by Amy Harmon
“I didn’t notice.” He had noticed—particularly that she looked pale. Was it too early for her to be in public? Was she well?
“I wonder why she was dressed like an old maid,” she said.
“She was nearly strangled to death, Apryl,” Jon said. “The bruises on her neck are still visible.”
“Oh?” She looked at him. “How do you know that?”
“I read the papers and… natural assumption, I suppose.”
“I do feel sorry for her in that regard,” Apryl said.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. When the carriage pulled to a stop in front of Apryl’s house, she invited him to join her parents for dinner. Jon agreed and followed her inside.
Soon they were seated at the dinner table, steaming pumpkin soup before them. Apryl wasted no time in relaying the details about meeting Eliza at the theater. Mr. and Mrs. Maughan let their soup grow cold as they listened with great interest to Apryl’s tale. When Apryl finished, she turned to Jon. “Tell us what she’s really like beneath that awful veil.”
Jon reluctantly set his spoon down, searching for words. He couldn’t tell them about the way her hair fell onto her cheeks in silky strands. How it was the first time he’d seen her with such tight curls, because her hair had been wavy in Maybrook. Nor could he talk about the way she had stroked his cheek in his moment of weakness. He couldn’t reveal how supple and inviting her lips were or the way she responded to his kiss as if there was no one else she desired but him. Or how torturous it was to meet her in public and not be able to talk to her or ask her how she was doing.
“She’s quiet, but headstrong,” he finally said.
“She’d have to be headstrong to turn down Thomas Beesley,” Mrs. Maughan said.
Everyone around the table nodded in unison.
“Speaking of Thomas,” Mr. Maughan said, “he’s invited us to meet at his house for cocktails before the masquerade ball.”
Although Jon didn’t care for the topic of Thomas Beesley, he was grateful that the subject had left Eliza.
After dinner, Jon followed Mr. Maughan into the library. Cigars were lit and brandy poured. Wasting no time, Mr. Maughan said, “Tell me about the business between you and Thomas Beesley.”
“I can’t rightly say,” Jon said.
“Client confidentiality?”
“Not exactly. We haven’t gone over any specifics yet. I’m sure we’ll meet soon to create an outline.”
Mr. Maughan nodded and took a drag on his cigar. “How are things going with your father’s estate?”
“Too slowly,” Jon said, then, feeling it was the perfect opportunity, he added, “unfortunately there are some roadblocks I hadn’t counted on.”
Mr. Maughan leaned closer. “Such as?”
“Apparently I have a half-sister who wants a share of the estate,” Jon said. Doughty had assured him there were no concerns, but he wanted to see Mr. Maughan’s reaction. “I didn’t know my father had married and had another family until I received notice in the will.”
The man gave a little start, looking as if he were trying to keep his reactions under control. “I thought it was all left to you.”
Just the reaction that Jon expected. “It was, but according to English law, wills can be contested by family members with probable claim.”
Mr. Maughan sniffed, his mouth working against the cigar. “The property is rightfully yours, being his eldest and only son.”
Jon remained silent.
After a few moments of companionable smoking, Mr. Maughan asked, “Out of curiosity, what would you say the estate was worth?”
Trying to keep his face somber, Jon casually shrugged. He’d decided to downplay the amount. The more time Apryl spent with Thomas Beesley, the less secure he became that she truly cared for him, and not his potential of earnings. “Perhaps only fifty thousand.”
Mr. Maughan quickly recovered his shock at the small amount. “That will keep you comfortable.”
Hiding a smile, Jon nodded in agreement. He knew the amount was not as much as the Maughans would have hoped for their daughter. But more importantly, what would Apryl think? The Maughans would find out soon enough that their future son-in-law was really to be a millionaire. Until then, Jon had business to take care of with Thomas Beesley, and that included discovering what Apryl’s true intentions were toward the man.
Mr. Maughan checked his pocket watch. “It’s getting late. I’m sure my wife is ready to retire.”
Jon followed him out of the library. They found the women visiting in the drawing room.
“Ready dear?” Mr. Maughan asked.
Mrs. Maughan rose and took his arm. They left Jon and Apryl alone and went up the stairs.
Apryl smiled at Jon when her parents left. “I guess I’m rather tired too.”
Jon helped her stand. Without letting go of her hand, he said, “Let’s elope.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Elope? You must be mad.”
Perhaps he was mad. But he was also wondering if he wanted to spend the rest of his life married to this woman—did she really care about him? The way that he had felt that Eliza cared about him last night? “You’re probably right,” he said, “but wouldn’t it be exciting?” Wasn’t exciting what Apryl wanted?
She flushed. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. My mother would be furious if I denied her the right to plan a wedding.”
“But what if it made me happy?”
“Really, Jon. Why are you so interested in hurrying up things? I couldn’t do that to my family.”
Jon released Apryl’s hand, both relieved and disappointed. Perhaps she wasn’t as attached to him as she claimed to be. Was this what he wanted? A wife who wasn’t in love with him?
“Very well,” he said.
“Oh, don’t be angry. It’s because I’m their only child.”
“I’m not angry,” he said, trying to hide his annoyance with himself. He wasn’t thinking straight. Kissing Eliza, then asking Apryl to elope—what had he been thinking? “Just impatient… Is an elaborate wedding necessary?”
“Of course—it’s every girl’s dream.” She kissed his cheek. “Now be a good boy and let me get my beauty rest.”
Jon studied her face, noting her too cheerful smile. He wanted to push one more time. “Think about it, Apryl.”
She didn’t answer for a moment. The only sound between them was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. A slight frown crept to her brow. “Are you feeling well?”
“Nothing that will not soon pass.” She was right. He wasn’t feeling well—at least not in his heart. He showed himself out the door.
* * *
The following morning he sent a note to Mr. Thomas Beesley, and that afternoon, they were seated across from each other in Jon’s library.
Thomas smiled. “So you’ve come to your senses.”
“If that’s how you choose to look at it.” Jon’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s begin. I want to know what legal action you have in mind.”
“I want to terminate my partnership with Mr. Robinson. I have wanted to do so for some time, since his, er—”
“Since his daughter turned you down?” Jon finished.
Thomas dabbed his nose with a handkerchief. “It’s difficult to work with someone on a daily basis when you don’t respect them.”
“Surely you wouldn’t let a personal matter get in the way of honest business?” Jon countered.
Thomas grimaced. “I’ve lost important clients over the affair, and fear I’ll lose even more. With his daughter back in New York, flaunting her inheritance and making people pity her for the attack that was made on her—”
“She was nearly killed, and you think she’s seeking pity? You must really hate Eliza.”
At the mention of her name, Thomas jerked his head up. “I don’t hate Miss Robinson,” he said evenly. “I hate the position she put me in. She flirted incessantly and made me believe she was very fond of me. There was never a da
nce or party in which she wasn’t continually by my side.”
Jon had a hard time imagining Eliza attaching herself to this irritating man. What did Thomas think about Apryl’s behavior? “Don’t you think it possible to put the incident behind you?
“I’ve tried. But the gossip columns continue, and my earnings are down this month. I can’t afford the lost revenue.”
“Have you tried speaking with Mr. Robinson about your concerns?”
Thomas chuckled. “According to our contract, we can’t dissolve the partnership unless one of us participates in illegal action or can’t hold up his end of the agreement.”
“And Mr. Robinson has not violated any of the agreements?” Jon clarified.
“Not yet.” Thomas shifted in his seat, his face reddening. “Are you going to help me or not?”
“That depends on what sort of help you need. So far I haven’t seen any valid reason to end your partnership with Mr. Robinson, unless you are basing it on obstinate pride.”
Thomas handed over a stack of papers, his hands trembling. “Read through the contract for any loopholes.” He stood with effort. “If you can find one, I’ll make it worth your while.”
Jon took the papers as Thomas stormed out of the room.
Chapter Twenty
Each day, Eliza felt a little stronger, but each night Gus appeared again and again in her dreams. Helena’s voice had fallen silent, but the nightmares only grew more detailed and frightening. Sometimes Gus chased her with a knife. Others, he cornered her in the lighthouse. And always, he called her Helena. Eliza’s only comfort was to know that he was imprisoned.
Soon she took the medicine ordered by the doctor to help her sleep. It wasn’t that she couldn’t sleep, but she was afraid to dream. With the medicine, she woke feeling groggy, but at least not remembering the night.
But that proved equally frustrating. Too bad she couldn’t take medicine to forget during the days. As it was, they were filled with thinking about Jon. His fiancée was certainly possessive enough, practically clinging to him when she’d met them, and didn’t seem to be a woman to shy away from competition. But as the days went by, remembering Jon’s kiss grew more difficult, and she was left with only the tortured events that followed it—Jon asking for forgiveness. Jon leaving. Jon’s startled expression when they ran into each other at the theater.
And then one day, a letter came from him.
She took it to her room to read in private. The words were not what she had hoped for.
Dear Eliza,
I sincerely apologize for the other week when I burst into your home and laid my problems on your shoulders. I’ve thought about my mother’s words and realize I can’t change the past. Nor can I change what happened between us. But I can apologize and hope that I did not embarrass you or hurt your feelings. I promise to be a complete gentleman in the future. I’m happily engaged and would not want something trivial to come between my fiancée and me. I trust you to be discreet.
Eliza stared at the space where Jon should have included his signature, but it was blank. He hadn’t even signed his apology. Maybe he feared someone would read it and guess what had happened. Her eyes burned as tears began to fall. Eliza let them drip onto the letter, blurring the inked words. He had kissed her. It was as if he was warning her not to create a scene and damage his reputation as a faithful fiancé.
At that moment, Eliza saw a little bit of Jon’s father in the son. What did I expect? He’s engaged, and I knew he was engaged.
She closed her eyes for a moment, willing rational thoughts to replace the wild ones in her mind. Then she felt composed enough to pen a reply.
Dear Sir,
I’m more than happy to oblige you in your request. As it happens, it never occurred to me to make good on the affection you bestowed. I viewed you as a distraught man, unsure of his feelings for anyone, including his mother and his fiancée, let alone myself. Now that you have everything straightened out in your life and know what your dreams are, I’ll be the first to offer congratulations and wish you all the best.
It is not often that a woman is saved more than once by the same man. Perhaps it is your nature to attract damsels in distress. And like your father, you will always take the socially accepted path. Whatever the case, you’ll make a fine husband for Apryl, and I wish both of you many happy years together.
Best wishes,
A damsel no longer in distress
* * *
Eliza sorted through her closet. The masquerade ball was in a few days, and she didn’t have anything to wear. She’d promised her new friend Gina that she’d attend the ball with her. Eliza crossed to the dressing table and looked into the mirror. The bruises on her neck were barely visible; only yellow-tinged marks remained.
“Eliza,” her mother called from outside the bedroom door. “Gina is here.”
“Send her in,” Eliza said.
Gina entered the room and embraced her. They’d become fast friends in only a couple of weeks, although opposites in almost every way. Gina was tall with fiery red hair and an infectious laugh. What she lacked in beauty, she made up for in energy and enthusiasm.
“Have you talked to your parents yet about coming to France with my family?” Gina asked.
Eliza smiled. With Gina, everything seemed so simple. But hope had grown inside Eliza—hope that if she left the States, the nightmares would stop, and Helena’s voice would be left far behind. “I will mention the trip when they stop treating me like a glass vase.”
“Don’t stall too long; I’m dying for you to come.” Gina grinned. “I’m so glad you’ll be coming to the masquerade ball with me. I couldn’t bear it if I had to stand by my parents the entire time. Or, heaven forbid, my grandmother.”
Eliza laughed. “I’ll probably be as tiresome.”
Concern crossed Gina’s sunny face. “Are you feeling up to the ball?”
“I suppose so.” Eliza unconsciously touched her neck. “It will give me something else to think about.” Going to the masquerade ball was so normal, so unlike what her days had become—hours when she was afraid to sleep, afraid to dream.
All smiles again, Gina said, “Show me what you’re going to wear.”
Eliza led her to the closet and pulled out a dress from the far corner. It was plain and simple, dark gray.
Gina wrinkled her nose. “You can’t be serious.”
“It was my aunt’s—she was Puritan.”
“You can’t go as a Puritan!” Gina said, looking horrified. “The dress is dreadful and boring. No one will dare ask you to dance for fear of receiving a lashing at the whipping post.”
Eliza pulled out another article from the closet—a white bonnet. “Don’t you think this will complete the outfit perfectly?”
Gina braced herself against the doorframe. “If this is a trick—”
“Don’t worry. Even I am not that brave. I want to blend in, not stand out.”
Gina breathed a sigh of relief. “Finally, you’ve regained your good sense.” After Eliza replaced the dress and bonnet, Gina asked, “What are you going to wear?”
“Mother says it’s too late to have something made, so I guess I’ll have to make do with what’s in my closet.”
Gina took a step back and surveyed her friend. “Hmmm,” she said. “It will have to be something grand so all of the eligible bachelors will fight over you.”
“I wouldn’t want to take the attention away from your Queen Elizabeth costume,” Eliza said.
Gina swept her hair back and twisted it into a bun. “Should I wear my hair like this?”
“Yes, but add a row of curls at the top.”
Gina turned to the mirror, experimenting with several twists.
Eliza sat on the bed and watched her tall, graceful friend. Gina would make the perfect Queen Elizabeth. “Perhaps I’ll wax my hairline like all the royal greats and be your half-sister, Queen Mary.”
Gina twirled around and clapped her hands together. “That would b
e perfect. If you wear a scarlet dress, it will set off your complexion.”
But Eliza waved her off. “Too elaborate for last minute.”
Gina sat next to Eliza and grabbed her hands. “I have a dress you could wear, and we can make a crown for you out of beads.”
“You’re six inches taller than I am. It will be far too long for me.”
“Emma will take in the hem.” She tugged on Eliza’s arm. “Come on, it will be fun.”
Eliza hesitated. Perhaps dressing as Queen Mary would work. There were sure to be others dressed as royalty, so she would blend in. “All right. I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”
“Emma can redo the sleeves and lower the neckline…” Gina’s face was radiant as she spoke.
Eliza covered her chest with her hands. “I don’t think we need to be that authentic.”
“If we don’t, no one will even know who you are.”
“But my parents—”
“Aren’t going, and you can get dressed at my house,” Gina said.
“What will your parents think?” Eliza asked.
“They’ll realize you’re a mature young woman. Besides, they will be tipsy before the first hour is gone and won’t notice anyway.” She burst into laughter. “You know that Elizabeth was the ‘virgin queen,’ not Mary, so you can be a little more daring.”
The next few days were busy as Eliza and Gina spent time preparing their costumes. Gina’s costume was nearly finished; they only had to add a lace ruff. Eliza’s costume took the remainder of the time to create. After Emma’s alterations, they began to embroider and sew on glittering beads. Gina insisted on attaching only a partial ruff, so Eliza’s bosom wouldn’t be completely hidden. Eliza discovered that she was enjoying the process and became absorbed in the plans for the ball.
Later that night, well after the twelve o’clock hour, she stole into the kitchen for a cup of warm milk. She was surprised to hear voices coming from the library. Tiptoeing to the closed door, she leaned forward and listened. Her father was discussing business with another man. Then she shrank back in horror as she recognized the high nasal pitch of Thomas Beesley.