Chapter 11 #2
Eliza nodded slowly, absorbing her friend's words.
Her fingers had tightened around the edge of her fan — she noticed the grip and, after a beat, loosened it, letting the fan rest lightly in her lap.
Could it be true? Could Lord Ashcombe have even the smallest sense of affection for her?
She wondered just how such a thing would be expressed — and if she ought to be the one to speak of it.
"I should not tell him of my heart, however," she said, frowning as Sarah tipped her head to one side, considering.
"There is still more for us to work through as regards Lady Warrington's will.
I do not want to make things all the more difficult or confusing by expressing my feelings at this particular time. Mayhap I should wait?"
Sarah sighed. "Yes, I suppose it would be prudent to do so. But promise me this, Eliza," she said, reaching out and taking Eliza's hand. "Swear to me you will not keep it quiet and silent in your heart, that you will speak of it."
Eliza closed her eyes, her hopes swirling alongside anxiety. "I do not know if I will have the courage, Sarah," she admitted softly, "but at the very least, I can promise to try."
Sarah's hand tightened sharply on hers, and Eliza, her eyes flaring open, was about to ask why she had done such a thing, only to see Lord Ashcombe approaching them, a smile on his face that sent a swirl of warmth into his eyes.
Her heart fluttered, her throat going dry as he approached, stopping only to bow low towards them both.
"Good evening, Lady Sarah, Miss Fairleigh."
"Good evening, Lord Ashcombe." Sarah was the first to speak, perhaps anticipating Eliza's need for a few moments to gain her composure. "How pleasant to see you this evening."
He smiled. "And you also, Lady Sarah. I was hoping — " his gaze returned to Eliza, who forced a smile, a rush of joy beginning to speed through her, "that I might be able to dance with you both this evening."
Once more, Eliza considered just how much she had come to respect and value Lord Ashcombe's character. The way he thought of her, the complete lack of concern over what society might think, and his determination to elevate her in his company filled her with a warmth she could not name.
I fear I shall soon fall quite in love with him, she thought to herself, taking her dance card and tugging it from her wrist. And then what shall I do?
"You are very kind, Lord Ashcombe," she said, their fingers brushing as lightning jolted through her. "I would be very glad to dance with you this evening."
"But I would not."
Before Eliza could react, another gentleman — one that Eliza recognized but did not recall the name of — came to join them, his face twisted with obvious frustration. He put one hand on Lord Ashcombe's shoulder as if he wanted to pull him away from Eliza.
"This must end."
"Brother." Lord Ashcombe turned, his brow furrowing as Eliza, her heart beginning to quicken, looked to Sarah, who was now narrowing her gaze at this unwanted company.
"This is not the time nor the place." He shot a look back towards Eliza, an apologetic look on his face.
"Forgive my brother, Miss Fairleigh. He has no cause to — "
"You know very well I have cause!" Mr. Ashcombe interrupted, throwing up his hands and, as he did so, catching the attention of others around them.
"I have spoken to you on multiple occasions about the lady, have I not?
I understand that you say you are doing your best to protect the family name, as you have said, but can you not see that lingering in her company is doing us no good? "
Eliza's face grew hot, but she refused to drop her gaze, clenching her fingers into her palms as she steadied herself.
Lord Ashcombe had come to her rescue once before with Lady Ravenshill, and she had absolute trust that he was not about to buckle under now, even if it was his brother who was speaking to him in such terms.
"That is enough, James." Lord Ashcombe turned to face his brother, gripping his arm, his voice low as he attempted to quieten him. "Might I suggest that you leave me to my own endeavors and, as I have asked you to do before, trust my judgement in such things?"
Eliza hoped that this would send Mr. Ashcombe away, that he would listen and step back, but, much to her disappointment, his face only tightened with anger, his eyes flashing as he threw a look towards her.
"You know as well as I that this inheritance matter has brought mortification to both herself and her father's name — such as it was.
Why would you take such interest in her?
Ought you not to be discreet?" His voice began to rise, and Eliza's face grew hot, sensing every eye near them turning to look at Mr. Ashcombe and all he was saying.
"Staying away from this lady, this... this manipulator, for she must be such a thing to gain this inheritance, is surely the only possible action for a gentleman of your standing, brother.
To be near to her, to draw such attention towards both yourself and her will only add scandal and whispers to both of you — the very thing you are trying to avoid! "
Before Lord Ashcombe could speak further, his brother swung towards her, his eyes cold and accusatory.
"I confess, I agree with all that society has said of you, Miss Fairleigh.
There must be some reason that Lady Warrington gave you such an inheritance.
You must have done something to sway her hand.
Tell me, Miss Fairleigh — tell us all, if you please — what did you do, or what did your father do, to gain such a gift?
What manipulations did you use to have her offer you such a thing? "
Each word was like a physical blow, forcing her breath out of her body as she recoiled from him.
She could practically feel every eye in the room settling on her, the whispers rising like a vast cloud closing in around her, threatening to choke her.
Sarah was saying something, Lord Ashcombe was speaking angrily to his brother, his eyes narrowed, but she could hear none of it.
The roar of blood in her ears was too loud, the weight of the crowd's judgement too great for her to bear.
Without another word, she turned and fled from the room, pushing back the door with such force that it smacked back against the wall.
The cool, dark hallway gave her no comfort, the tears spilling freely down her cheeks as she found an alcove in which to hide herself, alone in the empty silence.
It does not matter what we find, she told herself.
She went still. Then a breath through her nose — slow and careful — as if she were rationing even that.
Even if I were to discover the true connection between myself and Lady Warrington, the ton have already decided what I am and what I forever shall be.
Covering her face with her hands, she sank down, her back against the wall.
I shall never be free of this shame, not for as long as I live.