There was so much in her mother’s letter which had broken her heart and made Eliza miss her all the more. But there was much which had angered her also, and she knew that her tears were not simply the result of sadness, but of that same old sense of injustice that would not leave her.
What good would it do to see her mother and keep that anger and resentment alive? Of all the feelings she experienced, the loss, the heartbreak, none of them could match the life-changing effects of bitterness.
In playing her part at Lytton Hall, in holding on to the idea of self-control, her character was so detached that she felt beyond hurt. For the most part, at any rate.
But she knew there were still times she had yearned for her mother, that calm, loving voice of reason who was always ready to advise Eliza to the very best of her ability.
How much she had wanted her mother when the Duke had taunted her with her failure to conceive a child. And how her mother would have made her feel so very different about it all. She most certainly would not have been left with the notion that it was her fault alone that no sign of being with child had made itself known.
Lady Bexley would have pointed out the Duke’s advancing years and poor state of health and not given in until her daughter’s confidence and sense of worth had returned to her.
But what good was any of that now? It would not change what had happened, nor would it take her off the path which had been set for her.
She closed her eyes and blindly dug her hand into the pocket of her gown for a handkerchief. She would find a way to let go of her grief and return to herself as if she had never read that letter at all.
But just as she began to dry her eyes, the door to the morning room opened inward, and Daniel Winchester peered into the room.
Chapter 8
Daniel knew he should walk away. He could do so without any concern, for that would have been the proper thing to do in the circumstances. To venture any further into the room would be inappropriate, and he knew it. Who would not know such a thing?
But he also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he could not walk away. He could not shrug his shoulders and leave without ever thinking of her distress again. Surely nobody could do that.
“Your Grace,” he said and, despite every instinct urging him to the contrary, Daniel Winchester walked into the morning room and closed the door behind him.
Beyond addressing her in the correct manner, he could not think of a single word to say to her now that he was in the room with no sensible way of taking back his actions thus far.
She looked up at him miserably, her humiliation at being found in such a state clear to him. For all that she was so much younger than him, a woman of just nineteen years, he realized that she possessed a dignity that he could have only imagined at her age.
Her eyes told him how she wished he had not discovered her at that moment, and the letter laying open on her lap told him that she must surely have just read something which had upset her greatly.
“Forgive my intrusion, but I did not want to leave you here in such distress,” he began awkwardly. “If you have received some upsetting news,” he said and nodded significantly at the letter, “I can seek out His Grace and tell him for you.” He raised his eyebrows in question.
“Goodness me, no. I would beg you to say nothing to my husband. It is not bad news at all, just something I did not yet have the stomach to read.” She looked down at the letter before taking it up and folding it over and over again until it was no more than a tiny, crumpled thing.
“Is there nothing I can do for you? Can I not at least find Miss West?” He knew he could not leave her but was at a loss as to how he might help.
Without knowing what she had read or what had upset her, it was hard to find the right course of action, the right person to send for.
“I would rather Nella not know of my upset,” she said quietly and began to dry her eyes in earnest.
“But why?” Daniel took a few steps further into the room until he was standing almost in front of her.
She looked like a young woman who was fighting hard against being utterly forlorn, and he felt a newfound respect for one he had previously judged without evidence.
“I cannot be sure she will not inform my husband. Not out of spite, but out of fear or duty or some other such similar sentiment.” She laughed mirthlessly. “But then, I cannot be sure you will not simply do the same thing.”
“I would not. And I am not in fear of anybody, Your Grace. If you wish me to say nothing and to fetch nobody to help you, then that is what I shall do. And if you wish me to leave because you fear I am not truthful in my words, then I shall. You need only say it.”
She looked up at him with those golden-brown eyes, and he was reminded of those few curious moments when their eyes had locked before she had run away up the stairs to her chamber just days before.
He remembered how he had held onto her arm and how he had thought he would hear something about it from the Duke himself in due course. But that conversation had never come to pass.
She had kept it to herself, and Daniel realized that there was so much more to her than he had thought. She was not a flighty young woman with ideas of impressing society with her new wealth and title. At least, she did not strike him that way any longer. In truth, he wondered why he had ever thought it. Perhaps his own prejudice had marred his thinking.
“No, you need not leave.” She smiled just a little. “After all, I did say you might cut through this room for your midday walk, did I not? I would not have you think I would go back on my word.”
“I do not think it.” He smiled back and felt himself to be heading into a place he could not get back from.
Daniel imagined himself raising a foot and placing it firmly on a path which ran in a very different direction from the one he had always been on.
“I wish you had not found me here, Mr Winchester, but it is entirely my fault that you did, so I do not blame you for anything.”
“I would not like to think of you suffering whatever has upset you alone, however much you would wish I had never come in.” He knew he should not be saying it but could not stop himself. “If His Grace cannot assist and Miss West cannot, perhaps you might permit me? After all, I am here now and am more than willing to help you if I can.”
She was silent for some moments, and Daniel knew he had stepped over that invisible line. Whilst she might only be a young woman with few of life’s experiences behind her, she was still a Duchess, and he knew the boundaries of such a position in life.
“It is a letter from my mother, Mr Winchester,” she began a little uncertainly at just the moment he had prepared himself to apologize for his impertinence.
“Is she well?” he said with concern.
“She is quite well; I thank you.”
“And your father? The rest of your family?” he said and lowered himself down into the armchair opposite the couch on which she sat when she indicated that he should sit.
“My father and brother are well also, Mr Winchester. In fact, they are all in the very peak of health and will no doubt resume life as normal very soon.” She spoke with a little bitterness which took Daniel aback somewhat.
“I am afraid I do not understand,” he said, wanting her to go on but very careful not to question her directly.
“You are my husband’s attorney, Mr Winchester, and so I am sure that you will have been given the task of transferring a vast amount of money from the Duke to my father.” She smiled again when he shifted awkwardly in his seat.
“I am not asking you to confirm it, so you need not fear that I would seek to have you betray the Duke’s confidence. But I know you must realize that my father was paid very handsomely for the sale of his only daughter.” The bitterness had vanished only to be replaced by a look of utter desolation and the deepest sadness.
“Sale?” he said and wished he had not.
“I am sure that you know that it is always a sale, Mr Winchester. A tr
ansaction between men of which women play no part and have no say.”
“Yes,” he said, knowing it to be true. “But not all young ladies would see it as such.”
“No, they would not. They are either conditioned to expect it and see no wrong in it, or they are pleased to be elevated in some way. In a way, I envy the latter. In their own way, such women actually do have a little say in it all, albeit nothing that would be acted upon. But they become a part of the transaction then, a part of the process in that they see ways in which they might benefit.”
“Yes, I believe that to be true,” Daniel said and suddenly felt a great wave of guilt wash over him.
That was, he knew, exactly how he had seen Eliza Ashton. He had mistaken her cool behaviour for complicity in her new circumstances, and now he could see that it was anything but.
“And now that my family lives in perfect safety once more, Bexley Hall saved from loss, my mother would seek to excuse their treatment of me.”
“And that is why you are upset?” he spoke gently and wished there was some way for him to soothe her.
“I am angry, Mr Winchester. I am furious that my mother would explain it all away with words I had never expected to hear from her. Ideas that women have always been treated thus and should, therefore, find some means of learning to live with the idea. That matters of the heart are always left to us, never once affecting the men in our lives.”
“I am so very sorry.”
“But her words are an excuse that I shall never accept, for it is no proper excuse, is it?”
“No, it is not.” Daniel could feel his admiration for her growing by the minute.
How brave she had been to have been able to fool him into thinking she was like so many others in her situation who did not feel it greatly, who did not rail against it. How much it must cost her every day to hold it all inside.
But there was more than anger in her, and he knew it. He could almost feel it. Even though he knew he ought not to ask, he had already come so far, had already crashed through the barriers that were in place for some reason he could hardly remember now.
“But you are more than angry, are you not? You are hurt, I think.” He studied her face for any signs of annoyance.
“I am hurt in more ways than I can possibly tell you, Mr Winchester. You see, I had never expected that my family would ever do such a thing. I never thought they could ever do anything for which I would never forgive them.”
“They had always been kind beforehand?”
“Yes, they had always been kind. There was never any possibility that my father would choose a husband for me. I had never any cause to doubt that it would be a choice I would make for myself.”
“Until hard times made themselves known,” he concluded.
“Yes. Until then.” Her tears had all gone, but her eyes were red and sore, and her perfect skin blotchy.
“And your mother misses you,” he ventured.
“Yes. Or at least she claims to.”
“You do not believe her?”
“I scarcely know what to think. And so, I choose not to think about it at all.”
“I cannot see how such a thing can be pushed from your mind.”
“It is hard, but I must do it. I cannot let my emotions swallow me whole as they have done today. If I do, I shall never find a way through this life I no longer cherish. I cannot let them in. I cannot forgive them for this, even if it is the right thing to do.”
“Even if it made you feel better to have your family in your life again?”
“How can I look at them and know what they have done to me? How can I ever let them think that it was right?”
“Perhaps it is too early to try to find the answers to such questions.”
“Yes, perhaps it is,” she said and straightened in her seat. “But I am keeping you from your midday fresh air, Mr Winchester.” She smiled so brightly that he knew she was returning to her old self; putting on her brave face.
“Then I shall leave you in peace, Your Grace,” he said and rose to his feet.
“Thank you kindly, Mr Winchester.”
He opened the French windows and stepped out into the warm midday sunshine. Before he closed the door, he looked back in at her, staring until she raised her head to meet his gaze.
“And have no fear that I shall betray your confidence, for I shall not. Ever.”
Chapter 9
“I am so relieved that we still have our Thursdays, Eliza,” Ariadne said as the two of them, fresh from their victory at the bridge table, sat down on a couch. “Oh, yes please.” Ariadne turned her attention to an approaching maid.
“A tea tray, ma’am?” the young woman said brightly.
“That would be wonderful, thank you.”
“I am glad too. I do not know how I would manage my isolation without the respite of seeing you every week. I have that to be grateful for, and I am.” Eliza smiled warmly.
She had been looking forward to her regular excursion all week, even though she felt the same old sense of trepidation as she walked into Lady Dearborn’s drawing room; the snap of fear that Miles Gainsborough would be there.
But he had never made an appearance at the bridge from the time he had turned his back on Eliza. She secretly assumed that he would be too afraid to turn up and have strips torn off him by dear Ariadne. As sweet as Eliza’s friend was, she was almost fierce in her protection.
“Why are you smiling?” Ariadne said and brought Eliza back into the present. “You look amused, my dear.”
“Forgive me.” Eliza laughed. “I had just imagined Miles staying away from his regular engagement here for fear of you, my dear Ariadne.” Eliza tried to look apologetic rather than amused but failed miserably.
“And he would have every reason to fear me,” Ariadne said firmly, making Eliza laugh all the more. “Believe me, he will rue the day our paths ever cross again. He cannot avoid me forever. There will come a day, a ball or a buffet, a play in town or a musical recital.” She looked utterly distracted by her own plot. “And then I shall have him where I want him. He does not yet know the meaning of discomfort, I can assure you.”
“Ariadne! My goodness!” Eliza was struggling not to draw attention to herself. “I always knew you were my closest friend and ally, my most ardent supporter. But I never realized you could become so fearsome!”
“I cannot bear betrayal,” Ariadne said simply and smiled as the maid returned with their tea tray. “Oh, thank you kindly.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am.” The maid, who was smiling as broadly as Ariadne, curtseyed before leaving them.
“What a nice young woman. She is always smiling,” Ariadne said sweetly.
“Rather like you,” Eliza teased. “I wonder if she too hides the heart of a lioness beneath that sweet composure.”
“It is always the quiet ones.”
“Oh, Ariadne, how you cheer me! I could never have believed I would laugh again after these last days. But in no time, you have me smiling. I was right; I could never manage without you.”
“Of course, you could. You could manage anything; it is just that you should not have to.”
“You will grow tired of hearing me talk about my woes one of these days.”
“I will not. And you must always tell me what is happening in your life, every bit of it. I shall never turn my back on you.” She eyed the tea tray. “Do you mind a strong cup? I thought I would let it brew a while.”
Love Stories of Enchanting Ladies: A Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 7