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“You sent it?” Eliza stifled a giggle.
“Had to. Mrs. Hall insisted we send it out before you returned home. No harm done, but I thought you should know what the old bat is up to.”
“Well, thank you, Berta. I know you took a great risk.”
Berta smiled wide. “Don’t mention it. No really, don’t mention it,” she finished with a wink.
“Mention what?” Eliza asked innocently.
“Good girl. Mrs. Hall is ready for dinner and has asked you join her when you are returned home.”
Eliza repressed a groan. “Fabulous.”
Leaving Berta to the secret passageway, she went to her room to freshen up before meeting Aunt Elizabeth for dinner. Goodness forbid, her moist and muddled appearance should be the thing that sent her aunt into an even earlier grave.
On second thought…Eliza ruffled up her hair, smiled at herself in the mirror, and made her way downstairs.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Eliza studied her small bed with a frown so deep, it made her forehead ache.
The bed was such a simple thing. It wasn’t as extravagant as the other beds in the sprawling house. Though her room was large, it had the barest of décor and comfort offered. Growing up, she had always wondered why even the lowest-paid member of the house was afforded more luxury than her, but these days, she suspected it a ploy by Aunt Elizabeth to keep her feeling her place in the house. Uncle Frederick had fought for more extravagant trinkets and decorations, furniture even, for her room. But from the loud and bitter battles between him and her aunt, and the continued cold and impoverished feel the room took, it was clear who won most often. A part of her wished Garret had been able to accompany her so she could show him where she grew up, the good and the bad, and he would have a chance to see where she came from.
He would then understand how she was built into the woman she had become.
She knew how much he was needed at the ranch, and with his Pack. Both were dependent on him, and he couldn’t be spared for even a day, but she missed him terribly. Her heart hung heavier each passing day she was away from him. As frustrating as he had been most of their time together with his hot and cold moods, she couldn’t get the sweet, almost tender moments out of her head. Eliza had lived and breathed for those moments.
The bed reminded her of the last night she had spent with him. Before everything had gone horribly wrong and she’d found the crushing letter in his pocket. That night, for the first time it had seemed as if everything had come together perfectly to give her a life she could be devastatingly happy in. She didn’t know why the bed reminded her of Garret. His bed and hers neither looked nor felt anything alike. This small, lumpy pallet lacked the warmth she had found in Garret’s.
Her lip trembled, and she tore her gaze away as her vision blurred with moisture. The gravity of her situation was overwhelming. She couldn’t imagine spending another day away from the beloved home she’d found in Rockdale, much less an unnamed length of time with the one person bound and determined to bring her to her knees. Would she survive her aunt’s cruelty? Would she eventually make her way back to Garret broken and unrecognizable? Would she be so shaken that she would become only a shade of the woman she knew she wanted to be? A person only had the capacity to bear so much, and she felt as if she was reaching her limit. The fear of losing herself was a constant struggle in such a dreary place, and when she felt so utterly alone.
Eliza changed quickly and re-pinned her hair. Not perfectly coiffed, but it would do if Aunt Elizabeth’s eyesight was as bad as Berta hinted. Finished readying herself, she hurried down the halls to Aunt Elizabeth’s room, sure she would get a verbal lashing for tardiness.
Surprisingly, Aunt Elizabeth was in a jovial mood. Surely due to her recent secretive—or so she thought—letter of betrayal. That Aunt Elizabeth thought she’d gotten away with ruining any chance of her happiness in Rockdale infuriated Eliza, but it would do no good to get Berta in trouble by calling her out. Surely Aunt Elizabeth would figure out where the information came from and punish the maid accordingly.
So, Eliza suffered through dinner and absorbed all her aunt’s not-so-veiled insults. The ailing woman was weak and had trouble eating solid foods, so a young maid named Beatrice spoon-fed her broth. Eliza ate dinner in the chair furthest away from Aunt Elizabeth until she bid her come closer and take over feeding her. Beatrice gave Eliza a sympathetic look when she left, taking Eliza’s mostly-untouched plate of food with her.
Aunt Elizabeth complained, ever the impatient patient, about everything. The broth was too hot, and then too cold. Eliza spilled too much of it, prolonging her dinner. Eliza’s hand “shook like a beggar.” Upon close inspection, Eliza looked disheveled and her hair wasn’t quite tidy enough. Eliza looked too thin, and breathed too loudly. Aunt Elizabeth was reaching.
To shut her dear old aunt up, Eliza told stories of her adventures in Rockdale. What began as a boring story of almost every memorable moment in her travels to Rockdale turned into something more, and Aunt Elizabeth piped down and gave her space to talk. Eliza finished feeding her, and continued talking, finding the story somehow comforting. As if she were there again. She left out the finer details about Garret and his animal side, and any secrets that belonged to the werewolf Pack, and also how their marriage came to be. Aunt Elizabeth tarnishing such an intimate memory would be unbearable, and she was afraid the woman would see how much she really cared for Garret, and hurt her with the knowledge. Instead, she told her aunt of Lenny and Cookie, and of Buck.
Aunt Elizabeth’s eyes drooped, and she struggled to keep them open. At the description of Lenny, she perked up. “You met a savage?”
“She isn’t a savage.” That would be Aunt Elizabeth. “She has become a dear friend. I’ll take my leave now, Aunt. You must rest.”
“You’ll leave when I tell you to leave, girl,” Aunt Elizabeth spat as she struggled to sit up straighter.
Having endured quite enough of Aunt Elizabeth’s disgraceful manner, she wheeled around on her. “You’ll rest, and if you are as kind as your bitter heart will allow toward me, I’ll tell you more over supper tomorrow. If you remain atrocious in your manners? You will get no such stories.”
Aunt Elizabeth gasped. “How dare you talk to me in such a way, you ungrateful little whelp. Your mother would turn in her grave if she knew you had such a devilish tongue on you. I always told Frederick you were not to be trusted. Never trust that redheaded little demon, I said, but he wouldn’t listen—”
“Enough!” Eliza yelled. “I’ll not be treated thus anymore, or I will not be taking care of you like you have required. I’ll leave you here to die alone and uncared for, consequences with the estate be damned. Have I made myself clear?”
The muscles in her aunt’s jaw tightened and worked, and she glared, eyes bloodshot and angry.
Eliza leaned closer. “And then who will take care of you, Aunt? Your servants? I will pay them to never return, and you can rot where you sit. Alone.”
A soft knock came on the door, and a servant entered carrying a silver tray with a small envelope on it. She brought it to Aunt Elizabeth and opened the letter. The girl read its contents into the ailing woman’s ear, and Eliza, heart pounding, made her way to the other end of the table to give herself and her fury some space.
