“Yes, your grace,” Oliver said. “To both. It’s a cabriolet and I have a driver. Every propriety shall be observed.”
“There!” the dowager duchess said triumphantly. “There is no reason that you should not go for a drive with Lord Whittendon and spare me more of your sarcasm that you attempt—and fail—to camouflage as wit.”
“I will go, Lord Whittendon,” Miss Burkhart said as she rose from her spot on the settee. “I have a very particular matter I wish to discuss with you.”
Oliver nodded. “Indeed, I feel we have many things in common. A little voice told me so.”
Her expression changed, becoming guarded rather than simply annoyed with him. “Little voices lead one to Bedlam, Lord Whittendon. I’d be cautious saying such things aloud.”
“Not if you have a title,” Oliver responded. “I find having a title has certainly increased my freedom to be eccentric. Do you find that to be true, your grace?”
The dowager duchess smirked. “I find that caring very little for the opinions of others has increased my freedom to be eccentric. You should try it, Lord Whittendon. It’s incredibly liberating. Perhaps you can convince Miss Burkhart to do so, as well. I fear she lets the poor opinions of others make her a prisoner.”
“I am right here,” Miss Burkhart protested.
“When you should be in a carriage in a park with a handsome man. Do get your cloak, Miss Burkhart,” the dowager duchess insisted. “And stop stalling. No one likes a woman who dawdles.”
Ten minutes later, Elizabeth was in a cabriolet, speeding through the park while seated next to Lord Whittendon. Oliver. It had been such a shock meeting him during her very ill-advised visit to a gaming hell the night before. She honestly couldn’t even say why she had done what she did but for the influence of what surely must have been her own fevered imaginings. Burney was nothing more than a figment, a product of her disturbed mind and even more unsettled emotions. Or so she had told herself. Those explanations held less water when confronted with the fact that apparently Lord Whittendon could hear him as well as she did.
Had he seen him? Elizabeth wondered. Had this apparently non-imaginary phantom made himself visible to the marquess as well? If so, why? And why was it only the two of them? The dowager duchess had not responded to Burney’s exclamation in the drawing room at all. And no one knew better than Elizabeth did just how keen the elderly woman’s hearing was. There was no faculty that would dare fail the dowager duchess, after all. The woman was in supreme command of everything and everyone. It was a quality that was as enviable as it was intimidating. But for the obvious affection the old woman held for those who dared to stand up to her, Elizabeth might never have realized that beneath her formidable manner, the dowager duchess was, in fact, a very tender-hearted soul. But how tender-hearted would she be when she learned that her unpaid companion, a woman who was there only on charity and as a family connection, was either stark raving mad or conversing with the dead?
“Why did you run away last night when you discovered that my home is in Derbyshire? Is beautiful scenery really so offensive to you?”
The question from the Marquess of Whittendon had been asked offhandedly, as if the answer didn’t really matter. But it did. And she knew that. In all the years of her miserable life since she’d been seduced by William Satterly and made to pay the price for their joint sin entirely on her own, she had never been tempted by a man. No amount of flirting, no matter how handsome or charming the flirter was, had ever swayed her decision to swear off men for good. And yet the moment she had seen Oliver Weston, it was as if something inside her had been unlocked. She wanted to giggle and flirt. She wanted to steal kisses and share sidelong glances and secret touches. In a matter of seconds, it was as if she’d become the girl she had once been and she couldn’t fathom how.
Deciding that the safest course of action was to let the truth of her past do the work for her, Elizabeth confessed everything. “My daughter is illegitimate. I am only in society because she managed to marry well enough that they will tolerate my presence rather than the provoke the ire of my son-in-law, Viscount Seaburn. But prior to all of that, I was the daughter of a gentleman… a gentleman who has since disowned me and vowed to see me dead before I would ever be permitted to set foot on his property again.”
“And this man happens to be my neighbor,” the marquess surmised.
“Yes,” Elizabeth answered. “And now that you know the truth of it, you may take me back to the dowager duchess’ home. I’d prefer not to make a scene about things but, naturally, I understand why any association between us would be impossible.”
He glanced at her, then glanced back at the driver who was pretending not to listen. Then he said the most shocking thing that Elizabeth had ever heard, the thing that she had never imagined any man would ever say to her.
“Why on earth would I do that? I never assumed, given that you marched into a gaming hell in the dead of night, that you were the sort of woman who did things in the traditional way.”
“Having a child out of wedlock is a bit more than simply nontraditional,” Elizabeth insisted. Was the man utterly mad? He was a peer of the realm!
He stared at her for just a moment and then, with a slight shake of his head, he offered, “We all have a past, Miss Burkhart. No one reaches our respective ages without amassing some sort of secret or sin.”
Elizabeth blinked at him in surprise. “I inform you that I have committed what, at least in the eyes of society, is the most unpardonable sin, and that is all you have to say about it? I’m practically a pariah!”
He offered a shrug in response, the movement emphasizing shoulders that owed none of their breadth to the padding of a skilled tailor. “Perhaps it’s my very American sensibilities, having spent the better part of my life in that country, but I find it shockingly unfair that men expect to be allowed to do as they please for as long as they please and then somehow be entitled to a virginal bride as they teeter with one foot in the grave.”
Well that was all well and good, Elizabeth thought. It was a fine thing, indeed, for him to be so very egalitarian about such matters. But none of that changed the fact that she wasn’t looking to be any man’s mistress and she could hardly be wife to a man, assuming he’d ever ask her to be, that lived in such proximity to her family. Her former family. They’d forbidden her from publicly claiming them and her pride would not allow her to do so ever again. “Regardless of that, any association between us would be… complicated by those old hostilities.”
“I like complications, Miss Burkhart,” he said. “I daresay I thrive on them.”
“You are a very strange man, Lord Whittendon.”
He turned to face her more directly then. “Indeed. I would say we both qualify as strange given that we’re having conversations with the same dead man.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Elizabeth denied.
“Liar.”
She glared at him. “You have no right—”
“Who is Burney?”
Elizabeth had hoped she was wrong. She had hoped that it was some sort of fluke—that perhaps he’d only turned to stare at the fireplace as she did because he noted the direction of her gaze. But she’d never uttered that name aloud. Not to him. Not to anyone.
“I cannot answer that question,” she said simply.
“Cannot or will not?”
Elizabeth considered her response carefully. She wanted to deny it, to deny all of it. But aside from having her daughter in her life, finally after so many years, the greatest gift she had been given was the freedom to be herself. No more hiding behind fake names, no more concealing her identity to avoid her father or William Satterly, no more pretending to be someone else so that she could be close enough to Lillian to see a glimpse of her. The truth, as the saying went, would set her free. Or possibly see her in Bedlam. “I cannot. I have no notion of who he is… or was.”
Chapter Seven
Burney perched on the back of the cabr
iolet, hanging on next to the driver. He hadn’t anticipated that they would both display such shocking candor in discussing him. It was a terrible turn of events. To that end, he had to get them someplace where they couldn’t ask anyone else who he had been in life. It would simply confuse the issue and prevent them from doing what they needed to do… fall in love.
And so to that end, Burney did one of the things that was most difficult for a spirit. He manipulated the physical world. The cabriolet lurched left in spite of everything the driver attempted to do to right it. The vehicle veered from the path, the wheel dipping into a deep rut beside the pebbled lane. The snap of it was audible as was Miss Burkhart’s scream.
It wasn’t a crash, not in the traditional sense of the word. But the cabriolet, at the end of it, was utterly useless to them for the time being. Burney observed Lord Whittendon helping Miss Burkhart from the listing vehicle.
“I’m so terribly sorry, my lord,” the driver said. “I don’t know how it happened. I did everything I could to right it, but it was like something just jerked the reins right out of my hands!”
A knowing look passed between Miss Burkhart and the marquess before the marquess replied, “It’s fine. I know you did. Accidents happen, Jones. I will escort Miss Burkhart back to the Dowager Duchess of Templeton’s home while you see to getting this repaired. Get the horse home and see about replacing that wheel.”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord,” the driver said, clearly thankful for not being sacked on the spot.
“Miss Burkhart, if we exit over there, we can go directly up Jermyn Street to St. James’s Place and get you back home.”
Burney smiled. It was going as planned. He had a location in mind. It would be the perfect place for them to find themselves free of any interruptions or distractions. He needed somewhere that they were forced to be in close proximity to one another with no foreseeable exit.
Whistling a jaunty tune, Burney left them for just a moment to put the other portion of his plan in place. That meant heading to White’s and locating William Satterly.
It hadn’t escaped Oliver’s notice that the driver of the cabriolet had only lost control when they were discussing Burney. He had the sneaking suspicion that their other-worldly acquaintance had something to do with that. The question of why… well, that was something he simply could not answer.
Still, he didn’t mind the setback. Having a stroll with her, where they were alone and could speak freely, gave him the opportunity to know her better and also to extend the time he could spend in her presence. As they walked along the street, he paused before a store window. There were various trinkets on display. Combs and fripperies that women enjoyed.
“That would be lovely in your hair,” he said, pointing to an enameled hair comb.
“It is very pretty, but very dear,” she stated, as if that were the end of it.
Making a note to return and purchase it for her when he could, Oliver turned to move further down street. He hadn’t taken another step before he felt Miss Burkhart stiffen at his side. Her entire demeanor changed with such rapidity that he thought, at first, she might be in pain, but then he recognized it. Fear. She was afraid.
Tension emanated from her—anger, that terror he sensed in her, and something else that he couldn’t quite name all seemed to coalesce inside her. Then she was grasping his arm and moving toward a small entryway. It was a building undergoing serious renovations, the windows covered with heavy boards and a thick chain on the door.
“We have to hide,” she said, the urgency of her voice undeniable.
“Why?”
“Because… well, it doesn’t matter why!” she protested. “There is someone I do not wish to see!”
As if by magic, or perhaps by ghostly intervention, the heavy chain about the door handles simply fell away and the door opened a crack.
“This is beyond ridiculous,” Oliver noted. “Surely you can see that we are being managed?”
“I don’t care,” she answered. “If my options are facing him or hiding in a derelict building, I will gladly take the derelict building!”
And with that, she pushed past him, disappeared inside and Oliver was left to either follow her or abandon her to a potentially dangerous fate. In truth, the latter wasn’t an option at all. Who knew what might be lurking inside, after all? In a city like London, where housing was hard to come by and very expensive, squatters in buildings that were empty or under construction were not uncommon. Easing the door open a bit further, he stepped inside. No more than two steps into the building, he heard the chain slide back into place. Turning back to the door, he attempted to push it open, and it was as if it were both locked and barred.
“Damn and blast!”
“What? Did he see us?”
Oliver glanced over his shoulder to see Elizabeth standing there. Her face was white and he could see the tension in her features. “To my knowledge, no one saw us… but now this door is locked behind us and unless there is another way out, we are well and truly stuck here. Who was out there, Miss Burkhart? Who are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid of him,” she insisted. “I just… well, it’s just a part of my past I’d rather not have to confront. The last thing I need to do is bump into William Satterly and have all of society gossiping about it.”
A pang of what could only be jealousy washed through him. And he asked a question even though he desperately feared the answer. “Do you love him still?”
She turned to him then, her expression one of shock and then a rueful laugh escaped her. “I never loved him at all. He called it seduction, you know. And it was… but he didn’t seduce me into his bed. He seduced me into believing that he was anything other than a libertine. And when I wouldn’t go to his bed, the seduction was quickly abandoned and his true nature was revealed in the most violent and foul manner. And then I discovered that it was all because of a bet he made with my cousin… a Marchebanks from Derbyshire. Your neighbor.”
That was why she’d run the previous night. Because of his unwitting connection to her past and those responsible for her pain. “And despite the fact that he committed this heinous act, you don’t fear him?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think he will hurt me. No one has bet him that he can, and so there’s no incentive for him to do so. And frankly, he prefers young girls. Not women of my age. I simply didn’t want him to see us, or anyone to see him and I together. I can’t abide the thought of making things more difficult for Lillian.”
“Your daughter,” he said, recognizing the lie in her pretty excuse. “Your daughter who is married to a viscount and will one day be a duchess. I daresay, Miss Burkhart, that whatever you do, her position in society is quite secure.”
She looked away then. “Fine… I don’t wish to give her a reason to regret letting me be in her life after so long. I wasn’t—I didn’t—” She stopped then, looked away from him, drew in a deep breath as if the thing she were on the verge of saying was simply horrendous. “I left her. When she was a baby. I left her on Satterly’s doorstep… I was careful to do so when I knew his mother would be present so that he wouldn’t simply ship her off to a workhouse or something even worse.”
He didn’t judge her. Having been spared the dubious blessing of being raised as part of the nobility, most of his life had been spent in America, in cities that were growing at a rate that was simply staggering. The poverty that was rampant there had been something that was impossible to remain ignorant of, and if there was one thing he knew, women who had children out of wedlock almost always found themselves impoverished. Society had a tendency to punish only the vulnerable.
“Why?” he asked.
“What do you mean ‘why’?”
“I mean,” he said, “why did you feel that was your only option? Was there no one to help you at all?”
She shuddered and then sighed heavily as she walked deeper into the recesses of the building. The walls were up, all bare plaster and empty doorways. �
��My father disowned me. I told you that. But I was determined to care for her and I worked so hard. I had managed to obtain a position as a seamstress, work that was backbreaking and difficult but at least respectable. But to do my work, I had to leave her with another woman who lived in the same hovel I’d managed to land in. And every day, I worried whether or not she was actually being cared for. But I had no choice.”
“Of course, you didn’t,” he said.
“But there were other things… thinks about Marchebanks… I made the mistake of attempting to use what I knew to blackmail him into at least providing for Lillian and me. It didn’t work. It created a situation that was infinitely worse. If I hadn’t left Lillian when I did, both of us would have met a terrible fate. He’d have seen us both dead.”
Oliver said nothing. What could he say, after all? The world was a vicious and cruel place and crueler to no one than to a woman alone in the world. But to be hunted by your own family, that was a new low. “And you had no one… your parents had abandoned you and the father of your child had shown just how dishonorable a man can be. I’m sorry for that. More sorry than I can ever express.”
“He sent her away to a school in the north,” she continued. “It was a wretched place. But I had followed her there. I took a job as a teacher under an assumed name. It allowed me to be close to her and to keep an eye on her in a way that would see us both safe from my cousin… and then William arrived one day to bring another of his offspring. Wilhelmina, Lillian’s half-sister. He saw me and that was the end of it. I was banished from the school. I tried every day to find out how Lillian was, but there was a terrible outbreak of cholera… I became ill and when I was able to go back to the school and inquire after her, I was told she had died. That both the girls had. In fact, both she and her half-sister had been rescued by Miss Euphemia Darrow and brought to London as the first students in her new school. But I didn’t know… when I found myself face to face with Lillian while meeting with Viscount Seaburn to discuss being employed as a companion for the dowager duchess—it was a difficult meeting. There is a great deal of hurt and resentment that Lillian still has for me. And I understand it. I don’t wish to jeopardize our relationship further by making her more a topic of gossip than she already is.”
O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales Page 11