A Lord of Many Masks (Wycliffe Family Book 2)

by Jessica Scarlett

  “Eliza, if it is marriage you want, I will give it to you.”

  My heart skipped several beats. I couldn’t breathe. How I had longed to hear those words from him. And now, how I longed for him to take them back.

  “If it is a husband you desire, then I will be it. Just don’t—” He exhaled a puff of air, his green eyes utterly defeated. “Call it off with him, and I will be anything you want me to be.”

  Blood pounded in my ears. My vision flickered. I inhaled, opened my mouth and—

  “There you are, darling,” a familiar voice behind me said.

  I didn’t turn to look. William altered as he watched John steadily approach. His pleading eyes turned to steel, his stance turned rigid.

  A warm hand came around my waist. Lips kissed my cheek. William looked away.

  “I was wondering where you had gone off to.”

  “Just catching up with an old friend,” I murmured.

  John squeezed my waist. “Nearly finished? The carriage is waiting for you.”

  I glanced up at John. “Are you not coming?”

  “You go. I will join you in a moment.”

  I volleyed between the duke and William, who was still looking the other way. The tension was even thicker than it had been before. John’s smile was warm, but there was something behind it. Something almost menacing.

  My hands plucked the fabric of my dress. I gnawed my lower lip.

  “Go on,” John prodded. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  But it was not him I was worried about.

  At last, I nodded, shooting one last glance over my shoulder. I felt both their eyes on me as I retreated to the end of the hall and turned left. But instead of making my way back to the ballroom, I flattened myself against the stone, breathing erratic. The echoes of their conversation carried to my ears.

  “At it again, eh?” It was John’s voice. “I will never understand your need to have every woman in the room fawning over you.”

  William didn’t answer.

  “I must ask you to stay away from my intended. Right now, she is in a . . . delicate state of mind. It upsets her to have you near.”

  “Can’t imagine why.”

  “Can you not?” John’s tone pitched lower. “I know you are not half the fool you pretend to be, so let us drop pretenses and be honest with one another, shall we?” John paused, no doubt waiting for William to agree. When he didn’t, John continued. “Eliza still harbors feelings for you. As we are engaged, I would appreciate it if you did not encourage them.”

  “If you are concerned I will change her mind—”

  “Oh, I’m not.” Feet scuffed as one of them approached the other. It was probably John, since he was the one speaking. “Eliza can be flighty, but deep down she knows what she wants. And it is obviously not you—”

  Shoes scraped against the floor. A thud, a grunt. I peeked around the corner. William had John pinned to the wall by his collar. Cold seeped into my fingernails where they gripped the grainy stone.

  “Then let us be honest with one another,” William said, words clipped. “I don’t know what you are up to. I don’t know why you singled Eliza out or proposed to her—but I do know your intentions are far from honorable. I can see it in your eyes. In the way you linger when you touch her.” His knuckles around John’s collar whitened. “On my honor if you do not take care of her—if you hurt her—”

  “You will what?” John’s voice turned amused, mocking. “You cannot touch me with my station, and you well know it. And it seems to me, I have not been the one to hurt her. You have.”

  There was a long moment where William didn’t deny it.

  “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you watching her, Bentley. The way you swallow her with your eyes. But do you really think it appropriate? To stare so hungrily at a woman who will be another man’s wife?”

  William slammed John harder against the wall, but he went on. “It is pitiful, really. You had your chance, and you wasted it. Do you regret it? If you could go back, would you do things differently?”

  Another pause, longer than the last.

  “Yes.” I had to strain to hear it. “A thousand times, yes. But our courses are set, and for whatever reason, she has chosen you. Though it eats me away inside, I will respect her decision.” William leaned in, voice poisoning. “But if you think for one moment I will not step in once you cross the line—and I have no doubt you will—you are fooling yourself. Duke or not, I will be watching you, and you had better measure up to the man she thinks you are.”

  “Because you didn’t?”

  “. . . Because I didn’t.” William released him. “Tread carefully, Your Grace. I need only one reason to scar that charming face of yours.”

  I caught one last glimpse of John smoothing his tailcoat and William turning to follow me before I ducked back behind the corner and scurried to the cloakroom to retrieve my things with unsteady hands. All the while, my thoughts scattered to every corner, reliving every word of the exchange, wondering, wondering . . .

  Properly attired, I exited to find John waiting with Mrs. Burbank near the entrance. We departed and John drove us home in his coach. In the darkness of the carriage ride, my toes curled inside my slippers.

  If John had wooed me a few months ago, before I’d realized my feelings for William, I would be swooning in this moment. I would be in throes over how he’d stuck up for me and had heroically warned another man away.

  But Allerton was not who plagued my thoughts.

  Our courses are set, William had said.

  Though it eats me away inside, I will respect her decision.

  I will be anything you want me to be.

  If it is marriage you want, I will give it to you.

  Words. They were just words—little meaningless things, when falling from William’s lips. He used them so carelessly, so skillfully that to trust in their validity would be utterly foolish. He never said what he actually meant; he delivered half-truths with hidden meanings.

  If William really wanted to offer me marriage, he knew how to get me to say yes. All he had to do was tell me he loved me—lie or not, I would be helpless. So the only reason someone as silver-tongued as William would refrain from speaking the words is because in the end, marriage was not what he wanted. What he wanted was for things to go back to the way they were.

  I closed my eyes, grateful for the darkness that hid my exhaustion. As always, William had pinpointed my weakness.

  And he had lied to try and exploit it.

  Later, when I was alone in my chambers, I stared at the bound letter sitting alone at the bottom of the open poetry box. I was too scared to touch it, for fear of what I might find. And yet I was too scared to toss it in the fire, for fear of what I might never know. So I stared, debating back and forth as the shadows cast by the flickering candle stretched longer.

  At last, at last, I picked it up with a trembling hand and made my way to the bed. I sat on it, tucking my legs underneath me. Almost reverently, I unfolded the paper and smoothed it flat on my nightgown. But I didn’t look down. Not yet.

  Swallowing against the lump in my throat, I whispered to the empty room. “Eliza, no matter what you find in this poem, nothing can change.”

  Hearing the words solidified it, my cremated hopes burying themselves deeper in the earth. Still, my breaths came faster as I fought the thudding in my ears, the blood rushing to my head.

  I glanced down.

  Always beside me, and never apart

  Like parallel lines, two beats of one heart

  I charted a course with the purpose unknown

  But lording the seas from a galleon’d throne

  Then turbulent waters crashed down with a might

  The waves of your hair streaming black as the night

  The heat of your stare, the brush of your lips

  The tide of your beauty o’ertaking my ships

  ‘Cast away now!’ my heart shouted at me,

  ‘And sail awa
y from this spellbinding sea!

  Let me not drown in this cavernous deep—

  Let not my heavy soul wake from its sleep!’

  Oh, had I but known you were trying to save

  My selfish belief from its watery grave!

  A savior you were, an angel of grace

  Yet sail’d I away from your warming embrace

  How blinded was I by my fear of the notion

  Of captaining ships through your terrible ocean

  Ne’er knew I my verdict would lead to my doom

  By fleeing away, I drowned in my tomb

  What then became of me? Fell I to my death?

  Yes death, and beyond, for I live without breath

  I hold it in waiting for scarcely a sign

  That I may be rescued—that still, you are mine

  To know I had held the whole sea in my hands!

  It’s anguish of mind that no man understands

  Now icy your stare as I thirst for your lips

  It’s anguish of body no man can eclipse

  Now where does your charted course carry and lead?

  To me, or my pain, or the torment I bleed?

  No; never beside me. Now always apart

  Like contrary lines crossing out my own heart

  The words blurred as my eyes filled with tears. One of them dripped down onto the page, blurring the word ‘bleed.’ I cursed myself for reading the poem—for putting myself through more pain.

  William had never written me a serious poem in his life. He had always added flairs of humor and dramatics, opting for levity over vulnerability.

  This could’ve been a last ditch effort on his part—the ace of all his lies, meant to compel me to come crawling back to him—but I didn’t think so. He hadn’t mentioned it in our conversation. He hadn’t even left a key. If I discovered it, he wanted me to discover it on my own. A gamble on my sentimentality, one which he’d won.

  And this poem . . . it was raw, and honest. So completely wretched.

  All these years I had begged him to open up to me—to take off the mask and show me his heart. This; this poem was his heart.

  And yet, now that I’d read it, I wanted to reclaim ignorance. I wanted to be just returned from Almack’s and staring at the poem in hesitation—only this time I snatched it from the box and threw it into the fire, watching the flames lick the parchment until it withered to ashes. I wanted to be strong enough to resist knowing its contents.

  For this was torture of the cruelest sort. I would much rather endure all the wondering in the world, than know he felt this way.

  Chapter 23

  Dearest Eliza,

  I am not one to meddle in other’s affairs but in this case—as you are a dear friend—I will make an exception. Nearly a fortnight ago, at Almack’s, I noticed a rift between you and William. I would not have thought anything of it, had nothing happened the following day. The two of you were close friends, so this news may come as a shock to you:

  He has gone, Eliza.

  Apparently he went home from Almack’s, packed, and left the country that very night. No one has seen him since, and this news has only just now reached my ears.

  His exact whereabouts I am uncertain of, though I could be compelled to inquire after them if you so desire. Perhaps Lady Prima knows something of it, though I doubt it. William is no fool, and if he told no one where he was going, it is because he wishes to disappear. My advice to you would be to let him. He hasn’t been happy for years, and perhaps with a little time away he will come to his senses.

  But enough about William. I wonder if I might call on you tomorrow near four o’ clock? There is something pressing and particularly sensitive I wish to speak to you about.

  Until tomorrow,

  Iris Moreau

  I folded the letter closed, rubbing the coarse paper between my fingers. It was not odd that I hadn’t seen William since the ball, as I was the one who had told him to keep his distance.

  He’d told me he planned to travel, but I hadn’t anticipated it would come so soon. It was so unlike him to up and disappear, without even sending me a note. Our friendship really was forever severed, and now it was likely I’d never see him again.

  It was for the best, this way, I knew that. But that didn’t stop my heart from aching every time I looked at the stars or saw a poetry book. William had promised to stay only until I no longer needed him. He had broken that promise—because I would always need him.

  My memory drifted back to that night in the hallway, dark and tense as he offered to marry me. Had he meant it? Did it mean he loved me back? Or was it that selfish part of him which had prompted him to do it?

  William had planned to leave the country anyway, but who’s to say how long he would’ve stayed, had we not had a falling out? I’d driven him away. The thought rekindled the ache in my chest.

  No, I couldn’t think like this. William had made his decision, and I had made mine. Not only was wishing for a different outcome dangerous, but it was also unfair to John. John had proven his loyalty and devotion several times over. It was time I put the past behind me and do the same for him.

  Just then, the doorbell rang. I glanced at the clock. 4:15. Oh, bother. Tucking the letter away, I smoothed my dress and made sure my hair was still in place. Lady Iris wrote as if she’d composed the letter the day before, and yet I was only just now receiving it. Either she forgot to send it until an hour ago, or she wished to catch me off guard—and it wasn’t hard to believe that in her case, the latter was true.

  I barely had time to compose myself before a servant announced her and she blazed in the room.

  “Eliza!”

  I stood. “Lady Iris. I was not expecting your visit.”

  She smiled, blue eyes sparkling. “I did write.” She looked around the drawing room, taking in the surroundings. “What did the two of you argue about?” she asked as she removed her gloves.

  I knew she referred to me and William, but I didn’t feel comfortable sharing the information—especially to Lady Iris. Deciding to leave the question unanswered, I said, “You mentioned a sensitive matter you wished to discuss with me. Have you any more news regarding him?” I reached for a bell resting on the table.

  “Oh no, Eliza, please don’t ring for tea. My visit won’t be long. And I didn’t come to speak to you about William. I came to talk about France.” She scrunched her gloves in one fist and seated herself on a chair.

  I blinked, sitting down on the sofa. “France?”

  “You do know I am French. I have worked hard on my English dialect—a wager I made with Lord Morley years ago—but anyone who is looking for it can still tell I’m a Frenchie. At any rate, my sister wrote me recently. She’s similar to what Lady Prima is over here. A sort of gossip-hub, if you will. She didn’t always use to be like that but it happened after . . .”

  This is what she wished to speak to me about? Useless facts about her relatives? I listened to her prattle, searching for an opening to interrupt and excuse myself.

  “. . . and so you see she’s a very reliable source. Much more so than Lady Prima.”

  I stood. “Lady Iris I am intrigued, but there are still extensive lists of things I need to oversee today concerning my upcoming nuptials. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  “But that is why I am here, dear Eliza. About your wedding.”

  I halted and turned to her in surprise. My wedding? Slowly, I sunk back onto the sofa.

  “You see, this sister of mine,” Lady Iris went on, “wrote me recently, detailing a scandal that took place over a year ago which is just now coming to light. Apparently a gentleman—an English gentleman—courted and seduced several young French girls and bedded them.”

  I sat back, shocked at her blunt words. What had any of this to do with me?

  “One was impregnated, but no one has seen her for quite some time. The gentleman is rumored to still maintain ties to some of the girls. No one can know for a certainty. Though these actions are st
ill regarded as unseemly, such indiscretions are looked down upon much more in England than across the channel. There are rumors that this gentleman left for France for the sole purpose of securing a mistress there, even while he secured a wife in his own country.”

  Shaking my head I said, “I fail to see how this has anything to do with my wedding.”

  She held one eyebrow poised in an arch, never wavering when she said, “The man she describes fits Allerton to a tee.”

  Silence reigned for three beats. Four. Shock hit me like a blow to the sternum. I balled my fists and flew to my feet. “John? You are mistaken, madam. He would never!”

  Lady Iris fished a letter out of her reticule, and held it out to me. “In her own words, the man was ‘tall, dark-haired, English, and possessing the noble bearing of a man who is titled.’”

  “That could describe any number of men!”

  Lady Iris waved the letter, indicating for me to take it. But I wouldn’t. I didn’t need to read the letter to know that John was being malevolently slandered. Someone had something to gain by all of this. When I didn’t take the letter, Iris sat back and folded it into her lap, infuriatingly calm. “You do know Allerton recently returned from France?”

  “Yes, several months ago.”

  “And you think it mere coincidence he is engaged so quickly upon returning?”

  “Iris.” I clenched my teeth, letting a warning enter my tone. “This is my intended you are speaking of.”

  “Yes.” She sat back in her chair, interlocking her fingers. “But should he be your intended?”

  Nails digging into my palms, my feet moved of their own accord, pacing back and forth along the great rug. “What has everyone against my union with the duke? Thrice now I have been counselled against the match—for obscure reasons—and it is beginning to all seem rather petty.”