In the end, I didn’t need to know. “Why would you do it? I thought you loved her.”
Again, he took a long time to respond, as if he were fighting to keep the words he really wanted to say inside. But he sagged as if he’d lost the battle when he said, “You mean more to me than Lily ever did.”
The words were a hammer driving a nail into my heart. Even now, William knew exactly what to say to make my resolve buckle. I shut my misty eyes and sighed, trying to ignore the agony flaring in my chest. “. . . Do not say such things, William—not when you do not mean them.”
“How can you know I do not?”
“I have heard your silver tongue repeat the same lie to a dozen other women. Do not pretend I mean more to you than I do.”
He scoffed and shook his head. “Eliza how can you say that—!”
“You forget I know you too well. You cannot woo me, and so you are trying to guilt me into remaining your friend.”
“Yes,” he nodded, staring in disbelief, yet without hesitation or one shred of regret. “Yes, I am. And what is so wrong with that?” His hand returned to the door, inching nearer until it was fingering my hair, almost mindlessly. “Can you fault me for wanting to be near you? I will not lose you over this.”
I stared at him a long while, seeing him as he truly was. His mask stripped free from his face—not because he had removed it, but because for the first time, I saw through it. Yes, he was wonderful and noble and charismatic—but he was also thoughtless and greedy and unfeeling. He was just as Mama had said.
“You have already lost me,” I murmured. His hand untangled from my hair and fell away as he unbent, lips parting. “How selfish you are, William. In this moment, you think only of yourself. Have you any idea what a continued friendship would do to me? It would tear me apart—rip me at the seams. Yet your only concern is that you still have a little companionship.” My hands at my sides clung to my skirts, determined to see this through. “Stay away, William,” I said at last. “Please. Do not follow when I leave, and do not seek me out.”
I gripped the doorknob behind me and twisted it, falling back into the hallway. I stepped to the other side of the door, but at the last moment, decided there was one more thing I needed to say. William was staring at the floor, shoulders slumped.
“When I close my eyes and think of that starry hilltop, I see the man I am in love with. In that memory it is easy to see your goodness.” My hand on the doorknob shook. “But when I think about all that’s happened with Lily, and Iris, Mr. Hayman, and Mr. Cooper—when I think of them and your actions this day, it is not so easy. And now, despite myself, I wonder why I fell in love with you. I wonder if there is any good left in you at all—and if there is . . .” He glanced up. “. . . why you do not let it out.”
Vision cloudy, I shut the door, shaking as I made my way to the entryway to retrieve my things. It was rude to leave in the middle of a party, but my emotions were on the brink of spiraling out of control. Better to leave and beg forgiveness later than risk the embarrassment of crying in front of an audience.
No footsteps followed me.
The footman handed me my overcoat and gloves, and if he noticed my distress as I slipped them on, he didn’t comment on it. One tear escaped and I swiped at it. I needed to hold them back until I was safely home.
Oh, I’d told Mama to not send the carriage for me until six. There was no way I was going to sneak back into the party and suffer through another hour.
I’d have to walk.
“Thank you,” I said to the footman who held the door open. “Please tell Lady Iris I felt ill and went home.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
I scurried out and down the brick staircase, crossing my arms and scuttling down the sidewalk, doing my best to ignore my aching heart. I couldn’t tend to it right now, so it would have to survive on its own for a few minutes.
I swiveled down a different street, then turned right, and then left again.
“Miss Wycliffe!” It was a man’s voice.
I halted and looked around, hoping whoever had called my name hadn’t followed me from Lady Iris’s party. A sleek black coach which had been wheeling down the street came to a stop. Allerton leapt out, taking off his topper as he neared. His warm brown eyes were frenzied and worried.
“Miss Wycliffe. What are you doing, out in this cold?” he asked once he reached me. “And without a chaperone? It is dangerous to walk London’s streets alone, even in the best neighborhoods.”
I pulled my coat tighter around me, just noticing how chilly it was. “I was at Lady Iris’s party, but suddenly felt ill. Sir William—” My throat clogged on whatever it was I had been about to say.
Allerton’s hand came up and held my cheek. It was such a simple touch, but it felt intimate. “Why did you not call for a carriage?” His eyebrows slanted in concern.
“I-I had none to call.”
“Come,” he said. His hand found mine. “I will take you home.”
I didn’t claim my hand back, neither did I protest when he gently pulled me toward his carriage and lifted me inside. After giving the driver the new address and then ensuring I was comfortable, Allerton took his seat next to me instead of across. Even more surprising was how he draped his arm around me before rapping the top of the carriage with his cane, signaling the driver to move on. He held me so softly, as if he thought at any moment I would break.
And honestly, I might.
His touch was warm, and I welcomed it. He thought I was beautiful. He was selfless, and thoughtful. He wanted me.
He was everything William wasn’t.
The tears came, slowly at first, and then faster the more distance we covered. I wasn’t sobbing or sniveling, just quietly crying as the pain seared my chest. I leaned into Allerton’s shoulder, hurting too deeply to feel ashamed. His other hand brushed my hair away, cradling my head. He smelled so wonderful—like oranges and cloves.
We arrived at my townhouse and the carriage halted, but I didn’t move to step out, neither did Allerton move to let me go. At last, after several silent minutes, he put a finger under my chin and nudged my head up, trying to get me to look at him. “Eliza,” he muttered, concerned eyes roaming my face, “are you sure you are well?”
It was the first time he had said my Christian name, and it was fitting. The moment called for familiarity, and somehow it soothed me. I swallowed and sniffled before nodding.
He said nothing more, never prompting me to confide in him. Had William been here, he would have cajoled and teased and coaxed the truth from me, whether I wanted to tell him or not. I squeezed my eyes shut. William was the reason I was here in the first place. I had to stop thinking of him, and missing him, and wishing he would change his mind.
Emotions finally in check, I stirred. The duke let me go, then stepped out and helped me down. It wasn’t until I turned to him in thanks that I saw his crisp blue tailcoat and starched cravat and gloves. Entertaining clothes. He had been on his way to Lady Iris’s party—only now his whole shoulder was soaked through with my tears.
“Oh, forgive me,” I said. “I have detained you, and my actions have been appallingly improper.”
“Please, Eliza,” he said. “Do not apologize—I am glad I found you.” His face showed tenderness and eagerness.
I was sure he had purposely left the statement open-ended, and it brought back to mind his proposal. I studied him, weighing him, Mama’s advice heavy. My mind took me to the opera, where he’d taken my hand, to the instances when he’d realized my love for William and spoke of Mama’s illness. Through everything, he’d been kind, caring, warm, and genuine. Things William wasn’t. And throughout my assessment, I heard the tick of a clock, growing louder and louder into a deafening crescendo.
In the end, what I saw before me was a man I could come to love.
“Your Grace—” I began. I took a deep breath, then said more softly, “John.”
“Yes?” He blinked, stepping forward just a
tad.
I licked my lips, making my decision. “I accept your proposal.”
Chapter 20
“Do not worry yourself so. He is sure to love you.”
I stopped my fidgeting and dropped my hands to my sides. Allerton covered my fingers with his own. It helped a little with my nerves, though the contact still felt new and strange.
“And even if he doesn’t love you,” Matthew said from behind, “cabinet men usually form their opinions on someone before they meet them. There is nothing you can do to improve his estimation.”
“Thank you, Matthew,” I said dryly as we crunched our way down Whitehall Street to Fife House, where the Right Honorable Robert Jenkinson, Earl of Liverpool resided. It wasn’t every day you met the prime minister. The purpose of this visit was to seek his approval, though John didn’t say it outright. John had attempted to put me at ease by talking of his uncle’s wisdom and discerning eye, but it only made me more flustered.
My inheritance and good breeding weren’t very objectionable, so it was my appearance and congeniality the earl would judge me on. I needed to be friendly, but not boisterous; personable, but not forward. Most of all, I needed to make the earl like me—because without his blessing . . . the wedding would never take place.
It had been two days since my engagement. John and I had both agreed to keep the news quiet for a few weeks, and yet word was travelling quickly around the ton. Yesterday, I had received four callers—Lady Prima among them—who neatly tried to pry the information out of me. Eventually, I gave them what they wanted. Lady Prima knew the truth. Now it was only a matter of time before the rest of London did as well, a certain gentleman among them.
We approached the imposing white-brick fortress, which was guarded by two gas light posts. An alcove dug into the building, where steps led up to glossy double doors. Allerton used the gold knocker bearing the head of a lion to sound three taps. I heard them echo in the chambers that lay beyond the other side. Then came the sound of footsteps on tile before the door swung open and we were ushered inside.
We were shown into the parlor—a rich, dreary room. Velvet drapes with golden tassels hung over the windows. Crimson wallpaper covered the walls, accenting the blood-red sofas and chairs. Gold trimmed the ceiling, fireplace, and furniture, heightening my anxiety. The man I was about to meet was quite possibly the most important man in England—and it showed in every corner I looked.
“Ah, John, you’ve arrived.”
The prime minister swept into the room with a sophisticated air. He didn’t look anything like I expected him to, wearing a simple black coat and white cravat. His hair was a feathery orange, with a large bald spot spreading at the back like a shiny crown. He was neither fat, nor thin; neither handsome, nor ugly. Against Allerton’s thick, pecan-brown hair and striking features, they didn’t look at all related.
The two grasped forearms and shook, beaming. “Uncle.”
“And where is this fiancée of yours? I must see for myself if you’ve exaggerated her.”
John turned and guided me over to his uncle. “This is Miss Wycliffe.”
The Earl of Liverpool took me in. “How do you do, my dear?” he asked, taking my hand and bowing over it. “I daresay my nephew is quite taken with you. I was quite surprised to learn of his preference.”
A neutral statement—and his face gave nothing away. I smiled anyway and curtsied low. “I hope I do not disappoint you too much, Your Excellency.”
He turned to Matthew. “And who is this?”
“This is my younger brother, Matthew,” I said. “He had some particular questions he wanted to ask you.”
Matthew bowed, and the earl nodded to him with a gleam of interest in his eye. “A future politician, I see. I like a young man who knows his mind. Come, sit.”
As John, Matthew, and I situated ourselves on the plush cushions of the sofas, the prime minister snapped a servant to attention and ordered the tea to be served.
“I’m pleased to see you engaging more in matters of country, John,” he said as he sat opposite us. “Shows you’re serious about your title. Parliament needs more men like you.”
“I do my best, uncle.”
“And now that you are to be married, your political career may advance.”
Now. Perhaps the earl wasn’t so opposed.
“Career?” I said.
John shifted next to me. “Oh yes, dear, but I’ve no wish to bore you with the details.”
My smile flinched—and I couldn’t decide if it was at his reluctance to involve me in his aspirations, or at his endearment. To my surprise, the earl came to my rescue.
“Don’t be so stuffy, John. Can’t you see the girl has an interest—and I daresay she should, as her future is tied to yours.” The earl set his drink down on an end table beside him and threaded his fingers in his lap. “John has expressed to me an interest in climbing the ranks of government.”
“But he is so young,” I said. It was a well-known fact that with age came prestige—and rarely before.
“There’s always a first for everything,” the minister said with what appeared to be practiced optimism. “And the earlier a man thinks about his political future, the better off the man is. I have high hopes in John. High hopes indeed.” His face took on a meaningful look.
John’s eyes lit up like fire dancing under a summer night as he turned to me. “Uncle Jenkinson has the Regent’s ear in nearly every matter. And though a new Tory leader isn’t yet in the cards—for Uncle is sure to maintain that position for many years to come—eventually, they will need someone new. And if, through the years, someone were to drop specific hints toward my qualifications, there is a good chance I will be in the perfect position to fill those shoes, when the time comes.”
“Yes,” the prime minister said, “but it may prove difficult with certain incidents clouding your past.”
Incidents?
A servant girl entered with a tray of tea and placed it on the table before us. John’s laugh rang out, hollow and nervous. “She doesn’t need to know about those, uncle. As I’ve already told you, they were hardly any fault of mine.”
The prime minister began pouring the steaming tea into each cup as the servant girl scurried back out. “Yes, yes—but that doesn’t change what people might say if they ever find out.”
Find out what? I accepted my cup from the earl, curiosity piqued.
“So,” he continued, “I have been telling John that he needs stability first, before I can recommend him to those in power. A little insurance against his past, if you will.”
“Of what nature?” I said.
“Surely you know, my dear. You are it.”
My insides shriveled up.
John cleared his throat and fiddled with his cravat. “Times are changing, Eliza. Though parliament once didn’t need to seek the public’s good opinion, now we find that those who have it are considerably more successful. A man with a wife—a well-bred, pretty wife—denotes a family man, and the people quite like that idea.”
The earl unfolded his hands and sat forward. “John has encountered a few scrapes in recent years. He has assured me they were not his doing, but on the tongues of the ton, no one is innocent—or safe. Just last year I impressed upon him the importance of maintaining an image of propriety. I told him that a wife and family would naturally introduce the stability he needed to keep out of those scrapes. I am pleased to see he took my advice.”
“Aren’t we all,” interjected Matthew in a bland tone. I’d nearly forgotten he was there, but as I looked at him now he seemed very attentive to the conversation.
The prime minister remembered him as well. “Now then, Matthew. Let me hear these questions of yours.”
Matthew set his teacup down. “I have a number of them, but the most pressing one is concerning the circulating rumors that parliament will go off the gold standard . . .”
I tuned out, turning questioning eyes to John. He was waiting.
“I di
dn’t want you to discover the truth this way,” he said in a low tone.
“So, it is true? You only proposed to me because of your ambition?”
I was not angry. What right did I have to be angry about his ulterior motives for proposing when I myself had ones for accepting him? No, anger was not what I felt—it was deflation, with just a pinch of inadequacy.
“No, Eliza, please—let me explain.” John glanced at Matthew and his uncle, now deep in discussion. Satisfied, he reached for my hand. “Uncle Jenkinson gave me his advice nearly a year ago—and I’ve been meaning to follow through, but I’ve been away in Paris. I only returned two months ago, and attended Lord Kipling’s ball for the sole purpose of selecting a wife. I had not counted on meeting you.
“You intrigued me. You . . . flustered me. I started pursuing you in the hopes of satisfying my uncle, but . . . I don’t know when it changed, but it did, and before I knew it, I was pursuing you to satisfy myself. You awoke in me a desire I had never known—and now I do not want anyone else. Do you see?”
His expression was earnest. “I love you, Eliza,” he whispered.
My heart skipped a beat. How I had craved those words, uttered from another’s lips. Still, I savored them. They spread over the dry cracks in my soul, easing the desperate ache that existed there, just a little.
“I am relieved to hear it,” I said, sorry I couldn’t offer him anything more. I was very fond of John, but I didn’t quite love him. Not yet.
He didn’t seem to mind, though, for he smiled and squeezed my hand. “I shall endeavor to remind you of it every day, so you shall not forget.”
The rest of the afternoon passed in political discussion, primarily between the prime minister and Matthew—though John piped in every so often. As the minutes passed, it became apparent that the earl was quite taken with Matthew, and by extension, me. It was fortunate for me I’d brought him along, then. Twice, our teacups had to be refilled, before I announced that Matthew and I should be getting back.
“John, why don’t you stay awhile?” his uncle asked. “There are a few matters I would like to discuss with you.”
A Lord of Many Masks (Wycliffe Family Book 2) Page 19