Teaching the Earl (20 page)

There was a knock on her bedroom door.

"Enter," she called out, thinking it was her lady's maid. But Christopher came in. Her eyes widened. He looked all around himself, and began to frown at the sight of the furnishings, modern and light.

"Surely these weren't here while my cousin owned the house?"

"No. They're new."

He eyed the dressing table, the chaise longue, the airy, canopied bed. "You've added all these things?"

"Yes. They're so much better, don't you think?"

"They must surely have cost more than your allowance."

"They did, but
I-"

"Did I not say you must economize? Did I not say you must do without?"

"Yes, but I-"

"This is not acceptable. You must send them back at once."

"No, I won't. I like them, and I-"

"There are greater issues at hand than satisfying your wants. I know you think the whole world revolves around you. You are self-indulgent beyond belief."

Her jaw dropped. What had happened to him, to suddenly change him from the kindness of the past days to full attack? Had something occurred she was not aware of? "It's only some furniture, to be used every day. It was a sensible purchase-"

"There was nothing wrong with the furniture that was already here."

"Nothing wrong? Nothing wrong? It was dark and depressing. The whole room looked horrid. And now it is lovely. Besides, I-"

"There are goals to be met.
Goals far more important than a pretty bedchamber. Goals for which others have sacrificed more than-"

"I understand your goals. I have contributed tens of thousands of pounds to them-

"Which you would never have chosen to do. If you had your way it would all be frittered away on paltry things."

"Oh! Unjust," she cried.

"You resent the work that must be done. You resent the money that must be paid. You resent being tied to the burden of it, and all you have lost."

"I do not. Why do you say such things? There's no resentment in me. I accept these things are necessary. That we make sacrifices now, and in days to come we will profit, and move beyond this. Any resentment, any ill will, is within you. You think I feel these things because you do, and you can't imagine I do not.

He stared at her, his face twisted. "No-"

"Yes. You think you are tied to this with chains of steel, because of Sophia.
” The name fell too harshly into the space between them, and they stared at each other, both breathing hard. Was this it? Was this the moment to tell him everything she had put together in her own mind?

But even before she had made up her mind, she was speaking, the weight of these words crowding her tongue, too much to hold back a second longer. “
You think everything you have must be poured in and away, to equal the weight of her death. To vindicate you choosing your estates, choosing your life as an earl, over her. You refuse yourself any enjoyment because she has none. You think because of her death, you must pay with your life, with all of you."

"I-"

"What when the estates reward you? When they start to return a profit? What then? How will you punish yourself then?"

"I don't-Punishment is not-"

"Of course it is. I see it perfectly clearly. And I do not stand in your way. I am beside you in this. And when you decide you are worthy of forgiveness I will still be here."

"I am not-I will never be worthy of forgiveness," he said, very low. "So long as she is dead, I will never-"

"Do not lay that on yourself. Do not chew over that story. That is all it is. A story. You have chosen this narrative, because it satisfies your need for justice. Let me tell you something about the world, that my father told me over and over again when I was a girl."

"I don't need your-"

"Yes, you do!" Her tone was iron, hard and implacable. She stared him down. His eyes glittered, but he quietened. "People love stories, because the brain seeks reasons for what occurs. Randomness dissatisfies the mind. You try to make sense of Sophia's death, and to determine your place in that story. You make yourself the villain, because you believe there must be one. Sophia's death was a product of her own mind. You did not do that to her. She did it to herself."

"If I did not jilt her she would never-"

"Perhaps. We can't know that. But you are determined to find cause and effect, to piece together a story so her death is not just a random event, cruelly tragic but essentially meaningless. It is so significant to you that you must assign meaning where there is none, and blame."

"She killed herself because of what I did to her-"

"No. She killed herself because she thought it was the right thing to do. Was it?" He stared at her, lips drawn back from his teeth in a snarl. "Well? Was killing herself the right thing to do?"

Slowly, he shook his head.

"No?"

"No." He said it in a rusty voice.

"So she made a mistake. She had many choices before her, of what she could do with a life that did not have you in it. She made the wrong choice. Not because it was inevitable. Not because it was the logical outcome of events. Because her system was overcome with melancholia and in that state she thought it her only option."

He crumpled to his knees, dropped his head into his hands. She padded to him, knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around him.

"You have to forgive yourself for this. It was her choice, not your doing. You cannot join her in that grave. You have a life here, and it is precious to me. I want to share it but you barely let me in."

"I cannot-" he broke off.

"You can," she urged him. "Only give yourself permission. Let this unnatural burden go. It does not belong to you."

He shook his head, slowly. "Where does all this wisdom come from?"

For a moment she thought he negated her words. Then she realized the set of his shoulders had changed. They were no longer bowed. Had he found hope in what she said? "I have thought about this endlessly, and talked it over with my parents. I have prayed about it, too, and asked for divine guidance. You are not alone in this."

"I cannot-I cannot just let her go."

"You must. She has gone beyond. Your sacrifices mean nothing to her, now. Whatever connection you had is gone. Let it go. Be at peace, as she is."

"You think she is?"

"I think she is in the arms of God."

"But a suicide-"
He broke off with a twist of anguish in his tone.

"You know, I have always thought that was
nonsense. Why should God shut suicides out of heaven? And she is buried in a church graveyard, is she not? Obviously your vicar thinks she has a place there, whatever religious tradition may say. Society has to teach that suicide is a bad idea. Otherwise people would do it the moment life became too grim, trusting that the next life would be a paradise. But no loving, merciful God would look at the suffering of one of his children and bar the door to them because they were not strong enough to bear it. That is not right."

"Oh, Beth."

"Let's go for a walk. I would like some fresh air. And to take you away from my bedroom, that displeases you so much."

"Your bedroom does not displease me. It is only that this furniture must have cost-"

"You will not think about it," she commanded. "It was all bought by my parents, when we went shopping together the other day. It cost you nothing."

"What?" Now he went white around the lips. "It is not your parent's task to provide for you
. "That is my role, now."

"I'm sure as time passes that will proceed better and better. But you must know I've never been very good at waiting. And there was no need to, in this case."

"How can I face them, when they have had to-"

"Oh, don't tie yourself up in knots. I explained the situation completely, and they are very understanding. They like you, you know, though I think Mama is still a little in awe of you. But that will pass. Think of the furniture as a wedding present."

He squinted at her a little balefully, his lips pressed together, but he could not hold the expression for long. "You are incorrigible."

"I know," she said complacently. "That is why you have such affection for me."

"That must explain it."

She
smiled, a warm glow within her at his agreement. Then she turned the conversation away, to small things, to give him time to digest every large thing she had said, hoping they would find a place inside of him.

A place of tender forgiveness.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO

"Do you have anything planned for today?"

She refilled his cup of tea from the teapot, enjoying the domesticity of the wifely task. "My friend, Julia Holbrook, has invited me to visit this morning. I said I could never dream of putting on a ball, and she said to come and watch all the preparations for their one and see how it's done."

He ate the last mouthful of his large breakfast, laid down his cutlery and leaned back in his chair. "Do I know Miss Holbrook? Mrs Holbrook?"

"It's Mrs Holbrook. She was Miss Preston before and I'm not sure if you would have encountered her. I first met her in the summer, when I stayed at the house where she was a governess. She married less than a month ago, and the ball is to celebrate the nuptials now they've arrived in town."

"I do know a Colin Holbrook. I don't suppose she's married to him."

"Yes. That's right. Colin Holbrook."

"Well." He raised a single eyebrow. "I don't know whether to admire your friend for capturing so elusive a prize, or pity her."

"What do you mean?"

"The Colin Holbrook I know was never made for matrimony."

"Perhaps not, but people may change. They do love each other. It was interesting to sit with them both, in the summer when they were-I don't suppose courting is the correct word. He pursued her, and she avoided. The air was almost singing with tension between them."

"
Apparently he caught her in the end."

"You know, I find
I am not comfortable with talk of catching a person, as if they were a trophy and not a person."

"Too close to the bone?"

He obviously referred to his dispassionate pursuit of her, and successful capture, or perhaps her family's triumph in snaring him. She shot him a look of hurt. "I prefer not to think of it like that."

He picked up her hand from the table, and toyed with it absently, his rough fingers sliding over her softer skin.
"My apologies. There is little urgency to learn how to manage hosting a ball. It will be a long time before we can afford to do it ourselves."

"I know." She
took a breath and nodded in calm agreement. "They are such a wasteful extravagance. Still, I didn't want to say that, even to Julia, who I think would not tell anyone we are so stricken for funds. I am gradually learning a little discretion, even if it does not come naturally."

He smiled at her. "So you will live vicariously through your friend."

"I will. I'm not particularly eager to host lavish entertainments. I'd be happy to wait until they are easy to fund. Yet I did promise my sisters I'd see them introduced to society. They'll do better under my aegis - launched by Lady Carhampton - than my parents'. Isn't that awful? But then I can't afford to truly help them yet, either. I suppose my parents could always give us the money for the-"

"No."

"No?"

"Decidedly not.
I need no further gifts from your parents."

"There's no need to be proud. They won't mind when it's for-"

"
I
mind. I know you are used to your parents' constant support, but it's not tolerable to me to live with my hand out."

She considered this,
then nodded, accepting his determination. "Very well. Katherine is due to come out next year, and Jane the year after. I suppose I could ask them if they'd prefer to wait until I can afford to do the task credit."

"A succession of soirees and sit-down dinners will probably see the task well begun. W
e should be able to manage that by next year."

"Really?
I thought it would be longer than that."

"There should be funds for some indulgence by then
, and we can prioritise Katherine. I know how important your family are to you."

"So much!"
She smiled at him, truly delighted. "Oh, you're very good to me. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I find I enjoy seeing you happy."

"I have been very happy this past fortnight, with you. Do you think maybe-" She broke off, and ducked her head to look at their entwined fingers.

"What is it?"

But she could not say it. She could not ask outright if he thought he could eventually love her. He seemed more affectionate every day, coming to her to cup her shoulders from behind while she was occupied with some task, or drop a kiss on her head or her upturned lips. He laughed at her chatter and now he was indulgent like this.

Surely she did not imagine that his eyes rested fondly on her at times?

He might still be making the best of his situation, and being kind, but she hoped it was more. With every day that passed he had her heart more firmly in his grip. She had always thought him very compelling, and now he was so warm and present with her, it was impossible not to want all of him. She wanted his love so much. His emotional, spiritual love, that was. She already had a luscious surfeit of his physical love.

Now she knew the pleasure his body could bring hers, it was difficult to remember she must not sit and mentally undress him when there were others about. He mock-scolded her for it if they were in public, even as he guided her from the room on some pretext or other, to find an empty room or even a curtained alcove and give her what she craved.

While she might temporarily hiss at him they mustn't, not here, they would be caught, her protests never lasted long. Not when he held her as he did, firmly commanding, and kissed her with gleeful ruthlessness, his hands under her skirts or lifting her breasts from their minimal constraints. Fashionable evening dresses offered little resistance. Neither did she.

Oh, he delighted her. Though it was terribly difficult to hide giggles and sighs and be silent. He was unexpectedly playful sometimes, and she liked that best of all-

"Elizabeth," he said, and his voice was a purr. Her gaze shot to his and caught that intent expression she recognized so well, no doubt a reflection of what he saw on her face as she had such thoughts. "You know you only have to ask." He turned her hand over so he could circle her palm with a thumb.

Her eyes drifted closed, and she swallowed hard. Her nipples tightened within her morning dress. That was not the thought over which she had hesitated. Yet it was certainly a viable replacement. "Chris," she said in soft acquiescence.

She heard the legs of his chair slide over the floor, and he tugged her to her feet. She came without hesitation, wrapped her arms around him and clung like some vine, languid with anticipation.

"Shall I carry you?" he said, his voice husky with more than amusement.

"I'm not sure I can walk." Her knees trembled.

"You'll be late for Mrs Holbrook."

"She won't mind. Only ten minutes."

"Possibly a little longer."
His breath was hot in her ear.

"Possibly."

"I'm sorry I'm so late," she called, out of breath as she trotted across the ballroom to the
Holbrooks. They smiled at her with calm benevolence.

"Don't worry about it even a moment," said Julia Holbrook. "You haven't missed much."

"It looks magnificent. Where did you find so many flowers?"

"Do you think it's too much?" But Julia did not look anxious.

"Oh no, it's divine. And the scent! I could smell them the instant I walked in through the front door." Servants hurried about with vast bouquets of spring flowers, and the fragrance of them was rich and heady.

"All your guests will be
sneezing their heads off," said Mr Holbrook. Elizabeth noticed he held Julia's hand, mostly concealed in the folds of her skirt.

"None of the servants are."

"Maybe those that are prone to sneeze are hiding in other parts of the house, busy with different tasks."

"I suppose that's possible. Ah well. We can open the doors if it becomes overbearing. It's a surprisingly warm day."

"Not long until the Season is over."

There was such an air of subdued excitement and connection beneath their
commonplaces, it was difficult not to blush. Elizabeth recognized it too well. If she had not been there, perhaps their conversation would have been much more intimate. She felt as if she intruded.

"I wrote down a list of everything I've needed to do to prepare for this ball," said Julia to Elizabeth, turning away from her new husband, "in correct order and with the approximate amount of time required for each thing. Also a list of suppliers, though I had that from another friend. I trust her word that they're the best people though, as they've done very well for me."

"Oh! Thank you so much for going to so much trouble. I didn't mean to put you out."

"Not at all.
It's good to have it all written down. It will help me to remember, next time I must do this again."

"I'll copy it out then, and send back the original."

"Also a friend of yours is here. Perhaps he is sensitive to the flowers, because he said he'd wait in the library to see you."

"A friend?"

"Yes. The brother of one of my pupils, from my first teaching position. I had no idea you knew each other. Michael Seton. He dropped in to call today, said he knew you'd be visiting and-You don't look pleased. I assumed he knew you'd be here because you told him so. I was glad of a chance to see him again after so long. Is he not a friend of yours after all?"

"I know him. He kindly escorted me about town when I first arrived back from Devon."

"Yet you should see your face. Have you had a falling out? I did think it a little peculiar he should seek you here and not at your home. But then I decided he wanted to see us both."

"He did something unpardonable. I haven't had the chance to speak to him about it. I would like to tell him exactly what I think of him."

"That sounds ominous," said Colin Holbrook with a chuckle. "Have at it."

"I shall, if you don't mind. Which way is the library?"

They both pointed to a nearby hallway. "Second door on the right," said Julia.

Anger rose within her as she walked in the direction indicated. How dare he involve her friends like this? It was so improper. What did he think to gain from it?

She flung open the door so it swung back and banged against the wall. Michael jumped, and spun.

"What
are you doing here?" she said, glaring at him, her tone low and ominous.

"Elizabeth!"

"Yes, of course it's me. How did you know I'd be here?"

"One of your servants told me."

"What? Have you been bribing my servants? Michael! What on earth will they think of you? Of me? This is disgraceful."

"How else am I to find out anything when you won't write to me?"

She gaped at him, shook her head in disbelief. Did he remember nothing of their last meeting, when he had assaulted her, felt Chris's wrath, seen them intimately embracing and called her a whore? How could he imagine any connection continued between them?

"Why intrude on my friends in the name of seeing me? What do you hope to gain from it?"

"But . . . but
you
signaled you wanted to meet. I thought this the most discreet course."

"
I
signaled? What on earth do you mean?"

"The necklace.
You wore the necklace to my aunt's ball. You knew I'd be there, and you wore it."

"I-Whose ball?
Which necklace?"

"Mrs Goring's Ball.
And the necklace I gave you. The sapphire necklace. As soon as I saw it I knew you'd forgiven me." He trailed off uncertainly in the face of her incredulous stare.

"
You
gave me the necklace? How was I supposed to know it was from you?"

"The letter I wrote. I left the necklace with a letter."

"There was no letter. You left one?"

"On your dressing table."

"In Hensleigh Park?” Disgust clutched her to think of him creeping around her bedchamber. “Are you seriously saying you rode all the way to Hensleigh Park to leave me a necklace on my dressing table? Are you insane?"

"In love.
Not insane. In love. I love you. Even though you've deceived me, betrayed me with Lord Carhampton, I still love you. I will love you forever."

"That sounds exactly like insanity. How is it I betrayed you with my
husband
?"

"He never loved you.
Nor you him. You did not even consummate your marriage."

"How did you know that?
As if it's any of your business, you little toad. To think I once liked you. Ungh! I was an idiot."

"The housekeeper told me. His groom told her Lord
Carhampton abandoned you on the road, and she knew you never shared a bed."

"That prying, sneaking-" Mrs Harrow had just lost her position. The instant she had pen and paper she would write to Chris to turn the woman off without a character. And she would discover which of the servants in the London house had done the same. No one w
ould sell private information about her. "You paid her to tell you?"