by Julia Quinn
Elizabeth tried to comfort him with a smile. “I used to do that with Lucas.”
James shook his head. “She wasn’t clumsy. She never walked into a sconce or knocked over a candle. He hurt her, Elizabeth. He hurt her every damned day.”
She swallowed, her lower lip catching between her teeth. Suddenly his uncontrollable rage at Fellport made a touch more sense. The anger was more than two decades old. It had been simmering far too long.
“Did he—did he hurt you?” she whispered.
He gave his head a little shake. “Never. I was the heir. He used to remind her of that all the time. She was worthless now that she’d given him me. She may have been his wife, but I was his blood.”
A shiver rushed down Elizabeth’s spine, and she knew he was quoting words he’d heard far too many times.
“And he used me,” James continued. His eyes had grown flat, and his large, strong hands were trembling. “He used me to further his rages against her. He never agreed with her methods of parenting. If he saw her hugging me or comforting me when I cried, he flew into a fury. She was coddling me, he would yell. She would turn me into a weakling.”
“Oh, James.” Elizabeth reached out and stroked his hair. She couldn’t help herself. She’d never known anyone so in need of human comfort.
“And so I learned not to cry.” He shook his head despairingly. “And after a while I pulled away from her embraces. If he couldn’t catch her hugging me, maybe he would stop hitting her.”
“But he didn’t stop, did he?”
“No. There was always a reason she needed to be put in her place. And eventually—” His breath whooshed out on a raw and shaky exhale. “Eventually he decided her place was at the bottom of the stairs.”
Elizabeth felt something hot on her cheeks, and it was only then that she realized she was crying. “What happened to you?”
“That,” James replied, his voice growing slightly stronger, “is perhaps the only bright spot in the story. My aunt—my mother’s sister—came and snatched me away. I think she’d always suspected that my mother was mistreated, but she’d never dreamed it was as bad as it was. Much later, she told me that she would be damned if she was going to let my father start in on me.”
“Do you think he would have?”
“I don’t know. I was still valuable. His only heir. But he needed someone to abuse, and with Mama gone…” He shrugged.
“Your aunt must be a very special woman.”
He looked over at her, wanting more than anything to tell her the truth, but he couldn’t. Not yet. “She is,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “She saved me. As sure as if she pulled me from a burning building, she saved me.”
Elizabeth touched his cheek. “She must have taught you how to be happy.”
“She kept trying to hug me,” he said. “That first year, she tried to show me love, and I kept pulling away. I thought my uncle would beat her if she held me.” He raked his hand through his hair, a short, angry laugh escaping his lips. “Can you believe that?”
“How could you have thought anything else?” Elizabeth asked quietly. “Your father was the only man you knew.”
“She taught me how to love.” He let out a short, staccato breath. “I’m still not up to snuff at forgiveness, but I do know love.”
“Your father doesn’t deserve forgiveness,” she said. “I have always tried to follow God’s sermons, and I know that we’re meant to turn the other cheek, but your father doesn’t deserve it.”
James was silent for a moment, and then he turned to her and said, “He died when I was twenty. I didn’t attend the funeral.”
It was the ultimate insult a child could aim at a parent. Elizabeth nodded with grim approval. “Did you see him as you were growing up?”
“I had to on occasion. It was unavoidable. I was his son. Legally, my aunt hadn’t a leg to stand on. But she was strong, and she cowed him. He’d never met a woman who stood up to him before. He had no idea how to deal with her.”
Elizabeth leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I shall include your aunt in my prayers tonight.” Her hand drifted to his cheek, and she gazed at him with wistful regret, wishing there was some way she could turn back the clock, some way to hold that long-ago little boy and show him that the world could be a safe and loving place.
He turned his face into her hand. His lips pressed against her palm, seeking the warmth of her skin and honoring the warmth of her heart. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For being here. For listening. For just being you.”
“Thank you, then,” she whispered back. “For all the same things.”
Chapter 16
As James walked Elizabeth home, he felt his life fall into focus. Since he had been forced out of the War Office, he had been floating more than actually living. He had been caught by malaise, knowing he had to move forward with his life but dissatisfied with the options that had presented themselves. He knew he needed to marry, but his response to the women in London had been almost uniformly lukewarm. He needed to take a more active interest in his lands and estates, but it was difficult to call Riverdale Castle home when he saw his father’s shadow in every corner.
But in the space of a week, his life had assumed a new direction. For the first time in over a year, he wanted something.
He wanted someone.
He wanted Elizabeth.
He had been bewitched before this afternoon, enchanted and obsessed to the point where he’d decided he’d marry her. But something very strange and magical had occurred in the stable stall when he’d tried to comfort Elizabeth.
He’d found himself telling her things he’d held secret for years. And as the words had poured forth, he’d felt a hollow within him filling up. And he knew that he wasn’t bewitched by Elizabeth. He wasn’t enchanted, and he wasn’t obsessed.
He needed her.
And he knew that he wouldn’t find peace until he made her his, until he knew every inch of her body and every corner of her soul. If this was love, he gave himself up to it willingly.
But he could not abandon his responsibilities, and he would not break his promise to his aunt. He’d solve the mystery of this damned blackmailer. After all Agatha had done for him as a child, he’d solve this mystery for her.
Elizabeth loved Agatha. She would understand.
But that didn’t mean that he would sit on his hands. He’d told Agatha that the best way to find the blackmailer was to wait for another note, and that was true, but he was tired of waiting.
He looked over at Elizabeth’s face, took in those endless blue eyes and flawless skin, and made his decision. “I have to go to London tomorrow,” he said abruptly.
Her head turned toward his in an instant. “London?” she echoed. “Why?”
“Some unpleasant family business,” he replied, hating that he could not tell her the whole truth, but taking some comfort in the fact that his words were not precisely a lie.
“I see,” she said slowly.
Of course she didn’t see, he thought angrily. How could she? But he could not tell her. It was unlikely that Agatha’s blackmailer might turn violent, but James could not completely discount that possibility. The only way to fully safeguard Elizabeth was to leave her in the dark.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said. “I hope within a week.”
“You’re not planning to pursue Fellport, are you?” she asked, worry creasing her brow. “Because if you are—”
He pressed his index finger gently against her soft lips. “I’m not planning to pursue Fellport.”
Her expression remained uncertain. “If you attack him again, you will hang,” she persisted. “Surely you know—”
James silenced her with a kiss that was brief and yet full of promise. “Don’t worry over me,” he murmured against the corner of her mouth. He drew back, taking both of her hands in his. “There are things I need to do, items I need to take care o
f before…”
His words trailed off, and he saw the silent question resting in her eyes. “We will be together,” he vowed. “I promise you.”
In the end, he had to kiss her one last time. “The future looks very bright,” he whispered, the words soft and sweet against her lips. “Very bright indeed.”
Elizabeth held those words close to her heart ten days later, when there was still no sign of James. She wasn’t certain why she was so optimistic about the future; she was still a lady’s companion and James was still an estate manager, and neither of them possessed a cent, but somehow she trusted in his abilities to make the future, as he had put it, bright.
Maybe he was expecting an inheritance from a distant relative. Maybe he knew one of the masters at Eton and could arrange for Lucas to attend at a reduced rate. Maybe…
Maybe maybe maybe. Life was full of maybes, but suddenly “maybe” held a lot more promise.
After so many years of shouldering responsibility, she felt almost giddy at abandoning her constant sense of worry. If James said he could solve her problems, she believed him. Maybe she was foolish, thinking a man could swoop into her life and make everything perfect. After all, her father hadn’t exactly been a model of dependability and rectitude.
But surely she deserved a little bit of magic in her life. Now that she had found James, she couldn’t bring herself to look for pitfalls and dangers. Her heart felt lighter than it had in years, and she refused to think that anything might steal that bliss away.
Lady Danbury confirmed that James had been granted a brief leave to visit his family. It was a singular boon for an estate manager, but Elizabeth assumed that James was given greater latitude and consideration due to his family’s slight connection to the Danburys.
What was odd, however, was Lady Danbury’s near-constant state of irritability. She may have given James time to tend to his business, but she clearly had not done so with great grace and charity. Elizabeth could not count the number of times she’d caught Lady D grumbling about his absence.
Lately, though, Lady Danbury had been too preoccupied with her upcoming masquerade ball to defame James. It was to be the largest ball held at Danbury House in years, and the entire staff—plus the fifty extra servants brought in just for the event—was buzzing with activity. Elizabeth could barely make it from the sitting room to the library (which was only three doors down) without tripping over someone or other, racing to Lady Danbury with questions about the guest list, or the menu, or the Chinese lanterns, or the costumes, or…
Yes, costumes. Plural. Much to Elizabeth’s shock, Lady Danbury had arranged for two costumes. Queen Elizabeth for herself, and a shepherdess girl for Elizabeth.
Elizabeth was not amused.
“I am not going to carry that crook around with me all night,” she swore.
“Crook, ha. That’s nothing,” Lady D chortled. “Just wait until you see the sheep.”
“Whaaaat?”
“I’m only kidding. Good heavens, girl, you must develop a better sense of humor.”
Elizabeth spluttered a great deal of nonsense before finally managing to get out, “I beg your pardon!”
Lady D waved her hand dismissively. “I know, I know. Now you’re going to tell me that anyone who has survived five years working for me must be in possession of an excellent sense of humor.”
“Something like that,” Elizabeth muttered.
“Or perhaps that if you didn’t have a stellar sense of humor you’d by now have been killed by the torture of serving as my companion.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Lady Danbury, I think you might be developing a sense of humor yourself.”
“Euf. At my age one has to have a sense of humor. It’s the only way to make it through the day.”
Elizabeth only smiled.
“Where’s my cat?”
“I have no idea, Lady Danbury. I haven’t seen him this morning.”
Lady D twisted her head this way and that, speaking as she scanned the room for Malcolm. “Still,” she pontificated, “one would think I would receive at least a token more respect.”
“I certainly don’t know what you mean by such a comment.”
Lady Danbury’s expression was wry. “Between you and James, I shall never be allowed to grow too big for my britches.”
Before Elizabeth could reply, Lady D turned back around and said, “At my age it’s my right to be too big for my britches.”
“And what age would that be today?”
Lady D wagged her finger. “Don’t be sly. You know very well how old I am.”
“I do my best to keep track of it.”
“Hmmph. Where’s my cat?”
Since she had already replied to that question, Elizabeth instead asked, “When, ah, do you expect Mr. Siddons to return?”
Lady Danbury’s eyes were far too perceptive when she asked, “My errant estate manager?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know, drat the man. We’re falling into complete ruin here.”
Elizabeth glanced through the window at the endless pristine lawns of Danbury House. “You might be overstating slightly.”
Lady D started to say something, but Elizabeth held up her hand and said, “And don’t tell me that at your age it’s your prerogative to exaggerate.”
“Well, it is, Hmmph. Malcolm!”
Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to the door. The king of Danbury House was padding into the sitting room, his fat paws moving silently across the carpet.
“There you are, sweetie,” Lady Danbury cooed. “Come to Mama.”
But Malcolm didn’t even flick his café au lait tail at her. While Lady D watched in horror, her cat trotted straight to Elizabeth and hopped up on her lap.
“Good kitty,” Elizabeth purred.
“What is going on here?” Lady D demanded.
“Malcolm and I have come to a rapprochement of sorts.”
“But he hates you!”
“Why, Lady Danbury,” Elizabeth said, pretending to be shocked. “All these years you have insisted that he’s a perfectly friendly kitty.”
“He’s certainly a perfect kitty,” Lady D muttered.
“Not to mention all the times you told me this was all in my head.”
“I lied!”
Elizabeth slapped a hand against her cheek in mock disbelief. “No!”
“I want my cat back.”
Elizabeth shrugged. Malcolm flipped over onto his back and stretched out with his paws over his head.
“Miserable traitorous feline.”
Elizabeth smiled down at the cat as she rubbed the fur under his chin. “Life is good, eh, Malcolm? Life is very, very good.”
Malcolm purred in agreement, and Elizabeth knew it had to be true.
Back in London, James was frustrated as hell. He’d spent well over a week investigating Agatha’s life and had come up with nothing. He couldn’t find a soul who even knew of anyone with a grudge against his aunt. Oh, plenty of people had plenty to say about her acerbic wit and direct manner, but no one truly hated her.
Furthermore, there was nary a hint of a whisper of scandal surrounding her past. As far as London was concerned, Agatha, Lady Danbury, had led an exemplary life. Upstanding and true, she was lauded the prime example of proper English womanhood.
Truth be told, he couldn’t remember ever pursuing an investigation that was quite so boring.
He’d known that it was unlikely he’d find anything substantive; after all, the blackmailer had sought out his aunt in Surrey. But he’d unearthed no clues at Danbury House, and London had seemed the logical next step. If Agatha’s enemy had learned of her secret past through the ton’s brilliantly efficient gossip mill, then it stood to reason that someone in London would know something.
James had been bitterly disappointed.
There was nothing to do now except return to Danbury House and hope that the blackmailer had made another demand. This seemed unlikely, however; surely his aunt would have n
otified him if she’d received another threatening note. She knew where to reach him; he’d told her exactly where he was going and what he hoped to accomplish.
Agatha had argued bitterly against his leaving. She had been convinced that her blackmailer would be found in Surrey, skulking in the shadows of Danbury House. By the time James exited through the front door, Agatha had been in fine form, grumpy and sullen, more irritable than her cat.
James winced when he thought of poor Elizabeth, stuck in his aunt’s surly company for the past week. But if anyone could draw Agatha out of her temper, he was convinced it was Elizabeth.
Three more days. He would devote no more time to his London investigation. Three days and then he would return to Danbury House, announce his failure to his aunt and his intentions to Elizabeth.
Three more days and he could begin his life anew.
By Friday afternoon, Danbury House was under siege. Elizabeth locked herself in the library for a full hour just to get away from the swarms of servants readying the mansion for that night’s masquerade celebration. There was no escape from the frenzied activity, however; Lady Danbury had insisted that Elizabeth make her preparations at Danbury House. It was a sensible proposal, eliminating the need for Elizabeth to travel home and then return in full costume. But it also made it impossible for her to slip away for a few minutes of peace.
The time in the library didn’t count. How could it count when no less than five servants banged on the door, requesting her opinion on the most inane of matters. Finally Elizabeth had to throw up her hands and yell, “Ask Lady Danbury!”
When the first of the carriages rolled down the drive, Elizabeth fled upstairs to the room Lady Danbury had assigned to her for the evening. The dreaded shepherdess costume hung in the wardrobe, accompanying crook leaning against the wall.
Elizabeth flopped onto the bed. She had no desire to arrive early. She fully expected to spend most of the evening by herself. She didn’t mind her own company, but the last thing she wanted was to be noticeably by herself. Arriving while the party was a true crush meant that she could blend into the crowd. By then, Lady Danbury’s guests ought to be too involved in their own conversations to pay attention to her.