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Chapter 36
Your Grace,
We greatly appreciate your aid in assuring our niece avoided ill-harm during her unfortunate stay at Richmond Castle. And we remain indebted to you.
Due to unfortunate health circumstances, and the household currently being indisposed with urgent preparations, we kindly request you post any personal belongings of hers to Lyndon Estate at the earliest convenience. You will, of course, be recompensed for any further inconvenience this may have caused.
Yours Sincerely,
Marcus Lyndon.
Crumpling the pleated paper in his hands, Simon let it fall to the floor alongside a couple of empty bottles, a mound of unaddressed correspondence, and another ball invitation for the following evening. It had been three days since Ellie’s leave and he had not yet left the castle, instead seeking solace in the bottle.
Simon had done everything in his power to avoid thinking of her or visiting her chambers—well, the guestroom, though it may as well have been her chambers. But avoiding an entire chunk of the east wing of the castle in fear of re-evoking memories of Ellie was rather foolish. He would have to visit these chambers at some point, so it shouldn’t make a difference if it was right this moment or a fortnight from now. It would help make the Castle feel like his again; solitary, empty, private. Lonely.
Which are all good things.
With a rough exhale, he slammed his palms against the desk. “Right. Now’s a better time than ever.”
With much effort and hesitancy, Simon fell to his feet and made his way out his study and toward the guestroom in question. The corridor seemed to stretch out ahead of him, transforming from a short walk into a labyrinth of reminiscences. Past his makeshift gymnasium and left of another, at one point, unremarkable corridor, he finally reached Ellie’s chambers.
Sighing, he exhaled the chilly air through his nostrils as a sudden nervousness overtook him—it felt as if he was about to meet her once again. And in a sense, he was.
He reached in front of the door, pushing it open with urgency, not wanting to prolong this any longer than needed. An aroma of spring lilies he had sought to avoid overtook him. Lilies and soap. Her scent. But aside from that, the room was quite ordinary, dusted, and nothing special. The sheets were lined perfectly, the decorations were organized, and all that seemed out of place was a small pile of clothes sitting atop a wooden dresser.
“Ah,” he muttered in a thoughtless attempt to break the overbearing silence.
Inching closer, he touched the soft silk with his fingers, the corners of his lips curling to a smile. It was simple and beige, far too modest and straightforward for someone like Ellie, who was quite the opposite in fact. Perhaps it was wrong to think of her that way after what happened between them, but it was undoubtedly the truth. A golden necklace sat atop the dresses, and he held it in his fingers softly, afraid it could fall and break into tiny pieces.
A strange thought occurred to him; perhaps he could keep it—he doubted she would notice…It could be something to remember her by.
“Don’t be a fool,” he said to himself quickly before he had the chance to expand on the thought.
As he grabbed the rest of the garments and personal belongings on his arm, he spun to find the exit of the room. But the side of his eye caught something light fluttering to the carpeted ground. Turning back, he saw it was a sheet off a newspaper, dated only a few years back.
With a raised eyebrow, he crouched to the ground to pick it up, then placed the clothing back onto the dresser for a moment.
“Another humiliating debut,” he read aloud the title of an exaggerated gossip headline on The Times. “The Lady Eloise Brooks failed to make an impression as the Belle of the Season. And as if that wasn’t enough, it is said she received a rather embarrassing rejection from none other than the eligible bachelor Sir George Maxwell.”
Simon’s eyes drifted over the rest of the words, forcing himself not to roll his eyes at every third line. He vaguely recalled the few articles about this woman—he remembered how unnecessarily cruel they had been, though it was nothing out of the ordinary at the time. The ton was infamous for latching onto everyone’s tiniest mistakes, insistent on either humiliating them or filling their void lives with the freshest of gossip, anything that could push attention away from their own misgivings. Though he had to wonder why precisely Ellie was interested in such an immaterial story.
Perhaps, it could be due to George Maxwell; after all, she did mention he did something similar to her. Which reminded him, once he saw the man, he’d make sure to tear him limb from limb. Even Simon had never thought to stoop so low.
Well…
For now, he focused back on the paper staring at him.
Lady Eloise Brooks.
His eyes widened as a thought crossed his mind. But he shook his head, not knowing if he should even bother allowing it to the surface. Afraid that it would put more doubts and further questions in his head. But he couldn’t shake it away no matter how hard he attempted.
Eloise. Ellie. They were so awfully familiar. It did make sense and the stories matched. George Maxwell, the ruined debut…Even her possible lie—the concealment of her identity—made sense. She wouldn’t want to reveal her name to anyone, afraid that rumors would spread and she’d be written as a ‘fallen woman’ in every article in London. And with his reputation, a known scoundrel and rake, she’d be ruined. But would she really go to those lengths to hide her identity? Even after what happened between them? It didn’t seem likely.
No. It most certainly isn’t the case. But on the off-chance it is…?
Suddenly, his hands trembled with anticipation, and he stopped breathing for a moment as a wilder thought crossed his mind. One that he only wished would be true. Then, in one quick step, he sprinted out of the room toward his study once more with the newspaper still clenched tightly in his hand.
Without missing a beat, he darted over the muddle of papers and bottles littered across the floor and ran to the bookcase. He rustled book after book, looking for the list. Soon, his methodical searching turned into ripping apart the entire study as he scanned frantically for the list.
