Authors: Rules of Engagement
“Logical? Eliza, if the ton ever learned of your game, our family would be disgraced forever.” Grace held her hands to either side of her head. An odd cry welled up from deep inside her sister’s throat and bore out into the room.
Eliza took Grace’s shoulders in her hands. “I am sorry. I should have seen this eventuality coming.” She slid her palms down Grace’s arms then sat down on the edge of the bed. “Indeed, I daresay I would have, had I not been so determined to leave for Italy at the end of the season.”
Grace looked up at her, blankly. “There is no other answer, Eliza. You must sever your connection with Lord Somerton. You must put an end to all of this.
Now.”
Eliza sighed. “I am quite aware of that. But it isn’t that easy.”
Grace cocked her head. “You can do it.”
“I cannot.”
“Why not?” Grace folded her arms, demanding to know.
Eliza swallowed hard. “Because, I think I love him.”
There can be no engagement unless both sides are willing.
From the comer of her eye, Eliza noticed Grace glancing at her with sullen annoyance. “How long do you intend to remain angry with me?” Eliza finally asked as she passed the pot of chocolate they shared at breakfast.
Grace leisurely sipped from her cup. “Until you admit the peril you’ve placed us all in with your reckless behavior.”
Eliza released her breath and peered into the swirling depths of her cup. “I meant no harm.”
“You never do.” Grace narrowed her eyes at Eliza. “Still, you must avoid Lord Somerton at all costs—for the good of the family.”
Eliza sighed. “London Society is not so very large. We are certain to cross paths. Even if I wanted to avoid him, I could not. We travel the same circles.”
Her sister stared back at her with impassive eyes. “You are just making excuses to continue seeing him.”
“I am merely stating facts.” Eliza spread a thick pat of butter over her toasted bread. “There is no way to avoid him, especially since I have formally agreed to paint Lord Somerton’s portrait. I must fulfill my half of our arrangement and complete it.”
Grace refilled her own cup, then looked pointedly at Eliza. “If you must paint
his
portrait, then do so. But do it when and where our aunts’ watchful eyes will prevent any improprieties on his part.”
He is not the one I am worried about,
Eliza thought, with some trepidation.
“Good morn, my gels,” Aunt Letitia called out as she entered the dining room. She bent and pecked her nieces’ cheeks with her thin lips, then eased herself into the dining chair opposite Eliza. No sooner had Aunt Letitia raised a finger and asked Mrs. Penny for a willow powder for the dreadful pain in her head than Aunt Viola staggered blindly into the room with her left hand cupped over her eyes.
She felt her way around the table, overturning a pot of gooseberry jam onto the crisp white table linen, much to Mrs. Penny’s vexation.
Once she located the empty chair beside Grace, Aunt Viola lowered her shielding hand, only to jerk and squint in the morning light. “Would you do me the kindness of drawing the drapes, Mrs. Penny? The sunlight seems particularly harsh today.”
Eliza allowed herself a slight grin. It seemed both her aunts suffered the ill effects of too many glasses of cordial the night before.
After the drapes were closed, and Aunt Viola’s eyes were able to open normally, it did not take long for both aunts to begin their morning assessment of Eliza’s tired appearance.
“Heavens, look at your eyes. Did you not sleep well last eve?” Aunt Letitia squinted as she slowly lifted her teacup to her lips.
“I doubt I would have slept a wink if I had the attentions of a gentleman as fine as Lord Somerton,” Aunt Viola added, winking at Letitia. She, alone, laughed at her pale joke until her head began to bob, causing her to wince. She slapped fingers to her temples and began to massage them vigorously.
“I’ve had very little sleep,” Eliza replied matter-of-factly.
“Really? The cordial did not ease you into slumber? I slept quite soundly,” Aunt Letitia admitted.
“Yes, I am quite aware of that.” Eliza took a deep breath and tried to rein in her anger. “Which is why
I
spent the night securely locked in the music room with Lord Somerton.”
Aunt Letitia’s gaze met with Viola’s. “Oh, heavens,” she gasped, raising her fingers to her lips.
Aunt Viola lifted her brows. “I thought you said you were going to unlock the door, Letitia.”
“No, Edgar gave you the key.”
“Which I gave to you, Sister.”
“Stop!” Grace finally shrieked, leaping up from her chair. “It does not matter now. The point is Eliza spent much of the night alone"—her voice fell to a whisper—"with a
bachelor.”
Before Grace’s charge was barely out of her mouth, Aunt Viola’s lids began to twitch.
“S-spell..
.” With a thump, her head came forward and her face immediately dropped to her plate, the blow thankfully cushioned by a short stack of toasted bread with jam.
“Auntie!” Eliza cried.
“Oh calm yourself, Eliza.” Aunt Letitia came to her feet and righted her sister in the chair. “You see, Sister is fine.” Dabbing a napkin to her tongue in motherly fashion, she wiped the remnants of gooseberries from Viola’s chin.
The instant Aunt Letitia sat down again, Grace slapped her hands down on the table and leaned toward her. “ What do you suppose the ton will think of this, Eliza? Auntie? What say you? Can you not see this is dreadful, simply dreadful?” Grace collapsed back into her chair as if her heavy words had exhausted her.
Aunt Letitia pondered Grace’s words for a moment then giggled. “Well, I suppose if Society learned of it, they would expect Lord Somerton to marry Eliza.”
“M-marry Eliza?” Aunt Viola’s eyes fluttered open. Slowly she turned her head and looked at Eliza. “Did he make an offer, dear?”
“An offer? No, he did not,” Eliza replied, looking sharply from one aunt to the other. “I am sure he was much too frustrated to think of anything other than escaping the music room.”
“Pity,” the aunts’ voices sounded in unison.
Grace ground her teeth. “Am I the only one who recognizes the problem? This is a
disaster.
Why, this might seriously impact Hawksmoor’s or any eligible bachelor’s interest in me. I want to know what we are going to do about it and I want to know
now.”
Eliza took Grace’s hand in her own and patted it. “There, there, Grace. Calm yourself or you’ll be having strawberries for breakfast.”
Grace snatched her hand away and began feeling for eruptions on her face.
“That’s right, gel,” Aunt Letitia agreed. “What happened in the music room was an accident, a minor transgression. Nothing to get all hubbity, tubbity about.”
“It is not only what happened in the music room that I am worried about,” Grace exclaimed. “Eliza—”
Eliza’s heel met Grace’s shin with a hearty kick, effectively stifling her sister’s next words while earning herself a nasty glare.
“You need not worry, Grace.” Eliza smiled sweetly. “ I sincerely doubt anyone observed Lord Somerton leaving the house. Still, I will right the situation.”
“Viola and I will assist you, of course. After all, we are at least
partly
to blame,” Letitia said, while Aunt Viola nodded in vigorous assent.
Partly to blame ?
Eliza choked on her chocolate, spewing chocolate spots over the table linen.
Mrs. Penny sighed loudly.
Aunt Letitia rapped on her niece’s back. “Are you well, Eliza?”
With her napkin, Eliza dabbed the chocolate droplets from her lips, then nodded. “Yes. But please, Auntie, allow me to handle this on my
own.”
Aunt Letitia gave her sister’s bony forearm a covert nudge. “As you wish, Lizzy.”
Eliza cringed and gazed down at her lap. For the briefest of moments, she considered confessing everything to her aunts. Considered ending this complicated charade now.
But as she listened to her scheming aunts chattering away at the table, she knew a confession would be the wrong course.
The season was fast drawing to a close, and if she was no longer connected to Lord Somerton, her aunts would work doubly hard to see her engaged to another.
“Now that that is settled,” Grace began, “you both should know that Eliza has decided she will no longer receive Lord Somerton.”
Eliza glowered at her sister. “That is not what I said.”
Aunt Letitia lifted the ribbon of her quizzing glass and leveled her eyepiece at Eliza. “Then what did you say, Lizzy?”
Eliza inserted a wedge of toasted bread into her mouth. She raised a finger, indicating she needed to finish her bite, hoping to buy a few precious moments in which to craft her reply.
A haughty grin curved Grace’s lips. “Yes, Eliza. Tell us what you said.”
Her sister knew full well Eliza was not about to confess to her aunts her feelings, her love, for Lord Somerton. Where would she be then? Halfway down the aisle, that’s where!
Lifting the cup of chocolate to her lips, Eliza washed the bread down her throat. “I simply said that while I intend to fulfill my obligation to paint Lord Somerton’s portrait, I do not believe the earl and I are suited.”
Aunt Viola chortled, her mirthful snorts sending Aunt Letitia into fits of laughter.
Eliza rose from the table. “I do not understand what you two find so amusing.”
Her chuckles withering on her lips, Aunt Letitia wiped her eyes with her napkin. “My dear, Viola and I have never seen two people more suited than you and Lord Somerton. The attraction is obvious.”
“You are clearly a match in intelligence and temperament. Why do you deny your feelings?” Aunt Viola tried rather unsuccessfully to conceal her amusement.
“I deny nothing.”
Or rather everything.
“Are you so set on studying painting in Italy that you cannot see a love match right before your eyes?” Aunt Letitia’s tone sounded suddenly quite serious. “Think about it, Lizzy.”
Emotion welled up in Eliza’s throat and spilled from her lips before she could stop it. “Why should I, Auntie? Nothing I can say or do will change the fact that there will be no match. No offer.
Ever.”
Her eyes began to sting and Eliza turned for the open door. She wasn’t about to let anyone see what a ridiculous goose she was.
Grace rose and followed Eliza from the dining room. Letitia exchanged concerned glances with her sister. “What do we do now, Sister?”
Viola’s eyes widened excitedly. “The rule book?” “Right you are.”
Later that day, a refreshing breeze swept into the courtyard, sending the pale green leaves veiling the paving stones into wild, undulating spirals.
Eliza sought refuge there. Refuge from her sister and her aunts. Refuge from her own thoughts, her own feelings. As she had done so many times in her childhood, she sought to lose herself in her painting.
Loading her brush with pigment, Eliza touched it to the canvas, to her portrait of Magnus. With a deft hand, she swept it from the strong line of his jaw to the cleft in his chin.
She had thought it would be difficult to complete his portrait without him sitting before her. Even with the three charcoal studies she’d completed—all but one drawn completely from memory.
How wrong she had been. Unlike any of her past models, she had no need to see Magnus to capture his likeness. Every line and curve was carved deep in her mind: the garnet highlights in his ebony hair, the inquisitive arch of his brows, the high plane of his cheekbones. Eliza knew the hue of his lips … and their taste.
All she needed to do was close her lids and he would be there once more, silvery-blue eyes glinting in the moonlight as his mouth descended to kiss her.
She caught her breath, remembering the shivers of pure excitement that had pricked her senses unbearably. Until, at last, his firm lips had moved against her own, igniting an explosion of pleasure within her.
The faint thud of the doorknocker jarred Eliza back from her musings. She opened her eyes and, through the French window, saw Edgar scurrying to answer the door.
Eliza’s stomach clenched. Was it Magnus? She fought the urge to rush inside to know for sure and instead wiped her hands on a paint-spattered cloth. To pass the moments, she cleaned her brushes, organized her oils, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the door for any sign of movement.
Finally, Edgar turned into the interior hall once more. Eliza’s heart pounded with anticipation.
It had to be Magnus.
What would she do now? Refuse his call?
Grace was right. For the sake of the family she must. She should not risk Grace and Meredith’s futures on a flight of fancy.
Momentary infatuation. That’s all her feelings were. Artists were prone to such obsessions of the heart. She’d read all about it in one of the questionable French magazines Aunt Viola kept hidden under the settee cushion.
But another part of her wanted to see him. Wanted to be with him. Wanted to feel the heated pressure of his lips upon hers. Just one more time.
Hesitantly, Eliza laid her brushes on the table and started for the door. But Grace reached Edgar first. Eliza watched as Grace glanced out into the courtyard, smiled and waved her back. Then her sister made a quick adjustment of her skirts and followed Edgar to the front rooms.
Eliza stopped midstride.
Hawksmoor. Of course.
Grace had made no secret of the fact that she was thoroughly infatuated with the man, and he, obviously aware of her feelings, must have returned for an interview.
The breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding exploded from her lips. She didn’t know whether she felt relief or disappointment.
Returning to her painting, she gazed wistfully at Magnus’s image on her canvas. Everything had been so simple until
he
came into her life.
After Edgar left him to wait in the Featherton’s lavender-bedecked parlor, Magnus peered out the window at the grand homes framing Hanover Square. His thoughts wound tightly about Lambeth’s news of
The Promise’s,
disappearance.
What now?
If his ship was truly lost, if his one chance to earn the money he needed to save Somerton was gone, what could he do?