Felton planted both fists on the desk. “My lord, with all due respect, I cannot accept such an answer. I only wish to speak with her.”
“I’ll not have you badgering her with your frightening questions. She needs none of it. She is afraid of this place and she is afraid of me, and she is doubtless even more afraid of you.”
“Upon my honor, I shall speak nothing of that night.”
“No.”
“But—”
“You will leave now, Northwood, before I lose my patience.”
Felton clamped his mouth shut before more rebuttals could escape. Besides, the viscount had never asked anything of him. Wasn’t it Felton’s duty to respect his wishes now?
“I will leave, my lord, but ask permission to return tomorrow morning.”
The man’s eyes raised to the ceiling, as moist as they’d been yesterday when he’d first seen his daughter. After several seconds, he nodded. “You may return with the morn.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“And Northwood?”
“Yes?”
“She is a great likeness of Letitia—her face and eyes—is she not?” “She is indeed, my lord.” Of everything Felton could remember of the late Mrs. Gillingham, her daughter far exceeded. Truly, if Letitia had been beautiful, Eliza was beauty itself.
But she was still a mere child raised in an uncivilized forest. She knew nothing of the world. She knew nothing of the delicacies and graces most ladies wore like a pair of gloves.
His sights were on Miss Haverfield anyway. Always had been.
He had every intention of keeping them there.
Captain was here.
Eliza froze at her bedchamber window. Far below, the familiar figure made a five-foot leap from the courtyard wall. All day she’d waited. All day she’d paced the floor of this new chamber, denying Mrs. Eustace’s meals, praying, hoping against hope there would be a sign of him.
So much so that when she’d finally heard Merrylad’s woof, in the shadowy fall of evening, she’d almost dismissed it as her wishful imagination.
Until she’d heard it twice.
Now, she backed away from the window and hesitated at the door. It was unlocked. She knew because she’d pried it open over and over today, glanced down the empty hall, and debated her chances in making a run for it.
Maybe she would have had the wrought-iron entrance gate not been locked.
But Captain was smart. Of course he would come through the courtyard, where there were boxwoods to hide behind and less chance of being seen.
Now to get there herself.
She peered out into the hall, spotted a humming chambermaid with an armful of bed linens. Before the girl could glance over, Eliza eased the door back shut, waited, and tried to breathe. What if she didn’t get there in time? What if someone else had heard the bark and Lord Gillingham sent servants after them—and they were gone by the time she could find the courtyard?
The humming grew louder as it passed by her door. Fading, fading, fading.
Then silence.
The chambermaid was gone.
With another glance into the hall, Eliza forced air into her lungs and darted in the opposite direction she’d heard the chambermaid going. Along the hall, around two corners, and down a small, carpeted stairwell with a smooth banister. She’d memorized the way to her bedchamber last night.
Just long enough to find her way back out today.
