To Love in Silence (Currents of Love Book 3)

by Emilee Harris

  “Despite what you may think, Sarah, I agree with you. But that doesn't change the fact, we have no say in this.”

  “That can't possibly be. We know her better than anyone else here, there must be a way for us to vouch for her character.”

  “Poppet, Eric sighed, “the good word of a deaf man and a woman of good but not demanding social stature amount to very little where Eloise is concerned, and I fear any intercession on our part might well do more harm than good.”

  Sarah huffed but remained silent.

  “There must be some way to make this right, Eric. We were so caught up in Marissa's fate, we let Eloise slip from our minds, and I have the worst guilt for it. Since receiving Marissa's note, it's caused me no end of guilt knowing how thoroughly I ignored my dearest friend.” She ducked her head, the bluster draining out of her.

  Eric could sympathize with her, he knew exactly that feeling and far worse. They’d all gone somewhat mad with worry. He’d plunged back into his work with a vengeance, making trips back and forth across the channel to Dunkirk, determined to undermine every known smuggler associated with Durand until he found Marissa. He’d made good on that determination, but then the appearance of Marissa’s letter brought a measure of sanity back to him and he realized his overzealousness might not work in their favor. Assured of her relative safety, he’d pulled back from his endeavor, started to proceed with more caution, and realized he’d let Eloise slip out of his grasp.

  Taking in Sarah’s crestfallen posture, he thought of every time she’d done her best to comfort and motivate him. “As you have often told me, he reached out and took Sarah's hand in his, “there is no shame in putting the welfare of those you love ahead of your own, or ahead of the that of strangers. The shame is in taking on sole responsibility for something which was never our responsibility in the first place. We cannot help the situation Eloise’s uncle placed her in. We cannot change the country's laws or the process of the judicial system. All we can do is hope and wait for an opening in which we might be helpful.”

  Eric lowered his gaze to their clasped hands, hoping his words resounded with more conviction than he had. He said them for her benefit, just as she had so often said them for his, but he knew it served no purpose, guilt had a way of latching on with the deathlike grip, a life-draining parasite almost impossible to remove.

  They'd received Marissa's letter only a week before, she was safely out of the smugglers grasp, though not completely out of danger. None of them would be at ease until she was safe at home again, but they knew at least she was not alone. Of all people, Eloise’s cousin was the one helping her. How that circumstance came to be, none of them could fathom, but the glowing opinion and everything Eloise had mentioned about her cousin served to put them somewhat at ease.

  Sarah nodded and gave Eric's hand a small squeeze before disengaging from him and wiping away the tears which had lingered on her cheeks. “It's just so frustrating.” She complained, to no one in particular. Eric nodded.

  “We should prepare for dinner, Sarah continued,” seeming to search for some neutral conversation and unwilling to leave. “Mother has been feeling better of late since Marissa's letter, but I'm sure she's going to want to retire early again.”

  Eric stood and rounded the desk, giving his sister hug and keeping his arm around her shoulders as he walked her to the door. He paused at the threshold, turning her to face him. “I've got a few minutes of work yet, but I'll be ready on time. Go up and dry your eyes, splash a bit of water on your face, or you'll have a thousand questions to answer from mother at dinner tonight.”

  Sarah smiled her agreement.” All right. I'll see you in a bit then.”

  He watched her leave before turning back to his work, but his mind drifted far from the column of figures he'd been working on. His eyes darted back to the newspaper Sarah had thrown down on the desk. His heart reached out to the name glaring amid the words in the newsprint. He wondered how she fared, hated to think she might be frightened. For all he had tried to maintain his tenuous disapproval, his certainty that she had somehow known what she was doing, he couldn’t maintain it any longer. He knew she was innocent of any wrong. And it anguished him to know yet again he was powerless to do anything to change it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “PACK YOUR BAGS, YOU’RE leaving.”

  “What? Eloise looked up from where she worked on a basket of mending, pushing a stray lock of hair out of her face. She'd been in the work home for two months, adapting to the monotony of daily life and work with more ease than she’d expected. She'd come to accept the fact this was her life now. That someone could come in and tell her she was leaving was as unintelligible to her as the hand signals Eric and his family used.

  “Are you daft, you don't understand a simple sentence?” The stern-faced matron of the facility glared. “I said get your things, you’re leaving.”

  “But,” Eloise continued, rising from her work and setting it off to the side. “I don't understand, where—”

  “That's not my concern and I haven't the information. I was told to come get you so that's what I'm doing. You have five minutes to get yourself to the office.”

  Eloise did as she was told, arriving at the office as quickly as possible, having also come to expect negative repercussions if orders were not followed out to the expectation of the person giving them. Mr. Laramie, the facility coordinator, looked up from his desk as she stepped into his office with his usual pinched expression of distaste.

  “There's a carriage out front waiting for you, you've been requested, for a new position.”

  “But,” Eloise stammered, “I don't understand, what new position? Who requested me?”

  “An upstanding family in the area. The matron of the family believes you will be a decent choice for governess for her grandchildren. She requested you specifically and sent the coach for you. More than that you don't need to know, as I haven't more information myself. I don't ask any further than the payment.”

  He curtailed any possibility for Eloise to ask more questions by turning his attention to the woman who had summoned Eloise and now stood by the door. “Mrs. Smith, see her outside.” With that, the man returned to the paperwork in front of him as though Eloise didn't exist.

  “Well, you heard the man,” Mrs. Smith grumbled. “Come on.”

  Eloise followed her the short distance to the front door and down the steps to a waiting, unmarked coach and coachman she didn’t recognize, likely a hired conveyance. Without any other recourse, Eloise had no choice but to climb into the vehicle and trust all would work for the best. An upstanding family, whose matron wished her to be a governess? She couldn't imagine that would be anyone who knew her or her recent history, but there was no sense in debating the matter or wondering about it. She would just have to sit out the ride and see what came of it.

  A short while later she started awake as the coach came to a halt and her head lurched forward. She had no idea when she'd fallen asleep and hadn't seen any of her approach to her new destination. Before she had a chance to look out the window, the coachman descended his seat and came around to open the door for her. He pulled out the steps and handed her down to the driveway, where she nearly fainted dead away. There before her, looming as large, as welcoming and as beautiful as it ever had in her past, stood Heathermoore.

  “Here now,” the coachman stated as her knees began to give way. “I haven't been paid to carry you up the steps, set yourself to rights.” He straightened her roughly onto her feet, then gave her a small shove in the direction of the front steps. Swallowing, Eloise clutched her small bag of belongings and made her way toward the familiar front door. Once she arrived there, the door swung open as though she'd been expected, which apparently she was, and the kind countenance of the Langdon’s Butler greeted her with a small bow.

  “Welcome, Miss. Eloise. The mistress is expecting you and waiting for you in the sitting room.” She nodded numbly, following along behind the man as he he
aded down the hall to the room where she had spent so many happy hours with both Sarah and Eric.

  “Miss. Eloise Marchand, my lady,” the Butler announced before stepping aside and allowing Eloise entry.

  Eloise trembled as she took a hesitant step across the threshold, wondering if it had been Sarah who called for her, but that didn't make any sense. Sarah would not be addressed in the manner the Butler had used. Eyes darting through the room, they quickly settled on a middle-aged woman, beautiful and golden-haired, small-framed and with a distinct resemblance to the Langdons of her acquaintance. She blinked, altering her assessment. Her friends bore a distinct resemblance to this woman. She recognized at last the countenance of the dowager Countess Langdon, Eric and Sarah's mother.

  Ayanna looked up as she entered, a neutral but not unkind expression on her face.

  “How wonderful to finally meet you, Miss. Marchand. I've heard a great deal about you from my daughter, Sarah.”

  Eloise belatedly remembered her manners and curtsied.

  “Come, sit beside me dear,” Ayanna patted the cushion of a chair next to her. “I've had tea freshly made and we have a bit of time to get to know each other.”

  Eloise sat, unable to keep from blurting out her surprise. “Forgive me, my lady, but I don't understand. At the workhouse, they told me someone had requested me as a governess.”

  “And indeed I have,” Ayanna nodded, passing over a cup of tea. “Should you fit that position, and should another not be more favorable. I am sure either my daughter or my daughter-in-law would be happy to have your help with their children. But I must now admit, that was not my first thought in bringing you here.”

  “It wasn't?” Eloise stared at the woman, completely confused.

  “No. My daughter, Sarah, was quite distraught at all that had befallen you. She felt it quite the injustice and has been in a terrible state worrying for your well-being. It appears, my dear, you made quite an impression on her.” The dowager smiled.

  Eloise relaxed a bit in her seat and returned the smile. “I admit, Sarah has been the best friend I have ever known since coming to England. I very quickly grew to love her like a sister.”

  “So I had hoped to hear.” Ayanna responded, raking an assessing gaze over her. “But I admit, I also had a bit of secondary curiosity.”

  Now Ayanna observed her closely, causing a twinge of uncertainty and nervousness to return.

  “Curiosity, my lady?”

  “Yes. I'd like to know, and I know it is very forward of me but I beseech you to answer truthfully, from the way Sarah spoke of you and her subsequent tales of her brother, with whom she shares a very distinct bond, I have wondered if there might not be an additional bond of importance which came into being during your time here?”

  Eloise gulped her tea and set the cup down on the table as it began to rattle in her hand. “I'm not sure I know what you mean, my lady.”

  “I think you have an idea. I'd like to know, what your feelings are regarding my son, Eric.

  “Feelings?” she squeaked.

  “Yes.” The dowager set down her own cup and gave her full attention to Eloise, resting her hands in her lap.

  Eloise scrambled for a response. How did one politely tell a countess she was in love with her son? In the end, she supposed it didn’t matter. This visit to Heathermoore was a dream come true, but she doubted Eric would allow her to stay anywhere near his family once he heard of it. Dropping her chin, she allowed herself to voice the words she might never otherwise utter. “Eric has touched a part of my heart I believed inaccessible and assigned me a value and credence others have not.” She paused to take a breath and raise her eyes to those of the woman before her. “I love Eric.”

  A light sparked in the woman’s eyes and she smiled. An open, welcoming smile that made Eloise’s heart want to burst. “I thank you for your honesty.” She stood and tugged at a nearby bellpull.

  “Bring my children to me, please.” She requested when the butler appeared at the door.

  Eloise’s heart jumped. Her children? The desire to race out of the home and back toward the workhouse took hold of her, only offset by a stronger desire to see Eric again, to look on him and know he was well, even if he hated her.

  A short time later, the door opened to admit both Sarah and Eric. Eloise darted to her feet, clutching at the corner of the chair back.

  “Eloise!” Sarah shouted, her features lighting with glee as she ran across to envelope Eloise in a smothering hug. Eloise returned the hug with eager abandon, tears welling in her eyes the moment she felt the warmth of her friend’s embrace. But she couldn’t give herself over fully to the happiness of the moment, too aware of Eric, standing like a statue beside the door, an expression of stone intent upon her.

  ERIC STOOD BESIDE THE door, willing his heart to begin beating again. He never thought to see Eloise again, even after she’d been cleared of any wrongdoing, he’d convinced himself no chance remained of repairing the damage between them.

  “Eric,” His mother stepped directly into his line of sight, disrupting his trance. “I believe you have topics to discuss with Miss. Marchand.” She signed.

  “I... what?” He blinked as his mother flew into motion, ringing for the tea service to be cleared, checking the contents of a reticule sitting on a side table, then disengaging Sarah from about Eloise’s neck and turning her toward the door again.

  “And since this is a conversation of utmost importance,” she continued, signing as she watched the tea service disappear into the hall with a maid. “I've arranged for Sarah and I to spend the afternoon out and given strict instructions you are not to be disturbed.” A look of girlish mischief passed over her features as she began ushering Sarah out the door. Eric gaped, mouth bobbing open and closed like a dying fish, but no words forming.

  “And Eric,” she paused to face her son as she crossed the threshold, resting one hand on each knob of the double doors and taking care to enunciate her words. “I expect you to come to a mutually agreeable conclusion during our absence.”

  She shut the doors with marked finality, leaving Eric to stare at them, feeling as though he'd been locked into a cage with a ferocious tiger. Tugging at the collar of his shirt, he swallowed and turned to face the woman haunting his dreams.

  “Eloise,” he acknowledged with a nod.

  “Eric,” she responded.

  He took in her appearance, her simple clothing and the way it hung off her frame. She looked a pale ghost of her former self and the sight made his heart ache.

  “Please, sit,” he gestured toward the settee his mother had abandoned, wandering toward the chair for himself. She perched on the edge of the seat, hands clasped in her lap and gaze adjusted downward toward them. Eric sat in no more comfortable position, barely able to force himself to rest on the seat rather than begin pacing through the room. He scrambled for something to say which wouldn't be completely idiotic or in poor taste.

  “Your mother seems to be a very kind woman.” Eloise supplied, thankfully. “I am thankful for her bringing me here.”

  “I wasn't aware that was her intent.” Eric responded, instantly regretting his words when she ducked her gaze again.

  “I'm sorry,” he fumbled, “what I meant was it ought to have been me to bring you here.”

  She brought her head up again. “Why do you say that?”

  He sank into those blue depths, the past months vanishing in their depths. “Because I knew of your innocence in all of this. There was nothing I could have done to ease your experience of the investigation, but once it was over...” his words trailed off and he lowered his gaze. A small hand reached out to tap at his knee, requesting his attention.

  “I hold no ill will toward you, Eric,” she said. “I know how everything looked and how you came to your conclusions about my intent.” She pressed her lips together, forming her next statement. “I didn't want to admit to it before, but have hated the naïveté which kept me from realizing my uncle's intent.
”

  “You are the last person to owe anyone an explanation or apology.” Eric insisted, reaching out to grasp the hand which attempted to steal back to its place. “I owe one to you.” He looked up at her as he spoke, trying to gauge her reaction. She attempted to deny him, shaking her head, but he expected that. “Yes,” he reiterated, “I do. I knew you better, though our acquaintance was brief, than to make the assumptions I did. It wasn't your actions, or even those of your uncle which prompted me to behave as cruelly as I did.”

  She brought her brows together, tilting her head at him.

  “It was my own demons.” He continued with a shaking breath. “Eloise, he implored her, kneeling in front of her and taking her other hand, wanting to be as close as possible. “I have nothing to offer you.” He swallowed, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles. “You provided me a sense of wholeness I haven’t known since losing my hearing, but what can I give you but the stigma of an attachment to a man the world deems useless?

  “I know what my sister and mother want. They believe I should offer for you, take you to my heart and make permanent those fleeting sensations which have brought life back to me.”

  She pulled her hands free of his, placing one on either side of his face and tilting his head back to look at her. “And what do you want?” she searched his eyes, her own clouding with a tenuous mist.

  “What I want is irrelevant.” He croaked, a pressure building behind his eyes. You deserve better than a man whose hindrances will place ill will or judgment on you.”

  Something steely glinted in her eyes and her features hardened. “And will you ask me what I want? That seems to be the one consideration no one has yet made.”

  Eric stared at her, taking in the tremor in her hands the rigidity in her spine, and the determination in her eyes. He feared her response, feared the words he desperately wanted her to say because they would force him to refuse and hurt her. But she was right. “What is it that you want?”