With that, he turned and left, the door closing behind him, ending their conversation. Or rather his conversation, she thought angrily. She'd hardly been able to get a word in edgewise.
The most aggravating part of it was that he was right. Arms folded, she sat on the bed and pulled her knees up. Looking at her bare legs, she groaned. She had no clothes. She was in St. James’ house. The evening couldn't have gone more wrong.
Elyse almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all. She'd really gotten herself into a fine mess. And like it or not, there was no one else she could blame for the way everything had turned out, not even William St. James.
"Impostor!" she grumbled into the silence of the room. And he had the nerve to call her one!
She wondered what had become of Jerrold, then snorted out loud, as she recalled that he'd seemed to be doing very well for himself right up to the point where she'd been forced to go upstairs. He'd been far too occupied with the young woman in his arms to give her a second glance, and he hadn't been among the half-naked men running about when the police had arrived.
No, she thought, experiencing a feeling that was part disappointment, part anger, Jerrold was far too clever to be caught in a compromising situation, either by the authorities or anyone else. And with that thought, she was forced to confront something she'd ignored during the past months.
Jerrold had been calling on her for several months. Her grandmother had been certain a proposal was imminent, and it had been clear Lady Regina was ecstatic at thinking her granddaughter might marry the son of her dearest friend. And Elyse had to admit that, at first, she'd been flattered by Jerrold's attentions.
But that had ended the day he'd taken her riding in Kensington Gardens and finally proposed to her. He'd spoken of family honor and duty, and of all sorts of ridiculous notions about preserving the Barrington lineage. She'd ignored most of it, but the part she hadn't been able to ignore was the fact that he'd never once mentioned his feelings for her. Oh, he cared for her, and as she'd learned on several different occasions, he desired her. But love?
Love came slowly, her grandmother had told her. Lucy had refused to comment about all of it, but Elyse knew her thoughts on it. Worse, she had the feeling that this marriage was more of a business arrangement. Jerrold needed a wife, a lady suitable to bear the title of Lady Barrington and the sons he wanted.
This was how many marriages came about within the circle of her grandmother's acquaintances. Alliances of families were made for titles and the fortunes that went with them. It was expected that she would marry well, as others she knew.
Admittedly, she had grown bored with the endless rounds of parties during the social season—all for the purpose of finding a proper husband. In the end, when Jerrold had proposed, she'd almost found it a relief to think she wouldn't be subjected to them any longer.
She told herself that, when she became Lady Barrington, everything would be different. But as the months passed and rumors of Jerrold's dalliances were whispered, Elyse realized that noteverythingwould be different.
Like so many she knew, she suspected there were those who simply accepted their husband's private activities. Her dear friend? She hoped not, for Lucy was in love with Andrew and she would hate to see her hurt by such an arrangement.
Ironically, she was in the house of another man. But she could hardly have returned home half-naked after the disastrous evening. What would her grandmother think? What would Jerrold think?
Elyse almost laughed at the thought that he would even know about it, so occupied was he at the club that night.
She stood at the glass doors, staring out into the storm, not unlike the one that she’ dreamed about since she was a child, the wind lashing at her hair. In just a little over a week, she and Jerrold would be married.
Was that what she wanted?
Having said good night to Tobias, Zach paced the formal parlor. After tossing down a third brandy, he reclined in a chair, rolling his head back against the chair back.
Tonight could have been disastrous for his plans if he'd been stopped by the authorities and questioned. He smiled faintly as he thought of their escape. Staring up at the ceiling, he tried to imagine what Elyse was doing and thinking at that moment.
She would be angry; he was certain of it. He'd seen the anger in her eyes when he'd delivered his little speech upstairs. Admittedly, he hadn't given her any choice. He hadn't wanted to, knowing she'd probably have wakened the entire household if he had.
He sat up and held his head in both hands. What was he doing here, hobnobbing with Barrington and the men who made the decisions that controlled his life, and had controlled his father's?
The answer was in the question, but it seemed he was no closer to learning the truth than when he'd first arrived in England. The only thing he knew for certain was that Jerrold Barrington's mother had once known his father. But what did it mean?
He poured another brandy and downed it, rolling his neck against the tight muscles that were a constant presence.
Felicia Barrington, a name, someone he'd never known. A name, a presence that if he turned suddenly, what would he find? What did it mean? Was it even real, or something he imagined?
An apparition, a ghost? He didn't believe in them.
A guardian angel, as a priest once suggested? He didn't believe in those either. There was no guardian angel watching over him, certainly not with the things he'd been through and done.
A spirit, as the Aboriginals believed? The people at Resolute believed in them. They believed in a beginning that never ended and in mysterious spirits that had the ability to change into wind, rain, and thunder. He'd grown up with it, but never believed in it. Still...
The voyage from Sydney, the stories of ships becalmed for weeks near the Cape of South Africa, Tobias’ dire warnings that never came to be as the wind continued to fill the sails of theRevenge.
A spirit that brought him to England? He didn't believe in any of it. He believed in what he could hold in his own two hands, in what he'd built at Resolute, stone by stone making a place for himself, and the loyalty of trusted companions.
He stared into the glass tumbler and the brandy shimmering in the light from the fire at the hearth.
