“La, but that’s just it. I cannot bear to keep it in a moment longer, and as you are such a good friend of Felton yourself, you are the truest soul I might tell. You see, my father has finally agreed.”
Eliza stiffened. “Agreed to what?”
“The courtship dear Felton and I have been waiting for all these years. Soon enough, we shall not have to meet in twilight hours, but will be free to accompany each other anywhere in the world. Is it not wonderful?”
Like wretched traitors, tears came to her eyes. Wonderful?
Yes, it was wonderful. For the girl he smiled at, or touched, or laughed with. For the one hearing his voice and knowing every word was meant for her. For the receiver of all his orders, his sweet beloved commands. Hadn’t she known all along such a girl would never be her?
“My dear, you seem distraught. Surely this news can have no bearing on you.” The eyes widened in anxious waiting. Then, more sweetly, “Can it?”
“No.” Eliza rose. “No, it has no bearing on me at all.” She half ran to the door, but stopped and turned back, book in hand. As if mere pages could teach her to be a lady. As if they could make a man like Felton Northwood want the likes of her. “And you can keep this.” She tossed the book harder than she’d meant, for Miss Haverfield gasped and let itclunkto the ground. “I will not be needing it anyway.”
She quit the room, ignored Mrs. Eustace when she reprimanded Eliza’s speed, and dashed for the bedchamber that had haunted her the whole of her life. She shut herself in. Approached the bed. Wrapped her hand around the first bedpost she passed, then the second, then the third.
She didn’t want to pry back the pillows.
Heaven knew she didn’t.
But she ripped back the first one, then the second, and gathered together the folded letters underneath. She read the first one.Forgive me, my Letitia.The second.I am sorry, Letitia.The third.Letitia, I wish you could forgive me.
Then a fourth, in script bold and inky,My daughter Eliza, I am sorry.Every part of her hurt. ’Twas not the danger that injured her so much as the realization that Lord Gillingham wanted her dead. He had planned for her to be dead and was sorry for it, even knowing he would not repent of the act and spare his own daughter’s life.
Just as he hadn’t spared her mother’s.
She crumpled the letters, every one of them. What did it matter if he saw? If he knew? If he followed her and ended her and tossed her out a window, as he’d done to her mother?
Captain had been right. She could not trust anyone. Not Lord Gillingham with his pretended kindness. Not even Felton, with his pretended affection. Why had he awakened her last night? Why had he rescued her from her beast, and wiped away her tears, and kissed her with lips more soft and gentle than anything she’d known in her life? Did he kiss Miss Haverfield that way?
She might have stayed here forever. She might have made Monbury Manor her home, if only he could have been hers. If only she could have stayed close to him and dear to him. She might have been a princess and he the prince, in a story where each loved the other and both were happy.
But they didn’t love each other, the two of them. Only her cruel imagination had whispered they had.
She left the bedchamber and didn’t fight the beast when he followed her out. Let him cling to her the rest of her life. Let him claw her to death and hurt her more and terrorize every night of her life. She could do nothing to stop him.
Except run.
She went to her room and scribbled a note to Felton. Maybe it would never reach him. Maybe Lord Gillingham would find the note first and destroy it. What did it matter? Felton wouldn’t believe it anyway. He wanted a killer, someone to shift the blame away from his precious name. But he didn’t want that person to be someone he loved, or respected, or trusted. After all, what would that do to the pride he cared so much for?
Her eyes stung, ached with pressure, as she changed into a riding habit and pinned back her hair. If anyone asked, she was going for a ride.
But they didn’t ask. She made it to the carriage house without seeing a soul, released Merrylad, then entered the stables.
The stable boy smiled and blushed and helped her into a saddle with not a question. He handed her the reins. “Sure oy shouldn’t go with you, Miss Gillingham, for your ride?”
No.She shook her head without words, lest her voice betray her. She smiled her thanks, and it seemed to suffice, for the boy grinned, followed her to the gate, and waved her away.
Then she kicked the animal into a gallop. Wind tore loose her hair, dust billowed the air, and the soft colors of daylight blurred into a mass of green, brown, and blue.
She wept without sound or tears.God, I’m so afraid.Everything and everyone was lost to her. Endlessly lost.
The forest was all she had left.
Now all she had to do was make it there alive.
“What happened?”
Felton took the damp cloth Mrs. Eustace handed him, waited until she left the library, then turned back to Lord Gillingham. “I could not go home like this.”
