For Elise (19 page)

Anne’s afternoon in the meadow
had worn her to a thread. She was asleep already when Elise arrived. Mrs. Ash had retired to her bedchamber, leaving Elise alone in the quiet solitude of the empty nursery.

Elise took several long breaths. Abandoning the sordid discussion in the sitting room had been the wise thing to do, but clearing her mind of it would take time.

“Is Anne asleep?” Miles spoke in the very same moment he stepped into the nursery.

“She is.” Elise hadn’t expected him. “I am sorry if my leaving was rude. I simply couldn’t bear it any longer.”

“I know. And I swear to you had Mr. Haddington taken even a single breath, I would have seized the opportunity to turn the topic of discussion, but he never once stopped.” Miles looked more closely at her. The concern on his face was nearly her undoing.

She kept her emotions under control but only just. “I don’t understand how he could speak of their deaths so casually. He said he knew them, that they were close acquaintances. But he acted as though they weren’t people deserving of even a small degree of mourning. It was so . . . callous.”

Miles clasped her hands in his. “I know, and I’m sorry. I truly am.”

Elise let her shoulders slump with the weight she felt. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that he’ll never bring the subject up again.”

Miles’s look of doubt was noticeably apologetic. “He seemed too fascinated to abandon it. And seeing as the Haddingtons live just up the road, I don’t think we can avoid them.” Miles shrugged. “We could always build a very tall wall and place archers atop it. That might keep away the morbidly curious.”

She leaned her head against his chest. “I suppose I will simply have to teach myself to not listen when people discuss what happened. It will certainly come up again.”

Miles put his arms around her. The pain of the past half hour or so melted away. She had missed the teasing, playful side of him during their years of separation, but she had longed for this deeply compassionate side of him even more.

“Forgive the interruption, my lord.” Humphrey stood just inside the doorway to the nursery. “The Haddingtons are leaving, and Mrs. Langley wished me to convey to you that she will see to the proper farewells on your behalf.”

“Very good.” Miles turned a bit toward the butler, his arms slipping slowly away from Elise.

“And a letter has arrived for Mrs. Jones,” Humphrey added, holding out the missive for her to take.

Elise stepped to where he stood and took the letter. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Mrs. Jones.” He offered a bow and a barely concealed smile before quietly leaving the nursery.

Miles’s initial description of the very formal butler had proven remarkably accurate:
more of a puppy than a bloodhound.

“I do believe you have won over my butler, Elise.” Miles chuckled. “And I noticed Mrs. Humphrey served bread pudding again last night.”

“They are very kind people.” She sighed, trying to ignore the sinking feeling the letter in her hand caused.

“Is that another one?”

She knew what he meant. “It is. I am tempted to simply hand it to you unopened.” She watched his reaction to her casual suggestion. He didn’t seem the least bothered at being burdened with her latest difficulty. She longed for a reprieve from the letters, so rather than trying to be stronger than she felt, she gave it to him, still sealed.

“Do you want to know what it says?” he asked.

“
Want
to know? Not really. But I probably ought to.”

“Then I suggest we take this to the library, where all of the others are,” Miles said. He slipped the letter into the pocket of his coat, then took Elise’s hand once more. She felt instantly better.

He walked with her in just that way, keeping their short conversation to light topics. She could almost pretend there was nothing wrong in all the world. But a moment later, they settled into the armchairs on either side of the library’s fireplace, and he pulled the letter out of his pocket.

Elise held her breath as he opened the seal. What would this message be? More threats? Another mention of Anne? She clutched her hands together in her lap and waited.

“It is blank.” Miles flipped the page over in obvious confusion.

“Blank?” Elise came to his side and looked over his shoulder. Except for the address on the front—her name and Tafford, Derbyshire—the parchment was empty. “What do you suppose that means?”

“I have no idea.” Miles continued studying the page.

“I don’t like this.” She paced, tension surging through her body. “Every other letter has contained a message, some of them very precise.” She shook her head. “He wouldn’t now send an empty letter without a purpose.”

“I agree,” Miles said. “There is certainly a reason, but I am at a loss to say what that might be.” He sat there, hand rubbing his mouth even as his brows pulled in.

“I feel ill at ease enough not knowing who is writing, but not understanding what his message is either only magnifies the feeling of helplessness.” She pressed her hand to her heart, trying to will it to calm down. Panic would do her no good. She needed to think clearly.

“The investigation papers haven’t yielded any clear clues,” Miles said. “I haven’t narrowed down the identity of the murderer at all.”

She looked back at him. “And after Mr. Haddington’s discussion today, I can’t help thinking the possibilities are even more numerous than we expected.”

“What do you mean?”

She dreaded voicing the worry that had entered her thoughts as Miles’s neighbor had spoken. “He knew our fathers, though neither of us had ever met him. How many others are there who fit that description—people who were part of their lives who we would never think to suspect because we aren’t even aware they exist?”

Dread filled his face as her words sank in. “It did seem like a very personal attack, not at all random. But if their circle of acquaintances was broader than we are aware of—”

“Then we may never solve this riddle. Not ever.”

His eyes met hers, and on the instant, his expression softened. He rose from his chair and crossed to her, his gaze never leaving her face. Her cheeks warmed at his approach.

“You look worn out, Elise.” Empathy touched his tone. He slid the letter into his pocket once more. “Has this day been too much for you? You said you have been sleeping better.”

She’d said so in passing after breakfast the morning before. He remembered that? Elise could tell her blush remained. “I confess I didn’t sleep well at all last night. And yes, today has been more trying than I’d expected.”

Miles cupped her face with his hands. Her heart pounded again. How did he do that with a simple touch?

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, just as he’d often done when they were children—it was the most sentimental of his gestures. He would hold her hand for virtually no reason, but a kiss on the forehead was reserved for the more difficult moments, those times when she needed him more than any other.

The now-familiar scent of him hung in the air around them. Elise’s pulse pounded in her head, her mind whirling. Each breath filled her with an exquisite ache, and in that moment, she knew. She knew.

Despite everything that had happened and her lingering uncertainties, she had fallen in love with him.

* * *

Miles stepped into the sitting room after dinner that night to find Beth in there alone. He was disappointed that Elise wasn’t there, but she’d looked exhausted. And no wonder after the day she’d had. He hoped she was resting.

Beth joined him at the window. “You must realize, Miles, how inappropriate it is for you to hold Elise’s hand the way you do.”

The unexpected remark caught Miles so off guard he did not manage so much as a single word in response.

“A gentleman is seldom seen holding his
wife’s
hand,” Beth continued. “To do so is a declaration that some relationship exists between himself and the lady.”

“‘Some relationship’
does
exist between Elise and me,” Miles answered, recollecting himself enough to answer her. “She is my dearest and oldest friend.”

“That is not enough. The gesture will be misconstrued.”

“It will not.” Where had this attack come from?

“It already has been, especially considering you have been seen doing far more than holding her hand.”

“I sincerely hope you intend to explain that remark.” Miles bit back a sudden flare of temper. Of what misconduct could anyone truthfully accuse him?

“Just today you were apparently seen in the meadow embracing, her hands all over your face.”

“All over—” he spluttered. “I will have you know they were not
all over
my face. She was shushing me like she always did when we were children.”

“But you are not children any longer, Miles,” Beth said, obviously frustrated. “She cannot press her fingers to your lips or hold your hand or allow your embraces—and do not deny you have embraced her; one of the maids saw her in your arms in the nursery this morning. In doing so, you risk having Elise labeled as fast.”

“Fast?” How utterly ridiculous.

“I am only saying the two of you had best watch yourselves lest you inadvertently compromise her reputation,” Beth said. “And it wouldn’t do yours a great deal of good either. You are newly ascended to your title, Miles, and virtually unknown in Society. The reputation you gain now will have long-term implications. You do not want your reputation to be that of a bounder.”

The realization that Beth might be at least partially correct slowly began to overshadow the absurdity of the situation.

“One is certainly permitted a closeness to a childhood friend,” he insisted.

“If this were Epsworth or Furlong House, I would not quibble with you,” Beth said. “Those were
our
people. They knew you and Elise all your lives. They understood your connection, knew that the two of you had grown up closer even than two siblings.”

“I embrace
you
, Beth. Doing so with a sister is not exceptional. And you said yourself Elise and I are as close as siblings.”

“It is not the same, and you know it.” Beth gave him a reprimanding look.

“I’m supposed to treat her like a stranger, then?”

“I am only saying, unless you are prepared to marry her, you had best have a care for her reputation.”

Marry her? His childhood friend? A gentleman had quite different feelings for the lady he married than that of friendship. “If I promise to be more proper, will you stop worrying yourself into a pelter?”

“I have reason to worry, Miles.” If anything, Beth’s expression grew more concerned.

“Don’t tell me you suspect me of anything—”

She shook her head. “It is not
my
suspicions that should concern you.”

Suddenly, she had his entire attention. “Someone
does
suspect me of something untoward.”

Beth hesitated a moment. “Not necessarily, Miles,” she finally answered. “But there is a great deal of curiosity. Elise was married at fifteen. She was only sixteen when Anne was born. That is unusual enough to raise eyebrows. Now she is living in a bachelor’s home. Only the fact that Langley and I are here makes the arrangement the least bit acceptable. But coupled with her history, your obvious closeness will most likely not be interpreted in a favorable light.”

Miles stared unseeingly out the window. Was Beth being overly dramatic, or were her warnings warranted?

“Just today, Mrs. Haddington questioned Elise quite pointedly about Anne’s age,” Beth added. “And though I cannot be certain she did so as a means of discovering just how young Elise was when her daughter was born, it felt very much that way. Elise’s position in Society is infinitely more fragile than yours. You must be careful, Miles.”

He couldn’t imagine interacting with Elise as if she were simply a nameless face among the young ladies of the
ton.
How ridiculous they would be, carrying on inane discussions. Yet, if questions were being raised about Elise’s reputation, he had to be more cautious.

“I can see I have upset you.” Beth sounded genuinely contrite. “I am simply worried. For you
both.
I would not wish you labeled a rake, for you are certainly not one. And Elise is the sweetest girl I have ever known—in all fairness, I must admit she is hardly a
girl
any longer. I could not bear to see her endure more heartache than she has already or see either of you forced into a marriage not of your choosing.”

Long after Beth quit the sitting room, Miles remained. Her words of warning would not leave him. He was, perhaps, a little more familiar with Elise than a gentleman generally was with a genteel lady. But there was nothing untoward in their behavior. Besides, he continually reminded himself, they were friends of very long standing.
Childhood
playmates. Practically brother and sister.

A brother does not wish to kiss his sister. Nor does he find himself suffering a growing attraction to her.
He had very much wished to kiss Elise on more than one occasion—twice that day alone. First in the meadow, when she’d stood so close to him, her fingers pressed to his lips, her mouth turned up in a teasing smile. Then the urge had assailed him again as he’d stood beside her in the library. Those same lips had shifted into a more adult version of the pout she’d often worn in childhood. It might have been labeled cute if it hadn’t accompanied a look of very real concern.