“Forgive me, my lord. What do you mean?”
His smile did not waver, and his blue eyes shone brightly in the golden light from above. “The viscount you were discussing—the eligible one. Surely, you couldn’t mean me.”
Caroline muttered something uncharitable beneath her breath and Eliza shot her a stern glance before facing Evanston once more.
“Surely we didn’t.”
His dark brow raised in amusement, his grin broadening. “Am I not considered eligible, then?”
“Perhaps you would be, my lord, were you not so very ineligible.” She dipped into another curtsy to soften the blow, but Evanston only threw his head back into a laugh.
“Touché, Lady Eliza,” he said with a chuckle. “How dare I attempt to discern the subject of your clandestine conversation.”
She couldn’t help a small smile in return. “Yes. How dare you.”
William’s footman, Matthew, passed by with champagne, and Thomas unloaded three flutes from the tray. He extended a glass in her direction and she accepted the proffered drink, her fingertips grazing his as she did, causing her to flush yet again. Evanston didn’t act as if he’d noticed, and she guessed it would take a far sight more than brushed fingers to incite a reaction in him. Passing the second glass to Caroline, he glanced at Eliza with what could have been construed as compassion.
“Truth be told, I don’t envy you at all. It’s one thing to attend the season just for the endless varieties of entertainment. It’s quite another to endure the drudgery of the marriage mart with your eye on finding a husband.”
“Of course,” said Caroline, “finding a husband is a tiresome business. But one can only hope Eliza will find the parties amusing.”
Eliza smiled at her friend. “Well, at the very least, I will have you there to amuse me.”
“Certainly, the company of a good friend will lessen the tedium,” he agreed. “Although if my observations are correct, Eliza may have already secured a husband?”
Evanston’s eyes shifted over to Lord Titherton. Clara, having now been reclaimed by the Earl of Ashworth, had left the man in want of a dance partner, and he was now casting furtive glances in Eliza’s direction. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, she found herself relaxing and laughing with Caroline at Evanston’s teasing.
“I am almost tempted to accept him merely to escape the frenzy of the season,” she replied with a roll of her eyes.
“Will we be seeing you much in London, my lord?” Caroline asked with a sideways glance at Eliza.
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Lord Ashworth will keep me rather busy with the business of his cotton mills, I expect. But we will see.”
Caroline nodded in satisfaction.
It seemed that Evanston would be too tied up with his own pursuits to cause much trouble for Eliza, something that clearly pleased Caroline, whose gaze was suddenly captured by her aunt from across the room.
“Oh, I apologize, but Lady Frances is summoning me.”
Her friend hesitated for a moment as she realized that she would be leaving Eliza alone with Evanston. Then, seeing no way to avoid it, she shot her an apologetic glance and hurried off.
Eliza felt herself flush, the insidious heat spreading over her skin like a sunburn. Clearing her throat, she decided to turn the tables by facing the viscount directly.
“Funny thing,” said Eliza, challenging the sultry blue spark of his gaze. “Most unmarried people attend the season to find a mate, not hunt for random bedfellows.”
“Most unmarried ladies do, that is true,” he corrected her.
She rolled her eyes. “Cotton mills and mistresses. Sounds like you’ve planned yourself a splendid time.”
“And you as well. I’m certain you will be courted by many men.”
“Are you?” she inquired with a skeptical laugh.
It was only after his ensuing silence that she looked at him more intently—noticed the way his gaze lowered to her lips. By the time their eyes met again, she no longer felt entirely in control of the conversation.
“Yes,” he said thoughtfully, stepping closer to brush a fingertip across her cheek. “I am.”
The gesture seemed hesitant . . . a compulsive need to touch her rather than a true show of affection. Eliza’s eyes narrowed into slits. She was not the naïve sixteen-year-old girl she had once been.
“Thomas—”
“There you are!” came the breathless exclamation of her brother’s wife. Clara floated over with a sunny smile to wrap her arms around Eliza, handily preventing any further unpleasantness. “I’ve been trying to find you for half an hour, but these men insist on dancing.”
Eliza felt a considerable amount of relief as Evanston stepped back. She squeezed Clara in unspoken gratitude.
“By all means, stand beside me and I will fend them off on your behalf,” she said with a laugh.
“Speaking of men who love to dance, I’m rather surprised the viscount has allowed himself a respite.” Clara’s eyes darted to the sides of the room where at least a dozen women were glancing over at him in watchful hope, shooting dark looks of envy in Eliza’s direction. “Perhaps he might be willing to rescue one of those forlorn creatures?”
“Sadly, I cannot,” he replied with a grin. “I made a promise to a lady tonight that I intend to keep.” After draining his champagne, he set the glass on a nearby table, his eyes dancing with amusement at the shocked looks on their faces. “Lady Eliza, Lady Ashworth . . . until we meet again.”
With a final bow, he departed as quickly as he had arrived, striding confidently from the ballroom. Eliza shook her head at Clara and finished her drink in silence, wondering why on earth she felt the unmistakable jab of jealousy.
Until we meet again . . .
A tiny shiver raced over her skin. She could only hope that between his cotton mills and mistresses, their next meeting wouldn’t occur until after the conclusion of the season . . . and long after she’d found herself a reliable husband.
Thomas proceeded down the hallway of Lawton Park, allowing himself a small smile. Had his comment made her jealous? There was no way to know for sure, but he did find the notion strangely exciting.
He brushed the thoughts away. Her charms were more than enough to tempt even the most resolute aristocrat out of hiding, and while she was destined for a spectacular season, he knew she was not seeking one. She only sought reliability, and after all she’d been through, he couldn’t blame her.
My sister is forbidden.
He couldn’t blame Ashworth, either, even if his edict grated on his nerves. After all, they had grown up together despite their difference in ages, and he knew William was only looking out for Eliza.
Upon the rare visit home from Eton, or Oxford in their older years, William and Thomas could never be rid of her. Motherless as she was, the earl had asked on more than one occasion for the boys to show her great kindness . . . perhaps more than they thought an annoying little sister deserved.
So they had, and in the process the three of them had grown quite close. William’s older brother, Lucas, was not nearly as present since he was often out with the earl on business, learning what was to become his way of life as a peer. A way of life that was sadly, ironically, ended before it could even begin.
Evanston’s jaw ached at the remembrance of losing those loved ones—men who had been like family to him—and he gripped the polished banister to vault up the stairs. He knew what loss felt like, although his own father’s death ten years earlier had not been traumatic or unexpected. Still, his life had become rather serious upon inheriting his title, and he had dealt with it in the only way he knew how . . . by refusing to be serious. Even now, this infuriated his mother to no end—an unexpected benefit, in his estimation.
Reaching the nursery at last, he shrugged off his melancholy mood to rap sharply on the door. The door creaked open, revealing the golden glow of light from within. Rosa’s kindly nursemaid peered out, her eyes crinkling at the corne
rs. “Good evening, my lord! Miss Rosa was getting rather anxious—”
“Thomas!”
Florence opened the door to allow enough space for Rosa to greet her guest, who was summarily tackled about the waist by the happy four-year-old. In the midst of his laughter, he knelt down so he could properly embrace the little girl.
“Hello, little one. Have I kept you waiting?”
He possessed no great love for children, but Rosa had established herself as the one exception to the rule. Not only were her bright moods infectious in their fun, but she was the youngest member of a family he had grown to love. Thankfully, she seemed blissfully unaware of the calamities that the last two years had wrought . . . a credit to Eliza and her constant efforts.
Rosa tried to pout, but a good-natured giggle broke through the attempt. “I was waiting and waiting . . . and the music is so nice . . . and I just want to dance!” Detaching from his arms, she retrieved her dolly, swinging the poppet to the faint strains of a waltz drifting up from the ballroom below.
He rose to a stand and watched Eliza’s tiny daughter, face squeezed in delight, as she whirled around with her cloth partner. He had come to say good-bye, for a while at least. It would be such a small thing . . . why not give the little girl some joy?
Thomas came to a stop before her. “Would you honor me with a dance, Miss Rosa?” he asked, bowing formally and stretching out a hand.
Her eyes grew huge as saucers and she halted in place, dropping the doll in the middle of the floor. “In the ballroom?”
“No, no,” he said, laughing warmly. “Even I sometimes have my limits. However, if you will accompany me . . .”
He reached down and took Rosa’s hand. Florence fluttered around behind them, fretting about the proprieties, but Thomas simply silenced her with a finger to his lips before leading the girl into the hallway.
“Now,” he said earnestly, scooping Rosa into his arms. “Where can we hear the music best?”
They both listened, venturing further down the wide corridor until reaching the top of the staircase, where the music seemed to float magically around them. It was possible they could be seen from down below if someone entered the foyer, but unlikely at this point in the evening since most guests would still be occupied in the ballroom.
“Right here,” whispered his partner with shining eyes. He grinned before adopting a serious expression and tightening his hold, his right arm supporting her weight and his left extended to clasp her small hand in his.
“Are you ready?”
She beamed and nodded, her golden curls bouncing.
Thomas counted them in and they were off, whirling carefully about the confines of the hallway. Rosa tipped her head back and dissolved into giggles as they neared the nursery once again. Florence was standing, arms crossed with her back against the wall, watching them, determined to disapprove. But even the stoic nursemaid couldn’t resist the mock seriousness with which he danced, and the contagious laughter of her charge. Eventually she too could be heard chuckling beneath her breath.
They continued that way for a few minutes until Rosa’s excitement softened into a relaxed kind of enjoyment, her head tucked affectionately against his neck as he redirected their course when the music grew quiet, back towards the staircase. Knowing now was likely the best time to deliver his good-bye, he leaned in and planted a kiss upon her chubby cheek.
“I must leave tomorrow. I’m heading to London.”
Rosa lifted her head, unworried. He’d been gone at length before, so it appeared that this alone did not concern her.
“For how long?” she asked, her eyes closing as he spun her around.
“Most of the summer, I’m afraid.”
Her eyes snapped wide in disbelief. “Most of the summer? But Mama is leaving tomorrow too and . . . and . . .”
His dancing slowed as he heard the music coming to an end from downstairs. Thomas set her gently on the floor and dropped to one knee.
“I know, and it’s true. But you and your uncle and Clara will get up to all sorts of mischief while we’re away, and I’ll need you to tell me everything when I return.”
“Will you and Mama be together?”
Thomas paused. “I—well, no. Although we may both be in London and could therefore . . . it’s feasible that . . .”
A voice from the foyer below alerted him to someone’s presence. Turning to identify the intruder, his gaze landed with some surprise upon the cool gray eyes of a certain woman’s friend.
Lady Caroline.
Consecutive expressions of shock and revelation crossed her features, as if to say, So this was the lady you were so determined not to disappoint this evening.
Surprisingly, as they stared at one another, her expression turned neutral. She blinked once, tugged on her white satin glove, then gave him a quick nod and exited the foyer—and in those few seconds, he reached a certain conclusion.
Caroline was not going to reveal the truth of his secret visit to Eliza, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Chapter Two
Eliza stifled a yawn with the back of her hand in a failed attempt to conceal her exhaustion, earning a snicker from Caroline and a disapproving tut from her friend’s aunt, Lady Frances.
“A lady must never display her weariness, regardless of the demands of her social calendar,” the elderly woman stated severely, sending a sideways look at Eliza. Her embroidery hoop drooped with apparent displeasure.
“Of course, Lady Frances, I apologize. How thoughtless of me,” replied Eliza, smiling wanly in the direction of her friend.
It had only been two weeks, yet Eliza already craved a respite from the ceaseless dinners and parties. She had ventured out to call on Caroline this afternoon for the kind of reassurance and relief a good friend could provide. Still, she was not entirely safe from judgment, even here in her friend’s drawing room. Lady Frances was a well-intentioned woman who had sacrificed much of her own life to raise her brother’s child. She was like a mother to Caroline, and had certainly been more than a friend to Eliza during her time in Hampshire. Despite the woman’s censure, Eliza knew that any critical remark was simply an attempt to help prepare her for the ton and their own bloodthirsty brand of judgment.
Caroline’s gray eyes were dancing. “You must forgive her rudeness, Auntie. It’s simply that she is unused to the rigors of the London season. Eliza has been tucked away in the country, has she not? You and I have profited greatly from the experience of the past two seasons and we cannot expect her to come back out into society without some small period of adjustment.”
Lady Frances raised her eyebrows and resumed her embroidery, casting her gaze downward to focus on her task. “My dear, need I remind you that the ultimate profit lies in securing a husband? Why just yesterday I received a letter from your parents—”
“How odd,” said Caroline in a whisper, leaning conspiratorially towards Eliza. “I received no such correspondence . . .”
“—and they urged me to ensure that you find success during this year’s festivities—”
Caroline shrugged, unconcerned. “Not likely, since I’m not actively seeking success,” she added under her breath.
Eliza reached out to playfully shove her friend, then adopted an expression of supreme innocence when Lady Frances glanced up suspiciously up from her needlework.
Not for the first time, she felt heartsick at her friend’s predicament. Abandoned at a young age by the Duke of Pemberton and his wife, Caroline had become accustomed to being ignored by her parents, whose capricious nature dictated their continuous travel of the continent without her. Always without her.
Eliza could never imagine treating Rosa with such unfeeling neglect. It actually took every ounce of strength she possessed to keep from leaping into her carriage and hastening the driver back to Kent, where her daughter anxiously anticipated her return. She knew Rosa was in excellent hands with her brother and Clara to watch over her, and indeed, two more protective gua
rdians she could not have found. Their help had given Eliza the freedom to be courted by men without the process affecting her young daughter, and she was grateful for the assistance.
The stakes were high and she was determined to succeed. Could she find a man who would be a kind father to Rosa? Would he love them, and perhaps more importantly, could they grow to love him back? These questions weighed on her as she viewed the harrowing prospect of navigating the ton, and she reminded herself that the notion of love was a luxury, but certainly not a requirement.
“Would you care for more tea?”
Caroline’s friendly inquiry interrupted her thoughts, her gaze clouded with concern. Eliza blinked and glanced around the room. Lady Frances had apparently finished her lecture on Caroline’s marriage goals and was once again working on stitching the outline of a peony in varying shades of pink thread.
She was unsure how long she had spent in the midst of their company, carelessly allowing herself to daydream, but it had been long enough that her friend had noticed something was amiss.
“I . . . no, thank you. I should return home to rest before Lady Humphrey’s dinner party tonight,” she replied weakly, rising to a stand and smoothing her skirts, the fine satin rustling beneath her hands. “A pleasure to see you as always, Lady Frances.”
“Likewise, dear Eliza.”
“I’ll walk with you,” said Caroline, linking her arm through Eliza’s and gently towing her through the drawing room doors. Once out of earshot of her aunt, she paused and turned to face her friend with an inquiring look. “Are you well? You looked upset.”
Eliza enfolded Caroline in an embrace, pulling her close. She valued her company more than she could ever possibly express, especially with her temporary relocation to London and the isolation it brought. Such a curious thing, to be surrounded by people yet feel utterly alone. She had felt it for a while when she’d been in full mourning but had since been able to relearn her ease. Still, she couldn’t deny that there were times when she felt overwhelmed.
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