Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
Eliza awoke far later than was typical for her. And far less decisively than was her norm. The light slanting through the tall windows was soft and golden, filtered between the parted curtains. The air carried a faint chill.
For a long moment she lay still, her mind caught in the foggy space between sleep and waking. Then, as memory crept back, she sat bolt upright, her pulse quickening.
The kiss.
It was as vivid now as when it had happened — the warmth of his hand against her cheek, the weight of his gaze, the breathless, unthinking moment before the world had tilted and everything she had believed about herself, about him, had shifted.
And yet, it was not the kiss itself that haunted her most, but the uncanny familiarity of it. The way it had felt not like something new, but something remembered. Because it had felt exactly as it had in her dream.
She pressed a trembling hand to her lips, as though to chase away the phantom of his touch.
She had dreamt of him before, standing in the forest with mist curling around them, their bodies close, their voices soft.
She had felt that same warmth, that same unearthly sense of connection.
But dreams were only that — illusions born of imagination, of fatigue, of the strange workings of the mind.
Except he had known it too.
The realization made her stomach tighten. She had seen it in his eyes, in the way he had looked at her just before he’d drawn back. That same dawning awareness. That same confusion. It had been real to him as well.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, heedless of her bare feet on the cold floor. For a long while she simply sat there, her head bowed, trying to make sense of what she felt. It was madness — or worse, her grandmother’s interference.
Helena had never denied dabbling in the old ways when the mood took her. Small charms for luck or protection, whispered words to coax love where love was wanted. Never harmful things — at least, not intentionally — but still, not without consequence.
And if she had decided, in her infinite wisdom, that a union between her and the Earl of Blackburn was somehow predestined, it would not at all be unlike her to give them a less then gentle nudge in that direction.
In truth, that would be the ideal answer in many ways.
Because a spell that had been done could always be undone.
Eliza groaned softly, burying her face in her hands. It was entirely possible that it wasn’t a spell. That it wasn’t her grandmother’s meddling. And if it wasn’t, then… oh, she couldn’t even think of it. Of course it was was her grandmother’s! meddlesome, managing ways
The thought filled her with an odd mixture of anger and embarrassment.
The idea that her own heart — or whatever it was that now seemed to twist and flutter whenever Gabriel Hawthorne’s name crossed her mind — might not be her own doing was intolerable.
And worse still, it made the memory of the kiss feel like something stolen.
Like something that had never been intended to be hers.
She rose then, crossing to the washstand.
Her reflection in the mirror did her no favors.
Dark circles smudged the delicate skin beneath her eyes, and her hair — a riot of brown, gold, and copper — hung in disarray.
She splashed cold water on her face and set about restoring some semblance of order, though she doubted it would make much difference.
Breakfast loomed ahead like a trial.
The very thought of descending to the dining room, of meeting his gaze across the table — or worse, her grandmother’s knowing one — made her stomach twist. But avoidance was impossible. She was not a child to hide in her room because a man had kissed her.
When a knock came at the door, she startled, nearly upsetting the basin.
“Yes?”
The door opened to reveal one of the housemaids — a young woman with fair hair and an open, pleasant face. She dropped a curtsy. “Begging your pardon, miss. His lordship said we were to see to your comfort. Would you care for assistance with your hair this morning?”
Eliza hesitated, her instinct to decline immediate.
She had dressed herself all her life and was quite capable of doing so still.
But the offer, she realized suddenly, might be an opportunity.
Servants always knew more than their employers imagined — they saw things, heard things, and gossiped in the quiet corners of grand houses.
“Yes,” she said after a pause, softening her tone. “Yes, I would appreciate that, thank you.”
The maid brightened. “Very good, miss.”
As the girl moved about the room, setting out brushes and ribbons, Eliza seated herself before the dressing table. She met her own reflection with a faint grimace. The faint flush that rose to her cheeks had nothing to do with the warmth of the fire.
“Forgive me,” she began, her tone carefully casual. “I am afraid I am not accustomed to such… grandeur. Everything here feels so very—”
“Large?” the maid supplied with a smile. “Aye, it does, miss. The Hall’s a fine place, but it has a way of making folk feel small.”
Eliza returned the smile faintly. “And His Lordship? Does he often bring guests here?”
“Oh, no, miss.” The girl’s hands stilled briefly in Eliza’s hair.
“The old Earl, well, he was not the sociable sort. Hadn’t had a guest in ages.
Not for years, they say. And the new Earl, he’s not had a single soul to visit outside of solicitors.
Though, I suppose that’s to be expected…
He’s been away so long. With the army, you know?
Quiet sort, though kind enough. Not what I’d call cheerful, but polite.
Still, there’s something a bit… heavy about him. ”
“Heavy?”
“Aye. Like he’s burdened by things…. And this house won’t help, not with all the dark history that surrounds it. All the tragedies that have befallen the Hawthorne men over the years. ’Woud be quite the wonder if this house wasn’t rife with spirits!”
“Do you really believe in such things?”
“Oh, aye, miss!” The maid said. “Truth is, I’ve seen them…. Not here, but when I go to visit my family what lives on a farm nearby, I travel through the western woods. I’ve seen them there. Felt them. Don’t you feel the darkness of this place? The presence of ghosts?”
Eliza’s throat tightened, her pulse quickening at the strange echo of her own unease.
“Ghosts,” she repeated softly. “I feel something… the heaviness you spoke of, but I’ve never seen a ghost to believe in them.
That’s not to say I discount it entirely.
I’ve learned that anything is possible in this world. ”
The maid’s smile took on an enigmatic quality. “Indeed, it is, miss. Why, just since you and your grandmother have arrived, this place seems to have a bit more life in it. A bit more joy.”
“This is more?” Eliza asked, glancing around at the cold luxury that surrounded them.
The maid laughed lightly, mistaking her meaning. “Well, you’ll get used to it, miss. Everyone does. Or near enough.”
Eliza managed a polite smile, though her thoughts were miles away. When the girl finished, she dismissed her with thanks and turned back to the mirror once more.
Her hair gleamed softly in the light, pinned and smoothed to a degree of elegance she rarely bothered with. But no amount of order could disguise the turmoil so evident in her hollowed eyes and unnatural pallor.
She rose slowly, bracing herself for the ordeal of breakfast.
Downstairs, she would have to meet the Earl’s eyes and pretend that nothing had changed — that she hadn’t dreamt of him, that she hadn’t kissed him in the shadowed corridor, that her heart wasn’t still beating far too fast at the thought of either.
It would be a performance worthy of the stage. And she feared she might not be equal to it.