Eric stood, setting his brandy on the mantle and marching toward the bookshelves. Mallory followed, his rumbling steps causing a faint reverberation in the soles of Eric’s shoes. He wedged himself between Eric and the shelves, forcing Eric to look at him.
“But now, as when you lost your hearing, is not the time to bow to defeat and let the world run over you. If you never decide to come back into the service, I won't blame you, but as your friend I refuse to allow you to hide away from life.”
“What are you talking about?” Eric mumbled. “I'm not hiding away.”
“Yes, you are. You don't have to continue your work with me, but you do have to continue to live. And that includes going out into the world and seeing what it has to offer you.”
“I know perfectly well what the world has to offer me.” Eric spat. True enough. The world, which once promised unending adventure and opportunity, shrank to the confines of Heathermoore just over ten years ago and would never expand for him again.
Mallory opened his mouth to continue his argument but turned his attention to the door instead. Eric followed suit, anger draining as he took in Sarah, wide-eyed and darting her glance between her brother and their guest.
“I,” she stammered, “I just wanted to see if you’d like to join me for tea?”
A pink flush colored her cheeks and she let her eyes angle toward the floor. She wouldn’t normally have interrupted them, used to Eric’s work and the secretive nature of their conversations.
Beside him, Mallory must have responded, and in the affirmative judging from the instant brightening of Sarah’s countenance and the appearance of her smile.
“Wonderful!” she clapped her hands in front of her. “It’s such a rare treat to have a guest these days.” She smiled up at Mallory as he approached and offered his arm.
“Well, Eric?” he looked back with a smug grin. “You don’t mean to keep our lovely hostess waiting, do you?”
Without waiting for a response, Mallory escorted Sarah from the room, Sarah visibly glowing at the attention.
Letting out a sigh ending on a growl, Eric followed behind them.
CHAPTER TWO
THE BALLROOM GLITTERED in all its splendor, gold-gilded chandeliers and wall sconces dripping with cut crystal sending glints of warm light darting across the expanse of the room. Massive floor to ceiling mirrors spanned the far wall reminiscent of a grand continental palace. Specifically, a French palace.
Eric seethed, all but pressing his back up against the lavishly appointed wall he’d laid claim to in the Frenchman's house. He stood half hidden behind a potted palm, a short distance from an empty row of seats, his back to a garden facing window. Beside him, Sarah placed a small gloved hand on his arm.
“You're practically scowling, and it's rude to have your arms crossed so,” she began to sign the words the moment she had his attention. “You should try to enjoy yourself.”
“You know I don't enjoy these things,” he countered, easing his disdain for his sister's benefit. He allowed his arms to relax by his sides and attempted to unfurl his brow by a degree, but he was far from happy to be there. “Not only is it an insult, but you know how I hate having to deal with the blasted notebook.”
Sarah sighed and tilted her head in acknowledgment.
“I admit, it must be tedious by now to uphold the ruse that you can't read lips, but by your own admission, it's a useful skill to keep secret.”
“How useful now that I'm not working, I'm not sure. It's taken on even more of an irritation factor.” One gloved hand drifted up to the edge of his coat, the heel of it brushing over the outline of a small silver case residing in his pocket. Those who knew of it all termed it ‘the notebook’ after the small, thin volumes he used to carry, but one of his brothers gifted him a silver cigarette tin housing slips of paper and a small pencil which proved both more elegant and convenient. Since becoming proficient in both the use of signs and reading lips, however, the notebook went by the wayside as archaic, only in use now during his exceedingly rare social outings.
“At any rate,” Sarah signed, her movements sharp and forceful to emphasize her insistence, “it was good of you to agree to come on my account. You know I appreciate it. Her small half-smile succeeded in smoothing a few of his rumpled feathers enough for him to look about the room and attempt observing what was going on around him in the hopes of making the evening go faster.
The usual excesses met his gaze, dandies in their silk cravats and embroidered waistcoats, women putting forth every effort to remain upright under the weight of jewels and plumed adornments to piled about the head and neck. Sarah swayed beside him, and he ducked his gaze to see her craning her neck this way and that, eyes wide and reflecting the sparkle of the glittering world before her.
She’d only participated in one season to date, a quiet and shy nature putting her in no great rush to participate. Lifting his eyes again to the expanse of finery around them, Eric could see the allure of it, even for a simple girl like Sarah. In truth, it fascinated him once too, the excitement of graduating to the title of adult, mixing with peers and forming new attachments.
Though he’d had several years to accustom himself to the change in how others viewed him after his illness, he’d managed to remain in denial on this front. He’d attempted following his brothers into the salons and drawing rooms, but quickly realized an invitation addressed to Messrs. Langdon no longer included himself. Eventually, the invitations began to arrive individually addressed, with Eric omitted.
A flurry of activity across the room caught his attention. An older couple had arrived and now busied themselves greeting their hostess. Broad gestures and an effusion of kisses indicated them as French compatriots.
Their hostess, whom Eric recognized from Mallory’s description, glowed in the companionship for a moment, then fell back into a dull complacency when her guests moved on. Examining the woman, he took in her haughty stance, exuberant coiffure and obviously expensive gown, the gemstones strewn about her neck, and decided at a glance he didn't like her.
Next to her, however, stood a young woman roughly Sarah's age who Eric guessed to be the niece Mallory mentioned. As he watched, she turned her attention fully to her aunt, in the process providing Eric a full view of her as well. His breath caught. Her hair glinted a burnished copper in the candlelight, not a color most considered beautiful, but on her it gave the effect of a warm halo. It partnered well with a heart-shaped face and fair complexion, a hint of rose dotting the apples of her cheeks. She wore a simple white gown with pale cream overdress lightly embroidered in gold. The vision only wanted for wings.
A fragile aura surrounded her, something about the light eyes darting about the room and the stiffness of her arms and hands clasped in front of her. Something made her nervous, she appeared almost uncomfortable in her surrounds, a sentiment Eric eagerly sympathized with. The sentiment gained strength when that angelic face shot toward her aunt, a momentary look of despair crossing her features. Eric stiffened, wondering what the countess said to upset her young ward.
Before he had time to contemplate this observation further, a tug at his sleeve brought his attention back to his sister.
“Look,” she signed, “Mallory is here.” An unnecessary observation, as Mallory would have made himself known in another moment, but Eric nodded, sighing inwardly at the way Sarah tracked Mallory’s movement across the room. Following her ardent gaze, he spotted his friend, a distinct mischievous rise to the corner of his mouth and glint in his eye.
Eric knew that look and stifled a groan. Apparently, his observation of the hostess and niece did not go unnoticed. Now in addition to suffering through a boring evening, he would have to contend with Mallory’s constant pushing for him to engage in this newest intrigue of his. The man stopped in front of them, looking the picture of privileged society in his well-tailored waistcoat and expertly tied cravat. This part of the job appealed most to him, engaging with the best and most privileged souls the
ton had on offer, winning them over and stealing their secrets.
Pausing long enough to direct a smile and greeting at Sarah, his piercing consideration shifted back to Eric with more speed than Eric had patience for.
“It's not too late to accept the assignment.” He quipped, sending a suggestive glance toward the younger Frenchwoman.
Sarah looked at him quizzically, but Eric remained silent, maintaining a steadfast, but ultimately purposeless glare at Mallory.
Ignoring the warning, Mallory dropped a smile on Sarah and continued, “I'm sure you two are anxious to get the evening underway. Let me make the introductions so you can be about it.” Offering her his arm, he set out in the direction of the Countess and her niece.
“ABOUT TIME YOU SAW fit to join me,” Antoinette de Durand, Comtesse de Montaigne, hissed as Eloise approached her. “I can't imagine why my husband chose to take you in after your parents died, you have been nothing but an ungrateful burden from the moment you arrived.” She snapped open her fan with a vicious flick of her wrist and began fanning herself furiously.
Eloise made no response, used to her aunt's tirades. The fact her aunt and uncle gained little pleasure in her presence was made known to her from the moment she first arrived on their doorstep. She learned to ignore most of the commentary, and luckily had always had a refuge to go to when the remarks became too much to bear.
Unfortunately, in recent years that refuge had disappeared, and she was no longer certain how long she would be able to withstand the judgment of her protectors. She contented herself with scanning the area around them, contemplating her best response, knowing whatever she said would be taken harshly.
Beauty surrounded her in the form of gowns and decor, a setting meant for fairy tales and girlish dreams. The stuff she escaped to in her imagination as a child when life became too much to bear, but which once realized proved incapable of easing her mind or heart.
“In all other things, aunt,” Eloise began, “I am quite certain you are happy to have me hidden away. I still don't understand why you and uncle insisted that I join you tonight.”
“We told you, there is a person of particular interest your uncle would like you to meet and offer attention to.”
As though to prove her point, her aunt began bobbing from side to side neck craned in a show of observing the room, presumably in search of a specific face or form.
“Yes, so you've mentioned.” Eloise resisted the urge to parrot her aunt’s movements, finding instead a seam of her glove to inspect. “But I don't know who this Mallory person is or why he should be in the least bit interested in making my acquaintance.”
“I'm sure he's not,” her aunt responded dryly. “But he is important to your uncle’s work, and therefore if your uncle says he wishes you to show attention to the man, I expect you to do so.” She paused long enough to draw Eloise’s attention, forcing Eloise to heed her and submit to a withering glare. She continued, her voice low and menacing, “I don't think I need to remind you of the importance of obedience during this time. You see where a lack of familial pride and adherence landed your cousin, don't think you are above the same fate.”
Eloise shivered, tempted to take a step back from her aunt. The woman referenced her own son with her acidity, lately a French soldier fighting on the peninsula, now a prisoner of war locked away on a British prison ship somewhere as a traitor. The accusations were false, Eloise knew her cousin to be an honorable and forthright man. What concerned Eloise and kept her awake endless hours after hearing this news was not the devastating accusation itself but her conviction that her uncle had something to do with it. Suspecting her benefactors of such devious actions served to plunge her into a permanent state of uncertainty and fear in their home.
Even so, from the moment she got word of Alain’s fate, Eloise determined to find a way to help him. He’d been her once source of solace and brightness in life since coming to the de Durand home. In truth, Alain was more of a brother to her than a cousin. She would give her very life to see him free and hated that she was now bound by her inexperience and dependence to the very people who had orchestrated his capture.
“Over there,” her aunt’s sharp observation cut into the gloom of her memories and thoughts. “There is Sir Thomas, he is sure to come and greet us. You had best make a good impression.” Eloise started and blinked, looking up at the Countess and following the woman's gaze to a far corner of the ballroom where a tall man walked across to join two other people standing near the wall. One, a pretty young lady who looked of similar age to Eloise, the other, the most handsome man she had ever seen.
Tall and blond, with features more perfectly carved than any statue of antiquity into skin which glowed with the hues of vitality. His confident stance and strong build instantly set him apart from the other men in the room.
Mesmerized, only the onset of an odd interaction between the acquaintances jostled her out of her blatant staring. The two men began to gesture and motion with their hands in their conversation. The motions exceeded anything she’d ever seen, even from the Italian couple who sometimes paid visits to the de Durand estate.
“What are they doing?” she leaned in to ask her aunt. The Countess made a disgusted sound and flipped open her fan once again.
“That other man with him,” she began in a condescending tone, that's the youngest Langdon brother. The elder brothers have fair enough standing in society to warrant our inviting them or their household to events, but they are unfortunately both seafaring men and away on their assignments. I presume the younger Mr. Langdon was the only one available to escort the youngest girl here tonight.”
She paused in her explanation to purse her lips and narrow a gaze at the young lady standing beside Mr. Langdon. “I tell you; I would not have invited them at all knowing the Countess and her elder sons were not in residence, but Sir Thomas intimated to your uncle it would please him to see Sarah included in tonight’s festivities.”
Eloise darted a glance at Miss. Langdon.
“Your uncle felt it would be productive to send the invitation.” She completed her tirade with a sniff, and Eloise furrowed her brow. None of what her aunt had said seemed pertinent to the question she’d posed.
“But I don't understand what your objection to him is,” she continued, not taking her eyes off the handsome blonde.
“Idiotic girl, have you not paid attention to anything since you arrived here?” Her aunt rolled her eyes and let out a beleaguered huff. “The man is deaf. It's an embarrassment to even have him here, you know the deaf are less than mentally capable. And yet his family keeps insisting that he be included in social events. No one of any worth and standing can understand it. They must be in some sort of extreme denial to think parading their pariah through the social circles is in any way improving the status of their family name.”
Eloise returned her gaze to where the men had stood, only to see them approaching herself and her aunt. Whatever her aunt’s opinion of Mr. Langdon, it did nothing to prevent her heart from racing as they drew near, or her the increasing difficulty of her breathing as her eyes settled on the dazzling features of Mr. Langdon, only increasing in almost rugged beauty as he drew near. From what she could see, those clear blue eyes showed no hint of simple-mindedness. They burned with a depth and intensity to steal the breath away, and they were focused directly on her.
CHAPTER THREE
ELOISE WATCHED HER aunt compose her features into a mask of happiness as Sir Thomas and his companions approached, the ruse looking almost authentic, if not for the complete lack of interest and pleasure in the woman's eyes.
“My dear Sir Thomas,” she gushed, “what a pleasure to see you again. I am so glad you were able to come this evening.” She extended a hand to Mallory, who dutifully took it and bowed a kiss over it.
“The pleasure is all mine,” He responded with a grin that flashed even, white teeth. “And I am even more pleased this evening to be able to introduce two very good friends of
mine.” He nodded toward the pair standing at his shoulder. “But first, I believe I have not yet met your lovely niece,” he angled in Eloise's direction, nodding at her and smiling.
“Indeed, you have not,” her aunt acknowledged. “I'm glad to finally have the opportunity to introduce her to you.” She smiled a catlike smile. “Sir Thomas, this is my niece, Eloise.”
Eloise extended her hand to receive his greeting, all the while darting glances from the corner of her eye toward the other man in the group.
Niceties complete, Mallory reciprocated with his own introductions. “Countess, may I first introduce Miss Sarah Langdon, whom I admit I had hoped would enjoy the company of your niece.”
Miss Langdon curtsied to her aunt, then turned to bestow a vibrant and warm smile on Eloise. To her surprise, Eloise found something distinctly agreeable and attractive in the girl. An instant sense of camaraderie and eagerness to get to know the other woman bloomed in her and Eloise couldn’t help but return the welcoming smile. There was something in the openness and clarity of Miss. Langdon’s eyes which reminded her of those qualities in her dear cousin Alain. While there was no way to know from just a glance, Eloise had a feeling they could become fast friends.
“And this, Countess,” Sir Thomas continued when her aunt would have blatantly turned her back on their second guest, “is Mr. Eric Langdon.”
Her aunt looked down her nose at Eric, no small feat considering his height, and seemed reluctant to extend her hand. “Yes of course, a pleasure.” She nodded, raising her brow when Mallory apparently translated the comment to his friend.
Eric took the Countess's hand and bowed over it, dropping it as quickly as was polite, and Eloise was sure he noted the way her aunt immediately took back her hand and clasped it against her skirts. Eloise was sure his own impression of the countess was no more favorable.
“And miss Marchand,” Mallory continued, turning to Eloise as though nothing awkward had occurred, “Mr. Eric Langdon.”
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