A Man Above Reproach (27 page)

“There is a point,” Alessandra snapped, flouncing her skirts. “It is a good book and you are a
beast
.”

It seemed that even if Elias resolved to cut Analise out of his life, she was intent on ruining it.

Analise, having decided that a third letter would be pathetic, directed a glare at her packed luggage. She had seen no sign of Mother Superior since the damned duke and his friends had paid her off. Analise thought it still might be better to flee to Scotland. Every moment she spent in London was a moment she regretted her actions. Now that she was free, she could not bring herself to leave.

Sally, through Nicholas, told her that Elias was displaying a decided lack of patience for the mention of her name. She could not have mucked it up further if she had been actively trying to sabotage herself, which she had been doing unconsciously, anyway. The beautiful
sapphire ring Elias had thrown at her sat on a high shelf, with one of the notes that said “
Doesn’t matter
” propped up against it.

For someone who valued her own intelligence so much, it rankled to be proven such a superb idiot.

The bells above the door signaled a customer, which was happening more often these days. It would die down when the local gossips discerned that the Duke of Lennox would never be present at the Paper Garden again.

The false smile Analise wore for the public melted away the instant she saw Dryden at the counter. She nodded her head with an awkward jerk. She had been expecting this.

“Dryden. Good afternoon. I thought you might eventually be by to retrieve the ring—it is surely a family heirloom. It is lovely.”

“My lady, no.” He had a strange look on his face, almost pained. “A letter.”

Her heart leapt into her throat and lodged there, until she saw the handwriting. It was not the duke’s. She looked back up at Dryden, naked disappointment in her eyes.

“Lady Alessandra,” the valet explained. He opened his mouth as if to say more and snapped it closed again. “Good day, Miss Quail. It was nice to see you.”

“Good day,” she said to his retreating back.

There was no pride in the speed with which she tore into the envelope.

Miss Quail,

I know it is too bold of me to do this as we do not know each other well. I hope that you will forgive the intrusion and not think me crass. Dryden tells me that E. did not read your letters. I am sure you are aware of how stubborn he can be. I will not beg you to come and speak with him in person, but I want to offer an excuse to do so. I have enclosed an invitation to speak at my new Ladies’ Literary Salon. The other two pages are
from an introduction my brother began writing for your book before you parted ways.

Yours in hope, Lady A.

Postscript: I feel I should admit that my aim is self-interested; E. has become a terrible bore, more than before if you can imagine.

Analise smiled at the last sentence. The first enclosure was a formal invite for “Miss Analise Quail, author” to speak at the Ladies’ Literary Salon held at Ashworth Hall. The other was a sheaf of paper in Eli’s script that was labeled “Introduction to
On Society’s Ills and the Real Price of Prostitution
in Second Edition.”

She only got a few paragraphs into the essay before she was crying.

I wish it was simple to dismiss the words in this book. In fact, my own life would have been much less troublesome if I had not made the acquaintance of Miss Analise Quail. However, I know that if I could turn back the clock to the moment I met her, the only thing I would change would be the speed at which I told her how much I valued her above anything else. It is not enough to shelter and protect a woman, as many of you assuredly think. One must also allow her to effect change in your life as you do in hers. Miss Quail, from the beginning, changed me in a positive light, brought things to the surface that I would not have on my own. She could not have done that if we had played by the constricting rules that society imposes, and I wager that we will be happier than most readers of this introduction could ever envision. I do not mean this as a boast. I mean this to spur you to action, to make you realize that you aspire to the wrong things. Noble blood and a seat in Parliament will not hold your hand when you are ill; your vast estates will not comfort you when you age. Three things will comfort you and the last is the greatest: art, music, and the quick wit of a beautiful woman.

It was a stinging reminder of the man she had lost. Now that she had known the Duke of Lennox, she could not imagine her life
without him. Two weeks had done nothing to dull that pain; it had only worsened it. She knew she would never find another like him.

She sat down to write to Alessandra, to tell her that she accepted the invitation to speak. It was her best and last chance to make things right.

Elias was not informed of Ana’s lecture at Ashworth until the morning of her impending arrival. Alessandra told him of the visit in a very no-nonsense tone.

“Miss Quail will be coming to speak to the Ladies’ Literary Salon this evening. Will you be dining with us?”

He was struck quite dumb.

“What?”

“Mother says that ‘what’ is a rude word, and you heard me.”

“Miss Quail?”

“No, Elias, the king—yes, Miss Quail.” She looked exasperated. “Will you be dining with us or not?”

“No,” he said, lifting a paperweight aimlessly and setting it back down. He stacked his ledger and some papers neat as a pin. He arranged the quill pot, blotter, and a stack of envelopes into a neat triangle. “No, please send my regrets.”

“Truly, Elias?” Alessandra put a hand on her hip to emphasize the force of her indignation. “Truly? Miss Quail is going to be in our home and you will not see her?”

He came out from behind the desk, stalking forward to force her out of the room.

“I said
no
and I do not appreciate your meddling. Next time you invite a guest for dinner, you should damn well inform me.”

He slammed the door, his breath coming fast. Ana was going to be in his house.
His
. House.

“You are being unreasonable,” his sister said from behind the door.

“Go away, Allie.” He laid his forehead against the wood until he heard her footsteps patter down the hallway. There was a soft knock soon after.

“Your Grace?” Dryden asked.

“I am fine,” Elias said, not opening the door. “Thank you.”

It would not take a studied observer of human nature to see that he was not fine. His fists had clenched without his knowledge, his fingernails carving out mean red lines in his palms. He closed his eyes to fume. This was his fault. He should not have taught Alessandra to manipulate the affairs of others, but he had set a horrible example with Analise.

His brain went into a panicked whirl. He would dress for dinner, even if he did not plan on attending, for Ana would certainly try to seek him out. He pushed down the part of him that thrilled at this. If he saw her, his best tactic would be to ignore her. Ignore her with a cool and haughty air, calculated to enrage her. If she pressed him, he would pull up and say, “Get out of my house before I have you forcibly removed.” The thought of saying this was satisfying. Every bloody day he wished that she would just go to Scotland as she threatened to in the vile letter that was still emblazoned in his memory.

In the hours that ensued, he changed his jacket thrice and had two glasses of brandy—not too much, not too little. He needed courage. The household outside of his study was bustling in preparation. If Dryden’s lips had been pressed together any tighter, they would crack.

“Will you greet—er, the author—this evening, Your Grace?”

“No.”

“Shall I ready the carriage, in that case?”

“No.”

“And if the lady asks after you?”

“I am far too busy.”

Contrary to his declaration, he was sitting behind his desk, placid as a duck. Dryden’s eyebrows rose, but he did not elaborate.

“Very good then, sir.”

A half an hour later, he heard a butler announce Ana’s arrival from his post prowling in a parlor near the entryway. One might call it blatant eavesdropping, if one was looking at it from the outside. He preferred to call it investigation. He had to be prepared with the harridan in his house.

“Miss Quail,” Alessandra said, radiating warmth. “We are so pleased you were able to come.”

“It is an honor,” Ana said. Elias could see her through the tiny crack he had left open in the door.

“My mother, the Duchess of Lennox.”

Ana curtseyed.

“You look familiar,” Sophia said, eyeing her sideways. “Are we acquainted?”

“Not exactly, Your Grace. You came to my store, the Paper Garden, once. With your son.”

“Ah, yes. That is it. Your store is very dark, my dear, you should invest in oil lamps. Dryden, pray tell, where is the duke?”

Elias’s valet snapped to attention, his eyes darting to the crack in the door. He was not the only one who spotted Elias, it seemed, for Ana’s eyes had also found his in an electric charge.

“I am certain he is far too busy,” she said with a secret smile. Elias was frozen to the spot. “May I see the room where I am speaking?”

“Of course,” Alessandra nodded.

As the group started walking, Ana leaned closer to the door. He could almost reach out and touch her. There was a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

“Who is the coward now?” she whispered.

Analise did not think she would be able to keep her wits together. Between seeing Elias peering at her, the sheer enormity of the estate, and the intimidating bearing of the duchess, she had to resolve not to flee.

She was numb as Alessandra showed her the library, but she managed to make polite conversation. As soon as Sophia left to dress for dinner, the younger girl broke out into a genuine smile.

“I really am so very happy you came,” she squeezed Ana’s hand. “Dryden says that Elias refused to come out of his study, but I do not think that will last long. I do wish you could have seen his face—”

“That is more than enough, Alessandra.”

Elias was standing in the doorway, as he was wont to do. The way that man inhabited doorways was a criminal offense.

“Were you lurking, waiting for Mama to leave?” Alessandra accused.

Ana took in the welcome sight of Elias, having imagined his form in her mind every day. The weeks had seemed much longer than two. He did not look as happy to see her, however. He looked malevolent.

“If you would be so kind as to give us privacy,” he said to Alessandra.

“Scandalous,” she chirped, brushing past him. “Scandalous!”

She swept out, giggling, but she closed the door behind her nonetheless.

“How are things at the Dove?” Ana asked, thinking it a neutral way to start.

“At the club that I bought in order to please you, with which I am now saddled?” He did not come further into the room, skulking at the
threshold. “It is fine. Nicholas and Sally are taking care of the changeover. Have you not spoken to Sally?”

“I have. She says that you are not involved.”

“I am not. I do not want to go back there.”

“I waited for you, you know. The first five nights after you, Nicholas, and Frost sent Mother packing, I waited there. Did you read my letters?”