She drew in air. “There is but one thing.”
“Yes?”
“I—I cannot dance.”
“That is nothing at all. I shall send for a dancing master right away, and by the time the ball arrives, you shall be dancing cotillions and quadrilles with the rest of them.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“You are welcome. I shall leave you to retire to your chamber.” He started to turn, but hesitated. “Eliza?”
“Yes?”
“Two things I must tell you and you must forgive me if they are distressing to you.”
She waited, watched his eyes raise with difficulty to hers.
“I shall do anything I can to protect you. If you go anywhere outside of this house, a manservant shall accompany you. If anything alarming or unusual occurs, you must come first to me.” His voice tightened. “And if you ever wish to call me Father, you are at freedom to do so. Goodnight.” He walked away, tall and poised, and she couldn’t keep from staring at his wide-set shoulders.
She used to ride on those shoulders, she remembered, and hold onto his ears with her fingers. She used to call him Father too.
She just wasn’t certain if it was something she could ever do again.
The next evening, Felton sat before Lord Gillingham in his study, made his move, and leaned back in his chair.
“I will never understand it.” Lord Gillingham steepled his hands. “No, Northwood, it will never make sense to me.”
“What?”
“How you can waltz in here, make your moves, and corner me like this without so much as a strategy.”
“Skill, my lord.”
“Deuced luck, more likely.” They fell into silence then, as they usually did, and Felton went to counting every tick of the longcase clock.
Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three.Why couldn’t the man take a chance, for once, and play his game on instinct instead of well-thought tactic?
“By this time, you are usually off to the library to find a book.”
“The very thing.” Felton was quick from his chair. “Go on with your pondering, my lord, but watch that you mind that bishop and rook. A few wrong moves and the queen will be mine.”
“I need no counsel from you. Out of here before you disturb me further.”
Grinning, Felton made an exaggerated bow and quit the room. He found the library and was just pushing open the door when—
“Oh.” A book fell from Eliza’s hands, making a quiet thump on the Persian rug. “Mr. Northwood…I did not know you to be here.”
“Chess.” He nodded in the direction of the study. “In the other room.”
“I see.”
“And you?” He moved before her, retrieved the book, and placed it back into her hands. “What are you reading?”
“Nonsense really.” She slid it back into a shelf. “Things a silly romantic girl might read—not a fine lady.”
“What do you know of fine ladies?”
“Quite a lot. I spent my whole life reading about them. Enough to know I shall never be one.”
