She remained in her room for another hour, pacing the length of the carpet until she was certain she had worn a path into the weave. Finally, she rang for her maid.
Miss Ross appeared within moments, her round face creased with concern. “You rang, Your Grace?”
“Is His Grace still in the library?”
“I believe he has gone out, Your Grace. I saw him ride past the kitchen gardens not twenty minutes ago.”
Relief flooded through Eliza so fast it left her dizzy. “Thank you, Ross. That will be all.”
She waited until the maid had gone before gathering her bonnet and shawl. She needed to leave the house. Needed air and space and someone who would not look at her with that particular expression August had worn when he kissed her.
She needed Lady Hartwell.
The ride to her aunt’s townhouse took less than half an hour, but it felt like an eternity. Eliza’s mind raced through every possible conversation, every explanation she might offer for her behavior. By the time she arrived, she had worked herself into such a state that she nearly asked the driver to turn around and take her home.
But the door was already opening, and the butler was ushering her inside, and before she could think better of it, she was being shown into Lady Hartwell’s sitting room.
“Good heavens, child, you look as though you have been chased by wolves.” Lady Hartwell set aside her correspondence and rose from her chair. “What has happened? Is someone dead? Please tell me no one is dead.”
“No one is dead,” Eliza managed.
“Then why do you look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you are considering throwing yourself into the Thames.” Lady Hartwell gestured to the sofa. “Sit. Before you fall over.”
Eliza sat, her hands twisting in her lap. Now that she was here, she did not know how to begin. How did one explain to one’s practical, unsentimental aunt that one had developed feelings for one’s husband of convenience? That one had kissed said husband in a garden and then fled like a complete coward?
“I kissed August,” she blurted out.
Lady Hartwell blinked. “I should hope so. You are married to him.”
“No, I mean I kissed him. Or he kissed me. I am not entirely certain who initiated it, but the point is it happened, and it should not have happened, and now, I do not know what to do.”
“Why should it not have happened? You are married. Kissing is rather expected, I believe.”
“Because our marriage is an arrangement!” Eliza’s voice rose despite her best efforts to control it. “A transaction. We agreed to maintain separate lives, to be civil and polite and nothing more. And now—” She broke off, pressing her hands to her burning cheeks. “Now, I cannot stop thinking about him. I lie awake wondering where he goes when he leaves the house. I worry about whether he is eating enough, sleeping enough. I want to know his thoughts, his fears, his—” She made a frustrated sound. “This was not supposed to happen.”
Lady Hartwell was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was gentler than Eliza had ever heard it. “My dear girl, do you know what your greatest flaw is?”
“I have many. You will need to be more specific.”
“You think too much.” Lady Hartwell moved to sit beside her, taking both of Eliza’s hands in her own. “You analyze and rationalize and dissect every feeling until it is nothing but pieces. But some things cannot be thought through. Some things must simply be felt.”
“That sounds terrifying.”
“It is. Love usually is.”
Eliza’s head snapped up. “I did not say anything about love.”
“You did not have to.” Lady Hartwell smiled, and there was something almost wistful in the expression. “I know the signs. The sleeplessness, the worry, the complete inability to think of anything but him. You are falling in love with your husband, Eliza. And that, my dear, is not a tragedy. It is a gift.”
“But what if he does not feel the same? What if he kissed me out of… of pity or obligation or?—”
“Did he kiss you as though he pitied you?”
Eliza thought of his hands in her hair, the fierce pressure of his mouth on hers, the way he had said her name like a prayer and a curse all at once. “No.”