Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
No one was at breakfast. Good. Elizabeth could eat in peace. Still reeling and angered from the embarrassing encounter at the ball, Elizabeth wished herself deceased, hidden beneath a nameless headstone in some unknown church cemetery forever.
Dyer cornered her at the breakfast buffet.
“Why are you here?” She could not look up. How her mother had snatched her from Zachary, called for the Spencer carriage, leaving immediately and leaving everything to wild speculation.
“Waiting for your father. We are going to look at a stretch of land north on the Hudson.” He was quiet for a moment, and then spoke. “Elizabeth, as your closest ally and friend, you must not take interest in the cowboy. I see him as a fortune hunter. A man prone to wandering with no roots.”
Elizabeth thumped a piece of bacon on her plate. “Is that what you think?”
“I’ve been in business for years. Have built an empire.
I know men. I know drifters and I know money-grubbers.
There are rumors circulating. You don’t want to disappoint your father by condescending to the company of a cowpoke or tarnishing your reputation.
Most of all, I don’t want to see you hurt. ”
The guilt her family and now Rawlins laid on her shoulders. Like rust upon iron, defiled, consumed, gnawing, and creeping into it until it ate out the heart of the metal. She was tired of being told what to do, who to talk to, and what to say. She must break free of her cage.
“I’m a grown woman and can make my own decisions.” Was that her talking? She sounded like a petulant child when Rawlins had done so much for her.
He seated her at the table, leaned over, and whispered huskily into her ear. “There are some men who may wish to defile you, Elizabeth.”
She snapped her head around. Gone was the benevolent aged uncle replaced by what?
Longing? Desire? Lust? Too much to be interpreted in a specific emotion.
His regard vanished as quickly as it appeared into the smooth veneer of a knowing uncle.
She turned her face to her plate and cleared her throat.
What if Rawlins Dyer was more complicated than she had thought?
Was he projecting shame on her for something he had done?
Elizabeth resisted the urge to rub her temples and watched him procure a cup of coffee from the sideboard.
She glanced about the room. Nothing seemed out of place. Deep inside she knew something was very, very wrong. She shivered. Cold rattled into her bones. Shadows. Dark, dizzying shadows.
The murky memory like a pillow of glass shards. The more she squeezed, the more it cut. She shook her head to dispel what had come over her. Maybe she was crazy.
He took the chair beside her. “I support your work at the orphanage and applaud your goodwill for it. If you persist with the cowboy, your father and mother may forbid you to go there. Regardless, know that I will support you.”
Her stomach twisted with a nauseating wave.
Was Rawlins manipulating her? Applauding her, then threatening to take what she treasured the most. A roar of waves crashed overhead.
Big fish eat little fish. Hadn’t Rawlins done this his entire life to obtain his wealth?
Had she overlooked his machinations for his friendship?
To speak mere portions of truth to deceive. A true craftsman of destruction.
Rawlins pulled out a pair of spectacles, put them on, and then proceeded to study the contents of the newspaper. His expression made her think of a weasel examining freshly laid eggs in a chicken coop.
Did he know that Caroline was her child? Would Dyer hurt Zachary? Was his double entendre concern or a veiled threat?
She stabbed at the bacon on her plate. Where had Zachary been these past three weeks? He’d left after that horrid scene at the ball. Could she blame him? Had father threatened him? How she missed him.
Fiona appeared. “Your mother wishes to speak with you…in the blue tearoom.” Rawlins lifted his brow. Said nothing.
She adjusted her plate on the table. “Tell Mother, I’m going to eat my breakfast first.” Elizabeth took her time, nibbling her toast in silence. Rawlins gave her one furtive glance.
“Though there seems little chance of winning the primary place in your affections, I would be only too happy if I thought that a remote corner of your heart would be devoted to me.”
Curling her hand around her fork, Elizabeth did not hear a word he said, irritated by his presence, annoyed with the oncoming battle with her mother, and the fact she didn’t want Fiona to be punished. “Good day to you, Rawlins.” She felt his eyes follow her from the room.
“What is it?” Elizabeth asked Fiona in the hallway. “For hours last night, I had to listen to Mother lecture me about the picnic, and then the scene at the ball. How much more must I endure?”
“Mrs. Smith and your sister. Those two own the market on telling tales and have nothing better to do than be jealous of you.”
Fiona was not only her servant but her best friend. Confidences were kept between them. Fiona was the breadwinner for her four younger siblings, orphaned years ago when her parents were hit by a runaway meat wagon and died in the middle of the street.
As they walked down the hallway to the drawing room, Elizabeth said, “Get me my wrap, and yours, and order the carriage to be brought out front posthaste. We are going out for the day.”
“Your mother requires you to entertain at her tea. Ladies are present.”
Elizabeth stopped at the opening of the parlor, framed by marble columns.
Her mother sat at the head of a bevy of women. “Elizabeth, come in and sit with us.”
The last thing she wanted was to listen to the natter of self-indulgent and shallow women. She took her hat and coat from Fiona and put them on.
Alva narrowed her eyes. Elizabeth committed heresy. She straightened, feeling buoyant with the freedom of it. “I’m sorry Mother, but I have a prior engagement that begs my attention.”
Her mother’s expression was as stiff as a coffin corpse. “This tea is important.”
“Is it, Mother?”
“Don’t tell me you are going out with those ragamuffins!” Alva demanded.
Her mother would not keep her from Caroline. “Actually, that is what I have planned. I’m taking them to the Museum of Natural History.” With your granddaughter. The one you wanted to sell into abject poverty.
Elizabeth heard the rapid intake of collective breath from the ladies in the room. That would give them plenty of fodder to gossip about.
Alva huffed after her. “Elizabeth, come back. I forbid you–”
Elizabeth lifted her skirts and descended the steps to the carriage.