He didn’t answer her. Instead, he allowed his gaze to linger overlong on her face, and when heat flooded her cheeks, she looked away.
“It’s strange not having anyone like that any longer.” She traced the outline of a tree on the watercolor before her. “It’s like you’re suddenly all alone in the world.”
She started again when he laid a hand atop hers. When she looked up, his gaze was piercing.
“But you’re not alone.” The words burned, destroying some of the shadow that had always lain across her world.
She wanted to believe he spoke of himself, but doubt still lingered in her mind. How much of this was real and how much a falsehood? The farce he wanted to make of his marriage?
She swallowed and broke away from his gaze.
“No, I’m not.” The words were strong, but she spoke them to her watercolors and not to anyone that mattered. She forced a smile and backed away from the table, shattering the intimate cocoon that had enveloped them.
“I feel as though I interrupted you from something.” She gestured toward his person. “You were wearing a jacket this morning. I hope I did not upset you overmuch.”
He stared at his shirt sleeves as if just realizing his state of undress.
“You’ve upset me not at all, Eliza.” He crossed his arms once more. “I was going over the calving reports from Sheridan. It seems the herd had a good spring.”
She couldn’t help but brighten at this. “Truly? That’s marvelous news. It seems your breeding experiment is off with a good flourish.”
The embarrassment was quick this time, flooding her cheeks with color as she resolutely looked away. Dax was ever the gentleman though and did not make a comment on her blunder. He only straightened.
“It would appear so.” He stood before her within seconds and tipped up her chin with a bent finger. “I shan’t disturb you any longer if you promise I’ll see you at luncheon.”
Their position was intimate, but his words held even greater emotion. An understanding for the future. A wish to see her again.
She swallowed. “Of course. That is if you should like to have luncheon with me. I know I kept you away from your work yesterday.”
His soft kiss stifled her words, but it was fleeting. By the time she got her eyes open, he was to the door.
“Eliza, there’s one thing you should understand.”
She blinked, expectantly, and his gaze was dark and brooding as it traveled over her, making her squirm as if he still touched her.
“I always want you with me.”
He left before she could reply, which was probably best.
* * *
It was all too easy to fall into a routine after that.
They spent their mornings at their respective tasks. He at his desk or in the fields with Sheridan, addressing estate business. She in the former music room with her watercolors.
They would meet again for luncheon. Sometimes on the terrace but more often, they would take a basket down to the shore where they would luxuriate in the sun-drenched hours of the afternoon. She would tell him about her work, what went well and what didn’t. She was hoping to begin an entirely new storyline about a fairy princess. She’d never done anything whimsical, but she thought the storyline would appeal to a more creative child.
He would update her on the development of the calves that had been born that spring and the health of the herd. Although should he be going out to the paddocks, she often accompanied him. Her love of animals was effusive, and he felt himself being pulled by her joy. He eyed the herd in a new way, finding new outlets to allow them greater health and more enjoyment. The herds flourished, but his wife’s happiness overflowed.
He realized too late she was suited to manor life here at the shore. Henry took to running beside her horse on their early morning rides and evening walks through the fields. The wind pulled her hair from its riotous knot within moments, and she’d taken to braiding it instead. The bonnet was replaced with a sagging, wide brimmed hat that kept the bright sun from her eyes, but regardless of such care, soon her skin turned a delectable tan dotted with freckles.
Much to his delight, the tan reached everywhere thanks to their swimming lessons, and he enjoyed every stretch of it.
Her swimming improved as well, and soon she was challenging him to a race through the cove. When he allowed his mind to linger, he remembered the last time he’d experienced such fun along the water’s edge, and he decidedly pushed the thoughts away. He didn’t want the past intruding on his future.
Days melted into weeks, and one morning he realized with a jolt it was nearing the end of July. While he’d kept a keen eye on estate business, there were other matters he’d let slip, wishing to give his focus to his afternoons with Eliza.
It was only luck that his wife should appear in the breakfast room one morning rather overwrought, or as nearly overwrought as Eliza could get, that allowed him to broach the subject he’d let slip in his enjoyment of their quiet summer.
She pulled at her gown as she entered, attempting to sit the waist just so, only to have it ride up again.
“It’s the strangest thing,” she said by way of greeting, although it needn’t matter as he’d only left her minutes before to allow her to dress while he brought Henry out to the gardens. “This gown simply will not cooperate today.”
He eyed the garment she wrestled with, noting how her bosom filled out the neckline more than it once had, and the sleeves pulled at her wrists.
“It’s probably the salty air and the moisture.” He gestured for her to sit while he got her a plate. “It can wreak havoc on clothing if one is not careful.” The grin he gave her was devilish. “And it’s not as if we’ve been avoiding the shore.”
She frowned. “I suppose not.”
“It’s rather convenient, however, that you should be in need of the seamstress in town as there’s a matter I appear to have neglected these past few weeks.”
She eyed him as he placed her plate in front of her.
“The Ashbourne summer ball.”
If it were possible, her tan faded in an instant.
“I beg your pardon?”
He poked at his eggs. “The Ashbourne summer ball. It’s a tradition each Ashbourne duke has held since time immemorial.” He raised his gaze carefully from his plate to find she still stared at him as if he’d told her she could have no more dogs. He swallowed. “The Ashbourne summer ball is a fete for the county. All the gentry in Sussex attend if able. Mrs. Donnelly has been handling the arrangements for years now, and I am sure she will be able to assist you in its management.”
“All of Sussex?”
He nodded and pressed a sheepish smile to his features. “Something like that.”
She put down her fork before eating a morsel.
“Well, I suppose I had better get started on it. I shall see Mrs. Donnelly immediately.”
He raised a hand. “But you haven’t broken your fast.”
She considered her plate. “With how my gowns are fitting, I should think one missed meal will hardly matter.”
He sat up. “You must eat. We’re going into the village today, and you’ll want your strength.”
Her eyes widened at this. “We are? Whatever for?”
“For a gown for the ball for starters.” He waved his fork carelessly. “You’ll want to pick up some more gowns you can wear down to the shore as well. I’m sure Mrs. Fletcher likely has something more suited to the shore life.”
She blinked as if he’d told her they were moving to France.
“Mrs. Fletcher?”
He gave a short nod. “Yes. The seamstress in the village, remember? You still have not eaten.”
She pressed a hand to her stomach. “And I don’t know that I can. I’ve never planned a ball before.”
“Mrs. Donnelly is here to assist you. It’s really the same thing every year. In fact, I’m sure Mrs. Donnelly has already arranged most of what is needed. You’ll simply need to address t
he guest list and the invitations.”
Only too late did he remember her wallflower status when she melted from a healthy tan to a sickly green.
“Eliza.” He set down his fork and gave her his full attention. “Would you rather your first ball be under the nose of every haughty matron of the ton or here on the shore where the rules are relaxed, if not entirely forgotten?”
She seemed to consider this, her mouth screwing up on one side.
“I suppose there is merit to your thinking.”
“That was very difficult for you to say, wasn’t it?”
She picked up her cup finally and filled it with tea.
“I do not know what you speak of, Your Grace.”
Her tone had him smiling.
As it was a short, uneventful drive into the village, he had the gig brought round so he could drive them himself. The air was fine with a slight breeze coming in off the water, and he knew Eliza would enjoy the chance such a ride offered.
It took much pleading and not a small amount of bribery with some leftover hen to get Henry to stay at the house with George, the nice, young footman. For an odd reason, Henry seemed taken with him.
“I am certain I have something suitable to wear for this ball. There is no need for the expense—”
He cut her off with a kiss as it was one of his favorite ways of getting her to stop speaking. Over the past several weeks, he’d watched her confidence grow, but the erosion of twenty-six years to her confidence could not be undone in one summer by the shore. So whenever she would spiral into a dither of self-loathing, he would effectively end it with a kiss. It was a form of treatment he could wholeheartedly endorse.
He set her up in the gig without further statement and climbed in beside her.
“You’ll like the village, I think. You may even find some scenes to add to your illustrations.”
This caught her attention, and he hoped the conversation about the gown had ended.
“Do you really think?”
He gave a nod as he set the gig in motion.
“Most certainly. Village life along the shore is ripe with interesting things to teach young ones. We should even have time to go down to the docks so you can see the fishing boats.”
She’d switched back into that damn bonnet again, likely because she would actually be seen, and when she turned with interest on the subject of fishing boats, he could only see part of her face.
“I should love that. Will it truly not be a bother for you? I know you wanted to go over the figures for feed for the piglets with Sheridan.”
He guided the horse around the end of the drive and directed it toward the road that led down into the village.
“You’ve been paying attention.” He slid a glance to find she’d turned her face to the road again.
“It’s hard not to pay attention when piglets by nature are so adorable in countenance.”
“Piglets are adorable?”
Now she did turn to him, and even the edges of her bonnet could not hide her smile.
“Of course, they are. Please don’t tell me you’re immune to their charm.”
At the word, his mind flashed back to the first conversation he’d had with Sebastian on just the very topic. He turned to find her still smiling at him, and he couldn’t help but return it.
“No, I am not immune to their charm,” he said, even as he realized he spoke of something entirely different.
Her smile grew soft as he continued to gaze at her, and it was as if some unspoken message passed between them. He was only lucky she broke it off or he may have driven them off of the cliff beside the road.
He kept his eyes firmly affixed between the horse’s ears for the remainder of the journey, and they arrived in Glenhaven proper without incident. He helped Eliza alight before taking her arm and tossing a coin to a village boy to watch the gig until he came back.
Mrs. Fletcher’s shop was not far into the village, and they strolled past only a few shop fronts before he drew Eliza up onto the porch of a small shop set into the cliffside. A bell rang above the door as they entered, and a woman emerged from the back of the shop. Gray touched each temple and lines bracketed her eyes, and it startled him to find Mrs. Fletcher had aged.
How long had it been since he’d been in her shop?
“Your Grace!” Mrs. Fletcher exclaimed, sweeping from behind the counter that lined the back of the shop. “We’d had rumors you were up at the manor house.” She didn’t pause to give him greeting but instead turned with a curtsy to Eliza. “And with your bride, no less. Welcome, Your Grace.”
Eliza let go of his arm to return the curtsy. “Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher.”
The seamstress waved her hands. “Oh, I’m just so delighted you’re here.” Her face cleared, and finally she addressed him. “But why are you here?”
She reached out a hand and without hesitation, pinched his cheek just as she’d done when he was a boy. Eliza stared, and he shuffled his feet.
“My wife requires a gown for the Ashbourne ball, Mrs. Fletcher.”
The older woman pressed her hands together in obvious delight.
“Oh, the ball!” She wiped a hand over her forehead. “Of course. How could I forget?” She turned to Eliza, narrowing her eyes as she studied her but without spending more than a couple of seconds, she waved at Dax. “Leave us if you will, Your Grace. I have much to discuss with your wife about her attire.”
He turned to Eliza. “I’ll just be along the shops should you have need of me.”
Eliza’s smile was quick. “No need to worry. I shall be just fine.”
He bid them goodbye and disappeared through the shop door but not before Mrs. Fletcher called for reinforcements from the back of the shop.
Chapter 13
“What an honor it is to have you in my shop, Your Grace.”
Mrs. Fletcher had led Eliza to a small dressing room off of the main shop floor and now she found herself standing atop a dais, her arms outstretched as Mrs. Fletcher took measurements, her fingers deft and sure.
As soon as Dax had left, Mrs. Fletcher called on her daughter for assistance, a Mrs. Longbottom, who was an exact replica of her mother if only several years younger. They shared the same soft smile and alert eyes, moving with precision to drink in a person and all there was to know about them.
The effect should have been disconcerting, but no one had ever taken such interest in Eliza before then. She found the treatment rather endearing.
Until Mrs. Fletcher straightened with hands to her hips.
“Well, Your Grace, I should like to speak frankly if I may. As I tell all my clients, it’s really in your best interest.”
Eliza stilled, her hands going to her stomach as tension boiled there.
“What is it, Mrs. Fletcher?”
The older seamstress raised her eyes to meet Eliza’s gaze as Mrs. Longbottom shook her head silently behind her mother.
“I assume it was a London modiste who dressed you in yellow, was it not?”
Eliza looked down as if just realizing she wore such a shade of sunshine.
“I was told it’s this season’s particular color.”
Mrs. Fletcher gave a soft snort. “I thought as much. The London modistes have only a concern for fashion as it is what keeps them in business. They must dress their clients to whatever the rage is that season even if it does nothing for the woman’s figure or coloring.” The seamstress pointed a finger at Eliza’s gown as if she were indicating a dead fish. “Are you at all attached to this particular style and color?”
Eliza had very little concern for dress at all, only in so much as it hindered her from working with Henry.
She gave a shrug. “I have no feelings on it whatsoever.”
Mrs. Fletcher’s smile was quick. “I was hoping you would say as much.” She gestured to her daughter. “Let’s help her out of it then.”
Eliza’s hands reflexively dug into her skirts.
“Take me out of it?”
> Mrs. Fletcher wrinkled her nose. “You don’t wish to wear that out of here, do you?” She waved a hand at the back of the shop. “I have some designs that are nearly finished that will work well on you. They should keep you in fashion until I can get the rest of the gowns to you.”
“Rest of the gowns?” Eliza dropped her hands. “Mrs. Fletcher, that’s really unnecessary. It’s only the one gown—”
But Mrs. Fletcher was already moving away as Mrs. Longbottom came forward with a soft smile and began to undo the buttons that ran down the back of Eliza’s gown.
Before she knew it, she was swathed in a dressing gown of the most luxurious silk she’d ever felt, her feet up on a cushioned stool, a teacup in hand, and a plate of delectable treats at her elbow. She had never been fawned over quite so much in all her life. Trips to the modiste in London were always painful affairs with seamstresses poking her with pins and telling her to stand up straight. The problem wasn’t that she failed to stand erect. It was that standing up straight did little to address the problem of having nothing with which to fill out the gowns.
Mrs. Fletcher seemed to not have a care about the matter, and once Eliza was safely settled in a comfortable seat, Mrs. Longbottom and Mrs. Fletcher brought out their work as if they planned to do it directly in front of her. Eliza couldn’t help but stare. She’d never seen two women tackle an endeavor with such precision and focus.
“Now then,” Mrs. Fletcher said as she gathered a gown of such deep green, Eliza imagined a forest would spring from it at any moment. “Tell us about yourself then, Your Grace. We were so pleased to hear of your arrival at the manor house.”
Eliza wrapped both of her hands around the cup of tea, unaware until she’d put her feet up as to how tired she seemed to be that morning. Perhaps it was all the walking and swimming she’d been doing the last few weeks. Viv would be appalled if she saw the number of freckles that had appeared along her checks, to say nothing of the tan that had crept over her skin. It was probably best that no one knew just how much of her it covered.
The Duke and the Wallflower Page 17
