Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Eliza cried great, wrenching sobs that ripped her chest open and left her head pounding. And the worst part was that Benedict’s were the only arms she wanted to comfort her. But she would never know his tender touch, nor his spice and cedar scent again.
Her gaze refused to abandon the drooping bouquet of violets—the last she would ever receive from Benedict.
At some point, Sophie snuck into her room and crawled behind Eliza on the bed. Her sister’s arms were surprisingly strong when they wrapped around her. But they provided little comfort. Too thin and too cool compared to the ones she longed for.
Despite her exhaustion, it took hours for Eliza to fall into a restless, uneasy sleep.
When she woke, the sun was low in the sky, streaming through her window, and she was still in Sophie’s arms. Her sister hadn’t moved at all—no truer test of her affections could be found. Sophie had stifled her restless nature to allow Eliza rest.
“Thank you,” Eliza croaked. Her throat was raw, and her head still hammered with every anguished heartbeat.
“What happened?” Sophie asked.
“Mama did not tell you?”
“No, I just heard you crying. Did someone— No one...” It took Eliza’s addled mind a few moments to parse her meaning.
“No one died. It’s Benedict,” she whimpered. “Papa has forbidden me from seeing him.”
“Oh, Lizzie.” Sophie raked her fingers through Eliza’s hair. “I am so, so sorry. Did he say why?”
“Gaming debts—but I cannot believe that. Papa did not even know him.”
“What cause would Papa have to lie about such a thing?”
“I don’t know. But nothing makes sense. Last night, I—”
“What?” Sophie asked, far too loud. She yanked Eliza around by the shoulders to face her. “Did you sneak out last night, Eliza Wayland?”
“Why does it matter? I’ll never see him again anyway,” she moaned.
“Did he— Are you— Is there a chance you might be—”
A huff escaped Eliza. “Last night was only a kiss.”
Sophie, who ought never be underestimated, caught her careful wording. “Last night? And other nights?”
“A little more than kissing,” Eliza admitted, her cheeks heating at the memories of Benedict’s touch.
“Sophie, I love him. He sees me in a way no one else ever has. In his arms, I’m never overlooked.
To him, I’m interesting, even when I prattle on about my plants.
And I know he can be roguish, but he’s different with me, softer. ”
“You love him?” There was an unfamiliar note in Sophie’s voice, and Eliza couldn’t identify it.
“I do.”
“Papa cannot know that, surely. He would not be so cruel as to separate you for something as easily rectified as gaming debts—he holds nearly all of them anyway. If we merely ex—”
“Papa was adamant, Sophie. He even ordered Benedict from the city.”
“He could not do such a thing! He doesn’t have the power.”
“Not legally, but he has more than enough influence and far too many employees. He could easily make any man’s life a misery. I—”
“But surely Lord Sinclair will not be so easily able to give you up.”
Hope, no matter how improbable, bubbled up desperately into Eliza’s chest. “Perhaps...”
“I’m certain of it. He is probably busy rectifying Papa’s complaint as we speak, or searching for evidence to prove it is all a misunderstanding. He loves you. I’ve seen it in his eyes when he watches you. He will come for you. Perhaps this very night.”
“Oh, do not give me false hope. I could not bear it if you were wrong.”
“You shall see,” Sophie assured her.
That hope sustained Eliza that first night as she waited, gaze fixed on her dying bouquet before the window. Sophie stayed with her and stirred occasionally beside her, but all else remained quiet.
The next morning, Sophie left to break her fast, but Eliza could not think of food. By supper on the second day, her sister coaxed her to have a few spoonfuls of porridge—her throat too raw to swallow anything more and her belly too devastated to house it.
With each passing night, when no pebble clinked against her window, and each passing day with no knock on her door, Eliza’s hope dimmed. Too furious with her mother and father to bear their company, she kept to her rooms even for meals and saw no one but Sophie.
“If only we could speak to him. I’m certain we could reassure Papa of his intentions,” Sophie asserted on the sixth day of Eliza’s broken heart. “Something is preventing him from coming, Lizzie. I know it.”
With that assertion, Sophie dropped a kiss on Eliza’s forehead. “Are you certain you will not join us at the theater?”
“No, thank you. I’ve a headache.”
“Alright. I’ll miss you.”
“Have fun,” Eliza said, even as a nagging thought started taking hold.
Because Sophie was right. If she could only see Benedict, speak to him, they could clear up this nightmare.
Perhaps he was not confident in her feelings—he did not know that she wished desperately to be with him.
If only she could see him…
An hour later, the notion refused to leave her. The house was quiet. Her father’s reluctance to attend the ton’s balls usually did not extend to the theater.
Quietly, Eliza rose and donned the same dress she’d worn to the boxing match, then tucked her hair back in a plain style. She snuck out through the music room, just as she had the other night.
The moon was absent, leaving her to navigate the familiar gardens from memory and dim starlight alone. She padded along the graveled path toward the gate, tripping only once over a small stone.
Their gate was well maintained and silent as she slipped through it. She paused on the pavement and glanced in both directions before starting past the house in the direction of Benedict’s townhouse.
She had reached the other side of the stoop before a cool voice drifted over her.
“I know you’re not sneaking out, Eliza Wayland.”
She whirled around to find Sebastian Kincade leaning against the wall with one leg propped over the other. With his dark skin and clothing, he should have stood out against the white facade of her house, but he’d made the shadows his home.
“Bash…”
“I’m here, minding my business—wasting my time—making sure your suitor doesn’t try anything. Best part of my week spent twiddling my thumbs. And here you are, sneaking out looking for trouble.”
“Please, Bash. I need to see him.”
His laugh landed somewhere in the vicinity of a derisive snort. “Knew a Wayland girl’s mischief was going to be the end of my employment. Never imagined it would be yours.”
“But—”
“He’s gone, Lizzie. Saw him board the coach myself. I’m just here—as I said, wasting my time—out of an abundance of caution.”
Her heart sank. “No, you must be mistaken. He wouldn’t leave—”
“Don’t rightly know what he’s done. But, Lizzie, I never saw your pa like that. Whatever it is… you’d best stay away from Sinclair.”
Her mind rebelled at that very notion. Bash was operating under the same misapprehension as her father.
“How did he learn whatever it was?” Eliza pressed.
“Some barkeep. But you’re not entering into some foolhardy investigation, neither.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were fixing to.”
“Bash, please. I need to understand.”
He strode forward, coming to stand before her. “You want to understand. You need to stay here, snug in your feather bed. If it’s any comfort, he looked properly shattered to leave. But leave he did.”
“It’s all a misunderstanding!”
“Then he’ll find a way to straighten it out.”
“But what if he doesn’t?”
“You’re worth the effort, Lizzie.”
“But he cannot—”
“No. There’s only two options here. Either it is all a misunderstanding, and he’s not put forth the effort to clear it up—and doesn’t deserve you. Or he’s done wrong, and he knows he doesn’t deserve you,” Bash insisted, gaze determined.
“He doesn’t know, though. I never told him I—”
“Know you grew up under your ma and pa’s great love story, but sometimes love’s not enough. Sometimes the bastard and the lady don’t live happily ever after. Sometimes the world’s just too broken for it. And if it is, then the next man will love you even better.”
“Bash, please. You could come with—”
“No. I let you and your sister run roughshod all over me—but not when your safety is at risk. Now, if you agree to sneak back into bed without a fuss, I’ll not tell your pa what you were up to. That’s the best I can offer you. He trusts me to prevent trouble. I don’t mean to disappoint him.”
Eliza ground her teeth together and barely resisted the urge to stomp her foot in a petulant display. “Don’t be surprised if Sophie makes your life a misery next time we’re at the club.”
“Soph’s been making my life a misery since the day I met her. Off to bed with you.” He grabbed her around the shoulders and spun her back in the direction she’d come from, then marched her to the gate.
“Bash,” she protested one last time.
“Bleeding hell, woman. Go to bed!” he ordered with a final shove.
Defeated, Eliza trudged back into the house. She made no attempt to hide from any of the servants milling about. What would be the point? Bash wouldn’t abandon his post tonight for anything.
She crawled back into her bed, refusing to give further contemplation to Bash’s words even as they swirled through her mind.
He was wrong—he must be. Benedict did care for her.
She’d never been more certain of anything.
No one could speak to her, look at her, kiss her, touch her with such tenderness, devotion, and passion and remain ambivalent.
It was impossible.