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Her mind raced as she was aided up the slope. Aided by whom? She glanced up to see Mr Patmore’s profile, a determined look on his face as he stared ahead, though his fine, handsome features softened each time he glanced down at her. He had the face of a thoughtful man, she decided. In stark contrast to Mr Bramley. Her betrothed walked on her other side, but other than offering her his arm, he made no attempt to touch her.
She was aware of someone speaking, and saw it was kind Mr Patmore. “Please don’t cry, Miss Montrose.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s shock, I know, and you were so brave and collected as you plunged into the lake. I’ve never admired someone more.”
She hadn’t known she’d been crying, and his words sounded curiously intimate as he lowered his head to comfort her.
She hoped Mr Bramley couldn’t hear, and found herself smiling gratefully at Mr Patmore before berating herself. No! She wasn’t that kind of woman. She would give no man false encouragement.
“Lords Quamby and Fenton and their wives will forever have you in their debt.” His hand was squeezing hers again, and with shocked awareness, she jerked her head up to look at him. Was it a sign of sympathy? Of solidarity or respect? Eliza no longer knew what physical gestures meant. After her lapse, she’d not received kindness. It had been forbidden, it seemed.
The look Mr Patmore sent her was that of a man who wanted to do much more than just squeeze her hand. He murmured, “Lady Fenton said just now she didn’t think she could ever repay you.’
“I did only what I had to.”
“Risked your life to leap fully clothed into the river?”
“Anyone else would have done the same.” They’d stopped at the bottom of the portico steps, and now Eliza turned and looked over her shoulder, back down to the lake. The children were up and running around. Except Young George. Eliza closed her eyes, wondering how she could leave.
“Somehow I don’t believe that.” There it was again. The admiration in Mr Patmore’s voice that was so…unfamiliar.
“I was the only one in a position to render assistance,” Eliza replied, forcing distance into her tone. And then, with irony, “Besides, it was no hardship to throw myself into the lake.” She’d often thought of throwing herself into a lake. Or a river. Or off the castle battlements.
Not now, though. Not now she’d found Gideon. She just needed to devise a plan so she could protect him. Nurture and protect him and safeguard his future.
Which meant safeguarding her own, she thought with a pang, as she glanced at Mr Bramley.
“Remember, you are among friends, Miss Montrose.” Mr Patmore was still supporting her, encouraging her to lean upon him as they took the steps, for she was shaking now. The cold had seeped through to her very bones. She appreciated Mr Patmore’s kindness and gentle concern. Finally, Mr Bramley pushed in to offer the necessary assistance, and she felt again the discord he always occasioned; the slight prickling at the back of her neck, and steeled herself as usual to accept his caress.
“Thank you, Mr Bramley.” She injected her words with a qualified gratitude. And she’d be grateful now, like she’d not been before because, in a twist of irony, Mr Bramley truly did offer her her heart’s desire.
When she moved into his apartments here, he guaranteed that children would be part of her life. Most importantly, Gideon—Jack—who was all but a fixture here, would play in the gardens and she’d watch over him. Just as she did in her dreams.
Really, it was a dream come true.
“And thank you, Mr Patmore.” She inclined her head in dismissal, while she accepted her betrothed’s offer of an arm to escort her the remaining few steps towards the house. The front doors had been thrown open, and the servants were murmuring their awe, nodding their heads as the ladies and gentlemen made their progress through the earl’s palatial reception hall and then to the staircase, arriving in the corridor above where Eliza was met by her chaperone old Mrs Mayberry who appeared, briefly, with a compress pressed against her the side of her face before she disappeared back into her bedchamber.
Eliza arrived at her own bedchamber door, turning upon the threshold to see Lady Fenton hurrying up the corridor. Almost running, Eliza would have called it except that aristocratic ladies didn’t run. That said, Lady Fenton’s behaviour didn’t always accord with what Eliza considered would pass muster in the set to which she belonged, although in the twenty-four hours Eliza had spent under this palatial roof, she could see that Lady Fenton would be excused almost any transgression by her adoring husband.
“Miss Montrose, I didn’t thank you properly.”
Eliza offered her a faint smile. “You said all that was needed down by the lake. And, of course, you’ve been attending to your Katherine.” She hesitated. “Dinner is at the usual time?”
“Perhaps you would like to come into the drawing room earlier than that.” Lady Fenton looked almost anxious. “It would be pleasant to…spend time in conversation before we’re joined by the gentlemen.”
Eliza was surprised. Lady Fenton had shown no desire to further her acquaintance with her earlier. In fact, Lady Fenton had said barely a word to her. Eliza knew she considered her dull, and the truth was that Eliza had not felt it worthwhile making an effort. She rarely did.
“If you wish.”
“I do.”
To her surprise, Lady Fenton clasped her hand, her smile warm and genuine. Most odd.
“I shall rest now.” Eliza withdrew her hand as courteously as she could. She felt it incumbent to offer another smile, though it was hard when she so wanted to be alone, bursting with excitement as she was about her new discovery. Hesitating before she closed the door, she asked, “I trust I will see the children?”
“Katherine and George are generally brought d
own by Nanny Brown before we repair to the dining room.”
“I mean the other boy. The foundling home boy.”
