“It is only that some men have such peculiar notions of entertainment, and I would hate for you to be disappointed should his tastes prove more… varied than you anticipated.” She patted Eliza’s arm. “But I am certain your husband is nothing like that. He has always seemed most devoted.”
Before Eliza could formulate a response, a voice called out behind them.
“Eliza?”
She turned to find May standing near the steps of Wildmoore House, her expression caught between surprise and something sharper. Relief flooded through Eliza with such force she nearly sagged.
“May! How wonderful to see you.”
She extracted herself from Lady Wilhampton’s grip and moved toward her sister-in-law with more speed than any politeness allowed. Lady Wilhampton’s smile remained, but her eyes narrowed very slightly.
“I must take my leave,” Eliza said. “Thank you for the walk, Lady Wilhampton.”
“Of course. Do think about the ball, won’t you?” She gave a little wave and continued down the street, her feathers bobbing with each step.
Eliza climbed the steps to where May stood, and only when Lady Wilhampton had turned the corner did she allow herself to breathe properly.
“What was the Marchioness of Wilhampton doing here?” May asked, her brows drawn together in concern.
“I found her in the street. Or rather, she found me.”
“Eliza, you must be careful around that woman. She is not what she seems.”
“I know.”
Eliza glanced behind to find Lady Wilhampton now conversing with a gentleman. There was no doubt in her mind that the Marchioness was playing a game.
The trouble, though, was how to discern what sort of game it was, and how to emerge victorious.
Twenty-Five
“His Grace wishes to speak with you.”
Eliza looked up from the letter she had been writing to the orphanage. Mrs. Finch stood in the doorway of her bedchamber, waiting
“Now?” The word came out higher than Eliza intended.
“If it is convenient, Your Grace. He is waiting in the library.”
Convenient. Nothing about this was convenient. Eliza had managed to avoid August for three days through a combination of strategic timing and outright cowardice. She had taken her meals in her room, pleaded headaches when he knocked at her door, and once, memorably, hidden in the linen closet when she heard his footsteps in the hallway.
She could not hide forever. She knew that. But she also could not face him. Not yet. Not when her lips still remembered thepressure of his mouth and her heart did complicated things every time she thought of the way he had said her name.
“Tell him I am indisposed,” Eliza said, setting down her quill.
Mrs. Finch’s eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. “Indisposed, Your Grace?”
“Yes. I have a… a headache. A terrible one. Quite debilitating.”
“Shall I send for the physician?”
“No! No, that will not be necessary. I simply require rest. And quiet. A great deal of quiet.”
“I see.” Mrs. Finch’s expression suggested she saw rather more than Eliza would have liked. “I shall inform His Grace.”
She withdrew, and Eliza slumped back in her chair, pressing her hands to her face. This was absurd. She was a grown woman for heaven’s sake. She had faced down Lady Wilhampton’s insinuations, navigated the complexities of becoming a duchess, and survived the scrutiny of an entire ballroom after being caught in a compromising position. Surely, she could manage a simple conversation with her own husband.
But it was not simple. Nothing about August was simple anymore.