Chapter 17 #2
Eloise looked at him with a fresh sort of suspicion. He was leading her to give the answers he wanted, since she had so far not given them as freely as he had expected. She felt it with every step.
So she changed the angle of the conversation.
“And your own son?” she asked.
Lawrence’s face shifted to a shock that was very much unlike his usual composure. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just enough for her now that she was watching him more carefully than before.
“How do you know of my son?” he asked, trying unsuccessfully to sound casual.
Eloise shrugged calmly, though her heart was beating wildly. The words had already left her lips, but she immediately wondered if she should have kept quiet and told Jamie first, instead.
“Nothing remains secret in London for very long.”
Lawrence scoffed and nodded.
“That is something we can agree on.”
She was silent for a moment, letting him grapple with the revelation that she knew his secret while she collected herself.
“Does the line of succession concern you?” she asked. “If you are so interested in the arrangement of another household, I assume you must be attentive to your own.”
The charm slipped. Only for a moment. Lawrence’s expression sharpened a little at the edges and there was an odd darkness in his eyes.
“My son is well provided for.”
“I am glad.”
“He requires no concern from you.”
The reply was smooth.
Too smooth.
She looked ahead again and felt her composure slowly begin to settle.
Lawrence, apparently deciding he had let the mask slip too much, returned to easy charm at once.
“These matters are rather complex,” he said with a smile. “Too complex, I think, for a woman’s concern. Or a governess’s rank.”
The condescension was sharp and deliberate. Eloise felt it immediately. And, because she had learned something of value from him by then, she also understood that he had chosen the words carefully enough to insult her while sounding civilized.
She thanked God, with a sudden and deeply private intensity, that he did not know who her father was. Surely, he did not. If he did, the tone would likely have become uglier by half. She kept her face calm. Inside, everything had gone very still.
His opinion of her did not matter. She had the answer she had sought. Lawrence did not care about the children. He cared about the money. The trust. The inheritance.
She said nothing more, which seemed to amuse Lawrence, as though he believed he had won some debate.
She supposed he did think that, believing that he had put her in her place.
He walked with her a little farther, talking lightly about the weather, the state of the grounds, the road back to the village, and all the ordinary things men used to make danger appear polite.
Eloise answered when required, but she was no longer paying attention to what he was saying. Her answers were noncommittal and bland, just enough to let him keep talking while she continued thinking. Lawrence did not seem to notice.
Or if he did, he did not show it. By the time they turned back toward the house, she was already planning what she would say to Jamie.
“I suppose you must return to your duties,” Lawrence said.
That got her attention. She recognized both another insult on her station and her excuse to leave his presence when she heard it.
“Yes, my lord. Please, excuse me.”
Lawrence nodded and waved her away as if personally dismissing her.
“I shall stay out here a little longer,” he said. “But I would not think of keeping you from your job.”
She dipped her head, turning sharply away from him. He said nothing more, but she could feel his eyes burning intently through her as she walked away.
She had almost reached the house again when she looked up and saw him.
Jamie stood on the front steps. And he was looking in the direction from which she had just come. She glanced back and saw Lawrence, who was only then slowly turning and walking away.
She looked at Jamie again, his gaze fixed on Lawrence.
Jamie had been watching. His expression was darker than usual and closed in a way that felt almost physical from where she stood on the gravel path.
It was the wall again. The wall he used to keep out everyone.
The one she thought the two of them had moved past.
Beside him, on the upper terrace, Catriona stood with a parasol open against the morning sun. Her expression was mostly bland, but there was a curious judgment in her eyes, though she did not hold Eloise’s gaze.
Eloise’s chest tightened. She had not expected to find herself standing there with Lawrence beside her and Jamie looking down with that cold, separating silence. Still, she had something important to tell him. Whatever he was thinking would have to wait.
However, before she could say anything, he spoke.
“Miss Beauchamp.”
The tone was so unlike the Jamie she had spent weeks getting to know that she felt it sting before she fully understood why.
He descended the steps only enough to make the reprimand unmistakable.
“You should not be walking alone with a man above your station.”
Eloise went still. The words were not loud. They did not need to be. They were controlled, precise, and cold enough to freeze the air between them. And similar enough to what Lawrence had said to her to make her stomach turn.
“It is unseemly,” he said in that clipped, formal voice that came with the wall, “and it reflects on this household. Poorly.”
She stared at him. For a second, she could not speak. It is the viscount speaking, not Jamie. The distinction hit harder because she had begun to believe the other version of him was the real one.
The hurt swallowed her all at once, hot and immediate. She could feel it in her throat before she had formed a reply.
“What am I to do?” she asked, more sharply than she intended. “Refuse to speak to someone who wants my company because it displeases you?”
She regretted her wording deep down, but the hurt made her too angry to care immediately. Jamie did not answer. The look on his face remained closed. The terrible thing was that he looked sincere in his disapproval. That made it worse.
Eloise’s temper flared before she could stop it.
“I was trying to learn something useful,” she said, her voice trembling only slightly with anger, “not seeking a suitor.”
His jaw tightened. He looked as though he was considering a reply, but ultimately, he said nothing. Then, with one curt movement, he turned away. No explanation. No apology.
He simply withdrew as if the matter were settled. Eloise stood there on the gravel path feeling furious and wounded and entirely unable to understand how he had gone cold again so quickly. She could still feel the letter in her pocket. She had come with information that could help him.
Instead, he had spoken to her as if she were a foolish girl being led by a charming man. The worst part was that he had sounded so unlike himself that she could not even be properly certain whether the injury was to her or to something she had begun to hope for.
She stood there with the afternoon sun on her skin, the house in front of her, and the letter in her pocket. She felt, all at once, both furious and very much alone.