Chapter 20 #2
She looked down at her lemonade. The curve of his shoulder. The firm set of his jaw. She should not be remembering the way she’d clung to him. But her body remembered.
“I was unwell,” she said, quietly.
“Aye. And now ye’re back.” His voice was flat.
“I think our arrangement should end,” she said, lifting her chin. “It’s grown… dangerous.”
“Dangerous how, exactly?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “And for whom?”
“My stepmother suspects something. She watches me more than ever.”
Alasdair swore under his breath. “Has she said anything?”
“She doesn’t need to. I know her.”
“I dinnae…” he paused, jaw tightening, “I dinnae compromise ye, if that’s what ye’re worrying about.”
“I know. But…” she whispered. “Would you have stopped if the door hadn’t knocked?”
He didn’t answer. That told her everything.
“So. Ye’re ending it,” he said. “Have ye found someone else?”
She shook her head. “A husband will be found for me. That’s how it works. We charm dowagers and hope they pass us on to their sons.”
“Is that what ye want?” he asked, his voice sharp now.
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, standing straighter. “What matters is what’s expected. What’s necessary.”
He stared at her, eyes dark and searching.
But she couldn’t let him sway her again. She turned and walked away, her spine rigid, her hands trembling.
Every step away from him felt like punishment.
But every step toward a husband felt like surrender.
And Elizabeth didn’t know which would break her first.
Later that afternoon, Elizabeth returned to duty.
She pasted on a smile and folded herself back into the role expected of her. Gracious, charming, eager. She laughed lightly at the appropriate moments, feigned delight at opinions she didn’t share, and tried her best to recover from the earlier confrontation with Alasdair.
At her side stood Lord Felix, a portly man nearing forty, who had taken an immediate interest in her after a polite introduction. She steered the conversation toward music, one of the few topics she truly enjoyed, and tried to draw him out with questions about his tastes.
“I’m very glad you like Mozart,” she said, genuinely hoping they’d found common ground.
“Oh yes, very much,” Lord Felix replied with an approving nod. “His brushwork is exquisite.”
Elizabeth blinked. “His… brushwork?”
She could feel Lady Grisham’s eyes burning into the back of her neck. There was no room for mistakes now, no time to be visibly confused. She fought to keep her tone light.
“Brushwork?” she repeated, still unsure if she’d misheard.
“Indeed,” Felix said with a confident puff of his chest. “His paintings. Quite stirring. I saw one once, it was full of color and emotion.”
Elizabeth hesitated. Surely this was a joke?
Before she could formulate a reply, Wilhelmina stepped in smoothly. “He was a composer, my lord. Mozart never painted, not professionally at any rate. I believe my sister was asking about your musical preferences.”
Lord Felix’s cheeks flushed bright red. Whether from embarrassment or indignation, it was difficult to say.
“Mina,” Elizabeth murmured, her tone gentle. “I’m sure his lordship was thinking of another Mozart. A distant cousin, perhaps. The name is not exactly uncommon.”
Felix gave her a grateful, almost sheepish look, seizing the lifeline. Lady Grisham, watching from a short distance, nodded once in approval.
But Elizabeth’s good fortune did not last.
The next gentleman introduced to her was Lord Milbourne, a young earl reputed to be both wealthy and highly eligible.
He stood tall, his posture rigid as if carved from marble, his sharp features set in a permanent expression of barely concealed disdain.
His dark eyes fixed on Elizabeth with an intensity that was more challenging than flattering.
Elizabeth forced a polite smile and dipped her head slightly as she approached.
“Lord Milbourne,” she began softly, her voice gentle but carrying the practiced ease of a debutante. “I’ve heard much about your estates in Hampshire. They say the grounds there rival the finest in the kingdom.”
Milbourne’s lips twitched briefly, but no smile followed. “Hampshire has its uses,” he replied, his tone clipped, as if dismissing the topic. “Though I prefer the city for its… convenience.”
Elizabeth nodded, searching for a thread to pull him out of his cold reserve.
“London does have its charms,” she agreed. “Especially this time of year, with the garden parties in full bloom.” She glanced at a nearby flower arrangement, then added lightly, “Though I must confess, I fear the bees more than the gossip.”
For a moment, Milbourne’s eyes flicked briefly toward her, but there was no warmth. Instead, he gave a short, dry chuckle.
“Bees are predictable. People, less so,” he said, his voice low and measured.
Elizabeth tilted her head slightly, attempting to catch his interest. “Surely, Lord Milbourne, you find some of London society to your liking? There must be some amusement to be found amidst the crowds.”
He regarded her for a moment as if weighing whether she was worth answering.
“I do not attend these events for amusement,” he said tersely. “They are obligations. Distractions at best.”
Elizabeth nodded, trying to maintain her composure. “Of course, obligations. But even obligations can have their moments of pleasure.”
She reached out, lightly touching the lace of her sleeve as if to soften the conversation.
“Tell me, what music do you enjoy? The orchestra playing this afternoon is quite lovely.”
Milbourne’s gaze darkened slightly, and he glanced past her toward the bandstand.
“I tolerate music,” he replied curtly. “It is necessary noise to fill the silence at such gatherings.”
Elizabeth’s smile faltered but did not disappear. She tried to coax some conversation from him.
“Do you play any instrument yourself, my lord? Or perhaps sing?”
“No,” he answered abruptly. “Such pursuits are frivolous.”
She swallowed the sting but pressed on. “And books? I am told Hampshire has a fine library.”
His eyes narrowed, and he gave a brief shake of his head. “I prefer the written word to be concise. Novels and poetry are indulgences for those without real purpose.”
Elizabeth blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Indulgences?” she echoed softly.
“Yes,” he said, voice hardening. “A distraction for idle minds. I do not waste time on such things.”
Elizabeth’s fingers tightened around her fan. She felt the weight of his gaze, cold and judging.
She summoned a small laugh, attempting to lighten the mood. “Well, we all need some indulgences now and then, do we not?”
Milbourne’s expression remained unchanged.
“I have no need for them,” he said flatly. “My time is better spent on matters of consequence.”
The conversation stalled, and Elizabeth felt the panic rising in her chest. She tried once more.
“Perhaps we could discuss travel? I hear the Continent is quite lovely this season.”
Milbourne’s mouth twitched, and he yawned openly before replying. “I don’t believe we are suited,” he said bluntly, cutting off her words. “May I be excused?”
Before Elizabeth could respond, a cold hand seized her arm.
Lady Grisham had materialized from thin air.
She all but dragged Elizabeth behind a trellis, away from the crowd. The soft rustle of leaves did little to muffle the fury in her voice.
“What was that?” she hissed, her lips tight with rage. “What have you done?”
“I—I don’t know,” Elizabeth stammered. “He was unpleasant from the beginning. I tried—truly, I did.”
“That man is an earl. He is believed to be worth more than three country estates. And you lost him in less than five minutes!”
“I cannot control how he felt about me,” she protested. “He looked at me like I had wronged his entire bloodline.”
“You fumbled like a child,” Lady Grisham spat. “It was pitiful. Laughable, if I weren’t personally invested in your future. Do you know what people will say after this?”
“I don’t care what people say!” Elizabeth’s voice trembled. “I didn’t ask to be paraded around like a—like a piece of fruit at market. Everything I do is for you, not for me.”
“For me?” Lady Grisham asked, voice rising. “Foolish girl, I want you to succeed. To marry someone useful before it’s too late. I want you to stop embarrassing yourself and us.”
Elizabeth stood frozen. Her throat was dry. Her cheeks burned with humiliation.
“I’ve tried,” she whispered. “I’ve done everything I was told.”
“Trying isn’t enough,” her stepmother snapped. “And since you can’t be trusted to choose a suitor wisely, I will do it for you. I will select your husband. Immediately.”
Elizabeth gasped, hand flying to her mouth. “You… you would force a match on me?”
“Yes, since it seems you are incompetent to do so yourself.”
Elizabeth’s jaw remained dropped, “Perhaps it’s better I went through trial and error first before we resort to mere tyranny.”
“Tyranny?” Lady Grisham’s voice came out like a squeak.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, “Yes, tyranny, Lady Grisham. You’ve treated me like an unruly broodmare all my life, as though I’ve committed some cardinal sin.
My only sin, if it could ever be considered as such, is that I am not your daughter.
Not that you treat Wilhelmina and the twins any better. ”
Her chest heaved, her breath escaping in slow, quiet bursts.
Lady Grisham’s face darkened. She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. “Your mother would be ashamed of you.”
The words hit Elizabeth like a blow.
“You know she would be, if she were alive,” Lady Grisham continued. “You disgrace her memory. The same one your father still worships. And now you’re dragging your sisters down with you.”
Elizabeth stared at her, speechless. Her vision blurred, but she would not let the tears fall. Not here. Not in front of her.
So that’s what this had been all along. Not about her success, but her mother’s memory. A memory Lady Grisham clearly hated. A rivalry from beyond the grave.
“So you. Will. Do. As. I. Say.” The words were low and sharp, each one a stab.
Elizabeth stood rooted to the spot, trembling, numb. She had believed—naively—that her stepmother would be better than her father. That at the very least, she would not use cruelty as a weapon. But now, Elizabeth saw her clearly.
This woman was just another jailer in different clothes.
Just as Elizabeth was about to open her mouth to respond, a voice came through from behind.
“That’s enough.”