Chapter 18
Jamie knew he had completely misjudged Eloise, and that he had handled the situation badly. That did not make the knowledge easier to bear. In fact, it made it harder.
He had paced his study for nearly an hour after the confrontation, and if anyone had asked whether he was angry with Eloise, he would have said no. He was angry with himself. It was his own temper that had ruined the moment. His own foolishness.
His own inability to see Lawrence with anything like calm when the man was standing too near her and speaking in that easy, polished way that made everyone else look less certain of themselves.
Jamie had seen Eloise walking with Lawrence.
He had seen her laugh at something the Marquess said.
Not loudly. Not carelessly. Maybe even a little tense and preoccupied.
But he had also seen her hand hover near Lawrence’s arm as they crossed the path, and something in his chest had twisted hard enough to make him lose the proper use of his judgment.
She was not his. She was the governess. She was a woman hiding under a false name in his house, and he had no claim on her time, her company, or her attention.
He knew it with cold practicality. It was a fact too obvious to dispute. But that did not help. The feeling did not care about logic. It only cared that he had seen another man near her and wanted, like an intolerable child, to do something about it.
He had done something about it. That was the problem. The result was that he had spoken to her with all the warmth of a magistrate and none of the sense of a man who had begun to care what she thought of him.
He was still pacing when Logan appeared in the doorway. He had not heard the knock. Perhaps there had not been one. Logan had that irritating habit of entering when he chose and making it look as if the room had somehow accepted him by default.
Jamie turned at once, only to find his friend taking in the room with one glance and then looking directly at him with an expression that suggested he was already aware that the conversation would be unpleasant.
Jamie gave him a flat look. “Get out.”
Logan folded his arms. “No.”
“I am not in the mood.”
“You are never in the mood when you are wrong.”
“How do you know? How do you even know what happened?”
Logan smirked.
“The household talks.”
The answer was no more elaborative than that. It did not need to be. Jamie was aware that almost everything was heard at almost all times. He stopped pacing so abruptly that he nearly took the edge off his own patience with it. “I am not wrong.”
Logan lifted one brow. “You are not? Then you will have no objection to hearing yourself described plainly.”
Jamie’s jaw tightened. “You are not helping.”
“That is not my aim.”
Logan had an air of insolent calm, knowing exactly how far he could push and intending to push to that limit. Jamie had the urge to tell him to mind his own business and the unnerving awareness that the man already considered it his business.
Logan looked toward the window, then back at Jamie.
“You punished a woman for being polite to a man you dislike.”
Jamie’s expression hardened immediately.
Logan continued in the same steady voice, “That is not suspicion. That is jealousy.”
The word hit him hard enough to make the room go very still.
Jamie stared at him. “Do not be absurd.”
“I am not the one pacing like a man who has lost his wits.”
He looked as though he expected argument, but Jamie had already turned away, the muscles in his jaw working once, twice.
“She was walking with him.”
“So?”
“He was asking questions.”
“Lawrence does that.”
“That is exactly why I do not trust him.”
Logan’s mouth shifted by the smallest degree. “I am aware.”
Jamie spun back. “Then what are you saying?”
“I am saying,” Logan replied, “that you responded to Lawrence asking questions by insulting Miss Beauchamp in the gravel drive.”
Jamie froze again.
Logan did not raise his voice. He did not need to.
“You were angry that she was with him,” he said. “That much is obvious. You saw her walking beside a man you already think too polished to trust, and you lost your temper with her. That is not suspicion. That is jealousy.”
Jamie’s mouth flattened as his friend repeated his accusation. Fact, Jamie’s mind corrected silently without his permission. He knew he was cornered. There was nothing to say to that which would not sound worse.
Logan, because he knew the silence was working, pressed on. “She was not encouraging him. She was gathering information, if I had to guess. And you, instead of asking what she learned, acted like a fool.”
Jamie looked at him with open irritation. “You think I do not know that?”
“Then why are you making the same mistake again?”
That earned a cold look.
Logan held it without concern.
Jamie’s hands had curled into fists at his sides. He made himself unclench them.
He was not going to argue with Logan, which was absurd because he wanted to.
He wanted to argue.
Instead he huffed. “Get out.”
Logan’s face did not change.
“All right.” He moved toward the door with the same calm that made anger at him nearly impossible, then paused with one hand on the frame.
“You should ask her forgiveness,” he said.
Jamie stared.
Logan gave him the look he usually reserved for idiots and lieutenants making bad decisions in bad weather.
“And you should change your attitude before you lose the one thing in this house that has a habit of improving your temper without your permission.”
He left before Jamie could answer.
The door shut.
Jamie stood where he was for a long time after that, staring at the panel as if it might provide useful instruction.
He knew Logan was right. He had no business sulking over Eloise when the real problem was Lawrence.
He had no business directing the force of his anger at her.
And still, he felt the sting of her walking beside Lawrence, the sting of not being the one she had gone to first.
He wanted to tell himself that was only irritation. It was not. He knew that too. He took a breath, then another.
If he was to be useful, he needed to stop behaving like a boy denied something he had not yet earned the right to want. Which meant, unhelpfully, that he would need to ask for forgiveness. He would need to change his attitude. He did not like either prospect. But he would do both anyway.
***
He found her the next morning before the house had properly stirred. She was near the back hall, speaking with Clara before the cook disappeared toward the kitchen with a basket under one arm.
Eloise turned when she saw him. Her expression gave him no help at all. In fact, it was cool and emotionless. He knew it was well deserved. He stopped a few feet away and resisted the absurd urge to say something practiced that would make this easier.
He did not deserve easy.
“Miss Beauchamp.”
Her brows lifted slightly. “My lord.”
The title felt colder than if it had been spoken by a slighted stranger. Jamie hated that he had brought it on himself.
“Come with me to the shore.” He paused, intentionally softening his expression. “Please?”
That made her look sharply at him.
“No.”
He had expected not to mind her rejection quite so much. But he kept his face even.
“Please,” he said again. “I should like to speak with you.”
“You can speak here.”
“No.”
Her expression changed a little, becoming more guarded.
“Is this an order?”
He should have said no immediately.
Instead, he hesitated only long enough to be honest.
“No.”
Eloise looked at him suspiciously.
“It is an invitation,” he said softly.
“That is not much better.”
“I know.”
She stood there with one hand lightly touching the back of a chair in the corridor, as if deciding whether to keep her temper or use it.
Jamie could see her reluctance. He had earned it.
He also knew she was kind enough to notice his own strain beneath the offer.
He wanted to apologize and could not do it properly yet.
What he could do was offer her the one place in the estate where he felt least like a fool.
The boat. The cove. The sea. She would understand what it meant if he could only get her there.
Eloise studied him for several seconds.
“That sounds like I will be alone with a man above my station.”
Her recall of his words hurt him deeply. It was another thing he deserved.
“I suppose it does.”
She gave a short, exasperated breath. “You are impossible.”
I know, he thought in silent reply. And hopeless.
She looked as if she might continue arguing out of principle, but her gaze shifted briefly over his face and then away again. He was sure she saw that he needed to speak to her.
“Very well. I will come.”
He looked at her in surprise.
She held up one finger before he could speak.
“The children will be there with Clara. If I am to be alone with you anywhere, it will at least be in sight of the shore.”
The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.
“That is reasonable.”
“I know.”
The smallest hint of agreement had been enough to ease the air between them, if only a little.
She took her shawl and followed him.
The small sailing boat he kept in the cove had become one of the last pieces of his old life that remained untouched by the years since the accident. It sat there in the shallow water, tied neatly, pale hull reflecting the brighter part of the morning. He had not brought many people to it.
The sea felt too private, and the boat even more so. But it was the one place that still brought him peace without demanding anything in return.
Eloise looked at it with open curiosity when he led her down to the cove.
“You keep it here.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
He glanced at her. “Because I like it here.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the one you get.”