by Kelly Bowen
It was Rose’s worst nightmare.
“I thought this was just a dinner,” she said from inside the confines of Eli’s carriage as it crept toward the top of the driveway.
“It is.”
“Who are all these people?” Her words came out as an undignified wheeze.
Eli shrugged. “Friends and family of the duke and duchess. And probably friends of Linfield and his brothers.”
Rose stared out the carriage window, fighting the suffocating breathlessness that was clawing at her. “There are so many people. You didn’t tell me that there would be so many.”
Eli leaned forward from his seat across from her and caught her hand. “There can’t be more than two dozen. Besides, who cares how many people the duchess invited? You’re here and I’m here and Linfield is here, and that is all that really matters.”
“I can’t…I just—” She couldn’t put together a rational sentence because none of what she was feeling was rational. And no matter how she tried, she couldn’t seem to fix it. Couldn’t seem to control the fear and the weakness that were once again consuming her. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“You’re shaking.” He was staring down at their intertwined fingers.
She snatched her hand away. “I’m not.”
The carriage came to a halt. The door was opened by a liveried footman who stepped back smartly, waiting for Eli and Rose to descend. Beyond the open door, a group of women had stopped near the entrance, their eyes on Eli’s carriage. From behind the fluttering fans that they carried, the sounds of their laughter rose.
“This isn’t my place, Eli. I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry.” She hadn’t eaten anything all day, but her stomach churned and sweat pricked her temples.
“Close the door,” Eli snapped at the footman. “And tell the driver to make another circle of the drive.”
The footman merely nodded and did as he was told, and the carriage lurched as it rolled away.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
“What are you talking about, Rose?”
“I have to return to Dover.”
“What?” He was looking up at her, his face awash in confusion. “Now?”
“Yes.” It was barely audible. “You need to go on without me. I apologize for the inconvenience. But this night is about you. Not me. I don’t need to be here.”
“You’re not making any sense, Rose.”
“You’ll be quite fine on your own—”
“I know I’ll be fine,” Eli said. “But I won’t be complete. Not without you. I want you here because you are important to me. Because you mean everything to me.” He reached up and caught her chin with his fingers. “I want you here, Rose, because I love you.”
His words stopped time.
And shattered her heart into a million pieces. Eli could not love her. Loving her would clip his wings. She should never have let this get this far. She should have told him to leave the second he’d come through her window last night. She should have refused this dress, this invitation, and left for Dover a long time ago.
Her breath hitched, and the back of her throat tightened. “You don’t,” she said.
He drew back. “I don’t what?” he asked roughly.
“You don’t love me.”
His fingers dropped from her face. “What?”
“You needed me, Dawes, when you came back. If only to make you see what I saw. And perhaps I needed you too in my own way. But don’t confuse need with love.”
He pushed himself away from her, back onto the squabs. “I haven’t confused anything. I love you, Rose, just as I need you. In all the days and weeks and years ahead.”
“You don’t love me, and you don’t need me.” She sat up to face him, clutching her reticule so that she wouldn’t touch him. “Not anymore.”
“You have no idea what I need.” He sounded angry and hurt and confused.
“But that’s just it, Eli. I know exactly what—whom—you need.” The backs of her eyes were burning, and she was fighting to keep her voice even. “You need a woman who possesses a substantial title and all the influential connections to help you wield your power in a way that will make a difference. A woman not only comfortable in society but one who can command it. One who can manipulate it to your advantage and further your ambitions on behalf of you and the people who are depending on you. Including the families of fallen soldiers. The stakes are too high now for anything less.” She stopped, trying to catch her breath. “I will always support what you do, but the woman you need isn’t me, Eli. I can’t do those things. I can’t be who you need.”
His fists clenched where they rested on his knees. “I don’t want any woman who is not you, Rose.”
She looked helplessly at him.
“Marry me, Rose.”
Oh God. Her fingers twisted painfully in the silk cord. She felt a tear slide down her cheek. “I can’t.”
“Of course you can. You won’t.”
She was shaking her head. “You don’t understand.”
“What are you afraid of?” he demanded.
Rose looked away from him. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Then you’re not doing so well with the truth either.”
She had said that to him once, and he had answered her with the truth. She owed him nothing less. “No,” she agreed. “I suppose I’m not.”
“Is this about Anthony?” he demanded.
“This has nothing to do with Anthony. This is about me.”
Eli relaxed his hands, visibly trying to corral his emotions. “Then explain it to me, Rose, because right now I don’t understand anything.”
“Before I was ever engaged, I had my art and my family and I was happy. And then I was drawn into your world and discovered that there was never a place for me. And now I have my art and my family and I am happy again. Even more, I have a purpose to my art that brings me joy.”
“Rose, I would never let anyone ever do anything to—”
“You can’t protect me from myself, Eli,” Rose said without meeting his eye.
“You’re talking in riddles again.”
She unwrapped her fingers from the cord of her reticule and looked down at the red welts forming across her knuckles. “There was a day, after everything, when I stood alone on the edge of those white cliffs and stared down at the surf below. And in that moment, I couldn’t think of a reason why I shouldn’t simply step off.” She took a shaky breath. “I can’t ever go back there, Eli. I can’t go back to a society and a life that almost took everything from me. I can’t ever risk putting myself back in a place so dark that I might not find my way out again.”
He was studying her, as if he could see through her. “You haven’t forgiven them, have you? All those insignificant fools.”
“This has nothing to do with forgiveness.”
“You don’t have forget to forgive, Rose. I understand that more than anyone, I think.”
“I know that. I’m just trying to make you understand that I have finally found happiness in the place I’m at. Why I can’t go where you’re going.” Grief was burning through her. “Sometimes one must simply cut their losses.”
“Like me? Am I one of those losses?” His confusion and hurt had faded, and anger had taken hold.
She shook her head miserably. “Eli—”
“And I’m supposed to believe you’re happy alone?”
“I’m not alone. I have the clients who seek me out solely for my talent and nothing else. Save my discretion, of course. I have my summer students. I have Clara and Harland and Theo and Tabitha. I am far from alone.”
“But you’re telling me that there isn’t a place for me in your world.” He was staring at her hard.
“There will always be a place for you, Eli,” Rose said, swiping angrily at her eyes. “You are my friend. But there is no place for me in your world. I know my limitations, and I have accepted them. And
I will not allow them to limit you. I will not allow you to sacrifice all your ambition, all your compassion, all the good you will do as an earl because of me. I should never have let this—us—go this far. This is your chance to become the man you have always been.”
“You didn’t accept my limitations,” he said harshly. “You didn’t let me hide. You didn’t let me do what you’re doing now.”
“I’m not hiding. I’m doing what I must.”
“That’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you let me do the same? Do what I thought I must?” he snarled. “If I had had my way, if you had let me, I’d still be at Avondale. Hiding.” He shook his head. “Is this what you tell your clients to do? Clients like Ophelia Volante? Did you tell her to hide?”
“I don’t tell any of my clients to do anything. They must do what’s best for themselves.”
“Yet you always seemed to know what was best for me.”
“Was I wrong?”
Eli’s lips thinned. “You couldn’t have known you were right.”
“Yes, I could. Because you’re stronger than I ever was. You have more courage than I will ever have.”
“That’s horseshit, Rose, and you know it. You’re the strongest person I know. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”
Rose closed her eyes, feeling another tear scald its way down her cheek. “You don’t love me, Dawes.”
“Do you love me?”
She stared at him, an awful cold seeping into her very soul.
“Answer me, Rose.”
Yes. It was right there, on the tip of her tongue. It was what he wanted to hear, what he deserved to hear. Because it was the truth. But it would tie him to her. She would become the weighted chain that would forever hinder him. And eventually, no matter his declarations, he would come to resent it. Resent her.
The tears were coming faster now, and she hated them. Hated this feeling of helpless desolation that was smothering her. But she couldn’t change, no matter how much he wanted her to. “No,” she said. “I don’t love you.”
“You’re lying.”
“I care about you, Eli, I do. And I’m so proud of you. But I don’t love you. And it would be best for us both if we said goodbye here.”
The carriage came to a halt again. There was the sound of booted feet on the gravel, and then the door was opened once more by the same footman.
“Then go, Rose. Go back to Dover.” Eli gazed at her for a moment longer and then climbed from his seat and stepped out into the night. He turned and braced himself against the frame of the carriage. “I did everything you asked. Proved myself over and over. And I would have done anything for you.” He straightened, his expression remote. “No matter what happened, the next time you found yourself at the edge of a cliff, lost and afraid, I would have been right beside you to pull you back.” He paused, grasping the door. “Just as you did for me.”
Chapter 20
The Duke of Holloway, my lord.”
Eli started, jerking in his chair. His gaze swiveled to the doorway where Dufour was standing, looking sour. “Pardon?”
“The Duke of Holloway is here to see you, my lord,” his butler sniffed with a pointed, censorious look at the tall clock in the corner, much the same way he had done when Stannis had appeared. Eli followed his gaze with bleary eyes and blinked at the late hour. He didn’t remember when it had gotten so late.
“Show him in,” Eli said, and his butler vanished.
He stood and moved out from behind his desk, stretching stiff muscles. He’d been crouched far too long over this damn desk, fighting through the mountains of correspondence that had avalanched onto its surface. But it had provided the necessary distraction he needed, not unlike the duke’s sudden appearance. He would embrace any distraction, no matter how mundane it was or how late it might arrive, to keep himself from dwelling on Rose.
Just the tiny reminder sent shards of pain and anger, frustration and regret, lancing through him.
I don’t love you.
He’d spent an agonizing week second-guessing every nuance of that last conversation. He should have been more understanding. Or perhaps he should have pushed her harder, the way she had always pushed him. Perhaps he should have given her an ultimatum. Or perhaps he should have promised that he’d wait forever. There were a thousand different things he could have done or said or promised, and he had no idea which one would have been right. Which one would have changed her mind and kept her with him.
He hadn’t asked her to change. He didn’t need her to abandon her quiet life in exchange for an endless parade of parties. He didn’t need her to command anything, much less all of society. But he needed her by his side. And he had tried so hard. Tried to tell her, tried to show her how much he loved her. But it was like throwing himself against a stone wall. He couldn’t make her love him.
He had started a dozen letters to her, finishing only one. Not that he would send it. It was rambling and sad and addressed to a woman who had never truly been his. He simply added it to the pile of letters he’d written to her in France and Belgium. Letters he’d also never sent because she hadn’t been his then either.
And now Rose was gone, back to Dover, and Eli was here in London, surrounded by all the luxury and privilege he could imagine. And he had never been more miserable in his life.
And that was saying something indeed.
“The Duke of Holloway, my lord,” Dufour announced formally.
Eli spun, finding the duke and his butler standing at the door of his study. Dufour departed again with one last long-suffering look at the duke’s back, leaving Eli to study the man who filled the better part of his doorway. He could immediately see the resemblance between August Faulkner and his sister. Except that while Anne’s face was round, Holloway’s was a collection of sharp angles. He had the same coffee-dark hair, the same blue eyes, but there was a restless intensity to him that his sister lacked. Eli hadn’t known Holloway well—he hadn’t even been a duke yet when Eli had left London, but he had heard the rumors. That August Faulkner had grown up on the streets of London and survived. That he was ruthless and ambitious and that only fools underestimated him.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” Eli said as the duke entered. He didn’t miss the way Holloway’s sharp blue eyes flickered around the room, taking measure of his surroundings. They returned to Eli, and he found himself measured also without apology.
“My sister was correct,” the duke said matter-of-factly, examining Eli. “You really are fortunate to be alive.”
Eli gazed at the duke steadily. “Yes. I am.”
“Welcome home.”
“Thank you.” He gestured to a pair of chairs close to the hearth. “Would you care to sit? Something to drink, perhaps?”
“This isn’t a social call, Rivers, so I’ll save you the trouble of the formalities.” The duke carefully placed a long, rolled paper on Eli’s desk and withdrew a leather folder from under his arm. It was one that Eli recognized instantly because he had written every word on every document that was inside. A preliminary business plan, compiled after Eli had spent countless hours plying customs officers and importers and weavers and merchants with questions and after Anne had given him a tour of Brookside.
It had been what Eli had thrown himself into and found solace in after Rose had left.
Holloway placed the folder on the desk next to the roll with the same deliberate precision, and Eli idly wondered if Holloway ever made social calls. Somehow he doubted it.
“Lady Anne shared that with you, I must assume,” Eli said.
Holloway gave him a long look. “She did. She made her own notes before passing it on to me. I took the liberty of reviewing it.”
“And?” Eli asked. “I’d be obliged if you’d share your thoughts.”
“Tell me, Rivers, how serious are you about this venture?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“This cr
usade of yours to assist the families of fallen soldiers. How committed are you to it?”
“Are you questioning my honor?” Eli kept his voice even.
“I’m trying to gauge your sincerity,” Holloway said. “And, possibly, your resilience. You’ll be criticized for your involvement in industry. You will be told a man of your stature and wealth should never need lower himself to such.”
“And what do you tell them, Your Grace?” Eli replied.
The duke smiled faintly before his eyes grew cool once again. “I don’t know you well, Lord Rivers. But what I remember was a man who was exceedingly popular for his looks and his charm and his wit. Which is not a criticism, necessarily. But your ambition, insight, and wisdom were a bit more ambiguous. If I am going to contribute my time and expertise and, possibly, capital, I’d like to know whether or not it is doomed before it even begins. I despise failure.”
It wasn’t unfair. If Eli were standing where Holloway stood now, he might have asked the same. “I think, Your Grace, that you should review my plan with me and decide for yourself.”
“Mmm.” The duke straightened and wandered over to the hearth, stopping to gaze up at an uninspired hunting scene that hung over the carved mantel. “Cotton,” he said to the painting.
Eli wasn’t sure if that was a question or a confirmation. “Yes,” he said, answering both.
“Premade garments.” The duke turned from the hearth. “Why?”
Eli hid a frown. The duke would have read Eli’s arguments in his plan. “Because demand for both cotton fabric and premade garments has been steadily increasing,” he answered anyway. “And will continue to do so, especially now with access to cotton from India, and access to new weaving technologies. I intend to utilize both.”
“And this premium product you speak of in your notes?”
“A small but valuable percentage of my planned output. Underclothes. Chemises, shirts, petticoats, and the like. Adding embroidery and accoutrements such as lace and ribbon to an otherwise plain product will add value and expand our market. It will also allow me to utilize the specialized skill sets of a number of women and older girls who will be part of the business.”