Dancers performed La Boulangère as Elias squeezed through the intoxicated crowd. He elbowed and shoved, his body urging him to stride across the dance floor and kiss Josephine. His want to kiss her felt like hunger consuming his thoughts. He wanted to draw her close and glide his thumb across her cheek. He wanted to press his mouth against her forehead, the bridge of her nose, the puff of her bottom lip.
His face warmed at the thought. He needed to act normal, pretend as though his life hadn’t changed. No one could know about the engagement until he spoke with the Darlings.
After that, Elias could inform Lord Welby of his proposal.
The festivities dragged on for hours. Elias sat with Fitz at the dining table, where the boy nested in a mound of cakes and candies. They built gingerbread houses until candles burned low, music faded, and the last guest stepped into a carriage.
Servants hurried to clean the rooms before dawn painted magenta lines across the horizon. Mrs. Darling prostrated herself on the drawing room settee. Mr. Darling sipped port and wandered the house while Miss Karel lugged an unconscious Fitz up the staircase.
Cadwallader Park seemed dead without its horde of partiers. A dense quiet settled within the manor, conclusive like stage curtains drawn together after a performance. The Darlings praised their staff, then bid good night to their residential guests.
Elias waited until everyone retired to their chambers, and then he sneaked up the servants’ stairwell. Josephine met him in the east wing corridor. They squeezed into a niche to avoid being seen.
“You won’t change your mind?” Josephine lolled against the moulded wall, her figure a dark silhouette. She grabbed Elias’s lapel and pulled him close.
“Not a chance.” Elias leaned forward and kissed her slowly as though to memorize her lips. He closed his eyes, a shiver washing through him as her fingers traced the back of his neck.
“I’m not easy to live with,” she whispered. “I can be rather messy and scatter-brained. Sometimes I leave chocolate smears on furniture. Mum hates it. Really, I try to clean up after myself but . . . I’m not sure how it happens. The chocolate seems to come from nowhere.”
“We’ll hire a good maid,” Elias said with a laugh.
Josephine perched on her toes and kissed him again. “I love you,” she breathed. “I didn’t say it earlier, but I do. You’re ridiculous—”
“A common misperception.”
“Shush.” Her smile widened. “Can’t you see I’m trying to be sincere?”
“Oh, I thought you were stalling so I wouldn’t kiss you again.” Elias snickered. He liked their banter, more so who he became in her company.
“Believe me. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first time I kissed you.” Josephine rested her cheek against his chest. Her words seemed unreal, too good to be true. But they were true. She loved him. One day she’d marry him. Elias wouldn’t throw rice at the wedding—he would run through it. He would hold their firstborn, live alongside Josephine.
And he would handle it all perfectly well.
“I’ll speak with Sebastian.” Elias pecked her cheek and stepped out of the niche. He glanced up and down the hallway to ensure their solitude. Regardless of the late hour, someone might emerge from a bedroom and see them.
“Now? It’s four in the morning,” Josephine said with a groan. She reached for Elias’s arm, perhaps to draw him back into the nook.
“The ball put Sebastian in high spirits. He may respond well if I talk to him now,” Elias said. “I want to go about this in an honourable fashion. The sooner I settle matters with my family, the sooner we can announce our engagement.”
Josephine nodded and tiptoed from the shadows. “Elias . . .” Her voice cracked. “Kiss me in the morning so I’ll know this wasn’t a dream.”
He smiled, his eyes prickling with tears. “Every morning. For all my mornings.”
The east wing corridor seemed peculiar to Elias, elongated like one of the footpaths that snaked across the moors. He crept toward Sebastian’s bedchamber, careful to muffle his footsteps on the carpet runner. Any sound might alert his aunt, who suffered bouts of insomnia.
Moonlight trickled into the passage from a window, crisscrossing the floorboards with lattice shadows. Beyond the pane, snow fell in giant flakes. At least the storm had withheld its fury until after the ball. Due to the ice and drifts, no one would be able to leave Cadwallader Park for days unless they departed on horseback. Even that seemed a risk.
Elias lifted his chin and sucked in a breath, his eyelids dipping from exhaustion. He reviewed his spiel—the monologue he prayed would persuade Sebastian to release Josephine from their betrothal. Surely Sebastian would jump at the chance to escape his parents’ wishes. He could return to London, marry an impish lady who enjoyed his misbehaviour. Despite what he’d said in the mirror maze, he didn’t care about Josephine.
No man in love ignored the girl he loved.
A wave of nausea swept through Elias when he reached the room. Once he made his intentions known, he would have to live with the outcome no matter the cost.
Voices drifted from the chamber. Elias froze, his body paralyzed by the sound. Who had Sebastian welcomed into his bedroom so late at night?
Elias nudged the door ajar.
Sebastian stood near the wardrobe, still clad in his evening wear. A woman lingered close to him, whispering, her gracile arms draped around his neck. She fingered his auburn curls and glanced over his shoulder, her gaze settling on the cracked door.
Elias staggered backward. He shook his head. No, no, there had to be an explanation. What he saw didn’t make sense.
Widow De Clare looked at Elias as though she’d seen a ghost. She resembled Josephine in the face, but her eyes bore a wicked gleam. Indeed, she was beautiful in a dangerous sort of convention, one that could be hidden beneath grey-and-black clothes.
A breath grated in the back of Elias’s throat. He hadn’t paid attention to Widow De Clare at the ball. If he had, he would’ve noticed that instead of mourning clothes, she wore a sage-green ball gown adorned with lace and embroidered flowers. The garment must have cost at least six pounds, an expense too great for a destitute widow.
Josephine wore her red dress to all gatherings, for she couldn’t afford a new frock.
“Tell me it’s not true,” Elias wheezed. He stared through the doorway, a frame around the portrait of a woman and her daughter’s fiancé.
Sebastian rushed to block the door. “Do not breathe a word of this,” he growled. His eyes flashed a threat before he shut the panel and snapped its deadbolt into place.
Elias panted as darkness grew thick around him. He tugged his cravat. He sagged against a wall and slid to the floor. All the times he’d seen Sebastian talk with Widow De Clare, the glances shared between them, what Sebastian had said in the garden—it made perfect sense now. They’d betrayed their families, Josephine, even themselves.
Regardless of their plans, they had brought scandal to Cadwallader Park.
Had their relationship started in London? Did they intend to marry, or would they continue their liaison behind closed doors? What about Josephine? Widow De Clare must know the affair would damage her daughter’s social standing.
She must know this would break Josephine’s heart.
Elias rose to his feet. He wanted to kick open Sebastian’s door. He wanted to beg the couple to mend their wrongs. But his chest ached. His eyelids dipped.
Nothing could reverse this harm, so Elias went to his bedroom and cried.
An eerie stillness invaded Cadwallader, silencing all creaks and groans as if snow had frozen the manor into a deep slumber. Even the smouldering fireplaces seemed to beg for rest, but Elias didn’t sleep. He paced his room until the black of night lightened to grey, then blue.
Mrs. Capers would be toiling in the kitchen by now, concocting a Christmas breakfast spread to satisfy post-ball stomachs. Perhaps she could tell Elias what to do next, help him decide whether he should keep his mouth
shut or expose Sebastian and Widow De Clare.
Elias changed his waistcoat and jacket, then dabbed his neck with cologne. Still, he reeked of sweat and stale breath. He needed to bathe. He needed to crawl under a blanket and sleep the day away. Fatigue settled in his gut like a brick, nauseating him.
He sat on the bed and leaned against its headboard, his shoulders relaxing into a pillow. He must tell Josephine what he’d witnessed. She deserved to know about the affair before news of it spread. But how could he deliver the news without causing her immense pain?
No arrangement of the truth could ease what her mother had done.
By the time Elias awoke, the morning had turned from blue to gold. He rolled off the bed and rushed to the door. Breakfast would’ve been served by now, which meant Elias wouldn’t be able to speak with Mrs. Capers before he laid eyes on Sebastian. The Darlings expected him to attend the meal. Such was a Christmas tradition. Indeed, he would have to control himself, for a surge of emotion might cause him to throw a punch at his cousin.
Elias went to the dining room and stopped dead in his tracks.
Kitty and Miss Karel sat at the table while Fitz wormed across the floor. They dined alone, surrounded by platters of steaming food.
“Where is everyone?” Elias asked, his heart racing as he surveyed the spread of untouched plates and silverware. Whatever had caused the adults to skip breakfast left behind a stench—the nagging sense of catastrophe.
“Ladies went to the drawing room,” Fitz said as he wallowed on the rug, his pantaloons bunching around his knees. “Papa and Uncle Welby left hours ago.”
“They’re searching for Sebastian and Widow De Clare,” Kitty said. She turned in her chair and looked at Elias with puffy eyes. Her expression confirmed his fears.
Sebastian and Widow De Clare had run off together.
“Dimwits. They won’t get far, not in the snow.” Miss Karel hunched over a dish of porridge. She clutched her forehead, perhaps suffering the delayed consequences of too much wine. “Pass the sugar, would you?”
Kitty handed the governess a sugar bowl. She glanced at Elias again, her nose reddening. “Sebastian ran off with the widow,” she whispered. “He claims to love her.”
Elias clenched his fists. “How do you know?”
“He pinned a note to his bedroom door.” Kitty lifted a teacup and sipped from its rim. She appeared out of sorts, her curls unbrushed, her face pale and splotchy.
“Josephine,” Elias gasped. “Where is Josephine?” He blinked to refocus himself, but his mind swirled with memories of Sebastian and Widow De Clare.
“Mother took her into the drawing room,” Fitz said.
“She knows?” Elias winced as pressure flooded his chest.
Josephine had received the news with everyone else. She’d woken this morning, perhaps content from the night before, only to learn her mother had run off with her betrothed. The information must’ve been a shock—an agonizing blow. Indeed, Widow De Clare did not know about Josephine’s relationship with Elias. She had permitted an affair with Sebastian, believing her daughter would marry him. How could a mother be so cruel?
Elias turned and bolted down the hallway. Each step blurred the house into a tunnel where Sebastian stood at one end, grinning as he whispered, “You should’ve seen this coming.” Of course, Elias should have realized the couple would attempt to flee. He might’ve been able to prevent this madness if he hadn’t kept quiet.
Mrs. Darling perked in her chair when Elias entered the drawing room. She and Lady Welby sat across from Josephine while a maid flitted about the space, plucking evergreen needles from the carpet. “Did you hear?” she asked.
“Yes.” Elias crouched next to Josephine, who sat on a chaise lounge, stiff as a board. He examined her face—the dark circles beneath her bloodshot eyes, her vacant expression. The news had broken her spirit.
How devastating, for she was the most complete person in his acquaintance.
“Sebastian makes a sport of my nerves,” Mrs. Darling huffed. She propped her feet on an ottoman and fanned herself with a book. “How could he do this?”
“That woman took advantage of him,” Lady Welby said, her eyebrows lifting into sanctimonious peaks. “Widows prey upon young men, especially those with fortune. I read about similar cases in the newspaper. Just last year, Mr. Beauchamp’s widow eloped with a gentleman not quite twenty.” She pursed her lips with disapproval. “Indeed, do not blame your son, for men cannot resist the lure of mature women.”
“Oh, I do blame him, that wretched boy.” Mrs. Darling dabbed her nose with the hem of her apron, snivelling as Lady Welby stoked the fire. “I don’t understand. He was betrothed to dear Josephine. Look at her. She’s delightful.”
Josephine crushed a handkerchief between her palms. She gazed at Elias and wheezed, her shoulders drooping. “Where have you been?”
“Not where I should’ve been,” he whispered. His lungs burned as if there was an ocean of silence between him and Josephine, and he was drowning in it.
She reached for his hand.
Elias curled his fingers around her knuckles. Mrs. Darling and Lady Welby would notice the touch, but Elias didn’t care. He didn’t need to care. Sebastian had broken the engagement, which freed Josephine to marry whomever she desired.
“We must remain hopeful,” Mrs. Darling said with a sigh. “Perhaps our husbands will discover Sebastian and Widow De Clare before—”
“I fear it’s too late. They could be married by now.” Lady Welby glanced at Elias, her expression harsh and indignant as though she blamed him for the affair.
Josephine shivered.
“Move closer to the fire,” Elias said. “I’ll get you something warm.”
“Stay.” Josephine gripped his arm, her fingernails cutting into his sleeve. She looked at him with tears in her eyes. “Please don’t go. I’m fine, really. Just a chill.”
In the pain, in the loneliness, sometimes all one needed was to feel seen.
Elias nodded and gestured to the maid. “Would you ask Mrs. Capers to make a fresh pot of tea? And blankets—would you fetch a warmed blanket for Miss De Clare?”
The maid curtsied, then hurried to complete the tasks.
“Sebastian better not return with her,” Mrs. Darling said with a scoff. She waved her forefinger at the room’s exit. “I shan’t let her through the front doors.”
“Your son will inherit this house—”
“Not until Mr. Darling rests in a deep grave!”
Josephine stood and wandered toward a window. She parted its curtains with a jerk, her gaze drifting beyond the frosted glass. No longer did she beam joy and brightness. She seemed like firewood reduced to ash.
“Poor girl,” Lady Welby whispered. “This will ruin her.”
“What do you mean?” Elias rose from his crouched position. He sat on the chaise lounge and stared at Josephine’s back, her neat bun and wrinkled muslin gown.
“Scandal makes spinsters of the loveliest girls,” Mrs. Darling said.
Elias clutched his mouth and released hot breath against his palm. He wished to ignore Mrs. Darling’s remark, but her words implied a universal fact, that reputation served as currency. It could not be purchased, yet it bought one’s place in the world.
Josephine had used her family’s reputation to navigate the upper class despite her lack of fortune. Without it, she possessed only manners and charm—traits which Lord Welby deemed insufficient. No gentleman would make her an offer of marriage. No respectable family would seek her company. In the eyes of society, her mother’s affair had become her own.
The scandal couldn’t ruin Josephine. Elias refused to let Sebastian and Widow De Clare come between them, for they were so close to forever. Perhaps his father would understand. Perhaps news of the affair wouldn’t spread, and Josephine would be spared from shame.
Lord Welby had experienced such dishonour, however, and by his own doing, hence his astute opposition to matters of impropriety.
No, of course he would not favour Elias’s affection for someone tainted with ill repute. Instead, he’d once again recommend Miss Wood as a suitable match, for she was well disposed and without spurned parents.
Elias wouldn’t marry anyone but Josephine. He promised himself. He resolved before God to follow through with his proposal. Lord Welby might disapprove, but he had only one heir. Would he really disinherit Elias for marrying a De Clare?
After years of boarding school and gentleman lessons, Elias had learned society was a game in which everyone played their best cards. Each person fought to win, to rise in station, reach the top—because if one did not climb, one fell to the bottom. And those who dwelt at the bottom were forgotten like pebbles tossed into a lake. But another game was also played. The game between fathers and sons, lords and heirs. ’Twas a game Elias knew well.
He was ready to play his best cards.
When the maid returned with a tea tray and blanket, Elias called to Josephine. She didn’t respond. Instead, she leaned her head against the window, her breath fogging the pane. Was she afraid her mother’s wrongdoing abrogated Elias’s proposal? Or was she paralyzed by shock?
Elias went to her and said for her ears alone, “I won’t change my mind.” He wanted to rescue her from the pain, remind her of when they raced across heaths and rolled down hills. He longed to fill the room with gorse garlands to prove his feelings were unaltered. He loved her. He intended to marry her. Reputation wouldn’t divide them again.
For hours they waited in the drawing room. Mrs. Darling and Lady Welby embroidered while Elias tried to coax Josephine from the window. Not long after nightfall, hooves pounded up the estate’s snowy drive, the sound like music after such a quiet day.
Everyone rushed to the foyer. They congregated near the front door, a hush descending over them as Lord Welby and Mr. Darling entered the house.
“Did you find them?” Mrs. Darling asked.
“Yes,” Lord Welby said as he removed his coat and gloves. “They’re married.”
Dearest Josephine Page 21