Curling her knees up onto the seat cushion, Eloise envisioning Eric, together with Sir Thomas and Sarah, knowing some horrid circumstances would befall them. She’d failed them. She’d failed Alain with her inability to resist her uncle’s schemes. Wishing she had never been born, she broke down weeping.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ERIC SET HIS HAT AND gloves on the console beside the front door as he entered. Hartford's words hadn't done much to assuage his burgeoning fears, they only confirmed the possibility Eric already considered. Looking up at the whole clock, he saw he'd made it home just in time to avoid scolding from his sister. Heading upstairs to get changed, he endeavored to take his mind off work and Eloise and settle into some passable holiday cheer for Sarah's benefit.
Half an hour later, he crossed the threshold to the drawing room where he found Sarah making a few final adjustments to the Christmas tree and surrounding decor.
"It all looks perfect, Poppet, you needn't fuss with it on my account."
Sarah turned a startled glance in his direction, relaxing as she recognized him.
"I wouldn't in any case," she assured him with a grin. "I'm perfecting it to my own preference."
"Ah, well in that case carry on, I shan't hold dinner for you."
"I have half a mind not to serve dinner tonight," Sarah lamented, gesturing to the sideboard. "We have desserts enough to feed the entire village."
Eric joined his sister at the sideboard, examining the spread of sweet treats with the growing lump in his throat. Sighing, he turned to his sister. "I suggest we begin by sharing with the staff."
Sarah smiled "a suggestion I've already thought of myself." She linked her arm in his and guided him over to a card table set beside the tree bedecked with cloth and dinnerware.
"I decided it would be a waste to have dinner in the dining room. We have a much better ambience here with the most decorations, and," she paused, giving a shrug, "I had a nostalgic moment for childhood days when mother and father would set a table for us in here."
Noting the mustiness threatening his sister's eyes, he hurried over to give her a hug and hold her chair for her. "An excellent idea, Poppet, I'm glad you thought of it."
"And now for the best part of the holiday," Eric announced as the dinner dishes were cleared away, procuring a small box from under the tree. "For you, Poppet," he handed the item over to his sister.
Her eyes lit up as she took hold of the box, eager to unwrap it. "Oh! It's that new mystery I saw in the booksellers window!"
"I had to promise Mr. Tavis it was meant for one of my brothers. It's a murder mystery and he didn't feel it was appropriate for young lady." Eric teased.
"I always could count on you to fib for me, Eric," Sarah grinned. "Now here is your gift from me," she added handing Eric a small bag.
Opening the bag, Eric reached in and procured a set of cuff links. They were gold in color and sported the family crest. He smiled. "You heard mother complain I needed new ones for the season, didn't you?"
"I did, and I agreed."
"They're perfect, Poppet, thank you."
“And here’s another for you.” Sarah announced as he set the bag aside, handing over a small wrapped item with a grin.
“Two gifts? That wasn’t necessary, Poppet.” Eric accepted the piece.
“I know, but Eloise insisted.”
Eric froze in place, reaching for the ribbon which secured the wrapping in place.
“Go on,” Sarah insisted, she made one for me as well, but as we were obliged to share craft supplies, it wasn’t a surprise.
Ignoring the unfamiliar butterflies in stomach, Eric complied, tugging at the ribbon to release the bow, then making quick work of the wrapping. A flat clay ornament remained, hand painted with small depictions of Heathermoore, a pastry, a fleur de lis, and... a sprig of mistletoe. He managed to smile, though his throat constricted, preventing him from comment. It took a moment before he trusted his eyes well enough to look up at his sister, who he found observing him with keen interest.
She blinked and signed, “mine is almost identical, but shows a wreath rather than the mistletoe.”
Eric cleared his throat. “A thoughtful gift and pleasant addition to the tree.” He got up to add the ornament to the tree and avoid his sister’s stare. She stepped up beside him and set a hand on his sleeve. He turned to face her.
“You cared for her, didn't you?”
He hesitated, knowing that in itself gave away any lie he might belatedly conjure.
“We’ll see her again in London,” Sarah smiled.
“Perhaps,” he nodded, “Though I doubt her aunt and uncle will approve of her socializing with me.”
“They shall have to if you’re standing next to me,” she grinned. “They have no reason to disallow Eloise meeting with me.”
Eric remained silent, not wanting to disturb his sister with his unpleasant suspicions. She brought a hand up to the ornament, a light of glee crossing her features before she turned her attention back to him.
“Let's go to London!”
He stared at her, wondering how much wine she’d had with dinner, or if she’d consumed one too many of the brandied desserts. “We are going to London, Poppet, in a few weeks.”
“Who says we have to keep to that schedule?” She challenged. “We are not expecting any additional visitors, it's only the two of us. I'd say we've done our best to keep each other company. Let's go surprise mother and Marissa, and Eloise in the bargain!”
Eric’s mouth dropped open, but no words formed. Logically, he wanted to respond it was a ridiculous and childish scheme, leaving early on a spur of the moment idea. His heart, however, had taken up the same giddy enthusiasm Sarah displayed the moment he thought of seeing Eloise again.
“I’ll think about it,” he hedged, not wanting to disappoint his sister or jump to any rash conclusions. A night’s sleep, and perhaps avoiding the Christmas tree for a few days would set him back into an adult frame of mind.
A LIGHT VIBRATION HUMMED along the floorboards beneath Eric's stockinged feet as he stood beside the fireplace, gazing into the flames. The thrumming increased by minuscule increments until he was sure someone headed in his direction. Turning toward the door, he put on his best smile and prepared to greet his mother and sisters.
He and Sarah arrived in London the day before and had already been enlisted to attend an evening event.
“I was so despondent at the thought of missing both Christmas and New Year’s with you,” their mother insisted, “It thrills my heart to have you here, it’s my Christmas miracle.”
Despite initial qualms about changing their plans without notice, Eric soon warmed to the idea, finding himself just as eager to see his family members as Sarah.
“There is my favorite third son,” Ayanna, Dowager Countess Langdon, signed before opening her arms wide to embrace him. She gave him a lingering hug before holding him at arm’s distance and assessing his appearance. “And looking exceptionally dapper this evening, I might add.” She continued, raising an eyebrow at her son.
Eric ducked his chin and angled toward the hearth, hoping the flush in his cheeks would be blamed on the heat of the flames. Sarah had made inquiries of their mother and sister and discovered the Durands had accepted an invitation to tonight’s event. “It is your mother's prerogative to think your children handsome, mother.” He accused with a grin.
“Very true, but I never had a moment's guilt wondering if my mother's sight were horribly mangled regarding my children. I know with absolute certainty that my children are far more handsome than those of other mothers. And I repeat, you have taken special care in your appearance tonight.”
“Should I not, when escorting such lovely ladies?” Eric countered, raising his brows at his mother.
“Of course you should, however that never inspired any of my sons in the past, so I have no great reason to believe that was your inspiration tonight.” She looked as though she wanted to say more, and Eric k
new if it had been any of her other children, she would have teased that perhaps he meant to impress someone at tonight's event. But his mother understood his hesitations. She didn't know all the details, but she knew matters of the heart had been a source of pain for this particular son and likely felt it would be in bad taste to tease him.
“Well, whatever your reasoning,” she concluded, “I'm very glad to see it and shall be the proudest mother present tonight with two such mesmerizing children beside me.” She completed her complement and whirled around to drape an arm around Sarah's waist. “Oh, how I've missed the two of you.” She glowed with her happiness. Eric smiled at his mother and sister, having no trouble admitting the Langdon ladies were exceptionally beautiful. Done up as they were tonight in their best gowns, golden hair pinned to perfection, and glittering in their adornments, they would doubtless catch the eye of every man in the room. His feelings hovered somewhere between exceptional pride and worry that his presence beside them would be detrimental.
A moment later, his mother's words came back to him and he tilted his head. “Two mesmerizing children? Don't you mean three, mother? Where is Marissa?”
Ayanna rolled her eyes. “Oh, you know that girl. She went off for tea with an old school friend earlier today, promising of course she would not run late to get ready for tonight, but she hasn't returned. You know how she forgets the time.”
Eric nodded his agreement. Perhaps the most scattered of his siblings, Marissa delved so deeply into whatever project or activity currently held her interest that she lost track of time easily, caught up in her imagination or in wild flights of fancy. As children, she would often be the one scolded for not returning home on time and not sending a note. As an adult, her mother and siblings generally accepted the fact they couldn't trust her pronouncements of timing. They had long since given up arguing with her or trying to admonish her, for it did little good.
“And do you think she'll be at the dance? Or will she come back here?” Eric asked his mother.
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll be at the dance,” she waved a dismissive hand. “The friend she went to meet, Miss. Ashford, was also invited and they spent a good amount of time beforehand discussing what they would wear.” Another role of the eyes. “As the two are so like in stature and figure, Marissa likely prevailed upon her friend to borrow something of hers once she realized she'd overstayed. She will likely arrive with them, though I'm slightly surprised that did not send a note to himself, the two of them have been friends long enough he would have assumed Marissa forgot and notified me of her intent.”
“Well, I suppose there's not much for it,” Eric shrugged. “If we are all ready, we had best get to the dance ourselves.” His mother and sister nodded, and he turned back to the fireplace long enough to slip his feet into his shoes and tie them. A moment later, one bejeweled lady on each arm, he led them out to the waiting carriage.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE BALLROOM PROVED a swarming nest of activity by the time they arrived, packed to overflowing with all of London's best-known names. It was the first flush of the season, and still early for the full rush of activity, but the night’s hostess was a Duchess of some renown, and the event the first major one since the lull of the holidays, which likely contributed to the turnout. Lady Langdon had been swept away almost immediately by another woman of her acquaintance, leaving Eric to escort Sarah into the melee. His eyes darted around the crowd, as he struggled to maintain even breaths. Such dense gatherings always served to unsteady him, creating difficulty in navigation as he had only his eyes to guide him, and not the sounds of approach or voices to give him some additional hint at what might be surrounding him.
After securing Sarah a glass of punch and making their way to a relatively sedate corner, Eric took a moment to take a breath, allowing his eyes to scan the room with more ease.
Sarah tugged at his sleeve, demanding his attention, then handing over her punch cup for him to hold while she signed what she wanted to say. “Do you think she’ll be here?”
Eric's pulse raced but he forced himself to look disinterested. “Do I think who will be here?”
“Don't bother playing that practiced indifference with me, Eric. I know you know my meaning.” She sent him a sly smile. “The young lady you took extra care in dressing for tonight.” Taking back her cup, she sipped, then handed it back to him, losing a measure of her happy expression as she thought. “She was so distraught at leaving, I truly worried for her. I wish her aunt and uncle had allowed her to stay with us and come to London with us.”
Wanting to agree but finding no words to do so without sounding awkward, Eric nodded and surveyed the room. “Any sign of Marissa?” He asked, though Marissa wasn’t who his eyes searched for. He dropped his gaze to his sister, who shook her head before reaching for her punch glass again.
A moment later, she straightened at his side and pressed the cup into his hand. “Look,” she gestured, nodding to another corner of the room. “There is Miss. Ashford, we may find Marissa near her.”
Nodding his agreement, Eric offered his arm and Sarah placed her cup on the tray of a passing footman. With his sister’s help, Eric navigated the crowded floor with minimal distress, though he questioned whether being able to hear would have helped in this case. The crush increased by the minute until the entire place took on the appearance of a well-dressed can of sardines.
They approached Miss Ashford, and the two women plunged into a rapid account Eric held no hope of following, so he diverted his attention to the room at large. Despite the winter temperatures and a few open windows, the number of attendees created an almost sweltering temperature, prompting the use of fans by most of the women. This made it difficult for Eric to distinguish many of the female faces, but neither the familiar features of his sister Marissa, nor those of Eloise met his inspection. He’d completed an initial scan of the room and prepared to reverse course when an insistent tug at his sleeve forced his attention back to Sarah.
Looking down at her, an instant foreboding set in as he took in his sister’s pallor and wide-eyed concern. He shifted his gaze to Miss Ashford, but met with a similar countenance, that woman wringing her hands as she looked to Sarah.
“What’s wrong, Poppet?” he asked, taking hold of her hand. Her rate of breathing increased as she sent a desperate glance around the crowd before returning her eyes to him and he worried she might cause herself lightheadedness. She tugged her hand from his so she could speak to him.
“Marissa didn’t come with the Ashfords. Miss. Ashford says Marissa left when she had planned to and set out home to prepare for tonight.”
A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. That would have been hours ago.
“Come,” he instructed, offering Sarah his arm, “We have to find mother.”
Sarah clung to him as they threaded through the crowd in the direction of where they’d last seen their mother, their progress agonizingly slow. Eric’s head swam as he tried to sort through all the possibilities of where Marissa could have gone, but none of his conjectures helped to calm his nerves or dissipate the mild nausea forming from too many worst-case scenarios invading his thoughts. He continued to scour the room as they advanced, but his eyes searched for the one face and figure he knew would calm him in any scenario.
The search remained unsuccessful until they reached their mother, who took one look at Sarah’ ashen face and sprang into her own portrayal of worry and concern.
“What’s wrong?” she signed, folding Sarah into her arms.
“It’s Marissa, he explained, taking his mother’s elbow and steering her toward the door. She didn’t come with the Ashfords, we have to get home.”
She sent him a confused glance, to which he responded, “I’ll explain more when we get in the coach.”
He instructed the coachman to drive back to the Langdon townhome as quickly as possible once he’d handed his mother and sister inside, though he doubted they would find Marissa there. During the entirety of
the race home, he struggled to think of where he might look to find Marissa and tamped down the voice in the back of his head reminding him that Eloise and the Durands hadn’t been at the dance.
THE LANGDON TOWNHOME soon became a beacon in the night, with every window lit as footmen were sent near and far to every known city authority and acquaintance the Langdon's could think of in search of Marissa. Every negative response received sank the family members further into distress. Ayanna sat in the sitting room, head in her hands and bemoaning her failure as a mother not to have known something had gone wrong.
“It's not your fault, mother,” Sarah insisted, running a small hand over her mother's back to console her. “Given Marissa's previous behavior, you had no reason to believe other than you did.” She brought her gaze up to meet Eric’s where he stood beside the fireplace, reviewing the latest responses to have come in. She sent him a hopeful glance, but all he could do was shake his head in reply, causing her to bow her own head in sadness.
For his own part, Eric wished he had the luxury of succumbing to distress as his mother did, but new the household looked to him to solve the matter and find Marissa. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed continually to try and keep it at bay. He clenched and unclenched his fists, went through fits of pacing the room, all while attempting to maintain a mask of calm, to not show how his breaths strained and hoping the crashing of his heart against his ribs didn't end in his collapse.
When Amaryllis and James went missing and he eventually realized it was his doing, his activities which spurred the threat against them, the guilt incapacitated him. It weighed on him, crippled him until he could barely drag himself out of bed each day, struggling to function at a basic level of humanity. He thought he could never feel anything so terrible again, but he was wrong. They had yet to find out where Marissa had gone and what had happened, but every self-doubting voice him shouted this was once again his fault. He'd failed and Marissa would now pay the price.
To Love in Silence (Currents of Love Book 3) Page 13