Eilian frowned. He could sympathize with his great-grandfather. When he received the letter from his mother in Beersheba, it felt as if his life had been ripped out from under him. In one moment, he found himself fatherless and shouldering a burden he had tried to escape from for a decade. Neither he nor his great-grandfather had the experience of most men. There was no sickbed to wait at or decades to watch their fathers wizen with age all during which they could gather experience. Eilian’s gaze trailed to his prosthetic hand. Then again, he ran as far away as possible from his father the moment he could.
Thumbing a few pages forward, the drawings of soldiers and greenery once again disappeared.
March 21st, 1809
I never thought my family would stoop so low. I have been accosted. For months I have complained of the noblemen who have decided to try their hand at playing soldier. They are the ones who think having a title allows them to watch the war from their social clubs. They hide at the general’s camp, if you can call it that when it has beds and a roof, and have servants fetch them wine while their men roast whatever creature they can find and march in sole-less shoes. Now, I have been forced into their ranks by my own flesh and blood.
This morning I received a letter summoning me to the general’s camp. I expected to be given new orders or even boots to bring back, but instead, I was met with toasts and carousing. They were congratulating me on my sudden rise in station. How can they celebrate a rise in stature if it comes at the expense of another man’s life? Wellington at least seemed to understand that. He brought me into his office to speak privately, and I was horrified to find Thomas waiting there with a painter. They made me sit for a portrait to commemorate becoming the seventh earl right then and there.
It was the most uncomfortable experience of my life. I would rather trudge through a hundred muck-strewn roads than be scrutinized for hours against my will. The painting will never see the light of day.
My brother seemed thrilled to find me well and whole, yet I can’t help but be churlish. Being on the continent, I had hoped to escape all of them: mother, father, Gabriella, Thomas. My deep love for them doesn’t negate the fact that I am most myself when there is distance between us, and while I yearn to see my nieces and nephews again, I wish my return was only a visit.
Now, I shall be drawn back against my will as if Fate’s wheel turned only to reel me back across the channel to Dorset. Maybe I will be lucky, and the French will sink us. If only Thomas wasn’t joining me. What my life will become on the other side of the sea, only the Fates know.
“What did you become?” Eilian whispered as he peered under the desk at the other thirty-three volumes neatly numbered and arranged out of sight. From his portrait in the hall gallery, he knew Laurence lived well into his golden years and appeared to have become the quintessential gentleman he imagined when he thought of earls or dukes, but how did he get there? Prying the stained pages apart, Eilian read on. There was only one way to find out what became of the Seventh Earl of Dorset.
Chapter Fourteen
Love and Desire
Hadley scrutinized her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her eyes slid over every pore and freckle, her heart quickening as the list of flaws mounted. Swallowing hard, she met her own weary gaze. At least she liked her eyes and nose. She pushed on her cheeks and ran her hand along the edge of her jaw. They would say her cheeks were too full, her jaw too masculine. Licking her finger, she smoothed her auburn brows. It felt strange to suddenly try to care so much about her appearance. She had never felt the need to bother with it. No one looked at her, and she didn’t really want them to.
She had resigned herself to becoming a spinster with the business as her only companion, and spinsters didn’t need elaborate coiffures or fancy gowns. Living with Adam hadn’t helped either. How could she possibly measure up against a man whose clothes fit better than hers and whose hair was done with more care than anyone she knew? Occasionally, she did try. After her older brother, George, died and she was forced to attend meetings with potential buyers, she added new trimmings to her old gowns and had Eliza style her hair to ensure that the only flaws they could find were in her product.
She ran her hands over her arms, which were far too strong from lifting molds and heavy automata. Her calluses caught as her palms brushed. Over her cotton nightgown, she traced the shape of her full breasts and trailed over her sides until she came to rest on her hips. After more than a decade of wearing a corset, she should have been narrower, but the restriction was infuriating and she could never bring herself to pull it too tight. Maybe she would take up the Rational Dress Movement after all. It had to be better to be mocked in the society pages than to be so limited.
Resting her head in her hands, she sighed. The party was only four days away, and she still hadn’t decided whether she would strive to be what people like Mrs. Nash would respect or the woman she truly was. A woman who loved to indulge in a dress that matched her eyes but much preferred to work with her hands and wear trousers. She wouldn’t wear them then, but if one woman had already scoffed at her ideals, others certainly would.
Her gaze returned to the woman in the mirror. With a shake of her head, waves of dark red swirled and settled against her skin, highlighting the lines of cheekbones and the cupid’s bow of her lips. Biting them until they pinkened, she smiled and smoothed the edges of her hair. If nothing else, she was striking, and if Adam could work with that, so could she.
Slipping Eliza’s reply from the vanity’s drawer, she retreated to her bed. She sank into its plush folds as she reread the missive for the tenth time. Nearly every night she had meant to bring it up with her husband, but it didn’t seem like the right time. How did one discuss these things, especially when they had never even gotten that far? Hadley straightened as a thump echoed from behind the dressing room door. When the door squealed open, she threw the letter into the bedside table and fluffed her hair. She watched as Eilian crept inside in his pajamas but upon seeing her awake and waiting for him, a lopsided smile spread across his features. Crossing the room, he dropped a stack of mismatched books from under his arm onto the dresser and leaned across the bed to kiss her.
He plopped down beside her, wrapping his prosthetic hand around hers. “I’m surprised to see you still up. You looked exhausted at dinner.”
“I was, but now, I am wide awake,” she replied. She had fallen asleep on the chaise in one of the drawing rooms while looking over the final menu. When she awoke, she found Mrs. Negi glowering over her, the menu crumpled on the floor, and the chair’s white sheet wrapped around her. “What have you been up to?”
“Patrick and I walked to town to retrieve the steamer. Apparently the boiler damaged several other parts, but it’s fixed now.” His grey gaze traveled over Hadley’s face. Despite her bright smile and quick movements, her eyes betrayed the fatigue lingering behind them. “Is there anything you want me to do tomorrow, Had? I feel as if you are shouldering so much with this party, and you needn’t do that. I can help— I want to help.”
She rubbed her face and fluffed her hair at the roots. “I know, I know. Tomorrow, I promise I will think of something. I’m not accustomed to delegating.”
“And I am not accustomed to being useless.” Rubbing her shoulder, he reverently kissed her forehead. “Let me help.”
As she nodded and watched him walked to the weathered books sitting on the dresser, her eyes locked onto the gold ring sitting above his wedding band. “Are you wearing your father’s ring?”
“Only by necessity. My chain broke, and I didn’t want to lose it.”
“Maybe it’s a sign.”
“I doubt it.”
Her cousin’s letter called to her from the drawer. She had to say something. When he returned with book in hand, the words worked free from her mouth against her will, “Eilian, before you start, there is something I need to speak to you about.”
He cocked an umber brow and settled beside her. “Is everything all right?”
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“Yes. Well, no, not exactly. I want to discuss what happened the night your arm got caught on my corset.”
“Oh, that,” he replied, raking a nervous hand through his hair. “What about it?”
“I just want to know what happened. Was it something I did?”
“No, of course not.”
Without meeting his gaze, she reached into the nightstand and pulled out the letter with shaking hands. “I hope you don’t mind, but I wrote to Eliza.”
Eilian’s face fell. “Had, did you really? Do you know how embarrassing that is? To have everyone know our intimate business. I’m sure she told James, too.”
“I didn’t know who else to turn to!” she cried. “You wouldn’t talk about it, and she’s been married for years. I thought she might have some advice.”
“What did she say?”
“That it isn’t rare for a man to be hesitant, especially one who is very respectful.” She swallowed hard and smoothed her hair behind her ears. “Eliza also said that you may not want children yet, so you might be worried about that. I mean, I don’t want them yet either, but apparently there are ways around that. I will let you read it yourself.”
Sweat broke across Eilian’s back as he took the letter from his wife’s hand. The more he read, the harder it was to fight the thickening in his throat. Swallowing against the nausea, he rubbed the back of his neck where the skin burned against his will. He glanced up at Hadley to find her watching him, as if waiting for him to rejoice at this epiphany, but all it did was make him feel ill. To Hadley, it must have sounded so simple on paper, but to him, it was as indecipherable as one of his great-grandfather’s battle maneuvers. Eilian wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead and drew in a measured breath to stifle the bolt of pain lancing down his arm.
“What do you think? None of it sounds too bad.”
“I... I don’t know. You’re all right with all of this?”
“Of course, aren’t you?” Hadley searched his face, noting his downcast eyes and quickened breath. “You’re not?”
His eyes trailed back to the paper before he shook his head. “No, I don’t think I can do this.”
“Can’t do what, exactly?”
“Any of it. Honestly, Had, I’m not comfortable with any of this.”
“But— but why?”
“Because thinking about it makes me feel ill.”
The words had escaped before he could think to stop them. Hadley stared at him, blue eyes wide in confusion and hurt. Looking down at his mismatched hands, Eilian tried to squelch the burning behind his eyes. There was nothing he could do to change how he felt. It wasn’t her fault that she wanted to make love and he didn’t. He was the odd one, the one lacking.
Her lips twitched as she asked, “Do I make you ill?”
“No, please, Had, don’t ever think that. It isn’t you, it’s— it’s the act itself. None of this has anything to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me. You won’t even touch me.”
“Of course I touch you. I kiss you, hug you, help you dress.”
Hadley’s voice cracked as tears moistened the corners of her eyes. “But you don’t touch me in that way. Do you not feel that way about me? Do you not want me?”
Eilian froze, his stomach knotting and churning. How could she think he didn’t want her? He had invited her to join him in the Negev because he couldn’t imagine going months without seeing her. He had proposed to her and married her. She was the only person he ever knew that he wanted to spend his life with, so how could she think that?
“I do want you,” he replied, holding her hand between his. “When have I ever rejected you?”
“Eilian, you’re rejecting me right now!”
“But...” He opened his mouth, unsure what to say, as she pulled her hand away. Bile rose in his throat. How could he make her see that he rejected the act, not her? “When you say ‘feel that way,’ what exactly do you mean?”
“That you desire me. You don’t even seem to want to touch me.”
“If you wanted me to, why didn’t you tell me to?”
“Because you’re my husband and you should want to!” She dropped her voice. “What about men? Do you feel that way about them? I won’t be angry. It would at least make sense that you seemed attracted to me in Palestine.”
Sitting in stunned silence, he watched his wife’s lips tremble with his hesitation. “No, should I?”
She wiped at her nose with the back of her hand and sniffed against the staunched tears. As Eilian inched closer, she turned her face from him. Her lips contorted into a grimace, and when she could no longer suppress them, hot tears trickled from her eyes. Eilian wrapped his arms around her as she rocked with silent sobs.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Had. I only wanted to be honest with you. It isn’t you, though. I have never felt that way about anyone.”
“That’s of little comfort,” she replied, pushing the cold metal of his prosthesis away.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, but this is how I feel. It wasn’t until recently that I found out that not everyone feels as I do.”
She drew in a tremulous breath and straightened, her voice coming in grating bursts as she said, “Eilian, you aren’t stupid. How could you have not known that?”
“How was I supposed to know when I have never felt it?”
“Maybe you would feel differently if you actually tried.”
Her hand shot out, reaching for the buttons of his pajamas. Before she could work it loose, he swatted her away and hopped off the bed.
“Stop! Just stop!” Eilian released a constrained breath. His fear and nausea hardened into anger as he stared into her defiant eyes. “I would love to try if I didn’t feel as if I were about to vomit. Despite what you may think, I’m not exaggerating, Hadley. Do you not care at all about how I feel?”
“I don’t understand what’s happening between us.”
“Then, that makes two of us. Look, I need some space. I need to get away from all of this,” he replied as he refastened his buttons. Gathering his pillow and dressing gown, he refused to meet her gaze. “I will sleep in one of the guest rooms tonight. Good night, Hadley.”
“Are you suggesting that we will never—?”
He paused with his hand on the door, swallowing down his rage. “No, I would never do that to you, but I need time to figure this out. All I ask is that you allow me to go at my own pace. If you can’t accept that, I will be moving my things into the guest room.”
Shutting the door behind him, he leaned against it and closed his eyes. He lingered for a moment to see if Hadley would pursue him, but to his relief, she stayed in bed. There was nothing in the world he wanted to discuss less than another personal failing. But could he really call it that when he could never remember a time when he felt differently? Opening the nearest bedroom door, he stripped the dusty cover from the bed and collapsed onto the mattress. He ran a hand through his hair and stared up at the gathered silk canopy hanging precariously above his head. Maybe it would come crashing down in the middle of the night and end his misery.
Attraction. Desire. The words were bandied about but their meaning never made clear. He should have known then that something was wrong. His attraction to Hadley was stronger than it had been to any other woman. He loved her tenacity, her curiosity, the way she self-consciously smoothed her hair and clothes when she was nervous. It made him want to spend his life entirely in her company. But what did others feel when they looked at her? He thought she was beautiful and clever, but it was impossible to fathom that phantom feeling of desire. Apparently she felt it when she saw him. His stomach knotted at the thought.
His inability to experience desire wounded her. It wasn’t something he could control. Like a colorblind man, he had no idea of what he couldn’t see until it was reflected in another’s perception and he realized the magnitude with which they felt what he could never know. Hadley would assume that he did not desire h
er in the way she did not desire his brother. While she could never understand the complete absence of a feeling that was natural to her, he wouldn’t be able to construct that feeling from others’ testimonies.
On his wedding day, his brother had ribbed him about the wedding night, and while he smiled and chuckled along, he knew he hadn’t fully understood what he meant. There was some anticipation of the event that he did not feel. Eilian closed his eyes, his body sighing into the old mattress. It was naive and foolish to have assumed that anyone felt as he did. They never did before, so why would they now?
Chapter Fifteen
Opportunity Makes a Thief
Hadley lay in bed with a copy of The Strand resting against her thighs. Her eyelids drooped despite her best attempts to follow Mr. Holmes’s latest case. It seemed fitting to read a story about a runaway bride. Even with the lamp burning in the corner of her vision and Hatty Doran’s mysterious disappearance, her head lolled forward, snapping up momentarily as she regained her place on the page. The house had fallen silent long ago, but she didn’t want to sleep. If she slept, it would be morning and she would have to speak to Eilian or pretend the night before never happened. Neither option sounded preferable. As she reached to turn the page with a sluggish hand, a loud clank echoed through the house. Sitting up, her eyes drifted over the furniture and door. Had she imagined it in that moment between sleeping and waking? No, she was certain she heard something fall.
“Eilian? Eilian, is that you?” she called, thinking he had stumbled over something in the guest room, but no one responded and no footsteps padded on the other side of the door.
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