My Wild Heart (Regency Shakespeare Book 2)

by Martha Keyes

  “Yes, good evening and all that sort of thing,” Edith said with the most brittle of smiles. “Viola, will you please get me a glass of ratafia? I am parched, and I wish to have a word with Mr. Marke.”

  Viola looked too overwhelmed to do anything but nod and walk the short distance past Elias to the refreshments.

  “Good evening, Miss Donne,” said Mr. Marke in his rich voice.

  “Is it?” she said. “Yes, I happen to think it was. I was enjoying myself very well until I was obliged to watch you making up to my cousin in this corner, which seems to have become a favorite spot of yours, judging by the number of women you’ve managed to persuade here.”

  Elias’s smile widened. So she had been enjoying herself with him, had she?

  “Surely there is nothing untoward about a gentleman making conversation with a young woman at a ball.”

  “No, indeed.” Her voice was cordial, and her mouth still pulled into a smile—a humorless one, but a smile all the same. “But I fail to see what that has to say to the situation at hand. My cousin is certainly a young woman, but you….” She trailed off, raising that thin brow that could send a man running for the hills.

  Before Mr. Marke could respond, she was off again with that knifelike tongue. “There are plenty of women for you to swindle and flirt with here, Mr. Marke. So, if I see you speaking to my cousin again, I assure you I will have no compunction at all in telling her every last detail I know about you. And believe me, she is not so young or naive that she will then countenance your conversation, as you so delicately choose to describe it.”

  She executed a curtsy and swept away before Mr. Marke could say a word, brushing past Viola, who held a glass of the requested ratafia in her hand. Edith turned back to Viola, took the glass from her hand, raised it toward Mr. Marke with another smile, then threw it back, draining its contents in a few quick swallows.

  Elias covered his mouth to stop a laugh. Perhaps Mr. Marke would have preferred a meeting at dawn.

  In his mind’s eye, Elias saw Edith, arm outstretched, hand grasping a pistol, sending man after man to meet his Maker, until she herself expired.

  His mouth turned up in a crooked smile. A world without Edith Donne would be a dull place indeed.

  Chapter Nine

  Edith misliked what she was seeing in Elias’s eyes. Whether she had been oblivious to the gleam of interest there before, or whether it had simply become more noticeable due to the time they’d spent in each other’s company at Shipton House over the past few days, she couldn’t be sure. She could swear there was the slightest hesitation in his rejoinders whenever she tried to engage him. And it made her uncomfortable.

  And yet, somehow, she felt that, if she confronted him about it and made clear to him what her own feelings were, it was likely to change things between them forever.

  She shut her eyes and let her head fall back. Why had the fool fallen in love with her? She had thought him above such silly nonsense.

  At her father’s insistence, Edith and her mother spent the late morning making a visit to one of the newer neighbors in the area.

  “Wouldn’t want to be remiss in welcoming them, would we?” he had said.

  Surprisingly, Edith’s mother had nothing to say against the order—for there had been no mistaking the undercurrent of demand when her father had told them of his wishes.

  Laden with a basket of Cook’s warm muffins, Edith and her mother set out in the landau.

  “Why did you agree to come?” Edith asked her mother as the carriage ambled toward the Cotters’. “You never let Father talk to you like that without putting up a fight.” Somehow, after all these years, her mother still had enough spirit to resist the peremptory commands of her husband. She nearly always complied with them in the end, for there was certain retaliation if she didn’t—Edith had a vivid memory of her father throwing every last one of her mother’s political pamphlets into the fire after one of their more heated arguments—so Edith couldn’t understand why her mother bothered at all. And today she hadn’t.

  “It is in both of our interests to befriend the Cotters. He wishes to secure Mr. Cotter’s vote when the boroughs shift, and I wish to gauge Mrs. Cotter’s interest in some of my own endeavors.”

  Edith settled back into the squabs. Her mother had taken it for granted that the vote would pass. Edith thought it very unlikely. “I thought perhaps you had simply tired of arguing with him.”

  “I never tire of a fight with your father.”

  “But you always surrender.” Edith couldn’t help herself. It was something she had never been able to understand about her mother. When Edith engaged in a battle, she didn’t stop until she won. Her mother’s efforts seemed like wasted energy.

  Her mother raised a brow. “Do I?” She smiled slightly, eyes roving to the landscape. “Perhaps it appears that way.”

  Edith’s forehead wrinkled. “I don’t wish to offend, Mother, but there is no doubt at all, I’m afraid. You have surrendered every time.”

  “Every time? You are unaware of the majority of battles we engage in.”

  Edith turned her head to the side. “I am not. They have always been loud enough to alert the entire household. And, in the end, you give in.”

  Her mother’s smile remained steady. “I have my way in secret often enough that I don’t begrudge your father his perceived victories.”

  Edith looked at her mother through narrowed eyes. “Have your way in secret? You mean things that Father is unaware of?”

  She nodded, a victorious light gleaming in her eyes. “I do plenty of things of which your father is unaware.”

  Edith couldn’t blame her. She had the same stubborn streak herself. But she felt uneasy, all the same. “And if he becomes aware of them?”

  “He won’t. I am not so careless.” Her pursed lips hid a knowing smile. “I have been holding meetings for my women’s Whig society without his knowledge for years.”

  Edith blinked. She had long known her mother had a passionate interest in Whig politics. She had not known that it had amounted to anything besides expressing that opinion in a way that made Edith’s muscles clench in expectation of reprisal from her father. She felt a flicker of dread at the thought of her father discovering the way in which his wife was undermining him. He was a Tory through and through, besides believing women had no place at all in politics.

  Mr. Cotter was not at home when they arrived, but his wife received them gladly, and Edith was able to listen with uncomfortable admiration as her mother subtly ferreted out the family’s political leanings. By the end of the visit, she had secured Mrs. Cotter’s promise to drive out with her in two days’ time.

  “Father will be happy to learn of another Tory family in the vicinity,” Edith said as they began the journey back to Shipton House. “A loss for you, though, I’m afraid.”

  Her mother tilted her head from side to side. “Their loyalties to the party seem tenuous—certainly not past changing. I think I may make quite a bit of headway with Mrs. Cotter, given a bit of time.”

  “Perhaps, but Mrs. Cotter is not the one voting.”

  Her mother looked at her. “You far underestimate the power of women in the political process. Certainly we are not allowed to vote formally as our husbands do. But I could tell you dozens of stories of husbands changing their votes thanks to the subtle influence of their wives.”

  “And yet your own husband remains the most loyal of Tories. You have not succeeded in changing him.”

  “Your father is very stubborn. But I have made much progress despite that. You see that he is lending his support to the bill to reform the borough boundaries. That is not a Tory cause.” She smiled when Edith said nothing. “Your father need only be persuaded that a cause is in his own interest in order for him to support it. He may call himself a Tory and vote that way on any number of insignificant issues, but in time—and when it suits me—you will see his ‘ayes’ for Whig measures increasing, and those for Tory measures decreasin
g.”

  Edith was speechless. And frankly repulsed. The manipulation and subversion her mother was engaging in disgusted her. There was no choosing between her mother and father—neither seemed to care for anything but their own wishes. Perhaps they were perfectly suited after all.

  “You are angry,” her mother said. It was a statement of fact, said with a hint of curiosity.

  Edith said nothing, merely gazing through the window at the passing hills.

  “One day you will understand,” her mother said, settling into her seat with a serene smile.

  “Forgive me, but I don’t think I shall.”

  Her mother watched her. “You persist in thinking yourself above it all, don’t you? Above your fellows. Above marriage. Above everything.”

  Edith’s brows snapped together. “On the contrary. It is precisely because I know myself not to be above any of it that I choose not to marry.”

  That thin brow rose again. “I wonder if perhaps you might reconsider. There are a great number of benefits to marriage, my dear, and I believe you have a very good candidate.”

  Edith stilled. “What do you mean?”

  “You and Elias Abram have known each other for more than half your life, my dear. He is very eligible—of good family and fortune.” She locked her eyes on Edith’s. “And he seems to be taking a greater interest in you than he has in the past.”

  Edith’s heart pounded against her chest. Other people had been noting the shift in his demeanor?

  “I have no interest in marrying, Mother. And certainly not in marrying Elias. I believed I had not only made that quite clear but also had the support of you and Father in that regard.”

  Her mother lifted a careless shoulder. “I certainly shan’t force you to marry, and with your aunt’s fortune at your disposal, you hardly need your father’s or my blessing to do as you please. But I still think your decision a foolish one.”

  Edith crossed her arms, incredulous. “You truly believe I should marry Elias Abram?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  Edith scoffed. “I should think the reason quite apparent to anyone who had ever spent more than two minutes in our company. We cannot agree on the most insignificant of matters.”

  Her mother raised her pointer finger. “You choose not to do so, and that is quite a different beast. Besides, there is something to be said, my dear, for marrying a man who at least believes you his equal, for I can assure you Eias would countenance none of your insolence if he truly believed himself above you. Given what I have observed over the past few days, I imagine he allows you to get the best of him in order to please you, and such a man would be tractable enough for you to mold him into what you will.”

  Edith’s jaw fell open. She couldn’t pinpoint what was more unwelcome: her mother’s insinuation that Elias held back when engaging with her, or that she would wish to manipulate a husband into becoming some sort of pet, ready to obey her and submit to her whims.

  “Oh, come, Edith,” her mother said, the first hint of exasperation in her voice. “Don’t look at me like that. These are important considerations, and you believe yourself above them at your own peril. A woman must fend for herself first and foremost, for if she doesn’t, no one will.”

  “You mean like my sister has had to fend for herself? Did you know when you encouraged her to marry Richard that she would end as she is now?” Her mother showed the first signs of being ruffled. “You must admit, Mother, that between you and father and Lydia and Richard, you have not given me any reason at all to wish to marry.”

  The landau rolled to a stop in the courtyard of Shipton House, and, heart pounding and ears ringing, Edith thrust open the door of the carriage, flying past the figure of an astounded coachman, whose hand was extended in preparation to pull the door open for her.

  She rushed along the drive, flinging gravel with every step, and into Shipton House with one destination in mind: she would set Elias to rights. The last thing she wished was for Elias to tread lightly around her in the name of whatever silly attachment he believed himself to have formed. She had taken pains to show him just how sharp her tongue could be, to put her faults on display, and yet somehow, he fancied himself in love with her—enough that others had noticed the change.

  Well, he would soon realize his mistake—she would leave him in no doubt whatsoever that he had chosen the wrong woman to place on a pedestal. She would blast the pedestal to smithereens in front of his very eyes. Much better that than for him to become disillusioned with her slowly and painfully.

  If nothing else, he needed to know that there was no prospect at all of her returning his regard, no matter how many encounters he allowed her to best him in. She had no intention of returning anyone’s supposed regard for her. She wouldn’t become her mother and father or her sister and brother-in-law.

  Elias was not indoors, and Edith’s annoyance only built as she searched him out. He was found to be standing with Matthew at the edge of the small pond. As she stalked up to them, they both looked at her, exchanging uneasy glances.

  “Leave us, Matthew.” Edith indicated the way to the house with a peremptory hand.

  Matthew’s eyes flicked back and forth between Edith and Elias. The latter merely shrugged and nodded for Matthew to comply.

  Edith waited until Matthew’s footsteps died away completely.

  “In your black books again, am I?” Elias said. He was smiling, but she saw the wary light in his eyes. So much the better. He should be wary of her.

  “I assure you, Elias, that I will inform you if the day dawns when you are not in my black books.”

  He chuckled. “Let’s have it, then. What have I done?”

  She took in a large breath and let it out through her nose. Asking a man why he had fallen in love with her felt less simple than it had two minutes ago. But it had to be done. “Are you in love with me?”

  He blinked three times in succession, and she knew a moment of misgiving. It was not the reaction of a guilty man.

  It took a moment for him to recover, and his forehead wrinkled into a frown as he responded. “Let me ask you the same thing in return. Are you in love with me?”

  It was her turn to blink in surprise. “Good heavens! What a question to ask. What utter folly!”

  “Folly first committed by you!” The smile had disappeared from his face. He looked utterly dumbfounded.

  She felt another moment of uncertainty, as though she had entered into waters deeper than she had first judged them to be and wasn’t sure she could stay afloat. “It is folly to ask you what has already been communicated to me by my own brother?”

  “What in heaven’s name are you talking about? What was communicated to you by him?”

  She hesitated. In truth, it had not been communicated to her by Matthew. It had been communicated by Matthew to Solomon, and from Solomon to Mercy, who had told Viola, not realizing that Edith was just beyond the garden hedge. “I…it…it was merely something I overheard.”

  He narrowed his eyes, and his shock was replaced by an intent curiosity. “Overheard? And what precisely did you overhear?”

  She folded her arms, hoping it portrayed the confidence that was fleeing more and more with each moment that passed. “That you are in love with me but have been too afraid to confess as much for fear I would scorn your affections.”

  His mouth opened wordlessly, only to shut again, and his brow furrowed even more deeply.

  She waited in a silence more supremely uncomfortable than any she had ever before experienced. Would he consider himself found out and confess his true feelings? Or would he refute it all?

  He pulled at his lip with two fingers, staring at her thoughtfully. “When did you overhear this?”

  She shrugged her annoyance. “What does it matter? A few days ago, I suppose.”

  He let out a scoff, dropping his hand. “Just as I thought. No, Edith. I am not in love with you. And you are not in love with me either, are you?”

  She r
aised her brows at him. “How many times must a woman insult a man before he believes her not to be in love with him?”

  His half-smile appeared. “And you are not merely denying it to save your pride?”

  She glared at him. “Believe me, Elias. The revelation that you were somehow in love with me was not a welcome one. It altered my opinion of you for the worse, I’m afraid—something I thought impossible.”

  He acknowledged the hit with a smile. “Well, I am happy to report that I can now resume my prior place in your high esteem. We have been had, Edith. Tricked. Duped. Taken in.” He tapped his fist against his mouth, shaking his head but smiling. “The clever fiends!”

  “What in heaven’s name are you talking about?” She was out of patience with Elias, annoyed that he seemed to be aware of something she was not—and perhaps even more annoyed that she had accused him of being in love with her when he quite obviously was not.

  He seemed to remember her presence. “You overheard a supposedly candid conversation claiming that I was in love with you. I overheard another such supposedly candid conversation claiming that you were in love with me. You think this is some coincidence?”

  “Someone said I was in love with you?”

  He nodded his head. “Matthew said as much to Solomon. I had fallen asleep in the library—on the chaise behind the screen—I imagine you know the one?”

  “Know it? I practically live on it. And you had no business being there. But go on.”

  His eyes grew slightly misty with memory. “I thought they must have been unaware of my presence, for I was entirely hidden from view, but I rather think that they planned the conversation for my benefit.”

  Edith stared at him, images flashing through her mind of the day she had heard Mercy and Viola speaking in the garden. Had it all been a hoax—a plot and a conspiracy?