With a frown, Teresa crossed her arms. "I suppose you corrected his assumption."
"I did." Eliza walked past into the parlor and sighed heavily as she sat down.
Teresa followed, walking slowly into the room until she stood in the middle. "That is quite irrational," she said. "What an extraordinary accusation."
"I know," Eliza said.
"Is he mad?"
Eliza shrugged. "He's been a soldier for years. Perhaps he’s turned mad."
"Still, that's… extraordinary. He was just yelling at you on the street? It sounds unhinged."
Well, it had been unhinged. "I can't have him coming around and scaring the children. I told him he could only correspond through solicitors in the future."
Teresa stroked her hand down her mouth. "You don’t think he would be violent?"
"No, I cannot see it." At no point had she ever seen him lose control of himself and be violent, but then he had been a soldier. "We will divorce and that will be the end of it. I think in preparation, we should go around all the charities, by we, I mean you, and say that I am stepping away from my participation in the company."
"But you are not."
"Technically through the trial, I will be. But it is better that you are the person they see as the head of the company now." It was a stretching of the truth, just like Caius had accused her of, but it was necessary to protect the company. How could that be a bad thing? What was the alternative, to let the company sink along with her reputation? No, they had to twist things to appear in a better light.
Perhaps his accusation was true in that she had twisted things, used certain words to make it appear as if her company was smaller than it really was. In light of his accusation of adultery, which was plain untruth, it was a small infraction. Everyone else's lies were forcing her to take steps to protect what was hers. He could make accusations of it if he wanted, but she could not regret it. And he’d stated he would not undo the bargain, so nothing was lost.
Still, she didn't like being accused of omitting the truth. In many ways, she was guilty of it, even if being perceived of much worse offenses. Clearly he thought her a woman who would hide a child. First his child, then that had shifted to a child before their marriage. He had known she was chaste on their wedding night. Men knew such things, apparently. But all those things had gone out the window and he’d resorted to boundless accusations. Perhaps he was mad.
Chapter 14:
THE CARRIAGE STEADILY made its way to Devon. The roads were good, but Caius' head ached with every slight bump and movement. Pain he deserved for being such an idiot the day before. To then go compound the issue by drinking heavily to bury how disappointed he was in himself.
For the life of him, he couldn't understand why he’d so utterly flown off the handle, and had irrationally accused her of misdeeds based on no facts whatsoever. Eliza had said so as well and had clearly dismissed him.
He didn't dare guess what her opinion was of him right then. To escape it all, he was doing what he’d been putting off for quite some time, going to survey Bickerley.
Eliza had to think he was touched in the head, and he had a hard time justifying himself. Why would he do such a thing? It was completely out of his character. Jumping to conclusions wasn't something he engaged in. He'd be long dead on the battlefield if he'd engaged in such silliness, but the moment he'd seen her with that child, his heart had stopped, along with his brain.
Again he winced thinking back on it. It was rare that his own self was unfathomable to him, but this was one such occasion.
Leaning his head back, he let the movement of the carriage lull him. There was nothing he could do to undo the day before, so he simply had to accept it.
In time, he arrived at Bickerley, the journey time short because of the train that ran toward this part of the country now. They truly were marvelous inventions, because this journey would have taken days before.
The stately house appeared in view, but his heart didn't soar at the sight like it normally had the times he'd come here as a youth. He still mourned his uncle and taking his place wasn't a joy. At the same time, he felt guilty for not having been there for his uncle in the last six years. As of yet, he didn't know if his uncle had truly needed him, but perhaps that was what he feared learning.
The house itself was built of stone, ornate stonework above the windows, and a Palladian portico at the entrance. It was a lovely house. Three stories in height and rectangular in shape. The gravel was bare in spots, so that was one task that needed doing. Perhaps he needed to prepare an actual list.
"Good evening, Mr. Simmons," he said to the elderly man who came out to greet him. "I trust you were aware of my arrival."
"Yes, welcome. Thank you for letting us know you were coming."
Caius didn't doubt the house had been scrubbed from top to bottom in preparation for the new owner. It was largely unnecessary, but he’d learned not to interfere with matters of the house. Such things were best left to whatever Mr. Simmons felt was best.
The house was familiar inside, wood paneling and carpeted floors. The furniture was the same, old and comfortable. Nothing much had changed in this house for a long time. Perhaps some of the furniture needed reupholstering, but that wasn’t urgent. More important was to ensure the lands were productive. Although when a wife came along, the inside of the house should be addressed.
It was still difficult to imagine a wife of his installed in this house. Eliza fleeted into mind. That was how he’d always seen the topic, and he’d given it little thought since. Perhaps when the divorce was final and he started meeting eligible young ladies, he could finally imagine someone else in her stead.
Slowly he wandered around the house, reaching the library where his uncle had liked to sit in the evenings by the fire. His chair was still there, worn with use, but his uncle was not. It made him wonder how long it would take for this house to feel his.
"Supper has been prepared," Mr. Simmons said. "It is ready to serve whenever you are ready."
"Thank you," Caius said.
For once, he’d left Jones behind, feeling like the man probably needed some time to see to his own affairs now he was back in England. It wouldn't be something Jones would initiate, so Caius had done so on his behalf. Or the man had installed himself in some gin palace somewhere and wouldn't leave again until he hadn't a penny left, which was also a distinct possibility. When it came to drinking, it was all or nothing with Jones.
Speaking of drinking. "I think I'll have a whiskey first. What have you got?"
"We have a nice blend from the Glenbrook region."
"Yes, that will do. I think I'll take it in here." Mr. Simmons disappeared and Caius walked to the window. Being early autumn, the evenings were still light. The lawns stretched before him, shaded with the late hour and gray weather. It certainly was peaceful.
It had been a long time since he'd been in such silence. Hong Kong was anything but quiet. The most bustling harbor there was. And London was never peaceful. And quite honestly, the peace and quiet didn't suit his state of mind at the moment, because it immediately returned him to his own behavior yesterday. It bothered him that Eliza thought him a blithering idiot, although he shouldn't care a whit what she thought.
In no uncertain terms had she told him to stay away and cease any direct correspondence with her. Truthfully, he couldn't blame her. Although he wished to communicate his apology and somehow assure her that he didn't act irrationally as a habit. But it was also not a sentiment he wished to convey through solicitors. Apologies were painful enough without having solicitors passing judgment.
No, maybe he should do so in person. Assure her that she hadn't anything to fear from him. Again he cursed his own behavior.
"Here you are, my lord," Mr. Simmons said, carrying a generous glass on a silver tray.
"Thank you," he said, taking the glass and sitting down in his uncle's chair. His uncle had never married. Even with all the pressure to secure an heir, his unc
le had instead chosen his brother's child as his heir. In all honesty, there was much about his uncle's life he didn't understand. His leanings had not been toward women. If his uncle's heart had ever belonged to anyone, he didn't know.
Eliza returned to his mind. Why had he been so angry when he'd thought that girl was her child? Deception was one part of it, but there was more to the betrayal than deception. There was also rejection in it. By its very nature, she’d chosen something other than what he offered. Something about him had been inadequate to her. Perhaps it was that even with a child, their child, she had chosen to exclude him.
But none of those assumptions were true. Or rather, the actuality of those assumptions were untrue. Perhaps she would have chosen to exclude him if she had birthed their child.
A small creak signified Mr. Simmons' return and Caius remembered the untouched whiskey in his hand. He wasn't doing a good job progressing the evening for the servants. Taking the glass to his mouth, he swallowed a good portion of it.
It was nice, the slow burn building, the warmth. "I am ready," he said and rose to take himself to the dining room, where Mr. Simmons fussed. It had likely been some months since they'd had anyone to fuss over.
Roast lamb was the main course and it was succulent. Easily the best meal he'd had in a very long time. Compliments were made and the meal thoroughly consumed, and before long, he was back in the library with a second glass of whiskey. He wouldn’t have any more tonight, his body had been abused sufficiently the previous night.
The fire crackled as he sat, the cool of night seeping into the house. The servants all retreated to their rooms, and Mr. Simmons was dismissed, the house was silent and still. The distant ticking of a clock was the only thing heard.
When he returned to London, he needed to apologize to Eliza. And he needed to do so in person. Going to her house might be a bit too much of an imposition, but he could do so at her business. Then he could settle this mess he'd created and be done with it. An apology was due. And the days away here would likely settle any ire she had as a consequence and she would be more accepting of his regret.
The decision made, he felt better. Tiredness from the previous late night was starting to wear on him and he yawned. A few more sips of the rather nice whiskey and he would retire, probably wake with the birds in the morning. There was much to do.
Chapter 15:
THERE WAS NO SIGHT of Caius, which was a relief, nor any communication, so Eliza went on with her business as she normally would, currently planning an introductory round for Teresa with all their clients. It was important to inform them all that changes were happening in the business and Teresa was taking over. Teresa's husband might be a complete brute, but at least she was a married woman.
The patrons of charities were often people who wanted to be seen as spotless, and the tarnish of divorce would be more unacceptable with them than most. Some were there for the good they could do, but many were there to bolster their own position in society. It made it both tricky and easier to deal with them, because education for the children of the poor was a concept they liked to support.
"I think it would be good to visit the Colchester Presbytery as well," she said.
"I will be away for quite a few weeks," Teresa said and Eliza could see the concern on her face.
"They will be well," Eliza assured them. Teresa knew this, so it wasn't her children's welfare she worried about as much as how she would miss them. "I wouldn't ask if this wasn't necessary."
"I know," Teresa said brightly, "and I want to."
A sneeze was building up in Eliza's nose and she moved away from the table to violently sneeze. "Bless you," Teresa said.
"Thank you." Another sneeze followed.
"You're not getting ill, are you?"
"No, of course not," she said with a smile and returned to the planning.
But over the next few hours, she started feeling worse. Aches and pains.
"No, I am sure you have a fever coming on," Teresa said, placing her cool hand on Eliza's head. It felt inordinately nice. "You must go home. I will sort the rest of the planning and we'll discuss it after I've finished and you've had a proper rest. No use exerting yourself. Go home. Mr. Henry?" she called loudly.
"What?" he called from somewhere in the warehouse.
"We need a hack."
The yelling was piercing into Eliza's head. It seemed she really was sick and it was trying sitting there. Her whole body ached.
"Now is not the time to exert yourself," Teresa continued. "Off you go. Do you need me to see you home?"
"No, of course not." Eliza wanted to say she was fine enough to walk, but she might not be. Like this, she could run out of energy halfway home, so it was worth investing in a hack. "Fine. I will go," she conceded and sneezed again.
Truthfully, she was feeling a little shaky as she dragged herself up into the hack and the rough movement jarred her senses all the way home, where Mrs. Fisher opened the door for her and fussed.
Before long, she was in bed with a warm towel on her head and copious amounts of blankets.
"We'll have you right as rain in no time," the woman said brightly, but Eliza was distracted by how bright it was.
"Could we close the curtains?"
"Of course," Mrs. Fisher said and walked over to the window, drawing the curtains closed. "Now you sleep. Best thing for it." With that, she left, closing the door to the bedroom behind her. The dark and silence were soothing, but she felt truly horrible.
At points, she woke when Mrs. Fisher entered the room and forced her to drink tea. It tasted strange, so she had no idea what kind of tea the woman was infusing her with.
Horrid dreams followed her, where people chased her and she was surrounded by a general feeling of unpleasantness. She also dreamt of a court of justice, where men were accusing her of being a horrible woman and a sheer failure as a wife. No man should be saddled with such a disgrace, one of them accused. And all throughout, she couldn't open her mouth and speak. She wanted to.
The accusations ringing in her ears, she woke with a start, having no idea where she was. The blankets were wet and clammy, saturated with sweat.
"There you are," Mrs. Fisher said. "And I think your fever may have broken."
"Water," she croaked, her throat feeling impossibly sore. The liquid held to her lips was wonderful, but it did nothing to soothe her throat.
Teresa arrived at the door. "How are you feeling?"
"So terribly I cannot even differentiate between the forms of badness."
"She's much better," Mrs. Fisher filled in and Eliza rolled over, not sure how Mrs. Fisher could say that. "She'll sleep some more, then she'll be right as rain."
"Mmmm," she mumbled, but her throat was agony just with that.
Her room was empty when she woke again, but there was entirely different light. The late afternoon sun, she would guess. She must have slept all night, then all day again. And her nose was entirely blocked.
Weakly, she sat up. No doubt, she was a frightening sight. Blocked nose, fever flushed. Actually, she didn't have the cold or hot sensations fever brought. It must have broken. Her body still felt clammy and she had that distinct unclean feeling. Picking up a lock of hair, she saw her hair was stringy. It only compounded the sense of unease. No doubt if her nose wasn't so blocked, her own odor would be offensive to her.
Rising out of bed, she walked weakly over to her dressing table and poured water into the washing basin. Taking her nightgown off and washing herself. It would make her feel so much better to wash away the fever sweats.
In the mirror, her face was pale and she had blush spots under her eyes. But she no longer had aches and chills, just a pervasive weakness. Still, she washed herself and her hair and she did indeed feel better.
"Ah, you're up," Mrs. Fisher said, carrying a tray of broth. "This will give you some strength."
Without looking, Eliza knew it was bone broth, which she wasn't particularly fond of, but who could argue with
centuries of nurses on the healing properties of bones. And truthfully, she couldn't taste a thing. The warmth was somewhat soothing on her throat.
"After," Mrs. Fisher said, "you can have some tea and honey."
The house was quiet. "Everyone is out."
"Yes," Mrs. Fisher answered. "Teresa took the children to stay with a friend."
"Good." Children were always more susceptible to fevers, and Eliza was glad they had been removed from the danger she posed. "I think I have influenza."
"Yes, it appears that way," Mrs. Fisher said, drawing her hands down over her apron as she looked around the room. "And best we wash those sheets."
The woman went about her business as Eliza continued drinking her broth. She felt slightly lightheaded, but it was clear that any danger had passed. She was on the mend—it was just not a nice-looking mend.
"You'll need a supply of handkerchiefs."
"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Fisher. I don't know what I would do without you."
The woman flushed and fussed. "Now you sit and regain your strength." She bundled up the bedsheets and left.
Already, Eliza was bored, having nothing to do. Her mind was too spent to read, but she couldn’t sleep anymore. So she dressed in her most loose-fitting morning dress. In fact, she wanted more than broth. Perhaps an egg and some toast.
"What are you doing down here, you silly girl?" Mrs. Fisher chided.
"I can't sit in my room all day. And I thought I might tackle an egg."
"It's a good sign if you're hungry." That seemed to appease the woman. "And I'll bring you some tea with honey. Soothes, it does."
With a nod, Eliza walked into the small parlor and sat down on the worn sofa. They had bought it at the market. It would have been a fine piece once, but now it was old and worn, but still appreciated.
Leaning against the back, she just sat there, waiting to feel better. There wasn't much else to do. She had no idea what Teresa had done with the plans for the charity visits and she probably wouldn't tell if asked.
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