Chapter Twenty-Nine
Leo calledeach morning for the next sennight. Sometimes his mother accompanied him. Lady Champaign chatted amiably with Mama in the gazebo, while Eliza and Leo strolled through Eliza’s neglected gardens—she couldn’t bring herself to tend to them. When she tried, her chest ached so deeply that each new breath cost more than the last.
Leo always brought along a perfectly proper gift, a treat from Hudson’s—one of the standard, popular selections: fruit tarts or fairy cakes—or a respectable bouquet of fine roses. If her heart prickled every time she saw the traditional, impersonal offerings, that would surely fade with time.
The weather had been uncooperative today. Instead of walking in the garden, Eliza and Leo were relegated to the sitting room with Sophie and her line of suitors. Lady Champaign preferred to walk rather than ride in a carriage, so he’d arrived alone—unwilling to subject her to the dreary drizzle.
Eliza’s own mother was occupied in the far corner with her embroidery while Sophie giggled at something absurd from the foppish gentleman on the opposite settee.
“Do you plan to attend the Marchant musicale tomorrow night, Miss Lizzie?” Leo asked, all eagerness.
Every single time he added aMissbefore her name, Eliza hid a wince. He was Leo to her, and she was Lizzie to him. As it had always been, since they were learning to walk at the same time. The formality of calling hours and chaperonage left their previously free manners stiff and discomfiting.
“I fear I have been feeling a touch under the weather this morning. I believe I should stay home and rest. It will only be Sophie and Mama, I’m afraid. But I hope your evening is enjoyable.”
Eliza was perfectly well, of course, but she hadn’t yet reconciled herself to a return to the wall. Nor could she imagine an evening with this stiff, formal version of Leo at her side. Not only did she long for the giddy anticipation she had felt at the prospect of seeing Sinclair, but she missed her friend, Leo. She distinctly recalled snickering as Sophie snuck a frog into his boot when they were children—this man before her was a stranger.
Leo’s face fell slightly, but he recovered amiably. He wished her a swift convalescence before biding her adieu.
Eliza retired to her bedroom as soon as was practical.
Some hours later, her mother knocked on her door.
“The weather has cleared. Join me outside, Lizzie?”
Though Mama’s voice had risen at the end of the sentence, Eliza was well aware that the offer was not a request.
She bit back her sigh and trailed her mother out to the gazebo. Once they were seated across from each other, Eliza glanced about the neglected garden.
“I thought we might talk,” her mother said, breaking the silence.
Eliza met her sapphire gaze. If her mother wished to discuss something, she could bring about the subject herself. Elizawould have been perfectly content to remain in her room for the rest of the day.
Ever patient, her mother’s sigh was barely perceptible. “I know what you’re doing with Leo.”
“He is calling upon me, Mama, nothing more.”
Her mother’s expression was unimpressed. Eliza couldn’t help but wonder if she’d always been capable of that countenance, or if one learned it immediately after delivering a child. She’d seen both Mrs. Ainsley and Aunt Kate make the same expression a time or two.
“You are not particularly enthusiastic about his calls.”
“He’s merely a caller. Sophie has dozens.”
“Lizzie… It pains me to see you so resigned.”
“I’m not resigned to anything. I’m merely… open to the possibility that the familiar could become more.”
“Lizzie…”
“I cannot—will not—subject myself again to the heartbreak and humiliation I’ve experienced with Sinclair. Leo is a good man. He is kind to me. And given recent events, it has become clear to me that good and kind is the best I can hope for.”
Her mother’s lips pressed tight together, disappearing entirely. “How did you learn the truth?”
“Rose. She saw you and Aunt Kate speaking.”
Mama’s face fell. “Oh, dearest. I am so sorry. If it were possible, I would take on this hurt myself, you must know that.”
“It is better that I know. In truth, I’ve been weighing how to best apologize to Papa. I was wretched.”
