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Chapter Six
“Blast, not again.” Eliza scribbled furiously into the ledger, scratching out the third accounting error she’d made within the hour. Though she employed a secretary to help manage the bulk of her fortune, Eliza preferred to organize the affairs of her household on her own. A property entirely of one’s own was not something most women, even widows, were afforded, and she was therefore quite involved in dictating its running. From the paper on the walls to the cushions on the couches, the house was entirely her domain, with almost nothing of the interior prior to her husband’s death remaining. Even the earl’s study, once a dark den of oak paneling and musty leather, had been transformed to her taste, with bright walls and plush carpeting that took full advantage of the massive windows overlooking the garden. She’d kept the monstrous desk, along with the worn, yet supremely comfortable leather chair that came with it. The old man had held a modicum of sense in that one regard, at least. Eliza sank back into said chair, tossing her pencil down and closing her straining eyes. Keeping the accounts was a routine that she normally found easy and relaxing, but it seemed her whirring mind refused to stray from the mortifying disaster she’d wrought a few days ago.
Despite what some may assume, given her glamourous demeanor and pretty features, Eliza couldn’t boast of a long list of paramours, having only had a handful of lovers in the ten years since becoming widowed. Even so, she was reasonably confident in her ability to sniff out male interest. Perhaps she had gotten rusty. Those lovers had only been in the first five years of her widowhood after all, and she was woefully out of practice outside of the occasional harmless ballroom flirtation. That could be the only explanation for such a grievous misjudgment. Lord Dalton’s shocked and slightly terrified face still burned in her memory, and she still cringed when picturing the humiliating scene. How in the world was she to face him again, if he even made another call at all? The thought made her unconscionably sad. The man had grown quite endearing, and, in the wake of his massive improvements as of late, she could now admit it would be a shame to lose their budding friendship.
A soft knock sounded on the door. “My Lady?”
Hope stirred at the sound of her butler’s voice. Eliza cleared her throat. “What is it?”
“Lord Aircourt is here.”
Her shoulders sagged, that silly girlish hope extinguishing into dread. The current earl, her late husband’s nephew, was unpleasant at the best of times, and she loathed ever having to deal with him. But he would start a scene were she to eject him. Harry was far easier to get rid of by merely listening to whatever nonsense he had to say and letting him get on with it. “Show him in,” she said, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice.
“No need.” Lord Aircourt opened the door and sauntered in as if he owned the place, which he very well would have had his predecessor not left her the entirety of his unentailed fortune and London home. To this day, the fact that he did so still shocked her. They’d only been married two months, most of which he’d spent in cold disregard of his young bride, so her grand inheritance had been entirely unexpected. Though, she mused as her gangly nephew surveyed the room with a thinly veiled sneer, perhaps the earl’s rationale wasn’t entirely unknowable.
“My Lord,” she intoned. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“A man can’t check in on his widowed aunt to inquire about her welfare?” He smiled pleasantly, though she wasn’t fooled by the poorly donned veneer. Harry Hestings had been a handsome young man once, and she’d nearly fallen for that charm ten years ago. The new earl had been nothing but kind in the wake of his uncle’s death, magnanimously accepting the reality of her inheritance and offering to aid her in any way she wished. Had the old earl not warned her on his deathbed of Harry’s deceptive nature, Eliza would have thought nothing of his offer to help manage her new fortune, and might have even been naïve enough to accept his offer of a marriage of convenience for the sake of the estate. With the context of her husband’s surprisingly thoughtful warnings, however, Harry’s true scheme had been more than transparent, and she’d rejected both suggestions outright. Whilst never openly hostile to her, their future interactions were tense at best. Eyeing his now gaunt frame and splotchy complexion, she wondered if he was here to have another go at convincing her they marry. That was usually the topic of his rare visits, often coinciding with rumors of his debts.
Eliza made a show of scanning her ledgers once more. “What do you want, Harry?”
“I heard you were having trouble with this year’s ball.” He eyed his surroundings as if searching for something. “Is everything alright?”
Ah, he was making assumptions again. He’d trusted her money management skills little back then, claiming that women couldn’t be expected to have an eye for money, and likely remained doubtful even now. Rather hilarious of him considering how he’d turned an estate that was more than prosperous, even without the earl’s other wealth, and run it to the ground within a few years. Word of her struggles in London must have reached him, and he likely thought he smelled blood in the water. Ridiculous, greedy swine. “Things are well. I have already resolved most of the issues, and invitations were sent last week. Will you be attending this year?”
Harry rested a palm on her desk and leaned forward, a comically exaggerated gleam of concern in his flat brown eyes. “You do not have to hide your troubles from me. We are family.”
Eliza bit her cheek to keep from laughing aloud at his theatrics. From the wear visible on his coat, which was a good three years out of fashion, to the scuff of his hessians, it was more than obvious who was the one hiding their troubles. Goodness, even Lord Dalton managed to keep enough funds to dress himself to fashion, though she imagined that particular man would look devastating in a burlap sack. Not so for Harry, who seemed to be quite literally wearing his dissipation on his sleeve. “Everything is fine.”
He narrowed his eyes, face going sour with a quick slip of his polite mask, before straightening. “If you are sure.”
Eliza smiled serenely. “Quite.” Things must be dire indeed for him to appear so desperate. Not that she would ever marry him, even if her own finances had truly been in jeopardy. Hell, she’d wed Lord Dalton out of convenience long before Harry. The thought, not entirely unpleasant, sent a jolt through her. Which was utterly ridiculous. She did not want to marry Dalton, barely even knew him aside from their slowly budding friendship, one that would likely die thanks to her silly impulses.
As if reading her mind, Harry spoke again, his voice tinged with censure. “I have heard another concerning rumor. I’ve been told Viscount Dalton has called on numerous occasions.”
She should have expected word would spread of Dalston’s visits, the very reason why she had initially vowed to keep him at a distance. Somehow, in the wake of what admittedly little they’d shared, that hardly seemed to matter anymore. Regardless, Eliza rolled her eyes. “He called exactly twice, both times to apologize for his behavior two years ago.”
“I’ve heard it is a little more than that.”
“Well, you heard wrong,” she replied flatly. “I hardly see how it is your business, anyway.”
“The man is a fortune hunting scoundrel, and everyone knows it. You would do well to be on your guard.”
Which was a rather amusing thing to claim, considering Harry’s own obvious intentions with her. She wondered if he felt like his quarry was under threat, as if she were a prized mare in a bidding war. “I can take care of myself, Harry. Thank you for the concern.”
“I mean it,” he insisted with a frown. “Who knows what a man like him is plotting?”
Eliza supremely doubted a man hell-bent on seduction would flee like a frightened deer the moment she kissed him, but Harry naturally would not have knowledge of that mortifying incident. “If that is all, my dear nephew, I’m afraid I have much work to do today.”
He looked as if he would protest, but then apparently thought better of it. “Of course. I wish you a good afternoon.”
Her smile ground against her teeth. “Good day, Harry.”And please don’t come back any time soon.She waited for the door to shut behind him and let out a long sigh of relief. Eliza didn’t think she’d ever disliked a man more, even Dalton before he’d told her the truth. “Please, no more disruptions today.”
Which was not to be, apparently, as a knock on the window nearly made her jump out of her skin. She faced the tall windows behind her, preparing to scold whomever was behind them most harshly. The words died on her lips when she saw who stood in her garden. Her heart hammered for an entirely different reason. “Dalton?”
**
James stared through the widow at Lady Aircourt, who seemed more confused than anything at his presence. He hadn’t been prepared for the effect seeing her again would have on him, and that, coupled with his rather ridiculous idea to enter through her gardens, made the temptation to turn tail and flee once more almost too much to bear. He’d made such a fool of himself the other day, that James wouldn’t be at all shocked if she stomped outside and slapped him on the spot. Instead, the beautiful woman who had haunted his dreams for the past two evenings merely raised a hand and gestured urgently to the door beside the expansive windows. Understanding her meaning, he all but trotted to the door and sidled quietly inside.
