“Honestly, Morgan, I only want for you to be happy. Stable. And while I like Lizzie, I do wonder at the ramifications if you happen to…to like her too.”
Morgan bent his head, for his brother was only saying out loud what he already knew himself. “Yes.”
“You must know this already, for you are so very clever, but you can’t play here,” Robert continued. “You can’t shit where you eat and expect Hugh to smile and say nothing. After everything Lizzie went through—” He stopped himself.
Morgan wrinkled his brow. Everyone kept alluding to that, even Elizabeth herself. Something in her past. Something that made all those around her so very protective.
“What did she go through?” he asked.
Robert shook his head. “It’s not mine to say. I like to think I learned my lesson about speaking out of turn about someone else’s past.”
Morgan felt a swell of disappointment but also understanding. He couldn’t fault Robert for not repeating the mistake he and Morgan had nearly come to blows over.
With a sigh, he stepped a bit closer to the parlor door and saw Elizabeth. She was at her brother’s side, talking quietly to him and to the Duchess of Donburrow. She was so lovely. But Robert was correct that she wasn’t the kind of woman a person could trifle with.
“I…understand what you’re saying,” he choked out. “And perhaps I do need to distance myself from Lady Elizabeth in order to stop things from becoming…confused.”
Robert clapped him on the shoulder. “You must do what you think is best. Let’s rejoin them.”
His brother entered the room, but for a moment Morgan hung back, just continuing to watch her until her gaze darted to him like she sensed his presence. Her brow wrinkled and then she smiled in question, in support. She smiled so sweetly that his rotten remnants of a heart thudded.
He didn’t want to step away from the strange connection he’d made with this remarkable woman. But if he didn’t, he feared the father he and Robert had discussed on the terrace would find a new life in Morgan, himself.
And he didn’t want that even more.
Chapter 11
Lizzie sat at her desk in her study, her mother’s plans for the garden laid out before her. Now they were marked up, containing her notes with a few changes. Morgan’s responses in that firm, even hand. She stared over the conversations she’d shared with him through this method and smiled.
Still, she felt restless. The communication on the plans was the bulk of how she’d interacted with Morgan. At least since the gathering a few nights before when she’d found him fighting with the Duke of Roseford. He’d maintained his distance since. She’d done the same.
And though she knew that was for the best, it still felt like a loss, somehow. A regret that she could add to all the others until the pile felt overwhelming.
There was a light rap on her partially open door and Amelia poked her head into the room. “Lizzie?”
She forced a smile and got up to wave Amelia in. “Yes?”
Amelia shifted as she rested her hand on the doorjamb. Her gaze darted about and wouldn’t focus on Lizzie. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Lizzie lifted her brows. She didn’t like this. “Er, what is it?”
“Well, Charlotte and Katherine and I got to talking two nights ago, while you were playing pianoforte after tea that day it rained? It was lovely, by the way. Your playing is always so lovely.”
“Amelia,” Lizzie said. “Why are you trying to soften me? What is going on?”
“There’s going to be a ball tonight,” Amelia burst out. “Here.”
Lizzie caught her breath. “A ball,tonight?” she repeated. “What are you talking about?”
Amelia at least had the wherewithal to look chagrined. “It was such a last-minute thought. It isn’t going to be big, just a small gathering. Some of the local gentry and our party. One of Hugh’s friends from an adjoining county is coming. It will be delightful, I assure you.”
Lizzie stared at her. Amelia looked as though she’d done something wrong and even though that wasn’t entirely true, there was still a twinge of pain that accompanied the news. Amelia had not only decided this without talking to her, but planned it with her friends, rather than with Lizzie.
“Why wasn’t I included in the discussion?” Lizzie asked softly.
“I know you have little interest in such things,” Amelia said with a blush. “And you’ve been so involved in your garden preparations.”
Lizzie nodded, as if accepting that answer, even though she doubted it to her core. She knew Amelia didn’t think she could handle the preparations for a ball. It was one more example of how her family tiptoed around her, like she was glass. And not solid glass either. More like an important family heirloom that had already been chipped or shattered, then repaired and placed back on the shelf. It was for looking, not using or enjoying.
