Chapter 13 #2
Maisie burst into full tears at once, and Eloise drew her into her lap without hesitation. The little girl clung to her and cried against her shoulder. Eloise held her tightly and said nothing, because there was nothing useful to say yet, not until she knew what would happen next.
So she sat with Maisie in her lap and waited, and the minutes stretched, one after another, the schoolroom very still except for Maisie’s breathing and the faint sounds of the house beyond the door.
It did not matter that her own composure was fraying, or that the trunk was packed and the letter written and the world outside this room seemed to have tilted overnight. Maisie needed steadiness, and so Eloise gave it.
When at last a knock came at the door, she lifted her head at once. Mrs. Maggie entered, her expression composed in the particular way that meant she had already decided how this conversation would go.
Eloise stood immediately, though Maisie still clung to her hand.
“The viscount wants to see you,” Mrs. Maggie said, too calmly. “Bring your lesson plans.” She paused. “Not your trunk.”
Eloise nearly forgot to breathe. Not my trunk. But why? She brushed a tear from Maisie’s cheek, trying to withhold her own. “Stay here with Mrs. Maggie,” Then, because she was suddenly afraid to trust her own voice further, turned and walked out into the corridor.
***
Jamie’s study seemed colder than the schoolroom. Eloise entered with her pulse already too fast and found him standing near the desk, one hand braced against it. He looked at her once, and in that single look she understood that he had already heard everything.
He shut the door behind her with an audible click.
“You are staying,” he said.
The words were blunt, neither soft nor tentative, and Eloise blinked at the force of them.
“No more lies,” he said. “No more omissions.”
Her throat tightened. His face remained hard, but she could see that the hardness was holding something besides anger in place beneath it.
“Your father’s debts are not yours,” he said.
The words struck so unexpectedly that she stared at him. He did not look away. “Whatever the Lawing name carries, it has nothing to do with what you have done in this house.”
She could not have spoken if she had tried. The silence between them altered. He looked like he had chosen the words carefully and disliked every one of them.
“I will not say anything to the household beyond Logan,” he added, more gently. “I do not want you to be forced to explain yourself to everyone here. You should not have to overexplain your own life because of a name that was never yours to begin with.”
Eloise felt her composure slip, and he saw it. His tone became just a little warmer.
“From now on,” he said, “I want there to be no secrets between us. No secrets. No omissions.” The words were a little rough, but they were honest. Then he gave a short, almost awkward nod toward the door.
“And we can be friendly,” he added, with a faint dryness clearly meant to ease the moment, “like that night in the library, for a start.”
The tension in her chest loosened all at once. She did not know what to say, so she said the only thing that felt adequate. “Thank you.”
He looked at her, and the room seemed to hold its breath.
She understood, suddenly and with startling clarity, that he was not only dismissing her fears.
He was protecting her from the consequences of her own name, from the household, from society, from the need to speak her shame aloud in front of everyone she worked beside.
She had not expected that. Least of all from him.
She began to turn toward the door, then paused as he reached out. His hand closed lightly around hers, not forcefully, only enough to stop her from leaving immediately. She looked back at him, and he seemed to realize at once what he had done. His expression softened, and his fingers loosened.
For a second neither of them moved. The air in the study had gone terribly still. He released her hand.
“I need to say one more thing,” he said.
She looked at him. He did not look away. His voice was lower now, less formal. “I do not keep you here out of pity.”
The words struck with immediate force, and she stood motionless.
“I keep you,” he said, “because you are the best at what you do, and because you are a good person.”
The room seemed to warm and soften around her.
The simple sentence sat in her chest with such weight that she nearly forgot to breathe.
He cleared his throat once, as though annoyed, and he chuckled with dry exasperation.
“And because despite your lapse in judgment, coming here under false pretenses, I still believe in your ability to teach the children honestly.”
The heat that rushed to her face was immediate. She had not expected such kind words, and it startled a laugh out of her even as her eyes stung.
His expression softened marginally. She was suddenly aware of his hand having touched hers, of his voice still in the room, of the fact that he had looked at her without anger only a moment before and had chosen instead to tell her she mattered.
It was a strange, unsettling realization, and one that left her oddly defenseless.
Eloise curtsied before she could betray herself further. “Thank you, my lord.”
He nodded once. She turned toward the door, then paused with her hand on the latch, the urge to look back nearly overwhelming.
She gave in. Jamie stood behind the desk, one hand resting near its edge, his expression unreadable, but not cold. The look in his eyes was enough to make her pulse stir wildly. There was not only gratitude and relief, but also warmth and tenderness. That was the most disorienting part of all.
She stepped out into the corridor and shut the door softly behind her, then leaned against the wall, pressed the heels of both hands to her eyes, and breathed. Once. Twice. A third time. Her heart was beating too fast.
Her face was hot. Her thoughts were worse, because the man in the study had just told her she was good, and capable, and not the sum of her father’s ruin, and the thing that made her tremble was not only relief.
It was that she found herself liking him. More than she ought. More than was wise. More than she had ever meant to.
She lowered her hands slowly, drew one long breath, and turned back toward the schoolroom.
Maisie was still waiting. Duncan was back in his seat, his book open in front of him, pretending to read and doing a very poor job of it. His eyes were red enough for Eloise to see at once.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. No one spoke. Duncan kept his head bent over the page, and Maisie remained in her chair near the table, watching Eloise with anxious hope.
Eloise looked from one child to the other, then smiled. “Right.”
Duncan’s shoulders tightened.
She set the lesson plans on the table and opened the book at once. “We are starting with geography today,” she said, lightly, deliberately, a safe and ordinary sentence. Then, before she could overthink it, she reached out and ruffled Duncan’s hair as she passed behind his chair.
His shoulders dropped with visible relief, the transformation immediate and painful in its simplicity.
Maisie looked between them. Then she climbed out of her chair and took the one beside Eloise without asking or hesitating.
Eloise glanced down and watched the child’s expression slowly settle.
Maisie stayed there for the rest of the lesson.
Duncan, though he still pretended to be interested only in the page before him, no longer looked as though he might run from the room.
Eloise laid one hand over the open book, glanced at the map before her, and began the lesson, pretending that the morning had never broken her heart at all.