For Elise

by Sarah M. Eden

  Perhaps a ball was exactly what he needed. A lighthearted distraction. And Elise might enjoy it. She’d often talked about making her debut. She had shared in great detail what she’d imagined her come-out ball would be like, the soirees and musicales she meant to attend. She’d dreamed about it but had never had her Season, never attended a single ball.

  Here was a start. He could give her back bits and pieces of all she’d lost, and maybe in time, things would go back to the way they’d been.

  Perhaps a ball wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Six lovely morning gowns on Wednesday. Six. She’d not been expecting so many, nor anything quite so fine.

  “I cannot accept these,” she said.

  Beth looked down her nose at Elise, her posture suddenly quite haughty. “Are they not fine enough for you?”

  Elise’s heart sank. She hadn’t meant her comment as a complaint. Not at all. Her plain dresses of humble fabric quite obviously told everyone who saw her that she, of all people, was in no position to judge any gown, especially a fashionable one, to not be fine enough for her taste. For all intents and purposes, she was a beggar, one who had inadvertently offended her benefactress. “They are all beautiful, certainly far nicer than anything I have worn these past years,” Elise said, feeling wave after wave of humiliation. “I hadn’t meant to—”

  But Beth smiled and took Elise’s hands, squeezing them. “Miles says I have become terrifying when I put on my ‘lady of the manor’ facade.” Her expression quickly turned apologetic. “I had only meant to tease you, but clearly I did it ill.”

  Though Elise had accepted her lowered status four years earlier, she hadn’t felt the change so acutely as she did now. Seeing firsthand the life she’d lost, seeing it day after day, was chipping away at her fragile confidence. “I suppose I am a touch too sensitive about some topics.”

  Beth put an arm around her shoulder and guided her over to the chairs set beside the fireplace in her bedchamber. “There are more yet to arrive. You’d best tell me what it is about the dresses you don’t care for.”

  “It isn’t that. I assure you.” How did she explain it without sounding terribly ungrateful? “I simply feel like such a burden. Miles said he was giving me four belated birthday presents. Six gowns with more on the way is—”

  Beth cut off her protest with a raised hand. “We have missed your last four Christmases and birthdays. And as your guardian, Miles would have seen to it you had the proper wardrobe for your come-out.”

  Her come-out. Elise hadn’t allowed herself to think of that since leaving Epsworth. She’d looked forward to making her London debut all her life, but fate had ripped that from her.

  “Consider these additions to your wardrobe payment on a debt, Elise. And please allow us to do this.”

  Elise was too aware of just how much Miles and Beth were doing for her to not feel some degree of weariness at yet another offering. And yet, to refuse would be an unnecessarily stubborn stance. “I do need new dresses.”

  Beth looked immediately relieved. She motioned Elise back over to the gowns. “I think you will like these. They are quite in line with current fashions but are wonderfully simple.”

  Simple? Elise eyed the ivory lace edging the neckline and cuffs of the dresses, the colorful fabrics. One gown even had a sheer overlay. There was nothing at all simple about the gowns Beth had ordered when compared to the utterly unadorned dress Elise wore day after day.

  “Thank you for these,” she said. She was grateful, but she was also terribly uncertain. Wearing the dresses would feel almost like a lie. Fine gowns and fancy fabrics were no longer who she was. She hadn’t rejected those comforts; she had actually missed them terribly. But a person didn’t simply return to the ton. That was a door that once shut was never reopened.

  She would always be poor, insignificant Ella Jones. Nothing could really change that. Being a guest in the home of a peer didn’t make her his equal. Wearing a fine gown didn’t make her a fine lady. Still, she could pretend for a time, if only to make Miles and Beth happy.

  She ran her fingers down the skirt of one of the dresses. “I’d forgotten how soft muslin is. I never did grow accustomed to the itchiness of homespun. Though, in its defense, it is very warm in the winter.”

  Beth took up one of the dresses laid out on the bed and held it up for closer examination. “Miles said your favorite color was blue. I hope that is still true. I did favor blue in the order I placed.”

  “I love blue.” Elise was impressed and touched that Miles would recall that. But, then again, she still remembered that he was quite fond of green. That came of growing up with a tighter bond than many siblings had. They had always been so much a part of one another’s lives that their knowledge of even the most trivial things about each other had come about without effort.

  The color blue, in that moment, joined all the other bits and pieces of her past life, tiny reminders of what once was and might have been. She had an entire collection of such things—memories she pulled out when her heart was heavy and her mind reflected on years gone by.

  “There is a particularly lovely ball gown set to arrive on Friday,” Beth said.

  “A ball gown?” What need had she of a ball gown?

  But Beth’s nod was quite matter-of-fact. “There’s to be a ball, you realize.”

  She’d heard no such thing. “A ball here?”

  “Indeed. All the local families are coming, as well as several neighboring ones.” Beth carefully laid the dress back down. “This is the Season in London, so our gathering will be small compared to what we might have planned were more people in the country just now. Still, I think it will be a wonderful evening.”

  “You are expecting me to attend?” Elise felt certain Beth was, though the very idea terrified her. She didn’t belong in a ballroom. The past four years she’d been beneath the notice of even the staff in a fine home such as this.

  “Of course.” Beth smiled as though she truly thought Elise’s question had been nothing but a bit of humor. “And you’ll love the ball gown.” She rubbed her hands together. “It is positively delicious.”

  “Am I supposed to wear it or eat it?”

  Beth laughed, her hands pressed to her heart. “Oh, my dear friend. How I have missed your humor these past years. You forever had us laughing so hard we could hardly breathe.”

  Those had been lovely times. “Do you ever miss the carefree days of childhood?”

  “I think every adult does, but I believe our joy grows as we do because our challenges are greater. The contrast magnifies our triumphs.”

  Triumphs. Elise could do with a triumph; she’d known too many defeats.

  * * *

  Friday afternoon found Elise hiding away at Mama Jones’s cottage. The world of glittering fanciness had begun to wear on her. She’d missed it the past years yet didn’t at all feel ready to jump back in feet first. She needed a momentary respite. And she needed time and space to think.

  She’d received another letter, unposted, unsigned.

  Be wisely tight-lipped, or you’ll be silent as the grave.

  A reminder that the murderer didn’t want her revealing anything she remembered about the murders. But she had no memories beyond the ones she’d told the Bow Street Runner who’d handled the investigation. There was nothing more to tell. And she had no intention of speaking of that awful, harrowing night ever again.

  So long as her silence was in question, her life was in danger. She knew that. But what could she possibly do? A cottage tucked away somewhere could either be safe or dangerously isolated. Anything might happen, and no one would ever be the wiser.

  Anne danced about the parlor. Mrs. Ash had recently introduced her to the same childish songs she’d taught Elise as a little girl, and Anne clearly didn’t hear the tunes in their entirety but made out enough to have fallen in love with the music. How often Elise wondered just how much her daughter could hear and if anything
could be done about it. As soon as she knew precisely her income, she meant to take Anne to a man of medicine.

  Elise sang the songs and clapped in rhythm, her heart swelling as she watched her once-solemn little girl blossoming before her very eyes. Anne would likely never be praised for her grace as a dancer, but no one could fault her enthusiasm. Would all of that crash down around them if Elise had to pull her away from this new life they were building? Was not that, perhaps, a direction more fraught with risk than remaining near Miles?

  “My turn,” Mama Jones jumped in. “I remember so well Jim’s favorite song when he was a tiny thing.”

  She began a boisterous rendition of “Oh, Dear, What Can the Matter Be?” Anne swayed back and forth, the movement more than a touch awkward. She sang along, the same tuneless singing of nonsense sounds she’d engaged in the entire afternoon. Elise couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful. Anne had never sung before, not even once. Tafford had been very good for her.

  A mere few weeks with Mrs. Ash in the fairy-tale nursery and free of the worry of poverty and Anne had become a new child. While Elise wanted to believe the difference was money and opportunity, seeing the light in Anne’s eyes as she danced in Mama Jones’s parlor, Elise couldn’t deny the source of Anne’s transformation had far more to do with simply being allowed to be a child.

  A weight settled on Elise’s heart. She had given Anne so little to be happy about and now stood poised to rip it away again. I am a terrible mother. Terrible.

  Jim had deserved a better wife than she had been. He ought to have been loved deeply by someone capable of it. She had been in too dark a place to have cherished him the way he’d deserved. Mama Jones had cared for her the past four years, and what had Elise given her in return? Two extra mouths to feed and not nearly as much happiness as she deserved.

  How could Elise protect herself and Anne while still making certain her darling little girl could grow up happy and whole?

  She had no answers, only the firm realization that she had to do something. She couldn’t allow herself to snuff out the flickering flame of joy she saw in Anne. But neither could she permit her sweet girl to be in danger.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You are no longer my favorite sister,” Miles muttered under his breath to Beth as they greeted the last of an unexpectedly long line of guests at the start of the ball.

  “Well worth it, I assure you.” Beth was firmly in her element. Social gatherings and miserable crushes of people were to her what dolls and toys were to small children. She couldn’t possibly have looked more pleased. “My next goal will be to plan a house party—held here, of course—of such grand proportions that you will disown me in the most public and vitriolic way imaginable, and we shall make the social column of any and every newspaper within a four- or five-county radius. And I will love every moment of it.”

  Miles couldn’t be at all certain she was exaggerating. Indeed, he was leaning toward believing every word.

  He offered Beth his arm. Balls required siblings to set aside their propensity for pricking at one another and act civilized for an evening. Fortunately, he did like his sister despite his insistence otherwise. “You must be pleased with the number of guests,” Miles said. Beth had worried a little that they’d have a disappointingly small response.

  “I am,” she said. “Though I’ve been so busy I’ve not had a chance to see Elise in her ball gown.”

  Miles hadn’t either, though he knew the gown had arrived. He’d feared it wouldn’t. Elise had never attended any of the balls she would have had their lives played out differently. He didn’t want this first one to be a disappointment to her.

  “I admit I’m a little jealous,” Beth said. “The fabric I selected is simply divine.”

  “You need only tell your husband how heartbroken and disappointed you are,” Miles said. “I’ve noticed how firmly wrapped around your finger he is. He’ll buy you every ball gown you want if you only pout a little.”

  She shook her head at his teasing but smiled knowingly. Langley really was a rather happily browbeaten husband. They walked into the ballroom, offering nods of acknowledgment and greeting as they passed their guests but continuing their conversation in muted tones.

  “I do hope Elise is happy with her gown,” Beth said.

  “I am certain she is. She always adored finery.” Miles couldn’t count the number of times she’d begged his mother to allow her to dress up in her gowns and fine things, her own mother having died when Elise was only four years old. After Miles’s mother died, Elise had taken to borrowing Beth’s fanciest gowns for her imaginary balls and outings.

  “I am not as confident as you are in that,” Beth admitted. “Elise’s childhood was filled with such things. But as an adult, she has built her identity in a world devoid of them.”

  “She seemed comfortable enough in the morning gowns that arrived earlier this week.”

  “A ball gown is something quite different,” Beth said. “It is meant for an evening such as this. If she is not ready to make that step back into her former life, the gown itself might not be welcome.”

  Langley approached in the next moment. Beth happily abandoned Miles for the greater pleasure of her husband’s company. For his part, Miles began searching about for Elise. She was never far from his thoughts, but Beth’s uncertainty had him particularly anxious.

  “Lord Grenton.” Mrs. Haddington hurriedly reached his side. “What a lovely night this is proving to be. Such an impressive assemblage. The staff carried out instructions perfectly. Everything is just as it should be. Such a triumph for the neighborhood.”

  Triumph? Miles had managed to avoid evicting his father’s tenants in the aftermath of his unpayable debts. He’d survived being left without a home or a guinea to his name. He’d found his long-lost dearest friend. Those were triumphs. This was simply a ball.

  “I am pleased you are enjoying the evening,” he said. Though he didn’t place upon it the same importance she did, he was happy she was satisfied with the fruits of her efforts. “And I know Beth is quite grateful to you for the assistance you offered.”

  Mrs. Haddington waved off the gratitude. “Someday we will have a Marchioness of Grenton to take on such things. Until then, I am more than happy to help where I can.” She waved her daughter over. “I am simply happy that the neighborhood has one of its principal families again. That lack has been acutely felt since the late marquess’s passing.”

  “Who would throw a lavish party such as this, after all, if there were no marquess?” Miles allowed a bit of his underlying dryness to touch the words.

  Mrs. Haddington playfully swatted at him with her fan.

  Miss Haddington’s response was a touch more serious. “Surely you realize a marquess is more than that. Whilst this estate and title were in limbo, so was the area. The tenants were at risk of losing their homes and livelihoods. Most of the staff was let go. The shop owners suffered as a result. And the Marquess of Grenton holds a position of influence in Lords, which is important for those whose lives his decisions there will impact.”

  She held a very high view of one man’s importance. “You left off a marquess’s duty to control the weather and dictate the movement of stars.”

  Miss Haddington smiled. “I believe only dukes can do that.”

  “Well, that is a relief. I do have rather a lot to see to without adding the functioning of the heavens to my responsibilities.”

  “Then it is with deepest regret that I find myself obligated to point out that you are, at this very moment, neglecting one of your more pressing responsibilities.”

  He understood in an instant. “I am meant to be dancing, aren’t I?”

  “At the very least, you are expected to mingle with your guests.”

  Miles hung his head dramatically. “Shabby through and through.”

  He’d nearly forgotten Mrs. Haddington stood nearby until she jumped unexpectedly to defend him . . . against himself. “You are simply out of
practice with such things, living away from England as you have. You only need someone versed in such things to offer you a bit of guidance.”

  He bowed quite properly. “Again, I thank you for your offers of help.”

  “Nonsense. Camille will walk you through this evening. She has attended many balls and is quite in demand at any social event, no doubt because her grace and manners are second to none. You could not hope for a more helpful young lady to have at your side.”

  Miss Haddington looked utterly amused at her mother’s ham-fisted attempts at playing matchmaker, though she managed to keep most of the laughter out of her expression. “I am quite indispensable. However, an unmarried young lady cannot act in the capacity of hostess for an unmarried gentleman, even informally, without implying some degree of understanding between them.”

  Miles hadn’t immediately thought of that, though he knew in an instant she was absolutely correct. By the quick flash of disappointment in Mrs. Haddington’s face, that lady had realized the implications.

  “Rely upon your sister’s guidance. Mrs. Langley knows what she is about,” Miss Haddington said.

  “She was not, despite her reliability, able to point me in the direction of our friend, Mrs. Jones,” Miles said. “I want to make certain she is at ease. She has no friends or acquaintances in this neighborhood beyond our small family circle.”

  Mrs. Haddington seemed surprised. Miss Haddington, however, did not. “She is sitting along the far wall, a bit removed from the French windows. And, I am sorry to say, seems excessively uncomfortable.”

  Miles’s heart dropped. He had feared exactly this. Perhaps he ought to have discussed these plans with her as soon as he’d heard of them. He ought to have found out for himself what her feelings were and what she needed in order to enjoy her first Society event.

  “Thank you, Miss Haddington.” He bowed over her hand, offered her mother an acknowledging dip of his head, and made to follow Miss Haddington’s direction.