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Lord Albury smiled. “He has travelled widely, it seems, but that was where he was when he heard that— when he decided to return to England. Will you drink a little brandy, Miss Whittleton?”
“Thank you, my lord.”
She drank, and the pungency of the drink brought her fully back to her senses. “I do not wish to speak to him.”
“Very well. I shall tell him so,” Lord Albury said. “Do you wish to return home? Your carriage is waiting for you in the mews, and you may leave by the back stairs to avoid all notice, if you wish it.”
“What of your mama, and your sisters?” she said to Will.
“They will stay here, for it would be a brave man indeed who attempted to separate Rosie and Angie from a ball in progress,” Will said, with that generous smile that so warmed her insides. “I shall take you back to Marford House, my dear, and then return here to escort the ladies home when they have worn out their dancing slippers.”
She agreed to it, and within minutes she was being led down the service stair by Lord Albury, while Will gave her his arm for support, and into the waiting carriage.
“My cloak!” she said, as the door was shut on them and the carriage rocked into motion. “I left it behind.”
“I will see to it, never fear. Are you feeling more the thing, dearest?”
Dearest?Such an affectionate term that made her want to cry. But she must not. At all costs she must not let him see her weakness. She must be strong, ready for the day when he would not be hers.
Lifting her chin, she said, “Thank you, I am quite recovered now.”
“I cannot quite believe that,” he said gently, raising the hand he still held. “You are still trembling, do you see? But a good night’s sleep will see you restored to your usual composure, I am sure. Eloise…” A hesitation, then he plunged on. “You will have to talk to him at some point.”
“Never! I want nothing to do with him,nothing!”
“But you will meet him everywhere, I imagine. If he is an acceptable guest at the Faulkbournes’, there will be no escaping him.” They were beyond the well-lit mews now, but his voice was warm in the darkness enfolding them. She had always loved his voice, so mellow and reassuring. So enticing. But she must not be distracted.
“Then I shall not go into society. Perhaps I should go directly home to Bath.”
“To Bath? But you are to come to Hertfordshire with us… for Julia’s wedding. I want you to see Orchard House, and discover how much space we will have for your carriage. You will not let your father disrupt our plans, surely?”
How could she answer him? Impossible!
When she stayed silent, he went on, “For myself, I should like to hear what he has to say, and how he can possibly explain away what he did. To abandon you all — his wife, his children, his whole family who weredependingon him — it is unconscionable. I should like to hear him try to weasel out ofthat.”
A passing carriage lamp cast flickering light across his face momentarily, so she could see his smile, and instinctively she smiled in response.
“I should like to know his explanation, but not to meet him myself,” she said. “Will… would it be a great imposition for me to ask you to see him on my behalf?”
“Of course, my dearest. How could I refuse any request you make of me? Your slightest whim is my command, and will always be so.”
His words brought such a stab of pain that she could speak no more. He made no comment, maintaining a continuous patter of trivial comments until they reached Marford House, and did not leave her side until he could hand her into the care of her maid.
The next morning he sent a huge bouquet of hothouse flowers, with a brief note hoping that she had passed a good night, and informing her he would call at noon, if convenient, to assure himself that she was recovering from her ordeal.
Eloise had not, as it happened, slept well at all, but the flowers and note cheered her enormously, and fortified her through a long, outraged conversation with Connie. The marchioness was, not surprisingly, eloquent on the iniquities of a father who appeared out of the blue after an absence of thirteen years, but she was even more eloquent on the thoughtfulness of Will Fletcher.
“Goodness, he is taking such good care of you, Eloise, dear,” she said, perching on the bed in her night wrap and an excessively pretty little lace cap while Eloise sipped her morning chocolate. “Such consideration! And every little attention paid to you. How lucky you are, dear!”
Eloise did not feel particularly lucky that day. Distressed, perhaps. Guilty, most definitely. Most of all, she was desperately unhappy. But she could not speak of it to Connie, so she smiled and said, “Yes, Connie,” and “No, Connie,” at suitable moments, and wished with all her heart she had never set out on this treacherous path.
Still, there was the day to be faced, so she progressed mechanically through the chores of the morning — washing, dressing, practising on the pianoforte, although no new melodies bubbled up in her mind today, and then taking breakfast. And eventually, it was time to meet Will.
Somehow, and she could not quite account for it, the guilt and unhappiness leached away when she was with him. They walked in the garden, for he insisted that the sunshine would do her good, but it was his company that cheered her up by degrees, until she felt quite her old self again. He had such power to lift her spirits, it was frightening.
When he had gone, all her optimism seeped away again, leaving her unequal even to the solicitous society of the Marford ladies. She went to her room, lay down on her bed and let the tears fall.
~~~~~
