Chapter 17
The morning after the carnival was not the morning Eloise had wanted. That was the first thought that came to her before she was even properly awake.
The second was worse. It was not because the children were difficult, or the house was loud, or the work more than she could bear. It was because Lawrence had monopolized her time the day before, and she had resented every minute of it.
The thought struck her so sharply that she sat up at once in bed and stared at the wall, unsettled by her own irritation.
Lawrence monopolized my time.
The phrase felt strange in her head. She had been a governess in a large house for only a matter of weeks. How had she come to think of the children as her family? The realization made her still. Not because it was difficult to answer. Because it was too easy.
Maisie and Duncan had become the first thing she wanted to see in the morning and the last thing she thought of at night.
Their moods altered hers. Their safety concerned her more than her own.
Their laughter did something to the air in the house that she had not realized she had been missing until it was there.
Family.
It was a dangerous word.
She had not intended to give it to them. She was only meant to teach them. And yet there the word was, too comfortable and familiar to ignore. She dressed more slowly than usual, her thoughts still caught on the same strange place.
The silence in the room felt different that morning, suspended rather than peaceful. She had the sensation that something was waiting for her. That sensation soon proved correct.
A letter arrived not long after breakfast. The maid brought it to her room on a tray with her tea and left as quietly as she had come. Eloise saw her father’s hand at once on the envelope and felt her stomach tighten.
She set the tea aside and broke the seal with fingers that did not remain steady.
My dear Eloise,
I write with something I feel you ought to know, though I confess I have taken longer to set it down than I should have.
Forgive the delay. Some things require more consideration before one commits them to paper.
I have heard of the Marquess of Feversham.
He is, I am told, a frequent fixture at the London card clubs, and has made himself rather notorious in certain circles for losses both heavy and sustained.
I will not pretend innocence on the subject of such establishments, as you well know, but I can say with some authority that the men to whom Lord Feversham owes money are not of the patient variety.
They are not men who find a noble title sufficient reassurance when a debt has gone unpaid.
I do not know your precise situation, and I understand you are not at liberty to explain it fully.
I ask only that you take care. But whatever you do, keep your distance from Lord Feversham where you are able.
Do not trust a smile simply because it is well made.
I have worn such a smile myself, my dear, and I know better than most what a man can hide behind one.
I do know one other thing, though I do not yet know the reason.
Lord Feversham hides the existence of a son.
I suspect he hides it because he has never taken a wife, and it is only because of some of my seedier acquaintances that I know of this son.
Use caution. A man trying so hard to keep such intriguing secrets is sure to be unpredictably dangerous.
Whatever you do, dear daughter, please be careful. I fear the worst is yet to come with that man.
Your loving father
Eloise set the letter down on the table. Outside the schoolroom window, the grounds were bright and ordinary. Somewhere below, she could hear Maisie’s voice drifting up from the garden, and the lower rumble of Logan’s reply. The house sounded exactly as it always did.
She looked at the letter again. Her father had written with more clarity than he had managed in years. The directness of it, stripped of all his usual embellishments, told her more than the words themselves did. He was afraid for her.
Eloise lowered the page and stared at the bedspread. The thought of Lawrence as a debtor to dangerous men made her skin prickle. The thought of him circling the children’s inheritance for the sake of money made her feel cold from the inside out. And he has a son?
She thought, bewildered. Having a child without a wife would certainly be reason enough to keep a child a secret. But was it relevant to anything that was happening with him? Was it something she could use if he continued pressing about business that was not his?
She folded the letter once. Then again. She needed to tell Jamie immediately. If her father had enough information to worry, then Jamie needed to know without delay. Or perhaps she needed him to know she was right. It hardly mattered.
The important thing was the same. Lawrence could not be allowed to move any further without someone stopping him. Jamie needed the letter. He needed to know what her father had written.
She set the paper carefully into the pocket of her dress and rose at once. The room felt too small all of a sudden. Too still. And her own thoughts too sharp to remain there alone while they tormented her.
***
After not finding Jamie anywhere in the manor, she rushed outside, hoping she might find him at the stables or the gardens. She found Lawrence in the garden instead of Jamie. That, she thought with a fresh wave of frustration, ought to surprise me less than it does.
He was standing where the path curved near the back of the house, as though he had been waiting for her specifically. He turned at once when he saw her and smiled with the same polished ease that had begun, over the past days, to feel less reassuring and more calculated.
“Miss Beauchamp.”
“Lord Feversham.”
He gave a small bow of his head and glanced toward the path behind her.
“You were looking for someone.”
Eloise did not answer immediately. She did not like how quickly he noticed things.
He smiled as though that silence had given him an answer.
“The viscount, I assume.”
Her face stayed calm.
Lawrence stepped lightly into the path beside her.
“I was hoping for a few minutes of your company.”
Eloise looked at him. “I am not certain that would be wise.”
He lifted a hand in a small, easy motion. “The weather is fine. The grounds are beautiful. Would you deny me the pleasure of a short walk?”
The question was so polite that it would have been rude to refuse without reason. He knew it. She knew it. That made the trap obvious. And yet she could not raise suspicion by refusing outright. So she gave a measured nod.
“Very well.”
His smile sharpened, and for a moment, he resembled a lion cornering a gazelle. She knew she was not in any physical danger, yet her stomach grew cold and quivered, nonetheless.
“Excellent,” he said.
He fell into step beside her with the same smooth confidence he seemed to wear in every room.
They walked for a time in silence. The morning was bright and cold enough to make the grass glitter in patches where the dew had not yet burned off.
The distant sound of a cart wheel on stone reached them from the village road.
Somewhere farther away, a bird called once and then stopped.
Lawrence spoke first.
“You have settled in quickly.”
Eloise kept her eyes ahead. “I have had reason to.”
He glanced at her. “Indeed.”
The tone carried no challenge.
That made it worse.
He continued, “The children seem very attached to you.”
“They are children. Children attach to kindness.”
“Yes,” he said, “but not all children attach so readily.”
She did not answer. She did not know what answer he was looking for, but her father’s letter was fresh in her mind. If Lawrence was seeking information, she thought that the less she gave him, the better.
He smiled slightly as though that pleased him. Then, with the same easy air he used for every inquiry, he sighed. “You must have heard a good deal about the trust by now.”
Eloise did not turn her head as she nodded.
“I cannot say that I have.”
He waited a moment before continuing, sounding no less charming than before, though he appeared unconvinced that she was completely ignorant on the subject. “Do you know who manages the children’s inheritance?”
The words were light. Too light.
Eloise felt her pulse sharpen.
“I assume the solicitor, although I cannot say for sure.”
“Yes.” He sounded almost pleased. “But I wondered whether you might know more than that.”
“Why would I?”
“Because you are intelligent.”
She glanced at him then. He was smiling warmly enough to have persuaded a stranger. But there was something in his eyes she did not like. Something measuring. Something patient, as though he had all the time in the world to wait for the answers he sought.
He continued once more. “You have observed the house. You have seen how things are arranged. You must have noticed whether the trust is well structured.”
Eloise said nothing.
Lawrence folded his hands behind his back as he walked.
“And whether a single guardian is truly sufficient.”
There it is.
She looked toward the house at the edge of the grounds and then back at him.
“That depends on the guardian.”
“Does it?”
“Yes.”
He gave a quiet laugh. “I would expect you to defend Lord Macalpine.”
“I am not defending anyone.”
“Then what are you doing?”
She met his eyes. “Trying to understand what you are asking.”
His smile remained pleasant. That was the problem. He never appeared to ask anything dangerous. He only placed a question somewhere where a dangerous answer might grow, and in such a way that he could plausibly deny any malice if confronted about his questioning.
“Well,” he said, “it is a matter of inheritance, Miss Beauchamp. Children, titles, money, guardianship. Such things are never simple.”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
He turned his head slightly toward her.
“You know enough to know that a household is more than affection.”