Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“ O h, Lord Mortcombe, you have such insight,” Lady Danridge gushed, her eyes wide with admiration. “Eloise, darling, isn’t he simply wonderful? You must agree.”
After the performance ended, Eloise stood with Lord Mortcombe as he prattled on about his supposed vast knowledge of classical music. She forced a smile, fighting the urge to roll her eyes as he mangled the details of Mozart’s compositions. Beside her, Lady Danridge practically glowed with excitement, thrilled by the attention her daughter was receiving.
Eloise, swallowing her sigh, nodded stiffly. “Yes, of course... simply wonderful,” she replied, her words lacking any genuine enthusiasm. When she attempted to compliment him, her tone came off awkward. “Your knowledge of music is very, um, impressive.”
At least Mortcombe was oblivious to her discomfort. He grinned proudly and prepared to continue his boastful tirade when a voice interrupted.
“Well, if it isn’t the esteemed Lord Mortcombe,” Felix drawled as he approached, Percy in tow.
His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent that Eloise could not miss.
Mortcombe, momentarily taken aback, turned to face Felix, his expression wavering between confusion and irritation. “Your Grace? I did not see you here earlier.”
“I imagine you did not. You were far too busy dazzling Lady Eloise with your… what was it? Ah yes, remarkable knowledge of music,” Felix said smoothly as he looked at Eloise, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
Eloise fought back a grin but quickly hid it under a handkerchief, pretending to cough.
Mortcombe puffed up his chest. “Well, it is important for a man of society to be well-versed in all manners of culture,” he declared pompously. “As a duke, I would have thought you knew that.”
Percy leaned in with a smirk. “Oh, absolutely. That way, you can prattle on without anyone knowing whether you are right or wrong.”
Felix’s smile deepened, but there was a glint in his eyes as they rested on Mortcombe’s hand which was still dangerously close to Eloise’s. “Yes, some might even say it is a talent,” Felix added, his voice deceptively calm.
Eloise shot Felix a look, knowing what was coming. “Lord Mortcombe was just enlightening me on a very interesting point about Mozart.”
Felix raised a brow, his gaze shifting to Mortcombe. “Really? I would love to hear it. Do enlighten us, Mortcombe.”
Mortcombe, clearly unprepared for a sudden audience, fumbled with his words. His cheeks had reddened to such an extent that Eloise almost felt sorry for him.
“Of course,” Mortcombe said, “Mozart is best known for his orchestral works, especially his groundbreaking Symphony No. 5!”
Felix blinked, feigning surprise, and Eloise had to look away to maintain her composure. “Ah, yes,” Felix replied. “ Mozart’s well-known fifth symphony.”
Percy let out a soft snort and turned his head away.
Mortcombe, sensing he had lost control of the conversation, attempted to recover. “Er, I meant to say... his operas! Yes, ‘The Magic Flute’—a true masterpiece! Quite enchanting, would not you agree?”
Felix’s smile was sharp now, and an uncomfortable simmering had begun in his body that made him vibrate. He glanced again at Eloise. “Enchanting, indeed. Well, I am sure Lady Eloise is captivated by your insights.”
Eloise, knowing Felix was enjoying this far too much, finally snapped back, “Quite captivated, yes. But if you gentlemen will excuse me, I need a breath of fresh air.”
She glanced meaningfully at Felix, hoping to escape the situation.
Felix nodded his head, hiding his satisfaction as he stepped aside to let her pass. “By all means, Lady Eloise. I am sure Lord Mortcombe will manage without you—eventually.”
Mortcombe, still oblivious to their thinly veiled mocking, nodded eagerly. “Of course, Lady Eloise. I will be right here when you return.”
As Eloise walked away, she heard Percy chuckle softly beside Felix, “You are a terrible man, Kingswell.”
Eloise sensed his eyes tracking her as she disappeared into the crowd. “I never lose,” he muttered under his breath, but those were words she barely heard.
When Eloise and her mother returned home from the musicale later that night, the warmth of the evening quickly evaporated as soon as they stepped inside the dimly lit hallway.
A footman approached with a note in hand, his expression uneasy as he handed it to Lady Danridge.
Her mother’s hands trembled as she unfolded the paper, her eyes scanning the words. As soon as she saw it, her face went pale. The note was short, written in bold, slashing letters.
Three weeks left.
Lady Danridge’s breath hitched, and the note fluttered to the floor like a dead leaf. “Oh, dear God,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. “Three weeks… Eloise, what are we going to do?”
Eloise bent down, scooping up the letter and glancing at it, her stomach tightening. Mr. Carlisle was neither subtle nor patient. Time was running out, and his threats were only going to get worse as the deadline approached.
“Mother, please,” Eloise said, attempting to keep her voice steady as she led Lady Danridge to a chair. “It is nothing that we have not expected. Everything is under control.”
“Under control?” Lady Danridge looked up at her daughter with wide, tear-brimmed eyes. “This… this monster could throw us out in a matter of weeks! We will lose the house…everything! Jeremy… he must come back; Eloise, we need him here!”
Eloise’s heart clenched at the panic in her mother’s voice, but she forced a calm smile. She could not bear to let her mother know the truth: that Jeremy was too far away to help and that she had not even written to him.
“I have already taken care of it,” she lied smoothly, kneeling beside her mother and taking her cold hands in hers. “Jeremy is aware of everything, and he is doing all he can to return in time. But there is no need to worry. We still have three weeks, and by then, everything will be resolved.”
Lady Danridge’s lips quivered but she nodded, her grip tightening around Eloise’s hands as if clinging to the hope in her daughter’s words. “I do not know what I would do without you, my dear. You are so brave. Braver than I ever could be.”
Eloise’s heart ached at the praise, feeling the weight of her deception, but she did not have a choice. For their family’s sake she had to make her plan work. Lord Mortcombe was the key. She would seduce him, marry him, and pay off Mr. Carlisle before it was too late.
She just had to make it happen, no matter what.
A couple of days later, Eloise and Hannah strolled through the bustling market, weaving through vendors calling out their wares and throngs of townspeople haggling over prices. The air was thick with the scent of fresh bread, spices, and the chatter of daily life. Eloise’s mind barely registered the cacophony it.
Her shoulders were stiff and her steps a bit too purposeful, as though by walking faster she might somehow lose the cloak of worries suffocating her. Her mind swirled with thoughts of their looming debt, the fragile charade she was maintaining with her mother, and the daunting task of seducing Lord Mortcombe. She felt as if she were balancing on a tightrope without a net.
Hannah glanced over, her brow furrowed with concern. “Eloise, are you all right? You have seemed... distracted lately.” Her voice was gentle but probing.
Eloise instantly straightened, her face schooled into a polite smile. “Of course, I am all right,” she lied easily though the tension in her body betrayed her. She didn’t want to ruin the easy, pleasurable moments of simply spending time with her best friend.
“There is just a great deal on my mind. You know how these things go. The season, the pressures of…” she waved a hand vaguely, “everything.”
Hannah didn’t look convinced. “You have been tense since the musicale, and you hardly laughed when I told you about Lord Cranston’s ridiculous wig earlier. That is unlike you.”
Eloise forced a laugh, a weak imitation of her usual liveliness. “It is nothing. Truly, Hannah, you need not worry. Perhaps I just need to sleep a little more.”
She kept her tone light, hoping to steer the conversation away from herself. The last thing she needed was for her friend to pry deeper. The truth would eventually be revealed for all the world to see, but Eloise hoped she still had some time to at least prepare for that shock.
But Hannah was not one to be dismissed so easily. She stopped walking and turned to face Eloise, her eyes searching Eloise’s face. “I know you, Eloise. Something is bothering you. You can tell me, you know. Whatever it is. I know there have been whispers of some debt. Is that what it is?”
For a moment, Eloise felt the urge to spill everything—to tell Hannah about the mounting debt, Mr. Carlisle’s threats, and the pressure she was under to save her family. But then, just as quickly, she pushed the thought away. She could not. The situation was too precarious, too humiliating. She had to keep up the pretense of control.
With another forced smile, Eloise gently touched Hannah’s arm. “I appreciate your concern, truly, but it is nothing I cannot handle. It is simply that Jeremy is not here, and we still have the issue of… Father’s small debt that needs to be taken care of. The whispers you speak of are wildly inflated, and I do hope such whispers do not turn into rumors.”
Hannah hesitated, her eyes soft with sympathy. “All right,” she finally said though her voice still held a hint of doubt. “But if you ever wish to talk, I am here.”
Eloise nodded, grateful for her friend’s support but keenly aware of her own isolation as she grappled with her problems.
I cannot let anyone know. I must fix this on my own.
Eloise walked beside Hannah, her thoughts clouded with worry. As they turned the corner of the bustling market, her heart lurched as she spotted Felix in the company of Lady Brimsleigh. The tension between Eloise and Felix was palpable, a current that even Hannah seemed to notice as her gaze flickered between them. Eloise kept her expression neutral, determined not to let her feelings show.
“Lady Eloise,” Felix greeted with that familiar smirk she found both infuriating and charming.
After exchanging pleasantries, Felix made a surprising suggestion. “It would appear that we are all heading in the same direction. May we accompany you?”
“I… suppose,” Eloise nodded, taken aback by his unexpected request.
“Lady Hannah, if you would not mind,” Lady Brimsleigh called from ahead. “I have something I wish to discuss with you regarding your father.”
Hannah glanced at Eloise, who nodded, and she hurried forward to fall into step with Lady Brimsleigh. Eloise took a deep breath. This meant a moment alone with Felix out of everyone’s earshot, and she was afraid to admit that the prospect excited her in more ways than one. She glanced back then squared her shoulders. She would not allow his handsomeness to distract her from the task at hand.
I have my family to save.
“You should not have intervened the other night,” Eloise said, her voice sharper than she had intended. “I had it under control.”
Felix raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Control? Is that what you call nearly biting your tongue off to keep from correcting Mortcombe about Mozart and his fifth symphony?”
Heat flared in Eloise’s cheeks. “It was part of the plan. You need not involve yourself.”
Felix chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving her. “Ah, yes. The seduction plan. I forgot you are a master at it now. If you did not want my involvement, you should not have asked for my help.”
“I did not say that.” she replied furiously, feeling herself get more agitated than was necessary. “I am merely saying that I am following your advice. You do not need to concern yourself.”
Felix leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “Oh yes, Eloise the seductress. I am surprised all the gentlemen in the room were not falling at your feet. I know I nearly was.”
Eloise flushed, the thought of seducing Felix somehow more powerful than the thought of seducing Mortcombe. But why?
Perhaps it is because Felix is so much more of a challenge than that dunce Mortcombe.
“Oh, poor Eloise,” he teased. “Your cheeks have turned so red that someone might think they were apples! Why, I am tempted to bite into one myself.”
“There is no need to mock me so mercilessly, Felix,” she replied, keeping her eyes straight ahead.
If she looked at him, she was certain the bush on her cheeks would spread to her chest.
Felix straightened, his expression more serious. “Yes, you are quite right. I shall stop—not that I am sorry I started, mind you. I am certain that the memory of your expression will amuse me for hours, but it is not you I am worried about. It is he.”
Her breath caught, and she paused in her walking. There was a level of sincerity in his words and in the way his gaze lingered on her that made her heart race.
It was as though every pore in her body could sense his presence, as if every part of her was crying out for him. She tried shrugging off her overwhelming feelings, crossing her arms, and walking ahead of him.
“Well, do not be,” she said briskly though her voice came out weaker than she had intended. “I have made a bet with you, Felix, and I will not lose.”