For Elise

by Sarah M. Eden

  He was waylaid, however, by Mr. Haddington before he’d gone more than a dozen steps. “My apologies, Lord Grenton, for not having come for a visit these past few weeks. I’ve been neck deep in a great deal of business.”

  Miles waved off the apology. He’d not been the least offended. He’d been rather too occupied with his own concerns to have even noticed. “I am pleased you could come this evening, you and your family.”

  Mr. Haddington nodded, his brow and mouth both turned down in deep thought. “I understand you’ve had some house guests.”

  “Yes, my sister and her husband, as well as a dear family friend.”

  “Yes, the soldier’s widow.” He nodded. “My wife and daughter told me about her. Quiet thing, they said. Has a little girl.”

  Miles’s limited interactions with Mr. Haddington had proven him a blunt and somewhat nosy man, inclined to jump directly into another’s affairs without bothering to think whether the intrusion was appreciated or appropriate.

  “Mrs. Jones and her daughter are both very dear friends.” Miles hoped he had conveyed the necessary warning. He would not permit Elise or Anne to be spoken of unkindly.

  Mr. Haddington barreled on. “I think I may have known Mrs. Jones’s father. Furlong was the name, I believe.”

  “It was, indeed.” Miles hadn’t been expecting that. He knew Mr. Haddington had known his father but didn’t realize the acquaintance had extended to Mr. Furlong.

  “We belonged to the same club, attended some of the same races, and, in our more intellectual moments, attended the same lectures and demonstrations. We weren’t the closest of friends, but we were more than passing acquaintances.”

  “I didn’t realize your connection to my father and hers was as extensive as this.” Miles didn’t think he remembered his father ever mentioning a Mr. Haddington. But, then again, Father had never mentioned his mountain of crushing debts either.

  Mr. Haddington shook his head. “As I said, we weren’t the closest of friends. But I knew him. Good men, both of them. I was sorry to hear of their passing.”

  “It was a grievous loss, certainly.” Miles never knew whether to thank people for expressing sorrow at Father’s death or to simply agree with them. Agreeing seemed the best response in that moment.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to your guests,” Mr. Haddington said. “I only wanted to know if Mrs. Jones was Mr. Furlong’s daughter. The world seems smaller the older I get. More connections between us all.”

  Miles could only imagine how ceaseless the chatter was at the Haddington house. Neither the master nor mistress were prone to bouts of silence. He left Mr. Haddington behind and continued his search for Elise.

  Miss Haddington’s directions proved entirely correct. Elise occupied a chair a bit apart from any of the others. She sat ramrod straight, her bare hands clutched tightly in her lap. She watched the dancers and other guests with a look of pending doom, as though she expected someone to attack her or toss her out on her ear.

  So distracted was she that Miles managed to take the seat next to hers without being noticed. “Do you not wish to join them?” he asked, fully expecting to startle her.

  She didn’t bat an eyelash. “I am quite content exactly where I am.”

  “You did see me approach.”

  “Of course I did.” She looked at him at last. “You are quite dashing this evening. I don’t imagine anyone hasn’t taken note of you.”

  Miles made a show of tugging at his cuffs, then pretended to smooth back his hair.

  A whisper of a smile touched Elise’s face. “You used to do exactly that whenever I forced you to come have tea with me in my nursery,” Elise said. “For years, I thought that was an integral part of any social call.”

  He could easily imagine that. “I was a bad influence on you.”

  She shook her head. “You were the best part of my childhood.”

  And she had been the best part of his.

  “You look lovely this evening,” he said. “That gown is new.”

  She nervously smoothed her skirt. “Beth ordered it for me. It is the finest gown I’ve ever owned.”

  “I know very little of fashion, but I think it’s perfect.”

  “How comforting that someone who knows little of fashion has given his approval of my fashion choices.” The tiniest glimmer of mischief twinkled in her eyes.

  “I clearly remember how often you gave me advice on fisticuffs and how to strut about in the manliest way a schoolboy could possibly manage, though you had no experience with either one.”

  “That is different.” If not for the smile tugging at her lips, Elise would have looked entirely in earnest. “I was always so clever that experience was not at all necessary.”

  Miles chuckled lightly. He looked out over the dancers and other guests. “What does your cleverness say about my very first ball as a marquess? Is it a success?”

  “Inarguably,” she said. “If nothing else, you have quite a collection of matchmaking mamas rubbing their hands together schemingly whilst their daughters adopt a very proprietary air when looking your way.”

  “And more than one of the fathers has been a bit too pointed in his sudden interest in being my newest associate,” Miles said. “Makes a man feel like a horse at market.”

  Elise smiled at him. He had the oddest urge to simply hug her.

  “A marquess is rather a catch,” she said. “Even if he has spent the past four years working in the sugar fields.”

  “Perhaps I should pull out some of my old, mud-stained work clothes and see how interested the young ladies still are.”

  “A single gentleman with both a title and a vast deal of wealth could arrive at a ball in only his dressing gown and would still be in high demand.” Her smile faded a bit. “A woman of no fortune, however, could arrive spectacularly gowned and perfectly coiffed and still be rejected out of hand.”

  “Is that what is worrying you, Elise? You fear their rejection?”

  “I am too far beneath their notice to even warrant the effort of a rejection,” she said quite matter-of-factly.

  He set his hand on top of her hands, still clutched tightly together in her lap. “You underestimate yourself, my friend.”

  She didn’t pull away. She didn’t pull away!

  “You think no one has even noticed you,” he said, “but Miss Haddington knew precisely where you were when I asked. She had noticed you.”

  “From what I have seen of her, Miss Haddington is a very kindhearted person,” Elise said. “I will say this though: she may have noticed where I was sitting, but she hasn’t yet lost track of you. Very few people have, in fact.”

  Miles returned his gaze to the other guests and realized Elise was absolutely correct. Several people were approaching them at that very moment.

  He rose as his guests arrived at the small grouping of chairs where only he and Elise sat. Doing so necessitated that he release her hand, and he regretted it on the instant. But, he told himself, that she had allowed the once-familiar connection was progress.

  She stood, apparently remembering that doing so was expected. Miles bowed. Elise curtsied. The new arrivals curtsied as well.

  “We had wondered where you disappeared to,” one of the matrons said, a hint of real reprimand beneath her teasing tone.

  “I was speaking with Mrs. Jones. She is a very close friend of the Linwood family.”

  “Yes, so we have heard.”

  Another of the local ladies took up the discussion. “That is a lovely color, Mrs. Jones, and a very fashionable style. Who is your modiste?”

  “I am not certain,” Elise said, her voice low and quiet. “Mrs. Langley placed the order on my behalf.”

  “On your behalf?” Such doubt filled the lady’s question. “I was under the impression she undertook the task entirely.”

  Elise’s coloring dropped off noticeably. Her gaze dropped to the floor. “Mrs. Langley is very kind to me.”

  “Indeed,” was the noticeably
haughty response.

  One of the younger ladies spoke to Elise next from behind her hand, as though wishing to keep her remark between the two of them, though she didn’t lower her voice enough to keep the conversation private. “You have neglected to wear your gloves, Mrs. Jones. You did realize you were supposed to, did you not?”

  “An unfortunate oversight, I’m afraid.” Elise spoke as though she were a chambermaid being reprimanded by her mistress rather than a lady of the gentry in conversation with other ladies belonging to that same class.

  Elise slowly disappeared into herself. The gathered guests took their cues from her and seemed to forget she stood among them. I am too far beneath their notice to even warrant the effort of a rejection. Miles wished in that moment the ladies had, in fact, not noticed her enough to be unkind. Listening to their haughty words of dismissal was far worse.

  “The next set is about to begin.” Miles addressed Elise. If he asked her to dance, his other guests would have to acknowledge she was their equal. Perhaps Elise herself would begin to believe it.

  She didn’t allow him to even begin his invitation. “Then this is the perfect moment for me to slip away. I wish to offer Anne a good night before she falls asleep.”

  “You—”

  She made a quick, awkward curtsy to all of them at once and hurried from the ballroom before anyone could offer an objection.

  For a solid hour, Miles attempted to slip out of the ballroom and follow her, wanting to make certain she had left for the reason she’d claimed. Though the ladies hadn’t said anything to her that on the surface was clearly insulting, their tones and postures could not have been misunderstood. Elise had been so fragile since they’d been reunited, no longer the quietly confident, seldom ruffled young lady he’d once known. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being hurt in his home.

  Finally, he was able to step out and hurry up the back stairwell to the second floor, where the nursery was. Elise said she meant to tuck Anne in. The nursery would be the best place to look first.

  A low light burned in the pink bedchamber Anne had claimed as her own. Miles peeked inside. Anne slept soundly on her bed. Heavens, but she looked exactly like her mother at that age. It was like a glimpse directly into the past. He stepped quietly over to Anne’s bed and pulled her blanket up over her shoulders.

  She had warmed to him a bit over the weeks, but it was a slow process. He’d grown very fond of her and wanted to see her smile, to see her as happy as Elise had been as a child.

  He pressed a kiss to Anne’s forehead. “Good night, sweet girl,” he whispered. “Sleep well.”

  “Miles?” Elise’s confused, quiet voice broke into the silence of the room.

  He glanced back and saw her sitting in a chair not far from the bed. She still wore her ball gown, but there was no mistaking the fact that she’d been sleeping in the hard, spindle-backed chair.

  She blinked a few times. “I think I fell asleep.”

  “I believe you did,” Miles said. “And not in the most comfortable place.”

  She smiled a bit. “My neck most certainly agrees with you.” Elise turned her head from side to side, her expression twisting with obvious discomfort. “If only Wellington had been aware of this acute form of torture. Napoleon would have surrendered after one night of this.”

  Did she have any idea how much she tortured him with these fleeting glimpses of the girl he’d once known and cared about so deeply? She remained just out of reach.

  Elise’s gaze settled on Anne. “She wanted to sing a song for me. That one song turned into at least a dozen.” She smiled fondly at her daughter. “She fell asleep only after she was entirely exhausted.”

  Miles sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping girl. “I didn’t realize she sang.”

  “A recently acquired talent,” Elise said with a quiet laugh. “She will never be invited to perform for anyone, but she enjoys it so very much one can’t help enjoying it with her.”

  Elise yawned. She did indeed look tired.

  Miles picked up the lantern from the bedside table. “There’s no point being uncomfortable the rest of the night.” He held his hand out to her, praying she would take it. “I’ll walk you up to your bedchamber. I know a back way so you’ll not have to stop and talk with any of the guests if you’d rather not.”

  “You know me well.” She took his hand.

  A mixture of triumph and utter relief settled over him. No matter that she remained aloof most of the time; she had allowed him to hold her hand twice that night. He was, somehow or another, getting through to her.

  “I did know you very well once,” he said gently. “Lately, however, I feel . . . a little lost.”

  Sadness touched her eyes. “I feel more than a bit lost myself.”

  “Life has not played out the way either of us expected, has it?”

  She shook her head. “Not in the least.”

  Miles lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “We’ll sort this all out. We simply have to find our way.”

  “Then it is a very good thing you have the lantern.”

  Miles squeezed her fingers as they walked from the room, the lantern held in his free hand. They pretended to be very sneaky as they made their way around the back corridors and down the stairs to her bedroom. It was a game they’d often played as children. She smiled and looked like she was biting back more than one laugh. Miles’s heart lightened during that quick journey about the house. The longer Elise was there, the more hopeful he grew.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Miles, Beth, and Mr. Langley slept straight through breakfast the next morning. Only Elise awoke at the usual time. The others had been up late, enjoying the ball.

  Elise sat at the windows of the morning room, looking out over the back meadow of Tafford. She’d worked quite hard the evening before to appear as though she was happy to leave the ball. But that had been far from true. She had been nervous and a little unsure of herself, but flutters of excitement had built throughout the day before.

  She had dreamed of attending a ball since she was a child. She’d imagined herself in an elegant gown, dancing with a handsome gentleman, being an inarguable part of the gathering. Last night would have been her first taste of that long-awaited dream. And there she’d sat, gloveless, wearing her worn boots beneath a gown she’d received out of charity—well-meaning charity but charity nonetheless—and feeling like a weed among the roses.

  She was every bit as lost as she’d told Miles she felt. Sitting by herself at the ball, she’d finally admitted to herself that she had to decide the direction of her future. She needed to find a place for herself and Anne, a place that was permanent and comfortable and fitting. She didn’t know how far away she would settle, couldn’t say for certain how much danger she might be in from the writer of the letters, but she could no longer sit idly by and wait for fate to deal another telling blow; neither could she continually uproot Anne. They needed to find a place that could permanently be home.

  “Mrs. Jones.”

  She looked back toward the door.

  One of the footman stood in the entryway. “Mr. Cane is here to see you, ma’am,” he said. “Mr. Humphrey has placed him in the library.”

  “Thank you.”

  Elise stood. She smoothed out the front of her morning dress, grateful for the option of dresses that made her appear at least somewhat important. She likely would have been quite intimidated meeting with a solicitor on her own were she still wearing her old dress of homespun. Looking more like a lady of means increased the likelihood of being treated like one.

  Mr. Cane was, in fact, in the library. He stood behind the desk as she stepped inside. Elise inclined her head, allowing that to serve as a greeting. She chose a seat slightly to the side of the desk rather than sit across from him like a petitioner. He was in her employ, in a manner of speaking. She would do well to at least pretend that didn’t feel odd to her.

  H
e retook his seat but didn’t wait for her to indicate he should begin their discussion. “After I last left here, I returned to my offices fully intending to set in motion those arrangements necessary for your first quarterly payment to arrive as expected. Unfortunately, there have been some difficulties. I am sure you will understand when I tell you that you may be required to wait longer than you had anticipated. It could not be helped, after all.”

  Elise rallied her determination. “If you would, please begin your explanation again but with at least a little detail. What were the difficulties? How did they disrupt the payment? And when can I expect this problem to be resolved?”

  Mr. Cane’s air was patient but with just enough condescension to set Elise’s teeth a bit on edge. She could have predicted what came next. “Financial matters are complicated, Mrs. Jones, especially to one not schooled in the intricacies of money. A woman of your humble financial circumstances would be overwhelmed by the details.”

  Though the emphasis on woman and humble was subtle, it was unmistakable.

  “Humor me,” Elise said, doing her best to mimic the confident tone she’d heard Beth employ again and again. She might not understand everything Mr. Cane told her, but she meant to try.

  “When Mr. Linwood—that is, Lord Grenton—asked me all those years ago to invest on your behalf the funds left to you after the sale of your late father’s estate, I couldn’t do so in Lord Grenton’s name, else the funds would have been enveloped by his late father’s estate, which was at that time in the process of being liquidated. But neither could I place the account exclusively in your name, as you were underage at that time, in addition to being female, either one of which prevented you from legally being permitted to have sole control of the account.”

  Elise knew perfectly well the dim view both lawmakers and businessmen took of a woman’s ability to make decisions of any kind. She simply nodded her understanding of what Mr. Cane was telling her.

  He continued. “The account I created was in your name, with young Mr. Linwood named as trustee. But his recently acquired title and transfer of his interest to the keeping of a different solicitor as well as a different man of business than he had been using have prevented me from directing the monthly payments on my own. I will have to collect the proper signatures and make arrangements with the Grenton solicitor, who is in London, a journey I hadn’t anticipated making and which will require a bit of planning.”