For Elise (14 page)

“A marquess is rather a catch,” she said. “Even if he has spent the past four years working in the sugar fields.”

“Perhaps I should pull out some of my old, mud-stained work clothes and see how interested the young ladies still are.”

“A single gentleman with both a title and a vast deal of wealth could arrive at a ball in only his dressing gown and would still be in high demand.” Her smile faded a bit. “A woman of no fortune, however, could arrive spectacularly gowned and perfectly coiffed and still be rejected out of hand.”

“Is that what is worrying you, Elise? You fear their rejection?”

“I am too far beneath their notice to even warrant the effort of a rejection,” she said quite matter-of-factly.

He set his hand on top of her hands, still clutched tightly together in her lap. “You underestimate yourself, my friend.”

She didn’t pull away. She didn’t pull away!

“You think no one has even noticed you,” he said, “but Miss Haddington knew precisely where you were when I asked. She had noticed you.”

“From what I have seen of her, Miss Haddington is a very kindhearted person,” Elise said. “I will say this though: she may have noticed where I was sitting, but she hasn’t yet lost track of
you.
Very few people have, in fact.”

Miles returned his gaze to the other guests and realized Elise was absolutely correct. Several people were approaching them at that very moment.

He rose as his guests arrived at the small grouping of chairs where only he and Elise sat. Doing so necessitated that he release her hand, and he regretted it on the instant. But, he told himself, that she had allowed the once-familiar connection was progress.

She stood, apparently remembering that doing so was expected. Miles bowed. Elise curtsied. The new arrivals curtsied as well.

“We had wondered where you disappeared to,” one of the matrons said, a hint of real reprimand beneath her teasing tone.

“I was speaking with Mrs. Jones. She is a very close friend of the Linwood family.”

“Yes, so we have heard.”

Another of the local ladies took up the discussion. “That is a lovely color, Mrs. Jones, and a very fashionable style. Who is your modiste?”

“I am not certain,” Elise said, her voice low and quiet. “Mrs. Langley placed the order on my behalf.”

“On your behalf?” Such doubt filled the lady’s question. “I was under the impression she undertook the task entirely.”

Elise’s coloring dropped off noticeably. Her gaze dropped to the floor. “Mrs. Langley is very kind to me.”

“Indeed,” was the noticeably haughty response.

One of the younger ladies spoke to Elise next from behind her hand, as though wishing to keep her remark between the two of them, though she didn’t lower her voice enough to keep the conversation private. “You have neglected to wear your gloves, Mrs. Jones. You did realize you were supposed to, did you not?”

“An unfortunate oversight, I’m afraid.” Elise spoke as though she were a chambermaid being reprimanded by her mistress rather than a lady of the gentry in conversation with other ladies belonging to that same class.

Elise slowly disappeared into herself. The gathered guests took their cues from her and seemed to forget she stood among them.
I am too far beneath their notice to even warrant the effort of a rejection.
Miles wished in that moment the ladies had, in fact, not noticed her enough to be unkind. Listening to their haughty words of dismissal was far worse.

“The next set is about to begin.” Miles addressed Elise. If he asked her to dance, his other guests would have to acknowledge she was their equal. Perhaps Elise herself would begin to believe it.

She didn’t allow him to even begin his invitation. “Then this is the perfect moment for me to slip away. I wish to offer Anne a good night before she falls asleep.”

“You—”

She made a quick, awkward curtsy to all of them at once and hurried from the ballroom before anyone could offer an objection.

For a solid hour, Miles attempted to slip out of the ballroom and follow her, wanting to make certain she had left for the reason she’d claimed. Though the ladies hadn’t said anything to her that on the surface was clearly insulting, their tones and postures could not have been misunderstood. Elise had been so fragile since they’d been reunited, no longer the quietly confident, seldom ruffled young lady he’d once known. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being hurt in his home.

Finally, he was able to step out and hurry up the back stairwell to the second floor, where the nursery was. Elise said she meant to tuck Anne in. The nursery would be the best place to look first.

A low light burned in the pink bedchamber Anne had claimed as her own. Miles peeked inside. Anne slept soundly on her bed. Heavens, but she looked exactly like her mother at that age. It was like a glimpse directly into the past. He stepped quietly over to Anne’s bed and pulled her blanket up over her shoulders.

She had warmed to him a bit over the weeks, but it was a slow process. He’d grown very fond of her and wanted to see her smile, to see her as happy as Elise had been as a child.

He pressed a kiss to Anne’s forehead. “Good night, sweet girl,” he whispered. “Sleep well.”

“Miles?” Elise’s confused, quiet voice broke into the silence of the room.

He glanced back and saw her sitting in a chair not far from the bed. She still wore her ball gown, but there was no mistaking the fact that she’d been sleeping in the hard, spindle-backed chair.

She blinked a few times. “I think I fell asleep.”

“I believe you did,” Miles said. “And not in the most comfortable place.”

She smiled a bit. “My neck most certainly agrees with you.” Elise turned her head from side to side, her expression twisting with obvious discomfort. “If only Wellington had been aware of this acute form of torture. Napoleon would have surrendered after one night of this.”

Did she have any idea how much she tortured
him
with these fleeting glimpses of the girl he’d once known and cared about so deeply? She remained just out of reach.

Elise’s gaze settled on Anne. “She wanted to sing a song for me. That one song turned into at least a dozen.” She smiled fondly at her daughter. “She fell asleep only after she was entirely exhausted.”

Miles sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping girl. “I didn’t realize she sang.”

“A recently acquired talent,” Elise said with a quiet laugh. “She will never be invited to perform for anyone, but she enjoys it so very much one can’t help enjoying it with her.”

Elise yawned. She did indeed look tired.

Miles picked up the lantern from the bedside table. “There’s no point being uncomfortable the rest of the night.” He held his hand out to her, praying she would take it. “I’ll walk you up to your bedchamber. I know a back way so you’ll not have to stop and talk with any of the guests if you’d rather not.”

“You know me well.” She took his hand.

A mixture of triumph and utter relief settled over him. No matter that she remained aloof most of the time; she had allowed him to hold her hand twice that night. He was, somehow or another, getting through to her.

“I did know you very well once,” he said gently. “Lately, however, I feel . . . a little lost.”

Sadness touched her eyes. “I feel more than a bit lost myself.”

“Life has not played out the way either of us expected, has it?”

She shook her head. “Not in the least.”

Miles lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “We’ll sort this all out. We simply have to find our way.”

“Then it is a very good thing you have the lantern.”

Miles squeezed her fingers as they walked from the room, the lantern held in his free hand. They pretended to be very sneaky as they made their way around the back corridors and down the stairs to her bedroom. It was a game they’d often played as children. She smiled and looked like she was biting back more than one laugh. Miles’s heart lightened during that quick journey about the house. The longer Elise was there, the more hopeful he grew.

Miles, Beth, and Mr. Langley
slept straight through breakfast the next morning. Only Elise awoke at the usual time. The others had been up late, enjoying the ball.

Elise sat at the windows of the morning room, looking out over the back meadow of Tafford. She’d worked quite hard the evening before to appear as though she was happy to leave the ball. But that had been far from true. She had been nervous and a little unsure of herself, but flutters of excitement had built throughout the day before.

She had dreamed of attending a ball since she was a child. She’d imagined herself in an elegant gown, dancing with a handsome gentleman, being an inarguable part of the gathering. Last night would have been her first taste of that long-awaited dream. And there she’d sat, gloveless, wearing her worn boots beneath a gown she’d received out of charity—well-meaning charity but charity nonetheless—and feeling like a weed among the roses.

She was every bit as lost as she’d told Miles she felt. Sitting by herself at the ball, she’d finally admitted to herself that she had to decide the direction of her future. She needed to find a place for herself and Anne, a place that was permanent and comfortable and fitting. She didn’t know how far away she would settle, couldn’t say for certain how much danger she might be in from the writer of the letters, but she could no longer sit idly by and wait for fate to deal another telling blow; neither could she continually uproot Anne. They needed to find a place that could permanently be home.

“Mrs. Jones.”

She looked back toward the door.

One of the footman stood in the entryway. “Mr. Cane is here to see you, ma’am,” he said. “Mr. Humphrey has placed him in the library.”

“Thank you.”

Elise stood. She smoothed out the front of her morning dress, grateful for the option of dresses that made her appear at least somewhat important. She likely would have been quite intimidated meeting with a solicitor on her own were she still wearing her old dress of homespun. Looking more like a lady of means increased the likelihood of being treated like one.

Mr. Cane was, in fact, in the library. He stood behind the desk as she stepped inside. Elise inclined her head, allowing that to serve as a greeting. She chose a seat slightly to the side of the desk rather than sit across from him like a petitioner. He was in her employ, in a manner of speaking. She would do well to at least pretend that didn’t feel odd to her.

He retook his seat but didn’t wait for her to indicate he should begin their discussion. “After I last left here, I returned to my offices fully intending to set in motion those arrangements necessary for your first quarterly payment to arrive as expected. Unfortunately, there have been some difficulties. I am sure you will understand when I tell you that you may be required to wait longer than you had anticipated. It could not be helped, after all.”

Elise rallied her determination. “If you would, please begin your explanation again but with at least a little detail. What
were the difficulties? How did they disrupt the payment? And when can I expect this problem to be resolved?”

Mr. Cane’s air was patient but with just enough condescension to set Elise’s teeth a bit on edge. She could have predicted what came next. “Financial matters are complicated, Mrs. Jones, especially to one not schooled in the intricacies of money. A woman of your humble financial circumstances would be overwhelmed by the details.”

Though the emphasis on
woman
and
humble
was subtle, it was unmistakable.

“Humor me,” Elise said, doing her best to mimic the confident tone she’d heard Beth employ again and again. She might not understand everything Mr. Cane told her, but she meant to try.

“When Mr. Linwood—that is,
Lord Grenton—
asked me all those years ago to invest on your behalf the funds left to you after the sale of your late father’s estate, I couldn’t do so in Lord Grenton’s name, else the funds would have been enveloped by his late father’s estate, which was at that time in the process of being liquidated. But neither could I place the account exclusively in your name, as you were underage at that time, in addition to being female, either one of which prevented you from legally being permitted to have sole control of the account.”

Elise knew perfectly well the dim view both lawmakers and businessmen took of a woman’s ability to make decisions of any kind. She simply nodded her understanding of what Mr. Cane was telling her.

He continued. “The account I created was in your name, with young Mr. Linwood named as trustee. But his recently acquired title and transfer of his interest to the keeping of a different solicitor as well as a different man of business than he had been using have prevented me from directing the monthly payments on my own. I will have to collect the proper signatures and make arrangements with the Grenton solicitor, who is in London, a journey I hadn’t anticipated making and which will require a bit of planning.”

“That satisfies the what and the how,” Elise said, “leaving the when to be answered. When will I receive my quarterly payment?”

“I am not entirely certain.”

Elise pushed back the worry growing inside. She needed her income in order to begin planning for Anne’s and her future. “The next quarter day is the twenty-fourth of June, some three weeks from now. Do you require longer than that to make a journey to Town?”

“I imagine it all seems very simple to you,” Mr. Cane said. “But I assure you, there are complications you wouldn’t have thought of.”

Elise had been talked down to in just that tone again and again the past four years. A few weeks in Miles’s house and she found she was no longer accustomed to it, nor did she have as much patience with it. “Then in lieu of recounting these details of which I haven’t yet thought, I will simply ask again how late you anticipate the payment being?”

“Likely not more than a week or two, three or four at the most.”

Four weeks? That would certainly put a stop to any plans she might make. But there seemed little to be done. “Thank you for the advanced notice,” Elise said. “I will give this some thought.”

He nodded but almost mechanically, as though he did so simply to be doing something, not because he actually approved. It was an unspoken dismissal, one with which she was painfully familiar. Even in her finer dress and as the guest of a marquess, she was still poor Ella Jones from Stanton. Mr. Cane could see that. The ladies at the ball the night before had sensed it.

Elise rose. “I will leave you to gather your papers and such,” she said. “Feel free to pull the bell if you need the staff’s assistance.”

“Of course, Mrs. Jones.” Mr. Cane gave her a very abbreviated bow.

Elise kept her chin up and her shoulders back as she left the room with all the dignity she could manage. She didn’t allow her churning emotions to show. She was finding her new place in the world, somewhere between poverty and affluence. Mr. Cane’s visit had added a bit more complication to the endeavor, but it had also given her a moment to recall the confident person she’d once been. She’d kept up her end of their conversation and had insisted on details from her solicitor, even when he’d been reluctant to give them. She could certainly be proud of that.

She spent the remainder of the morning with Anne, singing songs and drawing pictures in the nursery. Mrs. Ash looked on from nearby as she worked on a bit of mending. It truly was something of a fairy world. All the worries of life seemed miles away when surrounded by the magical beauty of the nursery. Someday when she had her own house, Elise would find a way to recreate at least a small bit of this wonderful space.

But I cannot do that without money.
What was she to do if the quarterly payment was even later than Mr. Cane had predicted? She couldn’t continue on as a guest in Miles’s house indefinitely. She could move in with Mama Jones, but what would the three of them live on? She couldn’t look for employment in the village. No one would hire a woman who had been a guest in one of the finest houses in the neighborhood. A woman with a child in tow wasn’t likely to be hired as a governess or lady’s companion.

Elise kept a smile on her face as she played with Anne. When she had a quiet moment, she would think things through and find some kind of solution. In the meantime, she would pretend she wasn’t worried.

* * *

Miles took his lunch on a tray in his room the day after the ball. He’d slept later than he had in recent memory. Society kept the oddest hours. He dressed and headed out to the back meadow for some much-needed fresh air and exercise to wake him up fully.

After a few circuits of the meadow, he passed the back garden. On a bench under the rose bower sat Elise. Miles didn’t have to give it even a moment’s thought but turned immediately up the path toward her.

The few moments he’d spent with her the evening before in the quiet sanctuary of Anne’s room had been by far the highlight of the night. He’d known very few of the guests and hadn’t particularly cared for all the bowing and flattery and empty conversations required at the ball. He hadn’t enjoyed the dancing either. Elise had laughed with him and smiled. Those moments had stayed with him all night.

Elise had yet to realize he was there. She sat on a small garden bench, flipping through a stack of opened letters, her eyebrows knit in obvious concern.
Those letters.
She’d received at least two over the past week or more, but every time he asked her about them, she immediately changed the subject.

What was in them? Why didn’t she want him to know? He’d been trying to show her he could be trusted. He’d not pressed her but had offered help at every turn, and she’d rebuffed him again and again.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

Elise’s head snapped up, surprise written on every inch of her face. She hastily stuffed the letters into her reticule. “I did not realize you were there.”

“Obviously, else you would have been certain to keep your letters out of sight.”

She dropped her eyes, fussing over the lay of her skirt.

“Why are you so secretive about those letters?” He sat beside her on the bench.

He could see it was not something insignificant. Indeed, the worry in her eyes could not be mistaken.

She turned a bit on the bench and faced him, her sudden smile not the least believable. “How was the rest of the ball? Did no one attempt to wring a proposal from you?”

He would not be so easily turned from the topic. “I know perfectly well the ball is not what you were fretting over just now. Talk to me.”

“I
am
talking,” she said a bit defensively. “How was the ball?”

“Why are you so unwilling to tell me about these letters? I can see they worry you. You didn’t used to be so secretive.”

She stood and turned away again, her eyes focusing decidedly in the other direction. Her posture stiffened, and her expression turned determinedly unemotional. She was pulling on her suit of armor.

“Elise.” He took hold of her arm, keeping her there as he rose and came to stand behind her. She did not turn back to look at him. “I am not going to insist that you confide in me.” It was a difficult promise to make, sorely tempted as he was to press the matter until she spilled her budget. “But I want you to know that you can. More than that, I need you to realize you are not alone any longer.”

She didn’t respond, didn’t turn back to face him.

“You have been my friend all my life.” He did not know which words would prove the ones that finally broke through to her. “If you are worried over something, I hope you will come to me.”

She shook her head, silent and unrelenting, still turned away from him.

“Truly, Elise. I would do anything in my power to help you if you are in some kind of trouble.”

She spun about. He took an involuntary step backward at the flash in her eyes. This was not the look of trusting friendship he had anticipated. Indeed, Elise looked very nearly livid. After weeks of only the slightest hints of emotion, it was a shocking sight.

“Trouble?” she repeated, her jaw noticeably tensed. “I suppose all I would have to say is ‘Miles, I am in trouble’ and you would rush to my aid?”

“Of course.” His words seemed only to increase her apparent anger. If a look could ignite a fire, Miles would have been nothing but a smoking pile of ashes.

“I tried that,” Elise snapped. She was physically shaking. “‘Please help me,’ I said. ‘I am in trouble.’ My exact words. You were the only person I trusted, the only one who could have helped.”

“What—?”

“I begged, Miles. Pleaded.” Elise was shaking so hard Miles worried she wouldn’t be able to remain on her feet. Her eyes snapped with something very near rage. “‘Help me,’ I said. And what was I told in return?”

Miles felt his heart thud. He had no memory, no recollection of this conversation she was, apparently, quoting to him.

“‘Grow up,’ you said. ‘Grow up and solve your own problems.’” She all but spat the words. “Do not talk to me about friendship and loyalty, Miles Linwood. And do not lecture me about trusting you and believing you will help me. I grew up, just like you told me to. I grew up and learned that trust is nothing but a lie.”

She pulled away from him with a jerk, then ran from the garden without looking back. Miles was too shocked to so much as move. What in the world had just happened? And how was it everything kept going so terribly wrong?