Lydia gave her a stern look. “Of course you’d fall for the scandalous one. You read far too many novels.” She snipped the stems off a cluster of pinks and pushed them into a drinking glass. “Well, I’ve yet to see flowers or a card from him.”
“The day isn’t over yet. He did say he’d call.” Eliza thought of the way Lord Havenwood had looked at her during their brief conversation and wondered if she’d imagined his interest.
“At any rate,” Lydia said, “Lord Eastleigh will be here in less than an hour, and we’ll be entertaining Mr.Dix and Sir Tate later this afternoon. Our social calendar is filling.”
“It’s a good thing we’ve gotten the gaslights working and the parlor shipshape. I’d like to take the silver out and polish it before asking anyone to dinner. It needs doing.” Eliza’s eyes flitted to the dusty gildedcherubs above the mantelpiece and the grate that needed a fresh coat of blackening. “I’ve a feeling something will always need doing in a house like this. Perhaps we should consider hiring help after all.”
After helping Lydia arrange a few more of the bouquets throughout the room, Eliza excused herself to freshen up. As she slipped into her lilac tea gown trimmed with Valenciennes lace, she cast a look toward Havenwood Manor. Gray clouds hung low over its chimneys and the arched windows seemed darkly pensive, the shadows long under its eaves. It gave the structure an air of almost human melancholy. Eliza shook her head at her silliness. It was foolish to imagine a house could have feelings.
The tinkling doorbell rang, announcing Lord Eastleigh’s arrival. She blew out an annoyed breath, put on her best debutante smile, and went down the stairs.
“My father said to me, ‘Charles, that chap has a foul temper and arms the size of an oak tree. Best to move on like a gentleman.’ Alas, letting other people win isn’t my strong suit.”
Lord Eastleigh, impeccably dressed for the day in gray serge, was proving himself to be a blowhard and a braggart. Though the breeze on the open veranda was cool with the promise of rain and brought with it the fresh scent of summer roses, Eliza’s mood was growing hotter by the minute. If there was one thing she couldn’t abide in a man, it was abject arrogance, no matter how charming he might otherwise be.
“I rolled up my sleeves, handed my coat to my man, and engaged in a bout of fisticuffs right there at the betting counter,” he continued. “Do you know I was undefeated as a boxer during my turn in the Royal Fusiliers? That chap soon found out why.” Charles laughed. “I knocked him dead out with a single left hook to the chin.”
Lydia batted her lashes over her teacup. “Lord Eastleigh, now that we’ve heard all about your exploits, perhaps you’d care to ask my sister about her own?”
Charles turned to Eliza, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, delicate as any woman. “Yes, Miss Sullivan—please, do tell us about your latest square up.”
“I hardly engage in fistfights, my lord. I tend to lean more toward the interest of business. Our family owned Thoroughbred stables in Louisiana. I was in charge of keeping our studbook and overseeing the breeding program.”
“Is that so?” Charles asked. “I didn’t take you for the horsey sort.”
Eliza didn’t know ifthe horsey sortwas meant to be compliment or criticism. “My father came to America from Ireland as a young man, with nothing more than his knowledge of horses. He started out mucking stables for the plantation owners in Kentucky and got a good break, as they say. He became determined to create demand all over the world for the very best bloodlines. Our breeding stock has produced champion horseflesh as far away as India and even here, in England. I believe one of our derivatives won your Ascot Diamond Jubilee last week, making several of your compatriots quite wealthy—perhaps even that fellow you knocked out.”
The earl looked at her, slack-jawed. “I had no idea ...” He shook his head. “Should a woman really be versed in equine husbandry? It’s all a bit coarse, don’t you think?”
“My lord, women where I’m from learn to be savvy about agriculture at a young age—our mothers survived a war in which many of the menfolk died, after all. But I promise you, I do all the usual things as well. I embroider, I play the harp, I pour tea.” She topped off his cup. “As a daughter of the old Creole aristocracy, my mother was quite eager to teach us those sorts of things.”
Charles nodded, looking relieved.
“Our father, on the other hand, was keen to teach us how to survive in a man’s world.” Eliza fixed the earl with her gaze and gave a sweet smile. “Why, it’s only natural for a stallion to cover a broodmare in estrus, if that’s what you’re considering coarse. I’ve never been fazed by it. I only see the vast amounts of money to be made.”
Charles wrenched his mouth as if he had a sudden bout of indigestion and coughed into his napkin. Eliza went on. “In fact, I was hoping to begin a new enterprise right here, in Hampshire. The local gentry could benefit a great deal from my knowledge of horses.”
“Right,” Charles said. “But, if you were tomarry—say an earl, or even a baronet—you’d inherit a large estate with as many grooms and servants as you’d see fit to employ. Your days would be spent in leisure, not at work. You’d need not lift a finger but to play your harp or embroider at your loom.”
“You’ve forgotten about the work of bearing children, my lord. Wouldn’t a countess be required to do that as part of her marriage contract?”
The red-faced earl was spared having to answer by Nigel, who appeared through the gates, his bicycle wobbling up the gravel drive. Eliza rose to greet him, her pulse quickening in anticipation. He parked his cycle against the hitching post and climbed the steps to present the envelope in his hand. “For you, Miss Sullivan.”
The envelope was heavy, the weight of its paper demonstrating an eye for luxury. She turned it over, and a thrill went through her at the sight of the insignia on the wax seal—two serpents twining around a myrtle tree. The same crest adorned the gates of Havenwood Manor. Gates she’d visited on more than one occasion since her arrival, her fingertips skimming over the raised metal scales of its serpents as she peered through the bars to catch a glimpse of whatever mysteries lay beyond.
As Eliza turned back to the veranda, Lord Eastleigh stood, his blue eyes flickering with unease as she tucked the envelope inside the lacefolds of her gown. “Are you well, Miss Sullivan? Your color has gone quite high. Feverish, even.”
“Yes, my lord. Only, if you’d please excuse me for just a moment. This letter brings a matter of urgent import I must attend to.”
“What is it?” Lydia asked, concern creasing her brow as she rose. “Bad news or good?”
“I’ll explain later.” With a hurried curtsy to their guest, Eliza went into the perfumed foyer, shutting the door behind her. She broke the seal with trembling fingers. Inside was an engraved card bearing a coat of arms and a message written in a decisive, bold stroke.
Malcolm Winfield
5th Viscount Havenwood
My dear Miss Sullivan,
