Kathryn Caskie (26 page)

“Who is it from?” Grace’s tone was tight with the disappointment that the note had not been for her.

“I do not know.” Eliza turned the letter over and saw the letter C impressed in the wax wafer seal. The letter was not from Magnus, and the disappointment sent a painful jolt through her. Breaking open the brittle crimson wax, Eliza unfolded the letter and began to read. She could scarce believe her eyes.

It was incredible. No,
impossible.
She tried to swallow, but a sudden dryness tickled her throat causing her to cough. Slapping a hand to her chest, she leapt from her chair.

Aunt Letitia’s eyes went wide with alarm and she rushed to her. Balling her plump hand into a fist, she pounded Eliza’s back with all her might.

“Ah!” Eliza managed between coughs. She tried to wave her aunt off, but nothing stopped Letitia’s enthusiastic hammering.

“Heavens, Grace. Fetch Eliza a beverage,” Aunt Viola pleaded, “before Letitia pounds the poor child flat.”

Grace seized a decanter from the sideboard and hastily filled a crystal. Whirling around, she pressed a glass of claret into Eliza’s hand, then reached out to still Aunt Letitia’s eager fist.

Eliza tipped the glass to her lips and drained it completely. The elixir worked its magic, instantly soothing her throat. “My thanks,” she said to Grace, testing her voice.

“Now,” said Grace. “What, pray tell, is in that letter that worked you into such a fit?

“M-my paintings,” she said, still gasping for air. “They’ve
all
been sold—to a single patron, no less.”

“So soon too. That is good news!” Aunt Viola exclaimed.

Eliza steepled her fingers over her lips. “The news grows better.”

A smirk formed on Grace’s lips. “What? A wealthy bachelor bought them, and now he wants to wed the artist?” Grace said, feigning sincerity.

Aunt Letitia pinched the flesh of Grace’s upper arm.

“Ouch!”

“Hush, gel, just let her speak!” Letitia turned back to Eliza. “Go on. I cannot endure the suspense any longer.”

Eliza bounced on her toes. “They’ve been sold—for five thousand pounds!”

"How marvelous!” the aunts squealed together.

“Do not keep us in suspense, dear,” Aunt Viola cried. “Who purchased them?”

Eliza looked at the letter, searching for any bit of information she might have missed. “It does not say.”

“Well, it must be someone very grand. Someone of quality. Five thousand pounds, fancy that.” Aunt Letitia shook her head in joyful disbelief. “This is a cause for celebration. Do you not agree, Viola?”

“Entirely,” Aunt Viola glanced about the room for their missing manservant, Eliza suspected. “Sister, will you help me pour?”

Aunt Letitia nodded, and the two old women crossed the room to retrieve the decanter of claret.

“Well, Eliza. The money should put a nice dent in Lord Somerton’s dun,” Grace admitted.

“I hope it will,” Eliza said.

Then her sister seized Eliza’s arm and pulled her tight. “Do not be so foolish as to think this has changed anything. Stay away from Lord Somerton. For all our sakes.”

“I have not forgotten.” Eliza pulled her arm away. “And, you needn’t worry. I know my situation has not changed. While five thousand pounds is a fortune to you and me, it cannot be nearly enough to save Somerton.”

Grace’s eyes softened. “Oh, Eliza, do not think me so callous as to not realize how difficult this is for you. You know it is the right thing to do for all involved.”

Eliza nodded dully, wishing her sister was wrong.

The balance of the week passed without note, allowing Eliza a modicum of time to temper her armor for the Fortnam ball—an event she was certain Magnus would attend.

But as Eliza entered the assembly room with her family and Lord Hawksmoor, her heart beat as hard and loud as a kettledrum and she realized all her mental preparations were for naught.

Worse still, her aunts had acted particularly peculiar all that week—whispering in a corner and locking themselves away with the rule book. Eliza had no doubt they had something planned for her. This only bolstered her belief that tonight would be the ultimate test of her resolve.

Scores of candles set in three massive crystal chandeliers gilded the twirling dancers as surely as they’d been touched by good King Midas himself. Normally, such beauty would have captured Eliza’s interest, but with the loss of her beloved paintings, and Magnus, nothing could cheer her now.

Almost instinctively, Eliza’s gaze swept the room. In an instant, she spied Magnus and her breath collapsed in her throat, sending her sputtering and gasping for air.

There, on his arm, was Miss Peacock, her head erect and proud, as Magnus led her onto the dance floor.

Try as she might, Eliza found herself unable to look away from the couple as they danced the quadrille. She watched, utterly heartbroken, as Magnus swept Miss Peacock with the same gaze that had once turned her own knees to warm tallow.

“Hide me, Eliza,” Grace squealed as she suddenly ducked behind Eliza. “That odious Mr. Dabney is searching for me.”

Eliza looked across the floor where the hefty blond man stood. But he didn’t appear to be scanning for Grace. No, Mr. Dabney’s eyes were pinned to the very couple Eliza had been watching—Magnus and Caroline Peacock.

“You’ve nothing to fear, Grace, for Mr. Dabney seems to be particularly diverted by Miss Peacock this eve.”

“Really?” Grace crept out from behind Eliza. “Miss Peacock? W-what do you think he sees in that sow? I am much better looking, don’t you agree?”

“Of course, Gracie,” Eliza placated. “But you are all but affianced to Lord Hawksmoor. You arrived together, after all. Mr. Dabney would have to be blind not to see the affection that you and Reginald share.”

“Yes, that must be it…” Grace muttered distractedly.

The two stood side by side for some moments more, silently watching Magnus and Miss Peacock dancing.

Though she had all but forced him to choose Caroline Peacock, seeing Magnus with her gnawed at Eliza until hot tears began to well in her eyes. She fumbled in her reticule for a handkerchief, but finding none, she spun around and started for the door.

In an instant, Aunt Letitia had her arm. Concern was plain in the old woman’s eyes.

“Eliza, we would like you to meet someone,” Aunt Letitia said, as she and Aunt Viola led Eliza several paces to a gathering of London’s first circle.

Not now.
All she wanted to do was leave before her emotions betrayed her pain, but instead she found herself readying for another ploy from her aunts’ rule book.

True to their natures, within moments her aunts had introduced her to a marquis and two baronets.

But the way the young men looked upon her … why it made her long to rush to the nearest ewer and basin! What had her aunts said to them to provoke such lecherous gazes? It made her shudder even considering the possibilities.

Still, she had to credit her aunts’ dedication to their matchmaking. They wasted no time applying their strategies.

But was it their intention to usurp Magnus or simply to make him jealous? Eliza didn’t really know. Not that it mattered a pinch, because it was not Magnus’s heart that prevented their match. Or her own, she noted, despondently.

Eliza realized she had let her attention stray too long, too far, for quite unexpectedly she found herself whisked onto the dance floor with a dashing, but oh so young, baronet.

The music swelled in her ears and Eliza tried to keep step, but with Magnus so near, she was too distracted to follow her dance partner’s lead. All of a sudden, her young man wrenched her arms upward to form an arch through which all the other couples began to file.

Only paces away, Caroline Peacock laughed as she and Magnus neared the arch to dance through.

Eliza longed to slide her foot forward, just enough to trip up Miss Peacock as she pranced by. But she knew making a cake of Caroline, as satisfying as it would be to herself, would only hamper her efforts to push Magnus into the twit’s awaiting arms. And so, for Magnus’s sake, she did nothing as Caroline and Magnus ducked beneath the archway of arms.

When Magnus passed through, he turned and looked directly into Eliza’s eyes. Like a blow to her middle, his potent gaze knocked the breath from her and once more she longed to flee.

Just as the orchestra’s last note played out, Eliza dug a crimson-edged “no thank you” card from her reticule and shoved it into her confused partner’s hand. Then, whirling around, she darted through the crowd for the doors.

As she passed the busy refreshment table, she stopped to cast one last furtive glance at Magnus. It was the wrong thing to do, for he turned just then and their gazes met for one, long meaningful moment.

At once she felt a pang in her belly and lower still. But it was no longer pain that she felt. No, it was something more akin to hunger and this worried her all the more.

Leave now,
she told herself, knowing if she did not, she might do something to assuage that ache, that craving, for indeed that was what it was. Her body’s
need
for Magnus.

Go!
In a burst of fortitude, Eliza lurched forward. At once, she hit something solid. Liquid splashed her arms and she heard a low yelp. She squeezed her eyes tight.

Opening one eye, then the other, she saw her victim. William Pender stood before her. Streams of pulpy lemonade dripped from his waistcoat and sleeves.

“You!”
he hissed, his countenance pinched with a mingled look of disgust and surprise.

“Egads.”
Not Magnus’s uncle.
Eliza cupped her hands to her eyes.
Someone, please, snuff my candle now!

Though he knew it incredibly rude, Magnus could not meet Caroline’s gaze as they danced the following set. He had no wish to be with the rich miss this eve. And, judging from Caroline’s own wandering eyes, he doubted she wanted to be with him either.

Still, her parents had seen to it that their daughter was affixed to his side from the moment he first entered the assembly rooms, and there she had dutifully remained, despite the blond man across the room, whose presence lured her gaze every few moments.

Instead, Magnus watched with melancholy amusement at the messy exchange between Eliza and his uncle. God, how he missed her.

But everything had to be in place before he made his next move to claim the woman he loved.
Everything.
For days on end he’d met with bankers, drafted correspondence to his regiment’s commander, even dispatched funds to Somerton’s crofters. But still he feared it wasn’t enough. If only there was some word on
The Promise.

As the set lumbered on, he found himself grinning as Eliza struggled against Pender’s waving arms to wipe his waistcoat dry. Failing that, she cried an apology over Pender’s wailing.

But then she looked up and noticed Magnus watching her. At once her whole body seemed to stiffen, then, with a look of pure mortification in her wide dark eyes, she snatched up her skirt and tore for the door.

Magnus released Caroline and turned, meaning to follow Eliza and stop her from leaving, but Lord Hawksmoor was quicker. Leaping out from the doorway, he snared Eliza’s hand.

Hawksmoor bent low over Eliza’s lemonade-dampened glove, causing agitation to crest within Magnus.

Did he just see Hawksmoor caress the underside of Eliza’s tender wrist? Surely not. But even at the thought, Magnus bristled and his upper lip curled back.

“Do excuse me,” he said to an appalled Miss Peacock as he escorted her back to her father, something he should have done forty minutes earlier.

With long strides, Magnus crossed the dance floor to where Eliza and her dance partner were taking their positions.

He caught Hawksmoor’s shoulder firmly. “Excuse me, dear boy. Might I—”

Hawksmoor glared at him, cutting him off. “I say, man, the dance is mine.”

Magnus fumed and stared into Eliza’s large eyes. “Miss Merriweather, I
will
have this dance.”

Fury glinted in those eyes. “Nay, my lord, you will not,” she said more forcefully than Magnus would have guessed her capable. “This dance has already been promised to Lord Hawksmoor.”

Hawksmoor bobbled his head cockily, casting Magnus a triumphant grin. “There you go, man. Be off. You heard Miss Merriweather.”

Eliza raised her chin. “Why don’t you return to your partner, Lord Somerton? And if I were you, I’d be quick about it,” she added, nodding toward Miss Peacock. “You left her standing and the Peacocks are looking none too amused with you at this moment.”

“I will speak with ye, Miss Merriweather.”

“Another time, perhaps. Please excuse us, my lord. The music is beginning.” Eliza placed her gloved hand into her partner’s and turned into step.

Just then, Magnus felt a fan tap on his shoulder. He spun around to see Eliza’s younger sister Grace standing there. “I believe this quadrille is yours, Lord Somerton.” Grace smiled prettily at him.

“I… of course.” Magnus was utterly confused. He had no more asked Miss Grace to dance than he had her Aunt Letitia. Still, he offered his arm to her, wondering what had incited Miss Grace to dance with
him
—her least favorite person in all of England.

Grace smiled agreeably and laid her hand atop his coat sleeve. She walked confidently beside him, but something in her expression made Magnus suspect all was not as it seemed. Her deep blue eyes held a worry that was not easy to miss. As they took their places for the quadrille, she leaned close and whispered to him.

“I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you, Lord Somerton.”

At her strange tone, Magnus began to feel uneasy. “Is something amiss?”

“Yes,”
she gushed. “Very amiss. Please, after this dance, go to the outer vestibule for some air. I will meet you there. You’ll come, won’t you? You must. It might already be too late.”

Rule Sixteen

Where not expected, appear.

Save a footman scurrying by now and again, Magnus stood quite alone in the shadows of the assembly room’s cavernous outer vestibule, waiting for Grace. How odd that she should have requested an interview, given their turbulent history. He wondered at her game.