Without a visible crack in his demeanor, Bradley folded his arms. “Your father is begging off supper, but he wishes to speak with you.”
Elizabeth nodded and followed him down the hall to her father’s room, a bit relieved by the news. The afternoon tea had placed a great strain on her nerves. Without him present, she would have Langdon all to herself. Guilt followed on the heels of the emotion. Her father was in ill health and here she was, celebrating his absence.
He was sitting in his favorite chair, a glass of brandy cradled in his palm. Per usual she had an urge to turn and run from the room. She was no coward and had learned to meet her demons head on. “You’re begging off. Do you need me to fetch the doctor?”
“No.” He lifted the glass and tipped it to his thin lips. With the golden glow from the firelight caressing his face, the disease that plagued him was less noticeable. He lowered the glass and rested it on his blanketed lap.
“I will have Cook send a tray to your room. She made an apple tart, your favorite.” The mantel clock chimed the hour, and she shifted on her feet, torn between duty and the desire to meet Langdon.
His lips turned in a noticeable smirk, a cunning gleam in his eyes. “Speaking of tarts, our guest is smitten with you.”
Her heart leapt into her throat, the corset constricting her chest. She willed herself to remain calm. Nobody but she and Langdon were aware of what transpired in the carriage.
Except the servants.
She fought the blush that burned a path up her chest and tightened her hold on the shawl. Servants talked, but they were loyal to Langdon. Besides, she was a nobody, hardly worth the gossip.
“I believe it will be in your best interest for me to be tucked away in my room while you play hostess to him,” he said, motioning for Bradley to fill his glass.
The veiled insult struck a nerve and she willed her expression to remain pleasant. He was fond of throwing barbs at her and in her experience, he was never gracious without a selfish purpose. “In my best interest?”
“Indeed. He is rich. You were blessed with my looks, but you’re poor, thanks to your wastrel dead husband. If you play your cards to your advantage and swallow your excessive pride, you might have an opportunity to secure your future. Given your advanced age, it might be your last chance.”
His words were like poison to her tormented soul. The cryptic message could be interpreted in many ways. Knowing her father, he meant it in the crudest form possible. He’d often scoffed at the idea of her marrying again and took great joy in taunting her with the fact she was barren and penniless. In his eyes, a woman unable to bear children was defective, and no man worth his salt would wed a woman like her. Which left one alternative. The only kind of father who encouraged his daughter to become a man’s mistress was an unloving one.
“You had best greet our guest,” he said with a high-pitched laugh that grated on her last nerve.
Without commenting further, she turned on her heel and left the room, her cheeks on fire with fury. If she could leave, she would walk out the door with only her mother’s necklace and the clothes on her back. The bitter irony was the man she’d left behind had inadvertently cemented the future while keeping her trapped in her current hell.
She reached the first floor and glanced up. Footfalls followed a creak from the upper floor. Langdon had been infuriated with her on many occasions, but he had never treated her in an ill-manner. She craned her neck and spied his shadow before he came into view. Inhaling a deep breath, she tucked the unpleasantness with her father behind. She wasn’t going to allow him to spoil her night.
“Good evening,” he said, his steps silent on the stair runner. Dressed in a well-fitted blue jacket and tan breeches, he looked out of place walking down the threadbare runner, fingers trailing along the scarred stair rail.
“Good evening.” Earlier in the morning, she’d been waylaid by a sick tenant and had lost track of time. Because of her tardiness, she hadn’t had the chance to change into one of her new gowns for his arrival. Tonight she had remedied that and wore one of her favorite dresses, a pale green that flattered her eyes. “My father will not be joining us tonight.”
“A pity.” He fell into step beside her.
Elizabeth inhaled the familiar fragrance of clean soap and fresh linen. The two scents would forever remind her of Langdon. “I hope you found your room to be comfortable.”
She led the way into the dining room; one of the less neglected rooms in the house. Mary was standing in the corner waiting for them. Like the dining room table, the furniture in the guest room was from the previous century. In the fortnight since she’d returned, the maids she’d hired had waxed every visible wooden surface. The walls in both spaces had been scrubbed down, the plaster repainted a pale blue.
“It is very pleasant here in the country,” Langdon said, holding the chair out for her.
“I enjoy it.” She slipped into it, every nerve tuned to the man behind her.
Mary had set the table incorrectly. Instead of eliminating her father’s place settings at the head of the table, she had removed it from the position across from Elizabeth. If Langdon noticed, he said nothing. He sat at the head of the table and scooted his chair in. With a grin, he lifted his napkin and flicked the linen, placing it in his lap.
The maid approached the table and bobbed a curtsy. Her presence stifled the conversation and silence hung in the room while she poured ruby liquid into the crystal goblets. Mary was not the most efficient servant, but she was a pleasant sort and eager to learn. Her father detested the girl because she rebuffed his advances. All the more reason Elizabeth liked her. “Please tell Cook we’re ready to be served.”
“Very good, Mrs. Adare.” With another bob, she exited the room.
“Might I be bold and compliment you on your gown? The color is very becoming on you.” Hunger rested in the depths of his eyes; his regard struck a chord of longing in her chest.
“Such a charming compliment and so seamless I would almost think it real.” She still found it difficult to accept compliments and lifted her glass to hide her unease. The earthy flavors rolled on her tongue. It was a treat to have such high-quality wine on the table. Since money had flowed from her father’s tight fist, she’d snuck in a few luxuries.
Releasing a warm chuckle, he leaned forward. “I would never lie about such things, Mrs. Adare. It is out there for the world to see.”
“I see you found the brandy decanter.” Heat rushed up her cheeks. Every night she’d dreamed of their encounter in the carriage and had even daydreamed about exploring her desires for him again. Her father’s crude innuendo squashed that fantasy.
