For Elise (9 page)

She laughed warmly. “It’s a start, but Ella’ll need more than them tokens.”

She would need more, but
what
? Miles would give her the world if she’d let him.

“Miles!”

He spun toward the door of his bedchamber at the sound of Elise’s voice. For once, her words weren’t reluctant or uncertain. She sounded almost excited. Her face, to a lesser degree, showed that same emotion.

“What is it?”

“Mrs. Ash is here.” Thank the heavens she spoke with excitement and not offense. Miles knew he had taken quite a risk sending for Elise’s old nursemaid without asking her thoughts first. He’d wanted to do something for Anne, something that would also help Elise.

“She says she’s here to be nursemaid to Anne,” Elise said. “Was that your idea, Miles?”

“I will admit to my role in this only if you are pleased with the outcome,” Miles said. “If you are entirely put out by it, I deny any knowledge of this debacle.”

She smiled. Elise actually smiled. “I nearly squealed like a little girl again when I first saw Mrs. Ash. I love her so dearly.”

Relief surged through him. Though Mrs. Ash was one of the sweetest and kindest women Miles had ever known, and he well remembered how much Elise had adored her, he’d not been entirely certain of this course of action.

“She has already won Anne over, and that is nearly impossible.” Elise crossed the room to where he stood. He’d been about to don his jacket when she’d arrived.

“Mrs. Ash could win over Napoleon if she put her mind to it,” Miles said.

“Anne is teaching her to gesture, and Mrs. Ash is already speaking slower and being so very patient with Anne’s lack of understanding. And when Anne does speak, Mrs. Ash truly listens as though she means to work at accustoming herself to Anne’s odd pronunciation and single-word sentences.” Her rush of words reminded Miles forcibly of Elise as she’d been when they were younger: so eager and excited. “They will get on perfectly.”

“I thought they might.” Miles’s smile grew.

“This is the kindest thing I think anyone has ever done for me, Miles.” She clasped her hands over her heart. “I don’t know how to even begin thanking you for this.”

Thanking
him
? Miles was the grateful one. Seeing Elise smile was reason to give heartfelt thanks.

“And Mama Jones finally allowed a few of the maids to help her with the cottage,” Elise said, switching topics. “I was worried. She doesn’t get about as well as she used to, but she’s such a stubborn woman. How in heaven’s name did you convince her to accept their assistance?”

“I can be persuasive when the situation warrants it.” Miles felt a growing urge to laugh out loud in sheer triumph. Elise was speaking to him. She was even smiling!

“You make me very ashamed of putting a fish in your bed when I was eight.” Elise grinned.

“That
was
you. I had always suspected but could not, for the life of me, figure how you got inside Epsworth with a putrid trout.”

“It wasn’t putrid when I put it in your bed.”

The remembered odor scrunched his nose. “How long was it in there?”

“Longer than you were.” Elise laughed.

Miles did as well, more from the sound of that cherished laugh than from his own amusement. He hoped, desperately hoped, this meant Elise was coming around, that he had, at least in a small way, regained some of her confidence.

“I told Mrs. Ash we would take our tea in the nursery with Anne,” Miles said to Elise, reaching to pull his jacket from the chair back, where he’d draped it upon entering his rooms some thirty minutes earlier.

“Yes, she said as much. She sent me to fetch you, in fact.”

“Is this a formal tea, or should I, perhaps, arrive in my shirtsleeves?”

Elise smiled as Miles intended her to. Shirtsleeves were not acceptable at even the most informal affairs. “Mrs. Ash will ring such a peal over your head if you arrive looking half put together.” Elise shook her head scoldingly. How often she’d assumed just that demeanor with him.

“Yes, Mama,” he said in the mock tone of annoyance he’d always used when she’d begun mothering him.

She rolled her eyes.

Here was a glimpse of his old friend. If only he could find a way to hold on to this moment. He knew she would slip away again. Their interactions had followed that cycle ever since he’d found her in Stanton.

He pulled his jacket on, turned to face his reflection in the mirror, and straightened his lapels.

“You look properly dashing, Miles.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I haven’t been horribly ugly in years.”

Another of her twinkling laughs filled the room. How he’d missed that sound!

“Mrs. Ash will be quite pleased to learn she didn’t raise a complete scamp,” Elise said.

“I did spend a lot of time in your nursery.” He and Elise had been rather inseparable before he’d left for school. “Mrs. Ash had the raising of me every bit as much as my own nurse and tutors.”

“And now Anne will have Mrs. Ash in her life.” Elise sighed. “I would have loved for Anne to have had that these past years.”

What else have you longed for?
She still looked a bit underfed, but time would resolve that. She wore clothes made of rough homespun fabric. He would see to it that she had new clothes. She had always loved wearing his mother’s ball gowns when she was small, smoothing the silks and satins with her tiny fingers. As a school girl, she’d run across the meadow to Epsworth every time she had a new dress, intent on showing him her finery.

Elise would love a new gown. Several, in fact. At least one needed to be blue, as that had always been her favorite color.

“Miles?” Elise asked uncertainly.

He realized then that he’d been staring at her. “My thoughts were wandering, I’m afraid. I do believe we have a tea appointment. I would rather not keep Mrs. Ash waiting. She’ll take a switch to me.”

Elise shook her head at him. “She would never, and you know it.”

“I was not nearly as well behaved as you were, Elise.”

She laughed silently. “Now that
is
true.”

He walked by her side all the way to the nursery, glancing over at her repeatedly, attempting to convince himself that he wasn’t imagining the lightening he saw in her expression. She seemed less burdened, though heaven only knew how long the change would last. Miles simply had to think of what to do next to keep this change in her from evaporating.

* * *

“For me?” Elise eyed the letter on Humphrey’s silver tray.

The butler nodded and, after she took the letter, bowed and left the drawing room, no doubt to see to the many after-dinner duties he had.

She’d had time that evening to reflect back on the day. The arrival of Mrs. Ash had proven almost too much for her. The joy of being reunited with that cherished woman had quickly led to sadness for the loss of her other beloved associates from Furlong House, only to be replaced by relief at Mrs. Ash’s ready acceptance of Anne. Then followed gratitude at the realization that Miles had done this for Anne, mingled with elation at the success of Anne’s first meeting with her new nurse. Elise wasn’t entirely sure she’d prevented herself from spinning in celebratory circles.

She had spent the rest of the afternoon getting herself under control again. Emotional eddies could quickly turn to tidal waves. She was taking Mama Jones’s advice to heart. She allowed herself to acknowledge the kindnesses Miles offered her but did so cautiously. Letting her emotions run away with her was hardly the way to keep her head above water and her heart and her daughter safe.

Elise looked back at the letter in her hand, studying it. It was addressed to Elise Furlong, which was odd and yet not odd. No one who had known her as Ella Jones would be writing to her. But she had not been addressed by her maiden name in so many years that seeing it written out felt strange.

She stood alone in the room. Beth had taken herself to the necessary. Miles and Mr. Langley had not yet joined the ladies after their port. Elise crossed to where the candlelight glowed brighter. She slowly opened the missive.

There was no date, no greeting, only a single scrawled sentence.

Should your memory improve, so shall my aim.

The message was cryptic to say the least. She read it once more, and the mysterious nature of the eight words gave way to an ominous and threatening tone.

Elise shivered as she clutched the note. In a flash of remembered pain in her left shoulder, she knew exactly what the note referred to. She’d survived the murders all those years ago only because the shooter’s aim had been ever so slightly off, the bullet missing her heart by a mere two inches.

“So shall my aim,” Elise reread in a whisper. A threat, blatant and cold.

“Has Beth abandoned you?” Mr. Langley’s voice asked from the doorway.

Elise quickly refolded the letter and slipped it inside a pocket in her gown before turning to face the arriving gentlemen. “She will return shortly.” She hoped neither Mr. Langley nor Miles heard the slight break in her voice.

Mr. Langley nodded and made his way toward the fireplace. Miles crossed directly to her. Did her distress show on her face?

“I have had another brilliant idea,” he said.

“What is this brilliant idea?”

Years of careful study served her well. She’d managed to regain complete neutrality in her tone and return her face to the blankness that had saved her many times from painful questions.

Miles’s eyes narrowed, as if sensing she hid something. She didn’t allow anything but calm serenity to touch her expression. He continued without pressing for more information.

“I have missed four of your birthdays,” he said. “I have settled upon the gifts I mean to give you.”

Should your memory improve, so shall my aim.
She couldn’t dismiss the words enough to respond to Miles beyond giving a nod of her head.

“I would like very much to give you a dress, one for each birthday I’ve missed.”

Should your memory improve.

“Of course, we will put it about that the dresses are from Beth so no one will question the propriety,” Miles continued. “Once Mr. Cane has contacted us regarding your account, you can see about anything else you need.”

So shall my aim.

“So, was that not rather brilliant?”

“Uh . . . yes . . . brilliant.”
Memory. Aim.

“I will have your measurements sent tomorrow, then,” Miles said.

Elise nodded, allowing her eyes to lock with his for the first time since he’d come into the room. Something about those familiar brown eyes made her want to lean against him and tell him everything. But she knew better than that. Without caution, she would never truly be safe. She would address the problem as she’d learned to do.

“I should go check on Anne.”

“Anne will be sleeping by now.” Miles obviously sensed there was more to her departure than maternal concern.

“But it is her first night having Mrs. Ash with her in the nursery,” Elise extemporized. “She will be uneasy.”

“Not if she is asleep.” His gaze narrowed a bit. “What is it, Elise, truly?”

“Nothing.”

His disbelief showed. “Elise.”

“Please . . . don’t. I—” She stepped back from him and took a calming breath. “It is nothing.”

“It obviously isn’t ‘nothing’ if you are worried.” Miles closed the distance between them again. “I would like to know, no matter how trivial you may think the matter is.”

“You needn’t concern yourself, Miles.” Elise was on firmer footing here. She’d long since grown capable of seeing to her own worries without his help or anyone else’s.

“Allow me to help—”

“I do not need your help.”

“But if I can—”

“I solve my own problems, Miles,” Elise snapped. Then, appalled at the fierceness of her declaration, Elise bit her lips closed. For four years, she’d managed to subdue all outbursts. What was happening to her?

Miles watched her with a look of hurt mingled with frustration. The rest of the room had gone silent. Mr. Langley stood watching her, brows knit. Beth, who appeared to have only just rejoined the group, stood near the doorway, her mouth open in shock.

Why did everything fall to pieces lately? She wasn’t treating them all with forced indifference as she had been, but neither was she pouring out her problems to them all. Perhaps this new approach wasn’t working as well as she’d thought. Or maybe she was simply doing it wrong. The arrival of the threatening missive had dealt a blow to her composure.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I spoke more sharply than I’d intended. I think I must be overly tired, or . . .” She let the sentence hang incomplete. How could she possibly explain what was happening to her when she didn’t really understand it herself? “Forgive me. I believe I will turn in for the night.”

No one argued. She didn’t slow until she’d reached her bedchamber. She slipped the letter from her pocket and simply looked at it a moment. She would have to decide what to do about it. A voice in her head insisted she tell Miles, ask him for his impressions. But she’d laid her troubles and most vulnerable worries out to him before, and . . .

No. I will have to do this alone.
There was simply nothing else to be done.