I think it is true to say that we are friends now; we have even spoken of it. There is something about Mr Winchester which speaks of strength, and I think that is why I find myself so drawn to him.
I thought our first meeting again in the morning room would be uncomfortable, but we very easily fell into conversation. I even admitted to him that I had been hiding in the library, and yet I had not meant to say it. There is so much that I say in his company that I do not mean to utter, and yet out it comes.
I must admit, as bad form as it is, I have even complained a little about my husband from time to time. I can picture your face, your concern as you urge me caution, and you would be right. But, at the same time, I know that I can give my confidence to Mr Winchester. There is something about him which makes me very certain that he would never betray me.
But then again, I had once thought that about Miles Gainsborough. Perhaps trust ought not to be so easily given after all. But I shall see, for as you have said yourself, I need a friend here at Lytton Hall. I can still get nowhere with my maid, Nella, and I am not inclined to trust her at all.
I may be doing the young woman a disservice, but since I have extended warmth to her on more than one occasion, I no longer care if I speak of her unjustly. She is neither here nor there to me, and I admit myself to be very glad that Mr Winchester, a man I had once thought so standoffish and aloof, even arrogant perhaps, is very far from it.
We now have a habit, it seems, of meeting in the morning room every day. I know that he used it as a route to the terrace already, but we have taken to sharing five or ten minutes’ conversation before he takes his leave again.
I ask him little questions about himself and his life, although I must admit it is almost always about his work. I suppose I am cautious of becoming too personal, although I do not see why I should be. We are only friends, after all.
Anyway, I am sure that you will be pleased that I have taken your advice and allowed myself a friend here. I know how well you like it when I take your advice, Ariadne, and I can almost imagine you smiling as you read this. Perhaps even quietly saying “I told you so.”
And I have more news still, for I received a letter from Lady Hanbury, that dear woman who supported me so well on that dreadful night.
She must be a very wise and shrewd lady indeed, for she handed the letter to Mr Winchester to give to me, rather than sending it to the house. I have no doubt she did not want to risk Augustus seeing it, for he might have been annoyed if he did.
That excellent woman sent the briefest of notes to assure me that I would always be a welcome guest at Hanbury Hall, even confirming that her husband is of the same mind. And she stated that I would be welcome under any circumstances whatsoever. I can only think that it was that part of the letter that she did not want my husband to see; for I think it is clear that she intends me to see her home as a place of refuge in difficult times.
I was so touched by such kindness from a stranger that I must admit I almost wept. I had to blink hard, at any rate, for I felt so emotional.
I should have realized on the night that her assertion that I might consider her a friend was a genuine one. I daresay I am luckier than I realize at times, I am I not?
Well, I should be very glad if you write back to me. I know we shall be seeing each other on Thursday, but still, I look forward to hearing from you. Our letters feel like conversation to me, and it is very fortifying. But I understand that you might be busy, my dear, and you know that I would never want to put any pressure upon you.
There, I have already rambled on for too long, have I not? If I continue, there will be nothing left to say to you on Thursday.
Take very good care, my dear Ariadne, until I see you again.
With much love,
Eliza.”
With her letter finished and carefully sealed, Ariadne made her way out of the drawing room, now rather dull in the pale light of the late afternoon, to find the butler and ask that her letter be taken down to the post.
But as she came out of the drawing-room, she almost collided with her husband who seemed intent on making his way in.
“Oh, forgive me,” she said with an instinct of self-preservation that was still riding high.
She tried to smile, even though she could not look at him without thinking of his cruel, humiliating words.
“No, I ought to have given more attention to where I was going,” he said, and she thought he seemed a little quiet, crestfallen almost.
“I was just going to find the butler.” She looked at the letter in her hand by way of explanation.
“A letter? Is it to your mother?”
“No, it is to my friend, Ariadne. I had just wanted to remind her of our engagement on Thursday.” She smiled with as much warmth as she could manage, not wanting him to enquire any further about the letter.
She was already regretting not stowing it in her pocket the moment she saw him, especially when she thought of the contents within.
If, in a mood of irrationality which she knew him capable of now, he tore it from her grip and chose to read it, there would be nothing that she could do to stop him. And with such mentions of his own behaviour, their private business, and especially her new-found friendship with his attorney, the result would be absolutely disastrous.
Eliza felt suddenly nervous, her palms beginning to perspire, and an unwelcome warmth brightening her cheeks. She only hoped that Augustus, who still seemed a little unsteady and unwell, would not notice.
“Are you quite well, Augustus?” Eliza said with a tone of concern that she hoped he would not recognize as forced.
She was determined to change the subject, to take his mind off the letter in her hand which seemed to have drawn his attention and made him a little vague as he stared at it.
“Yes, I am well,” he said and finally looked up at her.
“Forgive me, you look a little pale,” she went on, determined in her self-preservation. “When I am seeing the butler, would you like me to have some tea sent up?”
“Yes, that would be very nice. And nicer still if you would join me, my dear.” He gave a brittle smile that was part resigned and part embarrassed.
Not for the first time, Eliza felt a little sorry for him. Even though he had behaved despicably, perhaps Daniel Winchester was right. Perhaps he was not so much a bad man as a man who had behaved badly.
And believing herself to see embarrassment and regret on his face now, she wished that the whole thing had never happened, not only for her sake but for his own.
Perhaps he had continued to drink these last days not only as a way of curing the sickness which came with unwanted sobriety but perhaps as a way of forgetting his own shameful outburst.
“Yes, of course,” she said with a bright smile that was almost genuine, given the sweeping sensation of relief with regards to the letter in her hand. “Well, I will be no more than a few minutes, and I shall join you, Augustus.”
“Very well,” he said and smiled before turning to slowly make his way into the drawing room.
As she watched him go, Eliza thought he walked as if every joint in his body was stiff. He seemed somehow unbending, and she wondered if he was truly ill.
A part of her wished that she would cease to feel sorry for him. But a larger part of her knew that it was her pity, her mercy even that would keep her human.
She wandered slowly away herself, her mind racing as she made her way below stairs. Her feelings seemed to run in one direction before stopping altogether and turning to run in another, and it was an aspect she was finding most confusing.
One moment she despised her husband and the next she felt sadness and a great sense of pity for him. And then she would miss Miles terribly, wishing that she had him back in her life and all the happiness he had given her. But in the next moment, she would remember his final words, how much he had disappointed her, and her feelings would be off on a path to anger.
And then there was Daniel Winchester. She
knew that there were feelings somewhere in her heart that ought to be faced, but not knowing what they might be, she found she was a little too afraid to inspect them.
And so, as was becoming her custom of late, Eliza decided to think of none of it, to free her mind from the constant whirring, and to concentrate on the mundane and the every day. At least for now, at any rate.
Chapter 13
By the time a maid came in with a tray laden with tea, bread-and-butter, and cakes, the Duke of Lytton had already poured himself a small measure of brandy.
Eliza had distinctly asked for plenty of food to be sent with the tea as a means of fortifying Augustus, settling his stomach perhaps and making him feel a little healthier. Foolishly, she had thought that such a thing would stay his hand and stop him reaching for the decanter.
But still, he had only poured himself a very small measure, and she could do no more than let herself believe that he had only done so as a means of quelling the illness that came as the liquor began to leave his system.
Although she had only ever known him to indulge himself entirely, Eliza was sure that Augustus had not been quite such a heavy drinker when she had first arrived at Lytton Hall. She could not help wondering if his disappointed expectations in their marriage had something to do with it. Perhaps he had faced the reality that a young bride was never going to truly love him. But was that enough to see a man take to drink the way he was doing?
Eliza busied herself pouring tea for them both and setting out small plates. She set his tea on the table at the side of his armchair next to the decanter of brandy and the now empty glass.
“Would you like bread-and-butter or cake? Or perhaps you would like both, Augustus?” she said and was surprised to hear her own hopeful tone.
“Just bread-and-butter, please,” he said with an expression that suggested food was the very last thing he wanted.
“There,” she said with a smile as she handed him his plate with two pieces of thickly buttered bread.
“Thank you,” he said and again gave her a smile that looked a little rueful.
“I had not given the cook any particular instructions for this evening, Augustus, so I hope you do not mind taking potluck at dinnertime?”
“No, I do not mind,” he said quietly. “In fact, I am not very hungry.”
“Then you are unwell, Augustus, for I am sure that I know you to have a very healthy appetite.” Eliza hoped that by appearing to care for him she could keep his temper on an even keel.
Whilst he looked as if he did not have an ounce of shout in him, she realized now that she was afraid of the man. She had not expected his outburst at dinner, and so she knew that she could never fully trust the mood he appeared to be in.
If only she could keep him drinking tea and eating bread-and-butter, perhaps he would not take another drink that afternoon.
“Perhaps I am a little unwell, Eliza. I know I have felt better, at any rate.”
“Would it be wise to call out the physician?”
“No, I am sure that I will recover in a day or two.” He raised one of the pieces of bread and butter to his mouth but then returned it to the plate without biting it. He looked over at her and was suddenly very serious and intent. “I think I have been feeling unwell for a little while. Perhaps it has put me in bad humour, Eliza.”
“I see,” she said quietly as her emotions suddenly changed again.
Whilst she felt sorry for him in his embarrassment, she could not believe that he would expect such an excuse to suffice as an apology. After everything he had said to her, after the way he had acted so cruelly, so ungentlemanly, did he really think that to blame his physical malady would be enough?
“I hope you realize that I did not mean to speak to you in such a fashion in front of our guests.” He was still studying her, and she began to feel uncomfortable. “I should not have given into my illness in such a way.” And still, there was no apology, just a very poor excuse.
In truth, Eliza would rather he had never mentioned it again at all, not even in an attempt to make things right. For in doing so, he had made her feel much worse somehow. It was as if she did not even warrant a thorough apology and worse still, he was staring at her as if he fully expected her to tell him that he need not think of it, that there was nothing to forgive. She knew she would never do that.
“I see,” she said again, not knowing how else to go on.
“You see, do you?” he said as he narrowed his gaze. “And what do you see?”
“I see just as you have said, Augustus. That you felt unwell and were in poor humour. I see that you did not, as you have just said, intend to speak to me so roughly in public.”
“And that is all you see?”
“That is what I see, Augustus.”
“But I note that you do not forgive me,” he said and reached out for the brandy decanter, pouring himself a very large serving.
“I am sure that I have said nothing to give you offence, Augustus.” Eliza was absolutely determined not to forgive him.
Suddenly her fury was back, and she could have stamped on her own foot for feeling a moment’s pity for this dreadful man. He was a coward of the first-order, one who could not take responsibility for his own behaviour, his own actions, and one who was certainly not man enough to apologize properly.
“I have apologized to you, and you do not even have the good grace to accept it,” he said after draining the entire glass and reaching out to pour himself another.
Eliza could feel her panic rising, knowing that she should not goad him with her refusal to forgive him but feeling her humiliation as keenly as she had felt it on that evening at the dinner table. She felt hot and sick and wondered how it was that she could feel fear and anger all at once and not know which one of them should take the lead.
“You have explained your behaviour, Augustus … you have not apologized for it,” Eliza said and was surprised that her voice was so steady. “But I did not ask you for an apology, and I did not expect one. I had just hoped that we could sit together and take tea without any upset. Beyond that, I have no expectations.”
“I wonder if you have higher expectations of me than I have come to have of you, Eliza.”
“I am afraid I do not understand.”
“Well, whatever expectations I had of you in the days before our marriage, surely they are all blown away now, are they not?”
“I cannot think what I have done to upset you, Augustus. I have enquired after your health and willingly chosen to spend time with you. How can that possibly make you angry?”
“Because you have not done so willingly, Eliza. You have done so to appease me and nothing more.”
“And in my position, Sir, what would you do?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“In my position, what would you do? If you had been spoken to so roughly … if you had been made to feel afraid and told that you might not speak your mind because that would be belligerent, what would you do? Would you not seek to appease and do anything in your power to keep peace in this house?”
“You act as if I have done something so terrible to you.”
“And you act as if you have not,” she said and glared at him.
“I have told you before that I will not be spoken to in this manner.”
“And yet you ask questions of me that you expect to be answered. I am answering you truthfully, and that is all. I am doing what you ask, am I not?”
“I think that your father really ought to have told me beforehand how very clever you think yourself, Eliza. But let me tell you, clever women never do well in this life unless they do what they can to hide it.”
“I see,” she said, not wanting to argue with him any further, not wanting to risk making things worse.
But her response only angered him further, and she could see it immediately. Her heart began to pound, and she knew that this was not going to end well. The only thing that would have worked was her complete supplication, her full and
gracious acceptance of his apology, whether she truly accepted it or not.
Now, any attempt to appease him would anger him as much as any attempt to speak her mind. Eliza realized that she had walked headlong into a situation in which she could not win, and she was certain that she had perversely done so knowingly.
“If you utter the words I see once more, Eliza, so help me God I will strike you,” he said and furiously gulped down another glass of brandy.
“I would beg that you do not do that, Sir. I am very sorry for offending you.”
“And yet you do not look sorry, Eliza. You look as cold and as aloof as you always look.”
For the Love of a Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 10