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“Will you stop? I should like to walk for a while.”
He pulled a little aside, and drew to a halt, his groom springing down from his perch behind the seat to hold the horses’ heads. Will leapt to the ground and then helped Eloise to descend.
Tucking her arm into his as they walked a little way from the curricle, he said genially, “Now what is this all about?”
“It is about our engagement. It is time for it to end.”
“You mean that it is time to set a date for the wedding?”
“No! It must end utterly! I set you free, Mr Fletcher. Our betrothal is hereby terminated and henceforth you are entirely at liberty.”
Dropping her arm, he spun round to place himself in front of her. “What do you mean? Are you saying that you no longer wish to marry me?”
“Oh, Will… you must have known from the start that this betrothal was a sham. You surely are aware that marriage was never the intention with this game of ours.”
Will felt as if the ground had given way beneath his feet. He was sliding… falling… toppling into some nightmare world where nothing was as he had supposed.
“What do you mean?” he said hoarsely. Then, with rising anger,“What game?”
“Why the game of finding out whether you are a gentleman or not, of course. I set a test for you, Will Fletcher, and to my surprise you passed with flying colours. That was unexpected, and I congratulate you most sincerely. You have behaved with gentlemanly honour these many weeks now. But there is no need to continue the game any longer. You are released from any and all obligation towards me. I shall return to Bath, and you will return to Hertfordshire, to continue your life unfettered by my presence.”
Will could barely breathe. “Do you mean to tell me, madam, that this has all been a falsehood from the start? That you never had the least intention of marrying me? You have had me dancing attendance on you and telling all my relations — everyone I know — of my impending marriage and receiving their congratulations and planning our life together andit was all a sham?What kind of cruelty is this, to torment a man so? Good God, Eloise, I hardly know what to say to you.”
“Then say nothing, for in truth there is nothing to be said. It is for me to apologise, and I do. It was a dreadful trick to have played on you, and all from my own hubris in believing the worst of you. You are a better man than I thought, and deserve a less dishonest wife. All I can do to make amends is to set you free to find her. You may congratulate yourself on your fortunate escape as soon as you have deposited me at Marford House. Will you take me home now?”
“I am perfectly ready to do so,” he said, in clipped tones.
He remembered to offer his arm. In silence they returned to the curricle and he drove her by the most direct way to Marford House. Then he had only the short drive home to accomplish before he could retreat to his room with a satisfactory slam of the door, and give way to the maelstrom of emotions assaulting his senses.
27: Farewell
Eloise went straight to her room, ripped off her bonnet and gloves and hurled them to the floor, then threw herself onto the bed in a paroxysm of weeping. For a long, long time she wept.
She was vaguely aware of shadows coming and going as she lay there, although only their scents impinged on her consciousness. First, the harsh laundry-soap odour of the maid. Then the more pleasing perfumes of some of the ladies. The floral scents of Connie and her sisters. The more exotic tones of the Marford ladies. One that was more horse than anything else — Lady Humphrey, she guessed. Sometimes they whispered together, and sometimes they were silent.
Eventually, exhausted by her tears and by a long succession of restless nights, she slept.
When she woke it was dark, only a single guttering candle on her bedside table and another beside the fire lighting the gloom. The scent of flowers tickled her senses. Connie was there, then, or one of her sisters. Hauling herself upright, she propped the pillow behind her back and looked across the room. Connie, and Mrs Ambleside, sitting either side of the fire, the spangles on their evening gowns glinting in the candlelight.
“Oh, are you awake?” Connie cried, rushing across the room. “Are you feeling any better? Can you talk to us, dear?”
Could she talk about it? She was not sure. Even as the kindly forgetfulness of sleep fled and the dreadful truth came back to her, she felt the tears prickling again.
“Will you eat a morsel or two?” Mrs Ambleside said in her gentle voice. “Some fruit… or there is broth on the fire.”
Eloise shook her head, for her throat was too tight to contemplate food. A tear trickled down one cheek, and Mrs Ambleside silently handed her a handkerchief.
“A little wine, then,” Mrs Ambleside said. “I am persuaded it would do you good.”
Reluctantly, Eloise agreed to it, and perhaps it was the wine or perhaps it was the solicitude of the two ladies, but she did feel a little better.
“Now, dear, tell us all about it,” Connie said. “Then we may see what can be done to set things right.”
“Nothing can be done,” Eloise said, the words ending on a little sob. Her hands shook so much that Mrs Ambleside had to reach out to steady the wine glass.
“Oh, but everyone quarrels sometimes,” Connie said airily. “Why, Francis and I—”
“Not a quarrel,” Eloise said.
