Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Another day, another ball. Eliza held little hope that this one would be interesting without Benedict’s presence.
Now she knew what she was missing. She knew what it was to whirl around the ballroom, her feet never kissing the ground.
She knew what it was to stare into the eyes of the handsomest man in the room. She knew what it was to be in his arms.
Eliza had not seen Rose in several days, and she was eager for the excuse to ignore the whispers in favor of a warm conversation.
Some lord or other scooped up her sister for a dance before they’d reached Rose’s side. Eliza could not lament her absence.
“Well?” Rose asked with her hands.
“Well, what?” Eliza replied in kind.
“You know precisely what. Tell me everything!”
In lieu of a response, Eliza offered a coy smile.
“I knew it! You have feelings for him! What sets have you saved him?”
Eliza fought to keep the disappointment from her face as she said, “He won’t be here tonight. He is otherwise engaged.”
“That is disappointing. But he told you himself?”
“Yes, when he called.” And again last night under the stars.
“I am so delighted for you! Tonight will disappoint both of us though.”
“Miss Wayland, it’s so good to see you,” a feminine voice called from behind her.
She turned to find Lady Arabella approaching. Eliza backed up a step so Rose could read Lady Arabella’s lips. “You as well. I trust your family is well?”
“If you mean my brother, yes, he is well at present. Whether he will be later this evening is less certain.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said aloud, signing as well for Rose’s benefit.
“He did not tell you? My foolish brother is at the match tonight.”
“The match?”
“Boxing. He’ll not be satisfied until his ears resemble cruciferous vegetables.”
Eliza’s heart dropped to her stomach. He’d mentioned that he boxed, but she hadn’t considered the consequences—injuries were not uncommon in the sport. And some could be serious.
“Do not worry, Miss Wayland. My brother has no brain to be damaged.”
“I take it you do not approve,” Rose said.
“I rarely approve of anything my brother does. In fact, I can only name one recent choice he’s made that I approve of.
” Lady Arabella’s gaze slid to Eliza pointedly.
Rose made an excited squeak before recalling that others could hear it and breaking out into a coughing fit that was no less subtle.
Usually, Eliza found such habits charming.
In that specific moment, they were less so.
“His fight is in an hour. He forbade me from attending. So, naturally, I plan to leave after the next set to arrive in time to glare disapprovingly.”
“Have you attended before?” Rose asked.
“It is not a place for ladies. As such, I often attend.” A smile settled over her lips, a scheming glint in her eyes. “I do not like to be told no.”
An idea took hold, a terrible one, but it wriggled its way into her mind and planted itself there, growing like an invasive weed.
“Could I— That is, would it be an imposition if I…” Eliza fumbled through her inarticulate question, trailing off as the words abandoned her.
“Do you wish to join me?”
Eliza’s heart jolted with giddy anticipation. “It would not— You would not mind?”
“Not at all.”
“You were just telling me about your headache, Lizzie,” Rose added, nodding in encouragement.
“You will not be lonely?” Eliza asked her cousin.
“If you leave, perhaps Mama will allow me to leave too.”
Eliza’s stomach flipped. She couldn’t possibly… Except… What had following the rules ever gotten her? Breaking the rules—the way she had last night—felt so right. She nodded, mostly to herself, but Lady Arabella seemed to accept it as affirmation.
“Should I collect you from your house?” she asked. Eliza agreed eagerly.
Lying to her mother was shockingly simple.
Eliza felt a pang of regret for Rose. Instead of allowing her to flee, Rose’s mother suggested that they bring Sophie home after the ball.
Harder was masking her jittering, glittering anticipation on the ride home and then while May was readying her for bed.
No sooner had the maid shut the door than Eliza flung back the bed coverings and found her darkest dress.
She rushed back into her corset and petticoats before managing the buttons on the gown.
The purple cotton was dip-dyed black at the bottom.
The unusual styling had intrigued Eliza at the milliner’s.
Her hair was more challenging. She was forced to settle for a simple knot at the back of her neck.
A quick glance in the mirror revealed something new. The girl reflected was bright-eyed, with a becoming flush and parted lips. Her hair was slipping from the chignon in a riot of wild curls—she was beautiful. This was the girl Benedict saw when he looked at her.
Her path down the stairs and through the garden was precarious with much of the household still awake. She escaped with only one close call, hiding in a closet as May walked past with the laundry.
When she stepped into the darkened yard, heart racing, she allowed herself a moment to breathe. Then she slipped through the gate and found an unfamiliar hack awaiting her.
The inside was empty, save for Lady Arabella, clad in a burnt-copper gown with a neckline that would have made Eliza blush to wear. A mossy green velvet ribbon accentuated the lady’s waist.
“I take it there was no trouble?” she asked.
“None,” Eliza said, shaking off her awe of the older woman. “Did you encounter any?”
“I employ a companion for appearances when I feel it necessary. In general, though, I do what I wish.”
“Your family has no objections?”
“My mother might have objected were she alive. Father’s interests are very… specific.”
Eliza’s eyes widened, apologies tripping over each other on the tip of her tongue. Instead she murmured, “I knew about your mother. It was a thoughtless question. I am sorry for your loss.”
Lady Arabella’s brow lifted in surprise.
“Benedict told you? He does not speak of her. I believe he worries that losing Mother has left me damaged—that my jaded disinterest in matrimony is owed to the lack of her influence. I cannot convince him that the male species itself is the reason I am jaded and disinterested. Uninspiring dullards, the lot of them.”
“Save your brother,” Eliza offered.
“Oh, I am very much including him with the rest. That he is fighting tonight instead of twirling you about the dance floor is evidence enough. But I give you leave to like him if you must. There are worse choices to be had.”
Eliza rather thought there were no better choices to be had.
Before she could reply, the carriage stopped outside an unassuming tavern.
Two windows abutted the small double doors.
Gold accents topped the false columns between each window.
Inside, the warm glow of numerous candles brightened and ebbed with people bustling about.
Behind her, Lady Arabella paid the driver.
“Thank you. I didn’t…”
“Bring any money? I assumed. Tonight’s indulgences are mine—or more likely Bennie’s.”
A smile curled up at the corner of Eliza’s lips. “He said you call him that.”
“Yes, if you’d like to see him turn the most intriguing shade of red, be sure to use it. Now, when we go inside, stick close to me or Ben. And for heaven’s sake, do not tell anyone your real name. We don’t want this getting back to your father.”
A breathless nod was all Eliza felt capable of. Worry threatened to overtake her. She had never been less prepared for anything. Before she could find the words to express that sentiment, Lady Arabella grabbed her hand and shoved it into the crook of her elbow.
Instead of using the front entrance, Lady Arabella brought her around the corner to a different, unadorned door. “Ladies entrance,” she said as she turned the knob.
The bar occupied one wall, with tables lining the other. The tavern was packed tight. Most patrons were male; however, a few ladies sipped drinks among them.
Eliza wasn’t a stranger to such society—she spent enough time at her father’s club. But Wayland’s catered to those with more money than sense. As such, they made it a point to display the trappings of wealth.
“Would you like a drink?” Lady Arabella whispered in her ear.
Eliza had anticipated nothing about tonight, and she never imagined adding alcohol to her adventure. But the appeal was overwhelming. And the saying was, when in Rome…
“Bonnie Barrel, please?”
Lady Arabella raised a brow at her whiskey selection but made no comment.
She strode toward the bar, leaving Eliza to trail along after her.
The woman’s sharp, ornate silver hairpin flashed hotly in the firelight.
She ordered two glasses and then, instead of reaching for her reticule, she turned to a gentleman seated on a stool abutting the bar.
He was short, with light hair, freckles, and an amiable smile.
Eliza could only describe what Lady Arabella delivered as a look. He raised a hand to the barkeep. “Another round, and whatever these two lovely ladies would like.”
Her companion made small talk with the man while Eliza fretted. Did they have to spend time with him now? And where was the fight? Surely there wasn’t enough room in here.
A drink appeared in her hand, and Lady Arabella pulled her away from the bar. The man laughed indulgently and called out, “Well played!”
“The boxing is in the back,” Lady Arabella explained, guiding her to a door she hadn’t noticed.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and sweat. The audience crowded in a circle around the center. Jeering cheers filled the room, punctuated by the sickening beats of fists on flesh.
“Come.” Lady Arabella yanked on her arm, angling both of them to the front, cutting through the mass of damp bodies.