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But hadn’t he shown his moral fibre in gently restraining her passions that would have had her cast all caution before the wind, while at the same time making very clear his feelings were equally aroused?
Clearly, he was a man of principle and moral righteousness. Of course, he’d not sanction a bastard in the family—or forgive the mother of one.
“Mr Patmore…you are too kind,” she said, dipping her eyes as a ripple of interest in several new arrivals swept the room.
“I heard we were expecting visitors.” Mr Patmore stepped a little closer, his attitude protective though some might consider it proprietorial. Eliza liked it. She raised her gaze and caught his eyes boring into hers, as if he were attuned to her every nuanced response, and her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t care if her look was transparent with longing; there was only so much she could do to dampen her true feelings.
If Mr Patmore were her husband, or even her betrothed, she’d surreptitiously insinuate her hand into his and offer him all she had with just a look.
But he wasn’t and could never be, and besides, her hosts were stepping apart to welcome the new additions to their gathering, and soon it would be incumbent upon Eliza to show her good manners and greet them when all she wanted was to bare her heart and soul to Mr Patmore.
“I believe Miss Montrose and one of our guests are already acquainted.” Lady Quamby smiled brightly as she prepared to do the introductions. “Though I don’t believe she has met Mr Ambrose Canning.”
Reluctantly, Eliza transferred her gaze from Mr Patmore to the two tall strangers who’d just arrived.
Except—one of them wasn’t a stranger.
No, she and he were certainly more than just acquainted.
“Mr Perceval.” It came out as a faint breath.
Mr Patmore put out a steadying hand as she stumbled backwards.
“It’s been a long time, Eliza.”
Orlando. It really was him. Seven years older and just as handsome with his fine features dominated by a patrician nose, his fair hair slightly curling, characterised by the cowlick Eliza had loved to study when he wasn’t looking, just as he was now studying her. “Eliza?” There was a diffidence in his manner that was at odds with the Orlando she knew. But then, of course, he’d wonder how she’d receive him after all this time. After what had happened.
Nor did she know how to respond, except that she was relieved to have to follow through on the social niceties to greet the dark, theatrical looking Mr Canning, since it gave her time to gather her wits before turning back to her erstwhile…lover.
“A very long time.” What else could she say? She cleared her throat, aware of Mr Patmore’s very interested gaze. “What have you been doing all this time?”
“After a tour of the Continent, I returned to the West Indies.”
Inanities. Her brain was churning with all the questions she had for him. Of all the things she had to tell him. Yet, would she? Seven years had passed since they’d parted, and Eliza was a very different person from the schoolgirl he’d promised to marry. Did he even know about Jack?
“Miss Montrose?” Lady Fenton’s concerned voice broke her reverie. “Are you well?”
Eliza put her hand to her forehead; her brain whirling with the enormity of what Orlando’s visit might mean. “Are you married?”
There was a moment of surprised silence. Perhaps shocked was more apt, and Eliza felt her cheeks burning as she took in each face trained upon hers: Ladies Fenton and Quamby, Mr Canning’s, and Mr Perceval’s. And, dear Mr Patmore who’d remained loyally by her side and was looking a little pale, she noted, though not nearly as pale as she must be looking since she truly feared she was about to faint.
But not because she was hanging on Orlando’s answer. His expression was concerned, but not filled with frustrated longing; not like a man who’s been torn from his one true love.
Once, she’d been crazed with passion and sick with loss over Orlando. Since she’d come to Quamby House, her reason for living had been restored to her. She’d found the conduit to all the love she needed—Jack. She’d felt desired by Mr Patmore, a kind and honourable man whose love she returned.
Rufus Patmore. He was the man she loved, she realised with painful clarity. She had to find the courage to confide in him.
“I married three months ago, Eliza.” He cleared his throat, hesitating as he weighed up his next words. “My wife is on the plantation, expecting our first child in September, so my visit to England is only for a few weeks.” He paused, awkwardly. “It’s a great surprise to see you here, Eliza.” He sent an uncertain glance around the rest of the company who were looking on with rapt interest. “Naturally, I’d have paid my respects if I knew where to find you.”
Paid his respects… She nodded. Words wouldn’t come. Silence had descended until Lady Quamby said with forced cheerfulness and a flick of her golden curls modishly secured by a pearl-encrusted comb, “Let me introduce you to my cousin, Mr George Bramley, who has just arrived. He’ll be most intrigued to learn where you got that dashing scar across your cheek, Mr Perceval. Cousin George has always had a desire to be a skilled swordsman, haven’t you?”
This naturally deflected attention onto Mr Bramley and should have given Eliza a reprieve, except that Lady Quamby had to break into Mr Bramley’s incoherent utterings to ask ingenuously, “Oh, do tell all, Mr Perceval! You sustained an injury, but you must have come off triumphant. Whom did you run through with a rapier?”
Whom did Orlando run through with a rapier?
“Miss Montrose! Eliza!” A dozen voices seemed to be speaking at once while the world closed in on her. And as her knees buckled and her head spun, she felt a pair of strong arms scoop her up before she hit the floor; at the same time as she wished she might disappear into a mote of dust and never have to face Orlando or Mr Patmore—and definitely not Mr Bramley—again.
She must have regained consciousness quite quickly, for when she opened her eyes, it seemed that Mr Patmore had just laid her upon the chaise longue in the smaller drawing room along the passage while Orlando hovered at his side.
