Chapter Two #2
And he wasn’t even aware of everything that had happened to her.
Could she ever consider herself respectable or worthy again?
That remained to be seen. Whenever she thought about it, whenever those hellish memories came rushing back of that horrible night when everything changed, despair came over her.
Could she honestly pretend to any man that she was the innocent they expected, the virgin she let the people closest to her assume?
At the last second, she tamped down on the urge to sob.
“Oh, Papa.” With a shake of her head, she set her cup and saucer onto the low table in front of her.
“I am just so tired of everything.” Perhaps it would be easier to stop fighting her father’s plans and accept that he wanted to see her cared for. “I don't love the baron.”
“I understand, but those feelings will eventually come.” He gave her a pleased smile. “Sir Johnathan is a good man. I met him during my last year as ambassador. Our paths have crossed numerous times since then, and he is quite keen to meet you.”
Her father was adorable in his hope. And she was so exhausted from feeling nothing except anger.
Finally, she nodded. “I will agree to a meeting with him, but he will need to impress me before I accept an engagement.” As much as she refused to be bossed by arrogant men who thought the world owed them something, she also wasn’t interested in giving her heart to another sweet man.
As much as she still grieved her fiancé, she didn’t want a staid, safe existence.
Not any longer. Life was far too short for that.
She wanted to feel more than sadness and grief…
or even anger. There had to be something else involved, something to remind her that she was alive, that she was worthy, that she was capable of love…
Any of that would be welcome, but she rather doubted it would happen.
Above all, I want to feel needed, by anyone, for merely me.
“I’m so happy to hear that, Poppet.” He saluted her with his teacup. “It will mean much to me to see you taken care of properly. A woman of your talents and sentiments shouldn’t be left alone. You have much to give to the world, you know.”
At the last second, she stopped herself from pointing her gaze to the ceiling in frustration. Instead, she uttered a huff and frowned. “What sort of talents do you suspect I have?”
“First off, you have a gift for painting.” He winked at her. “I should know since I have three of your watercolors in my study.”
“I haven’t painted for so long, though. Not since I was in France, when things were… different.” Hopeful. Easy. Happy.
“That matters not. Talent like yours doesn’t fade.
It only goes into hiding. Once your feelings come about and the world doesn’t seem so frightening or sad, the urge to paint will come to you once more.
” Once he drained his teacup, he laid it and the saucer on the table.
“Also, you have a knack for flower arranging. Your centerpieces have graced my tables over the years when I was ambassador. I would like to see that again. Flowers and blooms brighten up the house, and lord knows we can all use color in our lives during this trying time.”
“There is that.” It had been some time since she’d put together bouquets and arrangements. “Flowers might prove difficult to come by this year, but I’ll try my best.” Would that help to snap her out of the fog she’d slipped into over the years?
“If anyone can do it, I know it will be you.”
“It seems like ages since I’ve done either of those things. They used to bring me so much joy. I did like using both to cheer up a table or wall.” Why had she let herself fall into such darkness? And what did that mean for her future?
“Yes, well, time goes on, love. Perhaps when you meet Sir Johnathan, things will change for you. I hope he’s the one that will put a light back into your eyes.”
She snorted. “I rather doubt any man can do that.” Her faith in the opposite sex had gone away a few years ago thanks to the French.
That her own damned people would treat herself—and others in every small village—like that meant that everything the English had ever said in a derogatory manner about them was true.
“Most men are only built to pursue their own urges. Except Jean-Claude. He was everything considerate and lovely.”
“Not to cast doubt, but you didn’t know him all that well and you certainly hadn’t lived with him,” her father said with a lifted eyebrow. “Even the best of men don’t show you all the cards until the vows are spoken.”
“That doesn’t bode well for the future, does it?” Then she waved a hand. “I don’t particularly wish to continue this conversation.”
“Very well.” Her father leaned back on the sofa. “But I do want you to consider giving up this ridiculous notion of getting revenge on a duke. That can do more harm than good for your reputation.”
As if that was something to preserve. She touched the pocket watch through her skirting.
“I don’t know if I can. It’s been in my mind for so long that now I’m compelled to do something about it.
” Then she shrugged. “Perhaps if I can find a way of confronting him or at the very least have the opportunity to call him out in a public space, that urge might prove satisfied.”
“It’s dangerous, my girl, especially with a man as powerful as Blackhawke. From the gossip throughout the years, his sanity is questionable on any given day.”
Isn’t all of ours?
“I must try, for my own peace of mind. Then I promise, I shall try to attend to my future.” It was the best she could promise him.
Until then, she would concentrate on finding a way to have an introduction to the duke. He would answer for what he’d done. Jean-Claude’s memory deserved at least that.
And if that didn’t work? Well, her mother had been a healer in the village, and that came with a bit of what the villagers had called “witch knowledge,” meaning she could go out into the forests and forage for components for “spells” the townsfolk didn’t understand.
Truth be told, her mother mostly helped people with ailments or to make love potions and the like.
A few times, she’d done repellant or even summoning spells. Eloise intended to use that learned knowledge to her advantage to ensure the duke consented to see her, and to make her words find their mark.