A Lord of Many Masks (Wycliffe Family Book 2)

by Jessica Scarlett

  “Of course. I shall see Eliza home first, and then return—”

  “There is no need,” I said. “Matthew and I can take the carriage and send it back for you, when you’ve finished your business.”

  “See now?” The Prime Minister grinned. “What a thoughtful girl she is. I think you’ve made an excellent choice, John. Come, let us withdraw to my study.”

  Allerton hesitated, torn between obeying his uncle and seeing me returned safely. “Are you quite sure?”

  I nodded, smiling. “I shall be fine—and I do have Matthew.”

  “Very well then, but I shall see you out.” After Matthew and I had bundled back up in our coats, gloves, and scarves, Allerton helped me into the carriage, kissing my hand and bidding me adieu.

  We started on our way. I glanced over to Matthew, whose lifeless eyes hadn’t given away his opinion of the men through our whole meeting.

  “Well, what do you think of him?” I asked.

  I wasn’t referring to the prime minister. Though Matthew had met John briefly once before, he’d never conversed with him—and the little Matthew had seen, he hadn’t liked. Not to mention his little comment, snide in its delivery.

  Matthew shrugged, staring impassively out the window. “The Earl of Liverpool seems to have a good head on his shoulders.” One corner of my mouth quirked. He discussed the prime minister as if their roles were reversed—as if Matthew were the one running the country and the earl was a boy of fifteen. “Though, if you are referring to the duke,” he continued, “and I think you are, I will tell you I don’t especially like the man.”

  My smile turned and I felt my shoulders sag. “Why not?”

  “He seems . . . overconfident.”

  “That is not such a bad thing. Though I can’t say I witnessed that from him.”

  “It is subtle. And perhaps that is why I do not like it.” There was a long moment before Matthew inhaled a huge breath. As he sighed it out, he added, “But if he is who you choose, then I shall endeavor to like him anyway.”

  Without warning, an unknown weight lifted off me and I could breathe easier. I hadn’t realized until this moment how much Matthew’s opinion mattered to me. True, he was a terror, but he was my terror, and I loved him despite his annoying quirks.

  Matthew eyes sidled over to me, studying me a long time, missing nothing. “That said,” he went on, “I know there is something going on with Mama, and I know you accepting this man’s proposal has to do with it.”

  I blinked at him, lips parting.

  He scoffed. “Please. I am not so unintelligent, and I would appreciate it if you’d all stop treating me as if I were.”

  I ducked my head. There were times when Matthew was a fiend, but there were also times—quite frequently, if I were honest—when Matthew was the wiser one. On more than one occasion I’d found myself thinking he was older, as well.

  “What is the truth, Eliza?” he said, raising his chin a little. “I can handle it.”

  I swallowed, wanting—aching—to tell him. He deserved to know, and so did Peter. It was selfish of Mama to keep the news to herself. But even as I realized this, I knew I would never let her down. “I am not allowed to say,” I muttered.

  He digested this, and then turned to look out the window again, his jaw setting. “So. It is that bad, then.”

  Matthew never cried. He viewed the world through a logical lens, and when things happened that couldn’t be explained through reasoning, he pushed through and found an answer—whether the right one, or not—to explain the inexplicable. He was not emotional in the least. But somewhere deep down, lurking behind his huge, knowledgeable brain, was a doubt he rarely showed to anyone.

  It showed now. There were no tears in his eyes, only uncertainty. Matthew’s biggest fear was not having any answers, and now . . . Now was one of those times when there were none to be found.

  The rest of the carriage ride was filled with racket from the streets, reins slapping on horseflesh, wagons and carts thundering by, and the unspoken implications of our grim future pulsing in the air.

  When at last we arrived at Berkeley Square, the driver hopped down and swung the door open. As I moved to get out, Matthew said, “I don’t approve of it.”

  I sank back down.

  Matthew’s churning blue eyes locked onto mine. “Not any of it. I don’t approve of Allerton, nor of Mama forcing you to do such a thing, and I certainly don’t approve of you disregarding William in such a fashion. I think it is a senseless choice, on everyone’s part. And I cannot decide if what you are doing is cowardly . . . or brave.”

  After a long pause, he said more quietly, “Nevertheless, you are my sister.”

  Then without any spectacle, he left the carriage in a flurry of cloak and boots. I stayed a moment. To others, Matthew’s opinions and the way he expressed them might’ve seemed insensitive. Yet, even as my throat grew thick, much-needed warmth spread from my head to my toes, producing a wan smile.

  “I love you too, Matthew.”

  Chapter 21

  The next day, Lady Agatha and her twin daughters came to visit.

  We were taking tea in the drawing room, and Margaret and Molly were blathering on and on about my engagement, debating what colors and fabrics I should display at the wedding. I sat and drank my tea with half an ear, wishing someone would pull me away from their incessant blathering.

  The door burst open, banging against the wall with a crash as William stormed inside. Everyone turned with a start, setting their teacups on the table. William’s scorching gaze whipped around the small party until it snagged on me. I shrank back into my chair. A muscle in his jaw jumped, his nostrils flaring.

  I needed to be more careful what I wished for.

  “Eliza, may I speak with you?” His words were clipped with forced control. “In private?” Before I could respond, he turned on his heel and strode from the room.

  Lady Agatha and the twins gave me wide, curious stares, looking between themselves. I cleared my throat and set my cup down. “Excuse me,” I said, scooting out of my chair and exiting.

  I had known this storm was coming, and after six days of preparing for it, I was ready.

  Fortunately, William headed to the conservatory. It was a wise decision. No one would hear us back there. I schooled my features and squared my shoulders before slipping inside and shutting the door behind me.

  He barely waited for the latch to click before he spun on me. “Is it true?”

  I clasped my hands behind my back, forcing myself to keep calm. “Is what true?”

  “Do not play games with me, you know of what I speak. Is it true? Because on my honor, if it is—” His face contorted into a livid scowl, words falling out in a torrent that allowed no interjection. “When you said you wanted to find a husband, I thought it a joke—some silly pastime to amuse ourselves with. I certainly wouldn’t have played along had I known you were serious. And why? Why the sudden rush to fling yourself into the arms of the first man who comes along? I cannot understand how you did not tell me—or ask my opinion.”

  His teeth ground as he paced. “I cannot believe I had to hear it from someone else—and from Lady Prima, of all people! How embarrassing the whole exchange after she spilled her news. ‘No,’ I’d insisted, ‘Eliza cannot possibly be engaged, for if she were, I would be the first to know.’ ‘On the contrary,’ said she, ‘she and the Duke of Allerton were affianced this Thursday last!’ . . . Six days ago!”

  “I could not have told you,” I replied coolly, “because you were not here to tell.”

  He halted and turned toward me fully. Then he huffed, stunned. “No! Indeed I was not, because I was obeying your wishes to stay away! And if you had not wished it, none of this would have happened. You would have confided in me and trusted my opinion as you always do, and our lives would have continued in the same way as before.”

  “I do not want to continue in the same way as before.”

  “Blast it all, Eliza! How c
ould you—it is—it is true, then. You are engaged?” His eyes were like rocks, grinding together and shooting sparks at me. Daring me to deny it.

  I swallowed, licked my teeth, then opened my mouth and said quietly, “Yes.”

  “You must call it off.” He hadn’t skipped a beat, his tone darker than midnight.

  My mouth dropped open. “. . . Call it off?”

  “Yes. Break the engagement.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I—! Because there is something about him I do not trust.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the way he is shy in your company, and yet is loud and boastful when at the club. It is suspicious, to say the least.”

  The excuse was absurd. He was grasping at straws, attempting to conjure something, anything—true or false—that would ultimately give him what he wanted.

  “Will you never stop with the lies?” I said through my teeth. “If you’re going to stand there and berate me like this then come out from behind your mask, William. Say aloud the real reason you do not approve of him.”

  His mouth snapped shut, and he kept silent.

  “Say it,” I said again. “Go on, say it.”

  A muscled ticked in his jaw, but still he didn’t speak the words.

  He couldn’t. Because then he would be admitting that this rant of his was borne out of jealousy more than anything. Jealousy that Allerton could stay by my side when he could not. Admitting such a thing would make him vulnerable. Open to weakness.

  And weakness left him open to pain.

  When the silence had ripened past uncomfortable I said at last, “Is that your only objection, sir?”

  William shook his head, muttering, “I have others.”

  “Such as?”

  “For one, he does not deserve you.”

  I scoffed. “If you recall, I did ask your opinion of the duke. You said he was a good sort of chap—the kind of man every woman aspired to marry—”

  “Because I thought you were playing a silly game. I didn’t dream for one moment you were in earnest.”

  “Would it have changed your answer?”

  “Of course it would have!”

  I released my clasped hands, balling them into fists at my sides. Even Matthew—who detested the thought of the match—had been determined to advocate it. Because he loved me. So why couldn’t William? Why couldn’t he show up and say, Good for you, Eliza, to have found a man that can make you happy? If ever there was a testament that William didn’t care for me, it was this.

  “Is nothing I say to be taken seriously?” I enunciated. “I am out of time, and no one else has offered. By all appearances, he is healthy and handsome and rich and in love with me.” My voice broke, and I hated myself for it. “He is in love with me, William. So why should I not marry him?” He stood there a long moment, jaw working, lips tight. I collected myself, gratified when my voice didn’t shake. “There is absolutely no reason why this match is unsuitable.”

  “You have only been out two months. You barely know Allerton—you have spent far less time with him than you have with me—and already you are engaged? It is preposterous. Unseemly. I will not allow you to go through with it.”

  “I have no time to find another.”

  “Why do you keep saying that? You are eighteen! By all accounts, Eliza, you are being silly, naïve, and—”

  “Do not say childish.” I gritted my teeth. “I am not a child, sir.”

  “Call it off!”

  “For the last time, William, I will not!”

  His hand gripped his hair before he flung it out in front of him, sweeping the air. “He is using you—why can you not see it? He keeps you near like a pretty trinket, showing the world your beauty because it pleases him—but that is all you are to him, and that is all you ever shall be. He will go off and dally with other women, because what need has he to cherish you when you are already his?”

  I stopped, the truth of William’s words barreling into me and rendering me mute for several heartbeats, but not in the way he had anticipated. “Oh. Now I understand.” A hollow laugh escaped my lips. “Now it all makes sense. Those things you just said—do you not realize that is what you have been doing to me for years? Pushing me away, never letting me get too close—but keeping me near enough to admire, and fawn over, and play with like a doll! If what you say of Allerton is true, then he is exactly like you. That is why you do not like him.”

  “And that is why you do.”

  There was a sudden silence as my lips parted and I took in a long, shuddering breath, feeling the prick behind my eyes. Feeling my heart rip open again.

  William froze, as if realizing how cutting his words had been. He shut his eyes and sighed like it was a prayer, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean—”

  “How dare you,” I whispered.

  His eyes flew open and he stepped forward, beseeching. “Eliza, on my word, I did not intend it that way. I am sorry. Please—”

  I stepped back.

  Not once in all the years of our friendship had I ever heard William apologize. Not once. Not to anyone. Not for anything. But as a current of anger I had never known existed simmered up to a boil, I knew deep in my bones that he had crossed an unforgivable line.

  “How dare you,” I repeated to his paling face. “How dare you come here and break my heart all over again? To throw it in my face—once again—that you could never love me? Well, if that is the case, then so be it. I can accept that.” Tears slipped down my cheeks, but I didn’t have the patience to wipe them away, my voice starting to tremble. “But don’t you dare come barging back into my life and demand that I give myself to no one else. How cruel it is of you! And I hate you for it, William. How I hate you!”

  The tears shook down my face, one after another after another.

  In two giant steps he was to me, cradling my face in his hands in a desperate gesture. “Then hate me if you like. But Eliza. If you care for me at all, I beg of you. Do not marry this man.” His thumbs brushed away my tears, just like they had when my father had died, and when he’d vowed to protect me by that little pond under a summer sun. His eyes revealed that person inside him who was lost . . . wandering . . . looking for love.

  “Those six days were agony,” he whispered. “Do not send me away again. Please. I could not bear it if you did . . .”

  I stared at him, regretting the way things had turned out, wishing there could be a happy ending. But he didn’t love me. And my heart could not bear to see him anymore.

  I inhaled one last, quivering breath, trying to comfort my aching soul, since no one else would. “Get out.”

  That fear flickered again in his eyes. He swallowed, and even though his face was only inches from mine, he said so softly I barely heard, “. . . ’Liza . . .”

  “I said, get out.”

  His face blanched, and he sagged in defeat. He let go of me and left.

  Never again would he wipe away my tears. And never again would I let him see them.

  Chapter 22

  “Eliza, all day is far too much time to spend on one’s appearance, regardless of the prestigious voucher to Almack’s.”

  I finished applying the whisper of rouge to my cheeks, ignoring Matthew’s patronizing tone. He was leaning against my doorframe, multitasking by reading a novel in one hand and keeping an annoyingly astute eye on my progress.

  “And you know,” he went on without looking up, “I don’t understand why women feel the need to dress up at all. All the frills, and fuss, and curls, and smiles. It’s revolting.” He turned a page in his book. “Men aren’t looking for that sort of thing.”

  I fingered one of the locks of hair angling my face, debating whether I should put it up with the others. “Then what are they looking for?” I asked, deciding to humor him. I learned long ago that Matthew would say what he wanted, humored or not. Through the mirror I saw him grimace.

  “We prefer women of sense. Looks have nothing to do with it.”

/>   Snapping on my earrings I said, “Perhaps for you, little brother, but I fear the rest of the world does not feel the same.”

  “Then the rest of the world are fools.”

  I shook my head at Matthew, but studying my reflection one last time, I was pleased. Like a general lining up his best soldiers and issuing commands, I had meticulously attended to my appearance. Each feature was a weapon guarding a shattered heart, even while I carefully ignored it. My nearly-black hair was secured in a loose bun, the curls that Matthew hated framing my face. I wore a silk gown of navy blue that brought out my eyes, and a string of pearls across my collarbone accented my naturally pale complexion. My beauty regimen had been well worth it. I stood.

  “Has it ever occurred to you,” I said, fetching my wrap draped over the bed, “that I pretty myself not for a man’s benefit, but my own?”

  Without moving his head, Matthew glanced up, face twisting into a look I was intimately familiar with. It was the look he made when he thought I was being idiotic, a look that said, Eliza, if you have nothing intelligent to say, then for the love of all that is good, refrain from speaking.

  I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders, already knowing what Matthew was going to say next. He really was so predictable.

  “Why do women dress up, if not to impress men?”

  “Ah, now, if that were true,” I said, walking over to him, “it would imply that men actually can be impressed. And you, brother, certainly cannot be.”

  I moved past him, out of my room and across the hallway, but that didn’t stop him from calling after me. “That is because I am not yet a man!”

  Rolling my eyes, I glided down the stairs that spilled into the dark entryway. I halted as my eyes snagged on the poetry box, still sitting in the foyer.

  I’d ignored it the last few weeks, but somehow I couldn’t tonight. Perhaps because with my newly assembled armor, it finally felt safe to approach without the heartache returning. I don’t remember my limbs moving, only hearing the soft pad of my slippers against the tile before the box swam into view.