by Martha Keyes
What alternative was there?
She shook her head. “I cannot believe it. Mercy would never agree to such a thing.”
“Mercy?” he said, frowning. “I thought you heard it from Matthew.”
She shifted her feet uncomfortably. “Not directly, no. But Mercy said she had it from her husband, who had it from Matthew, who had it from you.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “All doubt is removed, then. A confirmed conspiracy! For Solomon claimed to have had it from Mercy, who’d had it from you.”
“Nonsense! Fustian nonsense.”
His jaw shifted from side to side. “They played it very well, did they not? I will give them that. They made veritable puppets of us, pulling our strings as they have.” He let out a large breath and shook his head again, smiling widely. “And now I must go tell them that the game is up. I imagine they have been expecting us to discover their jest. They couldn’t believe otherwise. I am only ashamed how long it took us.”
Edith was hardly listening to him. She could hear her pulse beating in her ears and the heat emanating from her cheeks. How had she ever believed such absurdity? Had she not known that it was madness when she heard it?
And yet she had believed it! Like a simpleton. She had looked for evidence of their words and, as was wont to happen, she had found it where it did not exist.
And it had all been a game to her family—an opportunity to make fools of Edith and Elias. What an easy victim she had made herself! Far too easily duped.
“No,” she said suddenly, still staring at the lily pads in the long, narrow pool of water. Her breath came faster, and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “We shan’t tell them we know.”
She looked up, energy coursing through her.
But Elias was gone.
Chapter Ten
Elias chuckled as he strode back toward the house through the gardens. He didn’t want to stop smiling or laughing. He didn’t want to explore what was beneath it. He had the uncomfortable suspicion that it was disappointment which lurked there. But he would never admit as much. Never.
Rapidly approaching footsteps sounded, and he turned toward them just as someone grabbed hold of him.
“Don’t.” Edith’s breath was coming fast, her chest rising and falling, and her cheeks pink, but whether it was from coming after him or related to the energetic glint in her eyes, he wasn’t certain.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t tell them.” She looked around them suspiciously and lowered her voice. “I have a much better idea.”
He narrowed his eyes, aware of her hand still grasping his wrist, as though she didn’t trust him to stay put. “What kind of idea?”
Her lips stretched into a full smile, her eyes full of vigor and purpose. She pulled him along with her, tugging him around the corner of a hedge with an insistent grip on his wrist. He thought about freeing himself from the clasp, of asserting himself somehow, but he found he didn’t want to.
Edith’s gaze raked over the empty hedgerow and, seeming satisfied, she turned back to him and let his hand drop. “What do you say to a bit of good old-fashioned revenge?”
He blinked.
She folded her arms, a self-satisfied smile on her lips. “Let us beat them at their own game.”
His brows knit together. “And how do you propose we do that?”
A mischievous smile crept over her mouth, that delicate brow arching as it so often did when she was about to deliver the final blow—the thrust to end the sword fight. “We give them more than they bargained for. Much more.”
He didn’t even say anything. What was there to say? He hadn’t the slightest idea what she meant, yet he hesitated to admit as much. He didn’t particularly care for the prospect of looking slow or obtuse to Edith, and certainly not after the humiliating realization that she had never been in love with him. A man’s pride inevitably suffered to discover such a thing.
She let out an impatient breath. “What do you imagine was the aim of this entire ruse they concocted?”
It was a home question, and he stared at her as he tried to come up with a satisfactory answer.
“Do you believe they wished for us to fall in love?”
Would they have wished such a thing? He couldn’t believe they would. He shook his head. “Matthew is convinced I should marry someone docile—a woman who won’t allow me to provoke her.”
“Precisely. They would be horrified if we were to announce our intent to marry.”
“So what do you suggest?”
She smiled, meeting his eyes with her intense gaze. He didn’t know whether to be dismayed or intrigued by what he saw there.
“We elope.”
Silence.
“We what?”
Her smile grew. “It is what they least expect—and certainly not what they want. In fact, Mercy and Matthew would do their utmost to convince me against such a thing.”
“I should think so! Revenge I can understand—beating someone at their own game and all that. But to elope? It is we who would suffer most and longest from such a course.”
“I agree completely. There are no two people less suited to marry at all than you and I. And to marry each other?” She chuckled. “My will for revenge is not strong enough to subject myself to such a thing. No, what I mean is that we contrive to make them believe we have eloped.”
He frowned, thrusting aside her uncomplimentary assessment of him. “Forgive me, Edith. I am no doubt an oaf—not all of us are as practiced as you apparently are in the art of false elopements—but how precisely does one give the impression of having eloped without actually eloping?”
She began pacing, her steps energetic, eyes glazing over. “We must first lay the foundation, or they shan’t believe it. We shall have to appear to enjoy one another’s company—to show a shift in how we engage together.”
Elias said nothing, for the truth was he already enjoyed Edith’s company. He enjoyed the back and forth, the need for an ever-prepared, sharp wit. He felt very much alive in her presence.
She stopped her pacing and looked at him. “Are you prepared to make such a sacrifice in the name of vengeance? It will be but a short commitment, for the longer we draw it out, the more likely they are to speak up before we have had the chance to perform our magnum opus. I think one or two strategic interactions will suffice—one of them observing us in a tête-à-tête, for instance, and then something small. After dinner perhaps.”
He stared, trying to catch up with her ideas. “I hardly know whether to be fascinated or repulsed by your machinations—and the facility with which you have arrived at them.”
She grinned and dipped her head, as if modestly accepting a compliment. There was fire and excitement in her dark eyes. “That foundation can quite easily be laid today and this evening, I think. And then tomorrow?” She wagged her brows once. “We elope!”
He opened his mouth to interject, but she didn’t notice, taking to pacing again, her steps bringing her toward him, only to spin on the balls of her feet just shy of him and pace back the other direction. “The first stage of the journey is all that is needed, I think. Just enough to convince them—along with a note begging understanding and forgiveness, of course. I suspect they shall be on our heels immediately when they discover our intentions.”
“This plan of yours,” he said, tugging two of the small leaves off the boxwood hedge beside him. “Where does it leave your father?”
Mr. Donne detested anything that smelled of scandal. The vengeance they might take upon their friends could well be overshadowed by his wrath.
Edith showed the first sign of hesitation, but it lasted only a moment. “He shan’t ever know. He leaves on business after dinner this evening, and we shall be back before his return tomorrow evening.”
“You are certain?”
She looked at him with a knowing expression. “Afraid of my father, are you? I cannot say I blame you, for he would certainly ruin all the enjoyment if he
caught wind of it. But yes, I am certain of his plans to leave. I could hardly be unaware of them, as he hasn’t stopped talking about them for the past fortnight and more.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “What, then? Do you intend to forgo this opportunity out of fear of my father?”
Elias did stand in awe of Mr. Donne—wary awe. He had witnessed the man’s temper on more than one occasion, and it was not so much fear-inducing as it was simply uncomfortable. But Edith seemed quite certain that he wouldn’t know of their ruse, and Elias couldn’t deny that the prospect of turning the tables on their friends was enticing. The expression on Matthew’s face when he realized he had been duped was simply too much to pass up.
He smiled. “What must I do?”
The first step, Edith had insisted, was to arrange for a meeting—one that would be witnessed, supposedly unbeknownst to Edith and Elias, by one of the others. The meeting would serve two purposes—allowing them time to plan the details of the elopement, and giving their friends reason to believe it, for if they saw no evidence of newfound regard between Edith and Elias, their suspicions would immediately be aroused and the effect of all their work might be ruined.
With Elias’s reservations regarding Edith’s father overcome, he entered into the planning with vigor—and proved to be quite an asset, to her pleasant surprise. He had a long history of practical jokes that proved invaluable as he pointed out details Edith hadn’t considered and ways to make their act more believable.
They parted ways with the plan to meet after dressing for dinner to execute part one of the ruse.
It had been some time since Edith had felt so much excitement and anticipation. It sharpened her senses and energized her in a way that was entirely novel.
Had the others truly assumed that there would be no attempt to repay the trick once it had been discovered? How little they knew her! And how quickly they would realize their error. Their dismay and sense of guilt would be overpowering—equaled only by their relief when they discovered what was truly afoot.
Time passed unevenly that day—the seconds barely ticking by some minutes, only for an hour to fly past without a trace. Lying beneath her anticipation, Edith recognized something new: nerves.
She and Elias had a part to play together. As careful and specific as they had been in their plans—going so far as to select the exact spot in the library where they would meet for their tête-à-tête—they had glazed over the details of what their interaction there would entail. To be convincing, it needed to be more than verbal, and it was that which caused an uncomfortable fluttering in her stomach.
Edith rarely ventured into unknown territory. She knew the limits of her wit, and she was glad to push those limits, for doing so increased her capabilities. But there was a difference between pushing a familiar boundary and sailing in uncharted waters, and physical proximity with a gentleman—even Elias Abram—was certainly uncharted waters.
How much practice he had was not something Edith knew or cared to ponder on for more than a moment. It bothered her that she would be the pupil and he the teacher.
She shut her jaw tightly and pulled on her gloves, clenching and unclenching her fists and noting how the fabric adhered to her fingers more than usual. At least the gloves would conceal the way her hands were sweating. She wouldn’t give Elias the satisfaction of knowing she felt unsure of herself.
Trying to focus on the shock their interaction would cause whoever witnessed it, she took a deep breath and forced herself to smile. A moment’s discomfort and uncertainty would surely be made worthwhile when she and Elias were able to claim a laughing victory over their friends.
She picked up the pocket watch she kept on the small, mahogany table beside her bed. It was time.
She glided down the stairs, summoning as much confidence as she could muster.
It had become somewhat of a routine for Edith to slip into the library before dinner, catching a few moments in her favorite nook while waiting for everyone to gather. While her father told the staff and anyone staying at Shipton House that dinner was served promptly at six-thirty, he rarely put in an appearance until six-forty-five, at which point he would say something along the lines of, “Well, come on, then. Let’s not dilly dally!” If anyone dared step into the drawing room after him, he had an unpleasant lecture on promptness at the ready.
Matthew had taken to popping his head in the library at six-forty to warn Edith. She was counting on him to follow habit this evening.
The library was empty when she arrived, and she felt somewhat calmed by the familiar scent there: old books, persistent dust, afternoons avoiding her governess, and refuge from the conflict that she could avoid nowhere else.
The door opened behind her, and Elias peeked his head in, then slipped inside, shutting the door.
“No,” she said in a hushed voice. “Don’t shut it. Leave it open—just enough that Matthew may see us. Or hear us, perhaps.”
He nodded, pulling the door open a few inches. He turned to face her, sucking in a breath and looking around. His hair looked more precise than usual, though one stubborn lock stuck straight up, resisting the pomade that made the rest of his dark hair shine in the fading summer light penetrating the library windows in dusty, golden shafts.
The large standing clock pointed to six-thirty-two, ticking the seconds loudly in the silence. Why had they decided upon meeting so far in advance of the time Matthew would come? The dusty air suddenly felt thick and heavy.
Elias cleared his throat. “Shall we discuss tomorrow, then?”
Edith nodded quickly, grateful for the reminder of what else needed doing besides manufacturing romance out of nothing at all—worse, in fact. They needed to create it out of a history of heated debate and mutual antipathy.
She kept her voice low—she certainly didn’t wish for this part of their interaction to be heard or witnessed. “I should think that a departure in the early afternoon—shortly after midday—will be the easiest. And though we shall need nothing for an overnight stay, I think we must pack some belongings to make it convincing, should anyone inquire with the servants.”
“Very good.” He stood three feet away from her, none of his careless confidence evident in the way he clasped his hands behind his back. And that patch of hair was ridiculous.
She glanced at the clock again. Six-thirty-four.
This was silly. And if Matthew decided to warn her a few minutes early—her father’s temper was often at its most touchy on nights when he traveled to Bardon—he would walk in on a scene almost entirely unremarkable. He might be surprised at the lack of verbal daggers being thrown between Edith and Elias, but he was unlikely to spare it much thought beyond a furrowing of the brow.
She was being nonsensical. It was much better to take charge and ensure that their planning wasn’t for naught.
“I think our parts are better played in closer proximity to one another, don’t you think?” Perhaps there would be less awkwardness if they maintained their usual relationship. “Matthew will hardly be convinced we have persuaded ourselves we are in love if you insist on standing there like a starched-up vicar.”
Elias’s hands dropped to his sides, and he chuckled. “Forgive me” —he raised his brows at her— “but your posture isn’t precisely the picture of romantic zeal either.”
She looked down and noted the white-knuckled clasp of her hands. She forced a laugh, allowing them to break apart and fall to her sides.
He took two steps toward her, and Edith tried to imagine what Viola would instruct her to do in the situation. Elias was looking at her with a touch of amusement, as though realizing just how excruciating it was for her. He was close enough that the lock of rebellious hair was barely visible in the periphery of her vision.
He took another step toward her. She felt her muscles stiffen, and she knew he had noticed.
His eyes twinkled. He was thoroughly enjoying himself now. He took yet another step toward her, and she had to tip her chin up to meet his gaze.
“Not in the least,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Then why are you retreating every time I draw nearer?” He moved his feet so that the tips of his boots were hidden by the hem of her dress, the top of his thigh brushing against her hip.
She forced herself to stand her ground. “You see what you wish to see, Mr. Abram. I am perfectly comfortable.”
“Is that so?” He spoke more softly, as if to emphasize how near they were, and his breath brushed her face.
Edith hardly needed a reminder of their proximity. She was well aware that the force of her heart beating against her ribs could likely be felt by Elias through the nonexistent gap between their chests.
His gaze flitted to her hair and then back to her eyes as he reached a finger to one of her waves and brushed it back. It was the merest hint of a touch, but she felt it in every inch of her body. He was near enough now that she could see the small spot his valet must have missed while shaving him—for there was no doubt at all that he was just shaven. He smelled of soap, and she tried to focus on what its ingredients were. She thought she detected rose water.
“If you are so comfortable, why did you refer to me just now as Mr. Abram?” he said.
How did his eyes manage to smile and challenge her at the same time? He was right, though. She had slipped and called him Mr. Abram—perhaps as a way to increase the distance between them the only way she knew how. But she wouldn’t let him come off conqueror in this battle.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, growing steadily louder and nearer. She met the challenge in Elias’s eyes and in the small quirk of his brow, knowing that her brother’s head would appear in the doorway any second.
“This was your idea, Edith,” Elias said softly, his smirk lighting a fire inside her.
She had to act—to prove to Elias that she was perfectly mistress of the situation.