“She said no,” Eliza murmured. “Or rather, Lord Raisin did it for her.”
Clayton swallowed hard. “I see. Thank you for asking, anyway.”
They moved towards the pavilion, Amelia and Edward dancing on ahead of them. They were enthralled by the sights and sounds of Vauxhall, but the magic simply hadn’t transferred itself to Clayton. He had too much to worry about.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lord Raisin tow Isolde towards the roped-off dancing section. He paid a penny for the two of them, and they began to dance. Clayton caught a glimpse of Isolde’s grim, displeased face. He could see her parents standing off to the sidelines, along with her brother, all looking very smug and hopeful.
Blind fools, he thought, with a rush of anger. How could you possibly think that a man like Lord Raisin deserves a woman as wonderful as her?
But there was more to worry about than Isolde and her family. Glancing at Eliza, Clayton saw that most of her powder had rubbed off, revealing the vivid bruise.
“I think you ought to have dispensed with the powder altogether,” he said bluntly. “Let the world see what he’s done.”
Eliza flushed. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t, Clay.”
He reluctantly fell silent. They edged further towards their pavilion, leaving Isolde further and further behind. It seemed like a state of affairs he was going to have to make his peace with.
“Did you speak to the doctor before you left?”
Eliza sighed. “Yes, I did. And he seemed very angry and shocked that we were all going out to Vauxhall Gardens when my poor husband lay sick in bed.”
Clayton clenched his jaw. “He deserves nothing less. The doctor should know that this latest fit of apoplexy was his own doing.”
“I ought to have been less argumentative.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Eliza. I won’t stand for it.”
The event had happened yesterday. Clayton was not privy to the particular argument which had started all of this off, but he was willing to guess that it had something to do with Amelia’s dolls, a library subscription, and a literary evening. Eliza had been characteristically quiet about the whole business, but several servants had later confided to Clayton what had gone on. There had been an argument, the sound of a blow, a cry, and then Lord Wrenwood collapsed to the floor.
Apoplexy, the doctor had said, brought on by a weak heart. He ought to avoid all disagreements and conflicts.
Clayton had been there by the time the doctor arrived – Eliza had sent for him, and Auric was in no state to say otherwise – and was therefore able to note the way the doctor glared around at the family, as if it were all their fault.
And then Eliza had suggested that they go to Vauxhall. No doubt she wanted to get in as much enjoyment as she could before Auric’s health returned, and he put a stop to it.
It didn’t feel like much of an outing.
Not for us, perhaps, he reminded himself, watching his two siblings laugh and dance around. Heaven knows, the children need a chance to be children.
At last, they were escorted over to their table, and took their seats. Amelia and Edward chattered eagerly, feet swinging high above the paved floor, and Clayton gestured for them to be brought lemonade.
His heart sank when he realised that their pavilion was closer to the dance floor than he’d expected. He could clearly see Isolde whirling around and round, tight-lipped in Lord Raisin’s arms.
A wave of misery crashed over him, so powerful he might have staggered if he hadn’t already been sitting down.
Eliza laid a hand on his arm, and he flinched, glancing wide-eyed at her.
“Something is wrong,” she said quietly, “and I’d wager it has something to do with that poor young woman over there.”
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Amelia told me,” she said simply, “About the tearoom and all that happened. I’m not a fool, Clayton. I might have made a great many mistakes in my own life, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see the mistakes of others. Why not tell her how you feel?”
“I… I can’t.”
