“You must go on without us. I shall not have your night ruined too.”
“I will stay here.”
She pushed away his hand. “No, it would only make me feel the worse. A mother’s heart is always with her child, even if she cannot be present. You will go for all of us, won’t you?”
“I do not want to leave you.”
“For the Northwoods, Son. For your father. We have no one to defend us but ourselves, and I cannot help but think you’ve been right all these many years. Your father and I…well, we’ve been so timid and afraid of the tongues of so many people.”
He rose again and a rush of pride went through him. “I will go then.”
“My darling son.” Her eyes slid closed, but a tiny smile moved her lips. “You are the courage your father and I could only ever dream of.”
Every eye beheld her. They had faces like those she’d seen in the flow of the stream. They had dresses like all the trees had worn, when she’d pretended they were her friends and danced before their leafy branches. They had colors and shapes and fans and feathers, just like the pictures she’d studied a thousand times.
Her chest throbbed so fast it made them blur. Out of so many people, where was the only one familiar?
The thick blond hair. The eager eyes. The firm jawline and half-tender smile.
Lord Gillingham patted the hand that was looped around his arm. He hadn’t shown affection since her arrival, and the tense touch made her long for Captain’s natural ones. “You are doing well, Eliza.”
As they entered farther into the large saloon, with music already rising softly, the hum of conversation started back into the room. “Where is Mr. Northwood?” she asked.
“He will be here.”
“When?”
“You needn’t worry. Shall I get you a glass of the lemonade you requested?”
She nodded, even though she would have much rather kept him at her side. The second he was away from her, a round-bellied man sidled next to her and grinned. “I am Bishop Dibdins, Miss Gillingham, and may I just say what the rest of us are thinking? You are the picture of exquisiteness. We are all so very glad you are returned home, safely and soundly, and looking as perfect as your mother always did.”
“A shame about her mother,” said a woman, as she approached with a purple turban and dress. “We all feel a little peculiar coming here, I think, having not been invited to Monbury Manor since before her death.”
Why had she allowed Lord Gillingham to leave her like this?
“Miss Gillingham, what a necklace,” said another. “You must be very happy to realize such wealth is at your complete disposal.”
“Oh, pray tell, but where have you been all these years?” This came from a new woman, whose dress revealed more bosom than anything else and whose fluttering fan kept swaying her long black ringlets. “I must confess I have heard the most monstrous tales. Talk of you being whisked away to some horrid little hovel in the woods. Oh, pray tell, this isn’t true, is it?”
“No.” The word escaped breathy. “It wasn’t horrid at all.”
The woman gasped. “Then youweretaken to the woods like a common gypsy? You poor girl.”
“Excuse me, ladies, gentlemen.” Lord Gillingham pushed through the gathering circle and pressed a glass goblet into her hand. “I see you have met the bishop and his wife.”
Both Mr. and Mrs. Dibdons or Dibdins or whatever they called themselves nodded.
“Quite impressive daughter you have here, my lord. Puts me rather in mind of her ladyship, eh?”
“She is much like Letitia indeed.” Lord Gillingham made more excuses and guided her away from the pressing group. “Everyone shall dance for now, and halfway through the night, we shall all partake of the banquet being prepared.”
Her eyes had no place to rest. They moved from foreign face to bright color to moving figure, over and over again. Every time someone met her eyes, she was afraid. Every time they started for her, a panic swelled.
“You are displeased.”
She shook her head. “It is …” Overwhelming? Frightening? Where in heaven’s name was Felton?
“Never mind. I shall not leave you alone again.” Another small pat. “Would it trouble you were I to introduce you to some acquaintances?”
