“How dare you say such wretched things about—”
“How dare you ignore them, Eliza Gillingham.” He forced himself to take a step back, to push down the rage surging like flames. “I see this conversation is entirely futile. The man has bewitched you.” He set her plate back on the floor, left the room, and half ran back down the stairs.
Of all the insufferable, manipulated fools.
Or maybe he was the fool. For thinking he could waltz in some long-forgotten witness, clear his father’s name with the snap of a finger, and end this never-ending shame as quickly as it was forced upon them.
Perhaps there’d be a blood stench on him for the rest of his life. That’s what Papa would say. Not that he ever talked about it anymore. Mamma would argue that it was best forgotten too. Even Lord Gillingham would rather look to the future and pretend the past didn’t exist.
But Felton couldn’t stomach defeat.
And he wasn’t giving up until his name was bloodless.
“Youwill notenter this house and do as you please, Felton Northwood.” Mrs. Eustace met him at the entrance door, hands fisted. “If you cannot respect the wishes of those in charge—namely myself, at the moment—then you may consider yourself unwelcome on these premises.”
“Give her the dog.”
“That matter is none of your concern.”
“Give her the dog by tomorrow, or I will come and return the little beast to her myself.” Felton took back the hat the butler held his way and bowed again at the rigid woman with her rigid bun and her rigid rules. “Good day to you, Mrs. Eustace.”
Felton Northwood had only been gone an hour when another tap sounded on the door. Without waiting for an answer, it pushed open and the tall frame of Mrs. Eustace filled the threshold. “You were always prone to getting your way, Miss Gillingham. The dog may stay.”
Eliza stood from the edge of her four-poster bed, as relief unwound some of her anguish. “Pray, where is he?”
“For now, locked in the potting shed. He may sleep there at night, for I shall not have him in the kennel bothering his lordship’s hunting dogs. Is that understood?”
“Yes, but I wish to see him.”
“Not in the house. Any visiting will be done out of doors. Is that clear?”
“Very. May I go now?”
“If you must. You shall find Minney in the kitchen, and she shall direct you to the dog’s whereabouts, as she will be the one seeing to the dog’s feeding and welfare.”
Eliza murmured thanks and approached the door, but Mrs. Eustace stopped her in the hall. “One thing, Miss Gillingham.”
Eliza glanced back.
“I shall have you speak no ill word of that child’s face. It is a disgrace enough to have a deformed servant in the house, let alone an addled one, without you going about mentioning it.”
A disgrace?
“I have done my best to persuade his lordship to dismiss her. As it is, however, he will not permit such a thing. The least we can do is keep her as hidden as possible and mention it never. Do we understand one another?”
As if the young woman’s face were any fault of her own.
But Eliza only nodded. “Yes, we do.”
These were the times she was happiest.
Felton leaned back in his armchair, took the meerschaum pipe his father handed him, and placed it between his lips.
From the chaise lounge, placed strategically under the light of a wall sconce, his mother removed the seal on her newest letter. She read it first quickly, smiling some, laughing here and there. Then she read it again and paused every so often to relate the news of her youngest son. “Wellington had them storming Badajoz. Our Hugh says it was a glorious victory.”
Papa leaned forward with a pipe of his own. “That is southwestern Spain, very close to the Portuguese border, is it not, dear?”
“I hardly know.” Nor did it seem to matter to her. She smiled and smoothed the paper again, as if touching the ink he’d written with made him feel close. “But can you not see him, lined up with the British and Portuguese, a brave soldier at so young an age? A fine painting that would make.”
