"I've been meaning to speak to you all day," he continued in whispered tones. "Especially after that little episode last evening."
"It was a mistake to wear the gown, I realize that now. I apologized to your father." Elyse closed her eyes against the pain. "Must we talk about this now?"
"You've been shut away in your room practically the entire time, what with one excuse or another. I just want to be sure you understand certain proprieties. There are many things that will be expected of you when you become Lady Barrington and are mistress of Fair View. I shouldn't want a repeat performance of last night. And as for dancing out in the hall with St. James... well it just isn't proper! At any rate, I will no longer have that fellow to worry about."
Lord Barrington's voice boomed as he rose at the end of the table to propose a toast. “To my son and the future Lady Barrington." As he raised his wineglass in tribute, his guests did likewise.
Elyse whispered to Jerrold, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sir William, my dear. He's gone. I'm told he left very early this morning, before dawn. It seems he left this behind." He dangled the black eye-patch. "Obviously, he's not all that he appears. I'm having the local magistrate look into the matter, as well as the proper authorities in London."
The crystal goblet she'd reached for fell from her fingers, shattering against the gold plate. A sea of white wine soaked the table linen.
"Elyse, for God's sake get a hold of yourself!" Jerrold hissed as he came to his feet beside her. "Last night, and now this! What is the matter with you?"
She felt the scrutinizing stares of the others at the table as they gaped at her in stunned silence.
He was gone, was all she could think.
Elyse came to her feet, leaning heavily against the edge of the table. She felt a warm stickiness and raised her hand to stare at her cut fingers. There was no pain, only vague surprise as blood fell on the pristine white tablecloth, looking like small, perfect rosebuds.
Roses... red and white roses. She blinked back the tears that pooled in her eyes.
Her stricken gaze met the curious glances, seeing confusion and disapproval on the faces around her.
"I can't..." she murmured some vague excuse as she turned, gathering her skirts in her hands, and fled the dining room and the gaping stares.
* * *
Zach flexed his fingers against the sudden tingling. Elyse...
Memories of her flashed through his dark thoughts. How different things might have been had they met under other circumstances. But she was a member of London society and betrothed to another.
Barrington. The name and everything it stood for cut like jagged glass. He'd come to England for the truth. During the months at sea and the weeks in London, he'd prepared himself for whatever the truth about his father might be. He'd tried to imagine what he would discover.
A convict, according to those papers locked away for so many years. But what crime had he committed?
Zach had lived under English law and domination his entire life in the colonies, and he knew a man could hang for merely stealing a loaf of bread.
Murder? He refused to believe it.
The man Tobias and his mother had known was not a murderer. But then the man they'd known was not Alexander Barrington. He was Nicholas Tennant, a man who'd been convicted. Innocent or guilty, Zach knew no man could remain unchanged by what his father must have endured, first aboard the convict ship and then in servitude in New South Wales.
Convicts were no longer deported to the colonies. The practice had been abandoned several years earlier. But the stigma remained. Even as the colonies struggled to become a land of merchants, farmers, and tradesmen, they were branded by the dark part of their history. But many good men had once been convicts, and Zach needed to believe his father was one of them.
He rested his head against the seat back. He was bone tired, but his churning thoughts made sleep impossible. The coach lumbered and rolled along the road. Eyes closed, he concentrated on the grinding of those wheels, each turn taking him closer to London.
He drifted, not into sleep but numbness. The stable master had said there was a witness, a servant girl who'd disappeared after the trial. Rooney had given him her last known address in London. Zach wondered if she might still be alive.
As the coach clattered across the heavy-timbered dock, Zach pounded against the roof, signaling the driver. When the equipage rolled to a stop, he vaulted out.
The driver cringed at seeing his passenger emerge from the coach. The man was transformed without the black eye-patch he'd worn when he'd left London. Two haunted, deadly gray eyes pierced him through.
Zach paid the man well and sent him on his way. He'd been traveling all day, and it was after midnight when he walked up the gangplank of theRevenge.
"State yer purpose or lose yer head." The warning came sharply.
Zach smiled in response to the familiar voice, but it wasn't a smile anyone would have recognized. The man on guard laid the heavy wooden spar across his arm, in preparation to strike.
