Chapter 21
Eloise did not sleep. The previous night, she was too exhausted and overwhelmed by the information Jamie had given her to do anything but sleep. But that night, her mind raced with thoughts of their predicament.
She lay very still in the dark for a long time, staring at the ceiling and listening to the house settle around her.
Every creak in the timber seemed louder than it ought to have been, every distant footstep in the corridor made her turn her head and then force herself back into stillness.
It was no use. Jamie’s words would not leave her.
The marquess has already written to the Court of Chancery. He is petitioning for custody of both children.
The sentence had lodged itself beneath her ribs and remained there like a splinter she could not reach.
Duncan had begun to trust Jamie. That thought came to her first, with such force she could almost feel it.
Duncan, who had once watched the viscount as though expecting to be dismissed at any moment, had begun bringing him charts and questions and challenges.
Duncan, who had once gone silent at the sight of him, sat closer, spoke more freely, and waited for answers instead of bracing for rejection.
Maisie was sleeping through the night. That alone would have been enough to tell Eloise the house had changed.
She remembered Maisie waking in tears at the first carriage sound, the child’s tiny fingers clutching at her sleeve, how carefully Jamie had knelt to her and told her she would not be left alone with anyone she did not want to face.
And on Jamie’s desk, still where Maisie had left it because no one had had the heart to remove it, sat the paper crown from the carnival.
She had seen it when she was in his study the previous night.
The small, absurd thing made her throat ache in a way she did not care to examine.
With the ache came thoughts of the picnic in the garden.
It was clear that the children were beginning to warm up to their uncle.
And it was equally evident to Eloise that Jamie was quickly growing fond of his niece and nephew, as well.
But Lawrence’s petition threatened the tenuous bond forming between the three of them.
The children would be handed to a man who had asked a seven-year-old where her uncle kept his papers if the court ruled in Lawrence’s favor.
The thought made her stomach turn. She sat up sharply and threw back the blankets.
Her room was cold. She rose, lit the candle by the bedside, and began to pace. Not quickly. The way one walks when trying to think without falling apart. She crossed to the window, turned, crossed back, then stopped by the dressing table with both hands braced against the wood.
Character witnesses. Mrs. Maggie, certainly. Clara. Logan. Perhaps Catriona, if matters came to that. Financial records. Evidence of Lawrence’s debts. The trust documents. Anything that might show what Lawrence was and what Jamie was not.
But she knew, even as she ran through the list, that none of it felt strong enough against a Marquess with connections and a complete household. Would Jamie stand a chance when he presented his case with the court? Or would she lose the family she had grown so fond of?
***
The next morning found her in Mrs. Maggie’s sitting room, with Clara already there and a pot of tea between them. It had become a habit, not planned, simply the sort of thing that happened when women in the same house began to recognize they were carrying too many thoughts alone.
Clara sat by the fire with her mending basket in her lap. Mrs. Maggie held her cup and looked as though she had already decided the day would be irritating before breakfast.
Eloise took the nearest chair.
“You look tired,” Mrs. Maggie said.
“I am tired.”
Clara glanced at her over the rim of her own cup. “You have the face of someone who has been thinking too hard about the men in this house.”
Eloise nearly choked. Mrs. Maggie’s mouth twitched. Clara, apparently pleased with herself, went back to her mending.
“That is an unfair summary,” Eloise said as calmly as she could manage.
“It is not unfair,” Clara said. “It is accurate.”
Mrs. Maggie took a slow sip of tea. “There are many men in this house. You will have to be more specific.”
Eloise looked at both women in turn, then at the tea in her cup. At last, she took a deep breath. “Jamie has changed since I arrived.”
Clara’s expression sharpened. “Has he?”
“Yes.” Eloise continued, “I do not think I have ever seen him smile in the mornings until recently.”
Mrs. Maggie nodded, as if that confirmed something she already knew. Clara, not looking up from her sewing, smirked. “You mean since before the Navy.”
“I suppose, though I cannot profess to have witnessed the time before then.”
Mrs. Maggie’s voice came quietly. “It is.”
Eloise took a sip of tea to buy herself a moment. “Has Logan changed as well?”
Clara’s head snapped up. Mrs. Maggie looked at her with immediate interest.
Eloise became aware at once that she had asked a question to which the answer she already suspected. Clara opened her mouth. Then shut it. Her ears had gone pink.
Mrs. Maggie noticed and looked delighted. “Logan,” she repeated, with deep satisfaction.
Clara stabbed her needle through the cloth with more force than necessary. “He has changed.”
Eloise smiled despite herself. “In what way?”
Clara glared. “I am not discussing Logan with you.”
Mrs. Maggie gave a low, satisfied sound. Clara scoffed. “And if either of you looks at me like that again, I shall throw the tea tray at your heads.”
Eloise lowered her gaze to hide her smile.
Then she set her cup down. “What do you think of Lawrence? Plainly, if possible.”
Clara answered first. “He has never once thanked me for a meal.”
Eloise blinked. “That is your measure?”
“It is a fine measure of character. A man who eats a woman’s food and does not thank her is not to be trusted.”
Mrs. Maggie had gone thoughtful. “He reminds me of Jamie’s stepmother,” she said at last. “All performance. No warmth underneath.”
Clara nodded grimly, as if that settled the matter.
Mrs. Maggie folded her hands. “The viscount’s stepmother knew very well how to make a room believe she was being kind.
She was excellent at looking agreeable. She did not know how to be good.
” She looked into the fire, then continued in the same calm tone.
“I spoke briefly with Logan late last night, just before I retired. I am aware of the grave situation with the marquess and the children. And I believe I know how he plans to try to remove the children from Lord Macalpine’s guardianship.
Lord Macalpine is widely known to be reclusive and changed since he returned from the Navy.
We know what no one else does: that he truly loves Duncan and Maisie.
However, there is a great deal of mystery and trauma with our viscount, and all of high society knows it.
The court will not care that Jamie loves those children.
The court cares about propriety, stability, and appearances.
A man needs a household that looks right. ” She paused. “That means a wife.”
Eloise stared into her tea. Clara glanced at her from the corner of one eye and said nothing. Mrs. Maggie poured more tea with all the calm of someone discussing a supply list, and it was that matter-of-factness that made the words settle so heavily.
She is referring to me, Eloise thought, her heart leaping for a moment as she recalled their previous conversation about Jamie and the way he had warmed since she had arrived.
If the world was fair, perhaps Mrs. Maggie would be right.
In a society where station and status did not matter, she could allow herself to think of marrying Jamie.
But the world was not fair, and station very much mattered to society. To provide the kind of home of which society, and the courts, would approve, he would need a wife who was charming, well-liked, elegant, and untainted. She was none of those things.
There was already a woman in the house who fit.
The thought arrived with painful clarity.
Catriona was well-bred, kind, of the right rank and reputation.
The children liked her. Mrs. Maggie liked her.
She could bring the stability a court would approve of.
And Jamie already knew her. Already trusted her.
Eloise stared at her cup and realized that the answer had been standing in front of her for days.
Mrs. Maggie said nothing more for a while.
The silence gave Eloise time to see her own role more clearly.
What she was and what she was not. And what she was not was someone a viscount could marry to protect his wards.
She had known that from the beginning. But knowing it and feeling it were not the same thing.
She took a breath. Then another. “What you say is true,” she said softly.
“It is,” Mrs. Maggie said.
Eloise nodded, because there was nothing else to do with the truth.
***
That afternoon she watched from the schoolroom window. Jamie was in the yard with Duncan, teaching him how to saddle a horse properly.
The horse stood patient, one of the older stable animals with a mild expression and a willingness to endure instruction from children. Duncan stood beside it like a boy at war with the straps and buckles and his own determination.
Jamie was calm. Focused. He showed the motion once, then again, his hands moving with practice and precision as he demonstrated the correct placement of the saddle blanket, the tightness of the strap, the way to check the buckle without yanking it too hard.
Duncan copied him with fierce concentration, his brow furrowed, his mouth set with an expression that said he wanted to get something right because an adult had shown him how.
When Duncan finally fastened the buckle correctly, Jamie nodded. “Well done.”