Felton stood braced in the threshold of the chamber. The one he’d only entered once. “Mrs. Eustace said you were here.”
“Mrs. Eustace can go to the devil.”
Felton flinched. The man by the window, with both palms against the glass, was not the same Lord Gillingham who Felton so often saw behind the chessboard. Indeed, the man was a stranger.
Perhaps had a right to be.
“I know you are aggrieved, my lord, but no one could have foreseen—”
“I did.”
“What?”
“I foresaw it and Captain Ellis foresaw it, but you brought her anyway.” The palms curled into fists. “And now she will perish like her mother.”
“She will not. I will not let her.”
“You fool.”
“My lord—”
“Get out of here, Northwood.”
“Not without you. There are people downstairs and the banquet is waiting, and if you do not show your face, you shall be the latest on-dit for who knows how long—”
“Get out of here!” Both fists plunged through the window. Glass shattered. Blood slashed across the viscount’s hands, but he only grasped each side of the curtains and shook. “God forgive me.”
For what?
Slowly, he released the curtains. He turned long enough to glance into Felton’s face. “You forgive me too, my son. The day has been trying. I shall have Mrs. Eustace see to the cuts, then will join the guests downstairs.” With a nod of composure, he hurried from the room.
Felton lingered longer. He didn’t want to approach the window, not with the cool night air rushing in and the stain of blood still fresh on the glass.
But he edged closer anyway. He placed himself where Eliza stood tangled every night, and he fought the same terror she’d battled so many years. He knew her beast. Maybe he’d known him all along, just in different ways, and had suffered the same cutting claws.
Someday it would all be over. Eliza would remember and be safe. Lord Gillingham would forget and heal.
And Felton would be respected.
For once in his life, there would be no shame.
Three days passed in bedridden agony. If Mrs. Eustace found out Eliza had left her chamber, despite the doctor’s orders, more than Minney would suffer a lashing tongue.
But Eliza would do as she pleased. She always had in the forest. How many times had she snuck out in the middle of the night, crept to the stream without candle, and sat on the Lady’s Throne to watch the moonlight on the water?
The blue light flickers were moon tears, she used to pretend. She’d read in books that the moon was a man, but she couldn’t believe it was so. Anything so lovely must have been a woman. A sad, lonely woman in a sphere of blackness, who shed light tears onto the earth because not even the stars would befriend her.
Captain had known of her nonsense. He’d never forbidden her from any of it, not one silly whim or ridiculous play.
Back then, she’d been free.
And safe.
In all the times she’d tramped through the forest at night, or weeded through thick growth and thorns, she’d never been afraid. Now everything was different. The shadows frightened her. The noises unnerved her. Even now, as she followed Minney up the attic stairs, a sense of foreboding sliced through her. How long was she going to continue like this?
She needed to leave. She needed the cottage, the forest, the stream. Why couldn’t she make herself? Why did she stay? Was it for Lord Gillingham—because the little girl inside of her still remembered a father she used to love? Or was it for Felton?
“Are’ee sure’ee will come?” At the top of the stairs, Minney pivoted for the second time. Her twisted face tightened with uncertainty. “I wanted to show’ee for a long time, but I was afraid’ee wouldn’t want to come.”
