying attention to his surroundings, he turned the corner and collided harshly with something small and soft.
Arms darting out instinctively, he caught the woman just before she fell out of reach and onto the floor. Pulling her back in his direction, the small form collided again with his, which would not have been disconcerting, except he realized the young woman was a stranger. A stranger with a distinctly familiar form.
An instant shot of warmth coursed through him, though he couldn't say how much the extreme variation in temperatures contributed, she warm and inviting, he iced over from long hours outside, and how much emanated from the fact it was Eloise Marchand he clasped against him. He allowed himself a moment of luxuriating in the fact before setting her carefully at arm’s distance.
“Miss. Marchand,” He adop
ted what he hoped sounded like a lighthearted tone, noting how wide-eyed and flustered she’d become. “It appears I have a distinct talent for sweeping you off your feet in the least valiant manner possible.”
To his relief, she smiled. “I was just—”
She hesitated, taking on a frustrated look. With a start, Eric remembered his notebook.
Accepting the communication aid, she jotted down a note.
I was just on my way to see where I might find Sarah.
“This time of day, I would guess her to be in the sunroom. May I escort you there?”
She nodded her agreement, following along beside him as he mentally berated himself. The girl had only just arrived and already he’d orchestrated a near disaster. This was likely to prove a miserably difficult few weeks.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ELOISE RAN A HAND ALONG the mantle in the sitting room, staring into the open space of her surroundings unseeing. She’d left a blank sheet of paper and a dry quill languishing on the desk in her room, having failed yet again in her task to write her relatives. Her uncle would not be pleased, but there wasn’t any help for it.
As she’d expected, she thus far found herself unable to press any conversation with Sir Thomas. Her aunt correctly predicted his frequent visits to Heathermoore, but he generally came to visit with Eric, only taking tea with Sarah and herself out of politeness.
Her aunt would argue sufficient opportunity, but Sir Thomas possessed a personality difficult to suppress. Eloise’s muted nature contrasted to such a degree her participation in the conversations amounted to no more than a few words here or there. Attentiveness also proved difficult as she found the man a bit too self-promoting and flippant for her liking.
To make matters worse, aside from her own reservations about flirting with the man due to her personal disinterest in him, she had the distinct notion Sarah, who was fast becoming a good friend, harbored romantic notions toward him. It was not in Eloise's nature to openly pursue any man, let alone a man who she knew a friend of hers cared for.
To Love in Silence (Currents of Love Book 3) Page 5
