Eliza wanted to scream at him. At least Hugh didn’t overrule her every word. At least Hugh listened to what she said and respected her feelings. He, at least, had been honest with her when confronted.
“Come back inside,” said her father, persuasive again. “Stay the night in your old room. In the morning you can shout at me some more, like your mother would have done, and I promise to take my scolding quietly.”
She didn’t want to, but she needed time to think. Without a word she went back into the house. Her father seemed to sense it was best not to speak, so he let her go in peace.
Back in her childhood room, Eliza paced restlessly. Who could advise her? Because she hadn’t the slightest idea what to do. Even if her friends were here, what help would they be? Never had she wished more for her mother to be here still.
She sat on the bed and her eyes fell on the sampler she’d sewn at the age of ten. Her stitches had been so carefully placed. This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. It had spoken to her young soul, and she’d chosen it over any number of Bible verses, with the help of the kind and patient headmistress at school.
She inhaled in discovery. Of course.
After a restless night’s sleep, she rose at dawn and slipped quietly from the house. She did not want to shout at her father some more. She didn’t want to speak to him at all right now. In the stable she roused William and asked him to prepare the traveling chaise. Within half an hour they were off, the house behind her quiet and still.
Chapter 30
By the time Hugh reached Greenwich, it was midmorning.
Eliza had not been at home in St. James’s Square, quenching his hope of catching her. Mary, her maid, had been drowsing in the chair by the hearth, and when he woke her she could only stammer that her mistress had gone out the night before without saying where. She’d sent Thomas to hire a hackney carriage and left. Mary had fallen asleep waiting for her to return.
Hugh was not surprised she had gone to Greenwich. He’d told her to go, after all. He was unsettled that she had not come back yet. He gulped down a cup of coffee while his horse was brought around, and set out at once.
All the way down the river he thought about what he would say. Her father had coerced and lied to them both, but that was in the past. The present, and the future, did not need to be tainted by that. The sight of her shocked face, the tears in her eyes, had ripped aside the excuse he’d been hiding behind. Cross had required his vow of secrecy, but Hugh had known all along the truth might cost him dearly. And his response to that knowledge had been to double down on keeping the secret at all costs.
And as for who told her . . . It didn’t really matter. He should have expected it to happen eventually and taken steps to inoculate himself. It had been in his power all along to tell her the truth, gently and calmly, and like a coward he had shied away from it. And now he was reaping the coward’s bitter reward.
But when he arrived at Cross’s Greenwich mansion, Eliza was not there, either.
“She left early this morning,” Edward Cross said. He didn’t look up at Hugh, only sat at the breakfast table, staring out the window and cradling a coffee cup in his hand.
“Where did she go?” Hugh demanded
Cross heaved a sigh. “I don’t know.” Finally he raised his moody gaze to meet Hugh’s furious one. “Blasted Richard Nesbit told her about the debts.”
Hugh’s jaw clenched. That was what had pleased Livingston last night—he’d bet his last farthing the viscount had put Nesbit up to it, in retaliation for exposing Reggie Benwick’s avarice. “Bugger him,” he said rudely. “I don’t care who told her, I only care to find her and see for myself that she’s well.”
“She was furious last night.” Cross heaved himself out of his chair. “Called me a liar and a deceiver, and accused me of coercing you into loving her.” He gave Hugh a belligerent look. “I never did that. Courting, yes, marriage, perhaps, but not of loving her. Don’t you dare say I did!”
“No,” Hugh bit out. “I fell in love with her because of Eliza herself. That’s the only reason I never told her, you know. If she hadn’t been who she is, I would have told her the day after the wedding and left you to her mercy.”
Cross grunted. “And that was what she wanted! When she was a girl, she’d say to me, Papa, I want someone to love me. When she had her Season, she lamented that none of the young fellows seemed the sort to love someone. Too mad for gambling and carriage racing and drinking at their club! Well, she was right about them—a useless lot, most of the ton—so I decided to winnow the field. Find someone capable of love. Someone decent and honorable.”
“Someone deeply in debt,” Hugh couldn’t help adding in a growl.
Cross waved one hand. “Leverage, nothing more. All I wanted was for you to take a look at her. If you did, I was sure you’d see how lovely and warm and wonderful my girl is . . .” He shrugged.
“Did you never think,” Hugh began, “that if you had cultivated a different sort of acquaintance, or encouraged her to receive gentlemen who shared her interests—?”
“No.” Cross slanted a defiant look at him. “I wanted a proper gentleman for her. She said all the fellows who came around were only after her dowry, so why shouldn’t I make use of that?”
“I was never after her dowry,” said Hugh between his teeth.
“I know. And that made you acceptable.” Cross turned away, to stare out the window again. “It’s the way things are, Hastings. Those without money want it; those with money want to get something of value in return.”
“Is that why you told Robert Grenville to cheat at cards that night I played with him?”
Cross wheeled around. “What? How dare you. Of all the scurrilous—”
“Sir David Southbridge told me,” bit out Hugh. “When he was caught scheming to help Grenville cheat again last night.”
Cross looked startled. “That little—” He flung out one arm violently. “Both of them are capable of it, I suppose. But I never told him to do that. Never. I’m a businessman, not a cheat.”
Hugh had heard enough. He turned and left without a word, although his fury died away as he rode back to London. He didn’t care about Cross anymore. Where had Eliza gone? In desperation, he went to Lady Georgiana’s house, where he found a disconcerting uproar. It seemed Lady Georgiana had snuck out after breakfast without leaving word. Her chaperone, the Countess of Sidlow, was apoplectic.
“That foolish, headstrong girl,” she said, pacing the room. “I thought she’d gone to one of her friends in town, up in arms about something or other and wanting to put me out, but they all disclaim it. I don’t know what I’ll do now—that girl will be the death of me! I told Wakefield time and again that he needed to exert some control over her, and now you see, sir, this is his reward!” She shook her head in a fury. “And Lord Sterling will only put up with so many of her antics before he breaks the betrothal, and then where will she be? Oh, what a fool I was to agree to Wakefield’s terms!”
Hugh thought the woman’s concern should be for her charge, not her employer or herself, but he had a feeling Georgiana might have gone to Eliza—wherever she was. He murmured something vaguely reassuring and, at a loss for the moment, went home.
Mary, the maid, remembered under questioning that, yes, Eliza had written a note before she left. Wilkins added that he had sent it as directed, first thing that morning, to Lady Georgiana Lucas. Hugh was not surprised. It did not tell him where they’d gone, but at least she had a friend with her. In fact, he’d wager the Duchess of Ware was with them, as well.
He slumped in his study chair, letting his head fall back. He hadn’t slept all night, had ridden to Greenwich and back, and was exhausted physically and emotionally. His eyes felt dry and unfocused. If his wife wanted to leave him, should he chase her down, or let her go? After the way they’d argued the night before, perhaps she never wanted to see him again.
/> “Hugh?”
He forced open his eyes. His mother stood in the study doorway, worried. His sisters peered around her. “May we come in, dear?”
He waved one hand, and she came in. She tried to close the door behind her, but Edith and Henrietta protested loudly. “Let them come,” he said wearily. No more lies. Not to anyone.
“Is Eliza well?” asked his mother.
“Where is she?” Edith burst out. Her eyes were red. “I never should have let her leave alone last night, never! I am so sorry, Hugh!”
“I don’t know where she is.” He looked down at his hands. “I don’t know if she’ll come back.”
Rose gasped. Henrietta’s eyes were about to fall from her head. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t she?”
It took effort to lift his head. The three of them were so anxious, so concerned for Eliza—they who had objected violently to her from the start. All it took was Eliza’s quiet charm, her openhearted warmth, her determined desire to be friendly, and all three of them had fallen in love with her—just as he had done. “When I began courting Eliza, you all wondered why. Not the sort of girl you pictured for me,” he said, looking at his mother. “Not the family connection you wanted,” he added to his sisters. “Not even the girl I pictured for myself, in all honesty. But I had little choice in the matter, because I was almost bankrupt and Eliza is an heiress.”
His mother’s mouth fell open. “What? No—no, that can’t be true. Your father—”
“Father left me little but debts and mortgages and delinquent loans. He spent his capital. He turned off most of the tenant farmers and converted profitable farmland into park and gardens.” He glanced at each sister in turn. “He wagered and gave away and spent everything, including all the funds that should have been dowries for Edith and Henrietta.”
Edith gasped. Rose looked like she might faint, both hands clutched to her throat. “I don’t understand! He always promised me he would provide for us—for the girls, for you, for the estate, for me . . .”
“He lied.” Hugh lifted one shoulder. “To everyone. I should have asked questions, but I never dreamt it could be so bad.” He sighed as his mother stumbled into a chair, her face white. “Eliza’s father wanted her to wed a gentleman. He decided I was a likely candidate, so he bought all the mortgages and debts of honor and unpaid bills . . . every scrap of paper Father ever signed pledging payment to anyone. I now owed Mr. Cross a fortune, and he made it clear to me that if I were to marry his daughter, all those debts would be forgiven. If I didn’t marry her, well, he might have to call the bailiffs on me.”
“That’s blackmail!” burst out Henrietta.
Hugh stabbed one finger in the air as affirmation. He was beginning to feel a bit drunk from lack of sleep. “So you see, I really did have to court her. But she . . .” He sighed, remembering how Eliza’s eyes had lit up when he called on her, how delighted she’d been even as she blushed in astonishment. “She was not what I expected. She was gentle, kind, sensible . . . She cut flowers from her own garden for her maid’s sister’s wedding. She’s as unlike her father as anyone could be. And so even in the face of unified opposition, I married her.” He paused. “I fell in love with her.”
“But then . . . what happened?” whispered Edith. “I’m sorry, Hugh, for how I behaved toward her—toward you—”
He waved his hand. “I know, Edith. Someone told her at the ball last night. A dear old friend of Father’s, actually. Sir Richard Nesbit.”
“Nesbit!” His mother lurched out of her chair, furious. “That scoundrel! He was never your father’s friend, such a putrid little mushroom of a man, how dare he!”
“He’s vile,” agreed Hugh.
“He . . . he’s also a friend of Lord Livingston,” said Edith, her voice quavering. “Mr. Benwick told me.”
Hugh merely nodded at this confirmation of what he’d already guessed. “I don’t know where Eliza’s gone. I suspect she’s with her friends, Lady Georgiana, and probably the Duchess of Ware as well. She sent a note to Lady Georgiana before she left last night.”
“Is she coming back?” Henrietta cried. “What are you going to do, Hugh?”
He rubbed his eyes. They felt gritty. “I don’t know.” He was too tired and heartsick to think right now.
“Oh, but you must go after her,” his mother exclaimed. “If you love her, you must.”
“I don’t know where she’s gone,” he pointed out again. “And I don’t know if she wants me still.” An image of his wife’s face, white with shocked horror and humiliation, flashed through his mind. “What if she no longer loves me?”
“No!”
“Of course she does!”
“You mustn’t think that, Hugh!”
He propped his elbows on the desk and rubbed his eyes again. “She knows I lied to her, all those times I called on her, courting her. Could you forgive someone that?” He looked at Edith. “It’s not far off what Benwick did to you.”
She flushed angrily. “It’s not nearly the same.”
Hugh hung his head. He had hurt Eliza deeply, which was exactly the same.
For a moment all was silent. Fuzzily Hugh wondered if he had been any better than Reggie Benwick. When he jilted Edith, everyone had agreed he no longer deserved her, and now his sister despised the man she had once believed she loved. And Eliza had thought her exactly right to do so . . .
His mother’s hand landed on the nape of his neck, cool and gentle. “Chin up,” she said softly. “Face forward.” Just what his father used to say. Hugh raised his head. Rose was pale but her expression was determined. “Eliza loves you, dear. It is clear in every word she says, every glance she sends your way. You must give her a chance to forgive you. You must go after her.”
“I know. But where?” He inhaled a deep breath. “I suppose I’ll start in Chiswick—she might have gone to her friend the Duchess of Ware, or told the duchess where she meant to go.”
Someone made a small noise. “Yes, Henrietta?” Rose asked.
“I . . . I might know where,” said his sister in a tiny voice.
Hugh was on his feet before she finished speaking, no longer weary. “Where? How do you know, Henrietta?”
She shrank in her chair. “I am not certain—please don’t think I knew all this time and simply didn’t say—”
“Where?” he barked.
“She spoke very fondly of her school. She said the headmistress was the closest person she had to a mother, and at a time like this—”
“Her school?” Yes—he remembered now, from their picnic . . .
Henrietta nodded. “Mrs. Upton’s Academy, in Hertfordshire.”
Chapter 31
Eliza hadn’t known how she would be received, but Mrs. Upton welcomed her as kindly as she had done over a decade ago, when Eliza walked through the doors of the academy at the age of eight, small for her age, plain, nervous, and very shy. As the years passed, other girls would sometimes whisper that Eliza was only there because her father agreed to make a large donation to the school, that she would never be a real lady. But Mrs. Upton had never treated her any differently than the daughters of dukes and viscounts; in fact, Eliza’s determination to become ladylike seemed to endear her to the headmistress, who frequently took time to help Eliza outside of class.
Now the older woman brought her into the spare but elegant office and poured her a cup of tea. She apologized for being obliged to see to her students and teachers, but invited Eliza to make herself comfortable. Eliza was happy to be left alone. She drank her tea and decided to go for a walk, strolling the grounds of the school where she had spent so many years.
It was fortunate the academy wasn’t far from Greenwich. Not only had it meant Eliza was able to go home for every holiday, she’d been able to invite her friends. Orphaned Sophie had come every time, and Georgiana had been there almost as often, escaping her dour older brother’s home. But here, Eliza had been almost as happy as at home. The lessons were demanding, the teachers
strict but kind, and she’d felt such purpose, striving to become a respectable lady like her mother and a source of pride to her father.
Eliza stopped at the fence of the paddock, watching girls half her age carefully guide their horses around the ring, riding habits beautifully arranged, under the keen eye of the etiquette teacher and a pair of grooms. Mrs. Upton believed a lady should be accomplished and able to demonstrate her accomplishments while looking elegant at the same time. The paddock had been built the year Eliza arrived. She rested her hands on the top rail of the fence and wondered if her father had paid for it. He’d wanted so much for her to be a lady. He had insisted she come to this school, which educated and finished aristocratic girls, the daughters of peers and noblemen and diplomats. Yes, she thought, he would have paid anything to secure her admission here.
It made her chest hurt to think of how many things her father must have manipulated in her life. She had loved Mrs. Upton’s Academy, so she could forgive him for that, but Hugh—How could her beloved papa have thought it was acceptable to buy her a husband? Her hand curled into a fist as she realized that was the deception that hurt the most. Hugh . . . what choice had he had?
She sighed and walked on, past the gardens where she had first learned how to tend roses and discovered her love of flowers. She knew how fiercely Hugh cared for his mother and sisters. Her father had offered him the means to save them all, and he took it.
But not blindly or callously. I only did it because I thought there was a chance we would be happy, he’d said.
Eliza thought of the day they’d spent on Primrose Hill, where he told her he loved her. She wanted so desperately to believe it. But was that true? Was it possible? Could he love her after the way he’d been manipulated? She had fallen for him wildly, passionately . . . but not, she finally admitted, honestly. Her love had sprouted in shallow soil, fed with girlish dreams. She had noticed he never expressed any love for her, but she never asked, almost as if she knew why he didn’t.
An Earl Like You Page 26