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“But we wouldn’t be really making them. It’s all an act, you see. We want it to appear as though we’re married to stop my father from forcing me into a marriage, and for Jackson to claim his inheritance,” Eloise added.
It really did sound quite incredible when put like that, and Delphine remained skeptical as she helped Eloise finish dressing.
“I’m just worried you’ll get hurt, My Lady. You’ve already been so terribly hurt in the past,” her maid said.
“But that’s the point. I don’t want to be hurt again. If I’m forced to marry someone of my father’s choosing, then I’m sure to be hurt. It’s unavoidable. But this way, it’ll be much better,” Eloise explained.
“And what of your sister? Will you keep looking for her?” Delphine asked.
“That’s why I’m doing this, Delphine. If I marry Jackson, I can devote all my time to finding Alice. I won’t have my father trying to prevent it, nor a husband who isn’t supportive of the search. It’s perfect,” she replied, checking her reflection in the mirror before hurrying down to breakfast.
Eloise had practically convinced herself of the sense of this remarkable endeavor, even as she knew there were still many obstacles to overcome. She and Jackson would marry, and that would be the end of her troubles. It all seemed so simple, and as Eloise joined her father in the dining room that morning, she could only imagine the better life that lay ahead. Her father looked up from his periodical and narrowed his eyes.
“All that nonsense last night, courting the Duke of Kenwood. You’re not going through with it, are you?” he asked.
Eloise sat down at her place and signaled for Anderton to pour her a cup of coffee.
“And why not, Father?” she shot back, fixing him with a defiant gaze.
“Well, it’s all very… sudden. I don’t want you to raise your hopes and have them dashed. He might prove… less than reliable,” he replied.
Eloise had to admit she knew very little of the Duke – nothing, in fact. It may all turn out to be nonsense, and she may have fallen for the ruse of a rakish man whose only intention is to cause mischief. But the Duke’s words had been sincere even as they were couched in a sense of fun, for Eloise had enjoyed their dancing and the unexpected kiss they had shared.
“Can’t I enjoy the moment, Father?” she huffed, taking a sip of coffee.
“He promised to call on you, Eloise. But if he doesn’t, I don’t want you to be disappointed. What seems right during the excitement of a ball can so easily prove itself less than so,” he said.
Eloise agreed. She had seen it happen before. A friend or an acquaintance entirely taken up by the promises of a man given in the throes of some marvelous social gathering, only to find herself bitterly disappointed when no further calls were made and her letters went unanswered. Such might easily be the case with the Duke, save for one thing: he, too, was to benefit immeasurably from the arrangement.
“Well, we’ll see,” she challenged, for she had no intention of allowing her father to think this was anything but a legitimate and meaningful courtship.
With breakfast finished, Eloise went as usual to the morning room. It was her favorite room in the house for it was facing the garden and had long windows that let in the morning sunshine. The walls were papered red, and a portrait of her mother hung on the wall above the mantelpiece. The resemblance between them was striking, and Eloise had always marveled at how different her sister looked in comparison to their mother. Whilst Eloise possessed long golden hair and deep blue eyes – just like her mother – Alice’s hair was red, and her eyes were a dark hazel green. No one had ever mistaken them for sisters, a fact which had often caused them both sorrow.
Eloise gazed up at her mother’s portrait.What would you say, I wonder?
A pile of correspondence laid on the writing table and this, as it was every morning, became Eloise’s task as she continued her search for her sister. That week, she had written to the Dowager Duchess of Devonshire and Lord Markham of Sidbury, asking both if they might possess any knowledge of her sister’s whereabouts. Both had replied in the negative, and now she would write and thank them for taking the time to correspond. It was always the same: a polite letter informing her of nothing she did not already know, followed by her own letter of thanks.
But I must keep going.She opened the drawer of the writing desk and took out the locket she kept there.
It contained a miniature portrait of her sister and a lock of her hair. Alice had one, too. They had been given to them by their father when they were children. The one belonging to Alice, which contains a portrait of Eloise and a lock of her hair, had also gone missing on the day Alice disappeared. Eloise liked to think of her sister keeping it with her and using it as comfort when times were difficult.
“Now, whom to write to today?” she muttered to herself, taking out her copy of The New Peerage and consulting the index.
It was an invaluable directory published by Debretts, listing the existent nobility in the kingdom. Eloise used it to select those to whom her next letter would be sent, even as the list of possibilities was growing less.
“The Baron of Whistmith,” she said to herself, running her finger down one of the open pages.
She had just picked up her quill and dipped it in the inkpot, ready to write the letter she knew by heart when a knock came at the door and the butler entered.
“The Duke of Kenwood to see you, My Lady,” he intoned, and Eloise looked up in surprise and delight.
She had not known when Jackson intended to call on her, or even if he intended to call on her at all. Men were good at making empty promises, and she had half come to think that the antics of the previous evening may have had more to do with the punchbowl than a sincere desire to assist her.
“Oh, how lovely. You can show him in.” Eloise rose to her feet.
She felt surprised to feel her heart beating fast at the thought of Jackson’s arrival. This was merely a business transaction, a convenience through which they would both benefit. Nothing was meant by it, though the charade would have to be maintained. But despite this fact, Eloise could not help but think back to the kiss they shared, and the passion with which it had been enacted.
“Good morning, Miss Snowden,” Jackson greeted, as he swaggered into the morning room a few moments later.
