Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“Mama? Uncle Hugh said you were unwell,” Eliza said as she climbed into the carriage, already packed too full with her mother and sister on one side and the Ainsley girls on the other.
They squeezed in tighter to allow her to sit, but the sheer volume of skirts was enough to overwhelm any free space.
Without a word, Uncle Hugh knocked on the roof from outside, and the carriage jolted to a start.
“We’ll discuss it later, sweetheart.”
Eliza’s stomach dropped. “What?” she demanded.
Across from her, Sophie rolled her eyes. “You managed to attract the most notorious rake in town. And ruined everyone else’s night.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
Lord Sinclair hadn’t behaved too inappropriately. He’d danced a touch too close, flirted rather boldly, and definitely shouldn’t have given her the sip of scotch, but he’d carefully skirted the edge of propriety until the drink.
“Lord Sinclair—apparently they call him the Lord of Sin,” Sophie added.
Lord of Sin? How humiliating.
“Enough, Sophie,” her mother snapped.
Eliza turned to look at her friends beside her, hoping for a show of support, but both Emma and her bolder sister, Georgiana, were studiously studying the folds of their skirts.
“He doesn’t even know Papa. Any self-respecting ‘Lord of Sin’ would be a regular at Wayland’s.” Eliza infused the absurd moniker with as much sarcasm as she was capable.
“Both of you, enough.” It was a tone Eliza’s mother rarely employed, but all the ladies understood it implicitly.
Sophie crossed her arms and made a show of staring out the window with a pout on her face. Tears welled behind Eliza’s eyes and she blinked them back.
Beneath the layers of ruffles, Emma’s hand found Eliza’s, gripping gently in a silent display of support. Emma understood her in a way Sophie never could. Georgie was more similar to Sophie, outgoing and bold—though less irritating about it.
Her moment of comfort was brief as the carriage reached the Ainsley home in short order. Emma offered her one last squeeze before exiting with a quiet, “Thank you. Goodnight.”
Usually, Mr. Ainsley met the carriage after a ball and escorted his daughters inside. But tonight they were too early for him to be waiting. Eliza watched out the window as one of the Wayland footmen escorted her friends to the door and waited until it opened before returning to the carriage.
Eliza turned back to face her mother and sister. Sophie opened her mouth but, without even turning, her mother interrupted, “Sophia, I said enough.”
Sophie turned back to her window, and Eliza chose the opposite.
The night was dark, though it was probably not yet midnight. And she’d been forced to flee from the ball. What a sad, pitiable Cinderella she made.
Wisps of fog collected along the empty streets and between the buildings, undisturbed by passing carriages, save theirs. The moon, not yet full, caught the edges of the ghostly strands.
Out of the corner of her eye, Eliza caught her mother pinching the bridge of her nose. She usually reserved the gesture for Sophie, and it chafed Eliza to see the disapproval directed to her.
What had she done? Accepted a dance? That was hardly a crime—in fact, it was rather the entire point of a ball. Flirted? Sophie flirted like breathing. Accepted a single sip of scotch? She wasn’t entirely certain anyone had actually seen that.
And the one time someone had finally asked to dance with her—her and not Sophie—it was ruined.
No one would ever ask again. She was being dramatic, but the humiliation threatened to overtake all sense.
And she didn’t want to rot against the wall forever, pretending she didn’t care—a wretched purgatory.
Finally, the carriage stopped in front of Dalton Place.
“Straight to bed, Sophie,” Mama cautioned as the footman opened the door and reached in to hand her sister out. “It’s a pleasant night. Join me in the gazebo, Eliza?”
It wasn’t a request. But the temptation to decline the offer out of sheer petulance was strong. Instead, Eliza nodded, then waited inside the carriage while the footman assisted her mother before returning for her.
Together, they set off through the back gate and down the graveled pathway. Small, thick patches of fog collected in the dips of the little yard.
Once they reached the gazebo, her mother pulled her down onto the bench, trapping Eliza at her side.
For a long moment, they sat in silence.
“I’m sorry,” Mama said simply, shocking the fight out of her daughter.
Eliza turned to face her. Lady Juliet Wayland was the picture of elegance, despite being crushed in the carriage and a long ball.
Her periwinkle silk gown, dotted with impossibly intricate embroidered forget-me-nots, was unmussed.
Bright blue eyes caught Eliza’s as her lips pressed together in sympathy. “I know how much that dance meant to you.”
“Then why have you put a stop to it?”
“Lord Sinclair has an unsavory reputation. It was the work of moments to discern it.”
“He doesn’t even know Wayland’s. He cannot be so bad as all that.”
“Oh, my darling.” Her mother caught her hand, squeezing it. “Everyone knows Wayland’s. Everyone.”
“What reason could he have to lie?”
“I do not know.” Mama was lying. Eliza wasn’t certain how she knew, but she did.
“Tell me,” she demanded.
“Darling…”
“Say it.”
Her mother’s eyes slipped shut as she shook her head. When they opened again, there was nothing but pity in them.
“My fortune. A man could only want me for my fortune. That’s what you mean.” Eliza’s voice was hollow, tinny, as empty as her heart.
“That is not what I meant—”
“The men who dance with Sophie— They’re not after her fortune? It’s only me.”
“Lizzie, no.” A devastated note filled her mother’s voice. “I—”
“No, it makes perfect sense. Sophie is striking and lively. And I’m… me. The only thing I have to tempt a man is money.”
A tear slipped down her mother’s cheek. “It breaks my heart to hear you speak this way of yourself,” she said, cupping Eliza’s cheek.
“Is this truly what you think? Because any man, even Lord Sinclair, would be lucky to earn your affections, darling. You’re witty and kind, so smart, and so, so beautiful. But there’s too much of me in you—”
“I think I’d like to go to bed now,” Eliza said, breaking away from her mother.
“Please, Lizzie—”
“Please, Mama?”
Her mother’s sigh was shaky, but she nodded, allowing Eliza to flee to the house.
Once inside her chamber, Eliza had May assist her in stripping the layers of skirts and petticoats before dismissing the maid, her throat tight all the while.
No sooner had she settled into bed, did the tears escaped the corners of her eyes, tracing silent paths down her temples and into her hair and pillow. She brushed them away in irritation.
How wretched it was to have her own mother confirm her every fear, her every inadequacy.
It wasn’t her mother’s fault—she was merely stating the obvious.
The only thing Eliza had to recommend herself was her fortune.
And there was no possible way Lord Sinclair could want her for any other reason.
It was foolish to let her hopes rise to such heights after only one dance.
Her door opened, and a dark form slipped inside.
“Slide over,” Sophie whispered as she approached the bed. Eliza shuffled to make room, then wiped her cheeks again.
Sophie snuggled down into the bedding before reaching a hand to find Eliza’s where it rested between them. “I’m sorry. I was being wretched,” she whispered to the ceiling.
“No, I ruined our night.”
“The food spoiled our evening with no assistance on your part. And besides, what did you do? Dance with a handsome gentleman who asked? I would have as well—but he only had eyes for you.”
“Mama thinks he was a fortune hunter. There is no other reason such a man would look at me twice. In fact—”
“She did not say that!”
“Not in those exact words, but that is what she meant.” Eliza rolled to her side, letting her head rest on Sophie’s shoulder.
“Mama would never even think it. Besides, she’s warned me off a gentleman or two. I’m certain she was only worried because you’ve never shown an interest in any suitor. She did not wish for you to be hurt by the first one to catch your eye.”
Eliza wanted to point out that he was the only gentleman to have ever noticed her—beyond her connection to Sophie. But Eliza knew her sister would not understand. Instead, she merely shook her head against Sophie’s collarbone.
“He was very handsome. Was he a worthy conversationalist?”
Eliza felt her lips curl into a half smile. “He is wittier than he is handsome.”
“Damn… Perhaps Papa may investigate him, and the rumors will prove wrong or overstated.”
“Our uncle was quite rude. Lord Sinclair will never wish to speak with me again. Nor will anyone else.”
“Oh, do not say such things. A man so easily frightened is not a man for you.”
Sophie could afford to make such bold declarations about the men who curried her favor. There were plenty of them. But Eliza’s options were limited to one—and now, not even him.
“I am thinking of visiting the club sometime this week. I need a new pair of gloves. And I do so enjoy making the gentlemen pay for them. Join me?”
“What happened to the ones you were wearing tonight?”
“There is a hole in the thumb. Please, Lizzie?”
“I do not understand why you refuse to use your pin—”
“Why should I when I can bring a man to tears and use his funds for my purposes?”
“Suit yourself, in fact—”
“But it’s only fun if we both make them cry. Losing to one woman is bad luck. Two…”
Eliza sighed, which Sophie took for an acceptance. “It will be such fun, you’ll see.”
“I hope you are right.”
“I will be. And you’ll be in high spirits in no time. The Lord of Sin will be banished from your memory.”
Eliza could not help rolling her eyes again. “It is an absurd moniker. And no man could live up to such a name.”
“Especially in the bedroom,” Sophie agreed.
An unladylike snort escaped Eliza. “How would you know?”
“I just know,” she said.
“Of course you do. It seems a great deal of work, though. Does it not? Wake. Eat too much while you break your fast. Destroy those who’ve wronged you.
Hoard absurd sums of gold. Enjoy a quick romp with a lady or three while you covet your neighbor’s shrubbery.
Boast about your efforts over another oversized supper. Such a long day.”
“Well, I imagine he need not display all the sins. At least not all in one day. But he’s certainly familiar with lust if the way he was staring at you was any indication. And shrubbery? Really, Lizzie?”
“I do not know what men covet.”
“Probably not the shrubbery.”
“That one was a stretch. I’ll admit it. But my point stands. It must take a great deal of effort to be worthy of such a title. When would one find the time for courtship in such a busy schedule?”
“You should ask him—if you meet again.”
“Perhaps I will,” Eliza mused. “Are you sleeping in here?”
“I suppose. I’m too comfortable to move. Lizzie?”
“Yes?”
“I am truly sorry that your second dance was ruined.”
“Thank you,” Eliza whispered into the night.