The girl shuffled in next to Mrs. Eustace.
“She has been begging to see you all day, so let her take a good look at you and then send her back to the kitchen. Your father will be waiting for you downstairs to escort you into the saloon. Clear?”
When Eliza nodded, the housekeeper whisked away, and Minney came closer. “Ye look pretty, pretty.”
A small laugh escaped. “Thank you.”
“I telled Merrylad I wished I was pretty like’ee. I’d give anything if I was. That’s why Mamm killed herself. Papa too maybe. They wouldn’t o’ done it if I was pretty like’ee.”
“That isn’t true, Minney.” Eliza reached for the girl’s face, framed both cheeks. “What God has given you less of in one place, He has given you more of in others.”
“What’ee mean?”
“You are kind, Minney. You have the heart of a dear and noble fairy. What friend have I here at Monbury Manor but you?”
The sad eyes brightened. “And I’m good with dogs too. I am. Mr. Cotts says I am.”
“And I say you are too.”
Minney leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Eliza’s cheek. Then she clung to her a second, made a wretched little whimper, and tore herself away. She fled from the room without a word more.
Eliza was left alone. To leave the small chamber. To venture the hall. To descend the mighty stairs and meet her estranged father at the bottom.
And to face a ballroom of people that were real and not imagined.
For the first time in her life.
Felton’s heart picked up speed as his father stepped out of the chamber. “Well?”
Papa was dressed finer than he’d been in years—his hair well combed and waxed, his buttons shiny, his tailcoat devoid of lint or wrinkle. But the happy glow of his face, just moments before, was gone. His hand shook as he clicked shut the door. “Where is Dodie?”
“Fetching a manservant to get the doctor.”
“When she is done, tell her to get more pillows and a glass of water.” He pulled off his cravat. “I won’t be needing this—”
“Papa.”
“I do not want to talk about it, Felton. I must find Hugh’s last letter. Your mother is crying for it.” He brushed past Felton without another word.
As if his wife hadn’t just collapsed halfway down the stairs. As if she hadn’t fainted and awakened in tears. As if she weren’t weaker and closer to death every new day upon them.
Felton huffed out air and pushed his way into the room.
She was curled in a fetal position on top of the counterpane, still wearing the plume feather in her hair and the satin gown she hadn’t donned in ages. Her tears dripped into the pillow. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He knelt next to the bed, laid his hand on the side of her face, and stroked his thumb against her wet cheek. “Say nothing more, Mamma. It is not your fault.”
“Your father needed this.”
“He needs nothing but you.”
“I am a chain to him.”
“No.”
“I can do nothing anymore and every day I can do less. What is wrong with me, Felton?” She moved her hand over top his. “Why must there always be such pain? For your father, for your brothers…for you.”
“Please, Mamma. You are upset. The doctor is coming, and he shall have something to help with the pain—”
