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To Lady Clifton’s credit and Eliza’s impressed surprise, the woman only let out a small exhale and a tenuous smile. “Sophie told me you might make an appearance soon. I have heard you wish to speak to me and Her Grace. Won’t you join us for dinner? We were thinking of relocating to a private parlor, anyway.”
Dalton was silent, his fingers shaking. Eliza did not blame the man. Confronting everyone at once had likely not been in the cards. She gave his palm a reassuring squeeze. Thankfully, their audience seemed too riveted by the countess’s reply to notice, though she knew speculation about her identity would be an undercurrent of tomorrow’s gossip. Thank goodness she’d opted for the half-mask and new wig this evening rather than her usual domino. Dalton audibly swallowed before replying, his voice impressively clear. “Yes, Lady Clifton. I would be delighted to accept your invitation.”
Lady Clifton’s smile was radiant, if only for the benefit of everyone else. “Wonderful.” She turned her attention to Eliza. “And will you still be joining us, dear friend?”
Eliza hesitated for a moment, remembering her vow to stay out of Dalton’s affairs. His thumb caressed her wrist, and when she looked up into his terrified yet hopeful eyes, she knew her answer. Perhaps she would never be free of the snare he’d unintentionally trapped her in. Perhaps that was perfectly alright.
“Yes. I believe I shall.”
**
“I still say we throw him into the river and be done with it.” Arthur Tremore, Earl of Clifton and Francesca’s husband, glared at James from where he leaned moodily against the corner window.
James fought hard not to squirm under the scrutiny. The man was terrifying at the best of times, let alone when seeking an audience with his wife whose heart James had summarily broken two years ago.
“It is a tempting thought,” The Duke of Ashford drawled. His Grace lounged on a nearby chair, a glass of whisky dangling casually between his fingers. James knew better than to be fooled by his apparent ease, for the duke’s hazel eyes glittered with dangerous appraisal. “And I do wonder what you are doing here, Lady Aircourt?”
The woman next to him gave no outward reaction to the barbed inquiry, answering in a clear voice. “I was invited along.” She gave no further answer, one haughty eyebrow raised in challenge. She had removed her mask in the privacy of this parlor, poised like a queen facing down a lion. James had never wanted her more. He fought the urge to take her hand again, for her tight fingers around his had been the only thing keeping him from slinking off while Lady Clifton guided them through the White Heather. They’d made their way to the dining room while half the patrons pretended not to follow them. His stomach had dropped upon seeing his sister, Amberwood, Kitty, and Ashford at one of the tables. Their eyes had fallen on him all at once, with Ashford taking on a particularly murderous bent. Sophie looked encouraging, and had elbowed Amberwood to do the same while Kitty had stared agape with a hand on her chest. Without a word to him, they followed Francesca’s direction until he found himself upstairs in the family parlor. Clifton had slid through the door as everyone settled, the ice in his eyes even worse than that of the duke’s. Which left them where they were now, with James facing down the worst gauntlet of his life.
“Settle now, gentleman. Dalton seems sincere enough,” Amberwood supplied helpfully. James was grateful for the support, even if it was only at the behest of Sophie. Said sister gave him another encouraging smile, and James reluctantly returned it for her benefit.
Kitty, who had been silent with Francesca on the sofa opposite to him since they’d arrived, finally spoke, her piercing gaze never leaving his person. “I think you all should leave me and Francesca with him. There is much to discuss, I think.”
“I agree,” Francesca said. She turned around to her husband. “Darling, would you please? I am perfectly safe.”
The earl narrowed his eyes at him, but nonetheless nodded. “If you wish.” He pushed off the wall and made his way to the door, stopping only to briefly give Francesca’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. He opened the door and held it aloft. “Come along then, everyone. We can wait in my office.”
Sophie and Amberwood were the first to rise, with Ashford following only after some unspoken conversation between him and Kitty passed. Lady Aircourt was the last to leave, turning to nod at him with an encouraging smile. “You can do this,” she mouthed as she finally rose. He wanted to grasp her wrist and beg her to stay, but knew this needed to be done alone. Her warm gaze, full of affection and encouragement, gave him the strength to turn away and face the two women before him. The door clicked shut, the sound echoing through his ears.
“Well, well. Long time no see, you unfaithful bastard,” Kitty said with a grin.
“Kitty!” Francesca scolded with a frown. “We promised this would be cordial.”
The duchess rolled her eyes. “I know. I just wanted to get it out. No offense, Dalton, but you were a mighty scoundrel about the whole thing.”
It seemed the plucky young woman of two years ago hadn’t changed. He was glad of it, glad to see her so happy and undamaged from his actions. “You are entirely correct in calling me such, Your Grace.”
She frowned, crossing her arms. “Do not think you can just waltz in here like a sad puppy and expect us to forgive you for the damage you caused us.”
He’s rehearsed what he would say to them over and over, yet the practiced speech fled entirely from his mind. He could only speak from his heart, speak of the feelings he’d been ruminating on since arriving in England. “I don’t expect your forgiveness.”
“What do you want, then?” Kitty challenged.
“I… I hardly know,” he admitted. “What could I possibly say to my actions two years ago? No matter how scared I was for Sophie, how desperately a solution was needed, what happened was abominable. I suppose I just want you to know how much I regret what I have done, and how pleased I am that you both found happiness in spite of me. Your forgiveness, while helpful, is not a requirement. I will move forward, becoming a better person and never stooping to that level ever again. Never again will the Berrington name be mired in scandal, this I promise you.” It was an impassioned, jumbled mess of an apology, and he felt like a fool for daring to blurt out such an atrocity.
Neither woman spoke, Kitty still staring at him while Francesca clenched her hands. The painful silence only broke when the countess inhaled, announcing her intention to speak. “I accept your words and believe them. Given time, I think I will come to forgive you.”
Kitty sighed. “Me, as well. Eventually.”
It felt as if a thick miasma had been lifted from them all at the words. He felt free, hopeful even, that his life could be salvaged. Perhaps all was not truly lost, perhaps he could stop punishing himself. Perhaps he could allow himself some happiness.
“You do not know the gift you have given me.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself now. You need to prove yourself first.”
“And I will.” He would spend the rest of his life doing so, if he must.
“Dalton?” Francesca said suddenly.
