“I see.” Malcolm took a puff off his pipe. “And how is it with your estate? Did Lady Sherbourne leave things in satisfactory order?”
Lydia nudged Eliza, and they shared a knowing look.
“I’ve settled the bequest with my aunt’s solicitor ...,” Eliza offered cautiously.
“How many acres came with the estate, then? Three hundred? Four?”
Lydia put a hand on Eliza’s arm and gave Malcolm a tight smile. “Never mind Eliza’s property. How many acres doyouown, Lord Havenwood?”
Malcolm tilted his head and arched a dark brow. “One thousand acres with twenty tenants connected to Havenwood Manor, Miss Tourant, and a London townhome in Hyde Park. Shall I bring out my ledgers?” His tone was teasing, but there was a hint of scorn behind his words. “As I told Miss Sullivan on our last outing, my estate has been poorly managed. Your sister has seen for herself the state of Havenwood Manor. And as for the townhouse, rats have taken over the attic and the plumbing remains irretrievably busted. As my pension is greatly lacking, I do not have the means to begin repairs on either property.” The green of his eyes deepened as he regarded Eliza. “And there’s something else, darling, which you’ll hear soon enough from others if you haven’t already. I’m indebted to Lord Eastleigh. He holds four mortgages against my properties—gambling debts my father accrued well before I inherited the title. He makes a healthy profit absconding with my rents and filching off my estate. It has nearly crippled me.”
Eliza let out a breath. So, the source of the rivalry between Malcolm and Eastleigh concerned money. The earl had a great deal to lose if she accepted Malcolm’s suit. And Malcolm had much to gain.
“My goodness,” Lydia murmured, “I had no idea things were sodirefor you.”
“I’m nothing if not honest, Miss Tourant.” Malcolm sighed and leaned back, blowing a perfect ring of smoke through his lips. “Feels rather good to have it all out there, I daresay.”
“Your honesty gives me a great deal of comfort, sir,” Eliza said, reaching out for Malcolm’s hand. He took her fingertips in his own, grasping them fleetingly. “If we’re to continue our courtship, I feel it’s only fair to reveal our assets and liabilities early.”
“Spoken like a pragmatic woman who knows her mind’s value as well as her purse,” Malcolm said.
Eliza paused for a heavy moment before continuing. There would be no going back once the next words were freed from her tongue. Even though she wanted to be certain Malcolm was pursuing her for her companionship, her money would go far in sweetening the eventual prospect of marriage. A marriage that had to happen, and soon. Yes, they were practically strangers. But her attraction to him was undeniable, and happy unions had been founded on less. His honesty about his finances was enough to encourage her to level the conversation. But he needn’t know the extent of her promised fortune. Not yet. Not until a true betrothal had occurred.
She pulled in a sharp breath. “To answer your question, my lord, the estate has four hundred acres of arable land with ten tenants, who have promised to stay on.WereI to marry, I would happily cede the earnings of my estate to my future husband, so long as my sister is allowed to manage Sherbourne House while I build my stables and raise my horses as I see fit. I’ll not entertain any offer of marriage unless I can be assured of some measure of continued independence—for myselfandfor my sister.”
Lydia let out her breath with a hiss. “You say too much,” she rasped.
Eliza shot Lydia an annoyed glance. “Cher, these matters must be discussed. It’s only practical.”
Malcolm’s narrow lips quirked at their corners. “I assure you, Miss Tourant, your sister’s appeal has very little to do with her inheritance, if that is your concern. She’s the most charming creature I’ve yet had the pleasure of encountering. If I’m to eventually ask for her hand, her estate would be the lesser of my reasons for doing so, although as we all know, marriage in the upper classes is a financial agreement as well as a matter of the heart.” Malcolm absently stroked the side of his face. “Well then, now that we’ve done the accounting and you’ve discovered I’m a penniless pauper, let’s talk of more pleasurable matters, ladies. Shall we ...”
A sharp scream interrupted Malcolm. A scream of distress instead of play. Eliza leapt to her feet, her glass of ale tumbling to the floor of the gazebo. Down the hill, there was a commotion at the water’s edge. A little girl, no more than ten, stood there crying, her hands clawing through her strawberry-blond hair. In the river, Eliza saw the face and thrashing arms of a small child briefly emerge from the swift current, and then disappear beneath the water.
Not this. Not again.
Even as Eliza’s head spun with panic, she lifted her hem and ran, her skirts tangling around the heels of her boots as she hurtled down the hillside and scrambled toward the muddy banks. “Move!” she screamed, pushing through the gathering onlookers. Her vision tunneling, she pulled in a deep breath and dove headfirst into the cold, green-tinged water.
Once submerged, she opened her eyes wide and scanned the murk for the boy’s gleaming blond hair. She saw nothing but a ruby shimmer of schooling bream, startled by her flailing. She pushed herself deeper with powerful, long strokes, fighting against the Avon’s current. Watercress tangled in her fingers and obscured her vision, but she pressed onward until her lungs were brittle with pain and the need to breathe was no longer a choice. She fought for the surface, her drenched clothing heavy as an anchor. Her hair streamed in slimy rivulets over her face as she gulped air. Malcolm and Lydia called her name, but she ignored them, arcing back into the water once more.
Albert! Where are you?
Eliza swirled frantically beneath the surface, straining toward any glimmer of movement as she swam. At last, she saw him. He was trapped against the roots of a tree, his braces wound around a blunt limb, his chin tucked to his chest. Her corset-bound lungs burned and demanded filling, but Eliza pushed onward. She pulled and tugged at the snaking yellow tree roots, her head spinning as her need for air threatened to take her consciousness. Finally, she yanked the boy’sleather braces free from their buttons, and he became buoyant. Eliza clawed toward the rippling surface and broke through, gasping and choking, the boy clasped beneath her arm. His skin was cold, his lips a grim shade of violet she remembered all too well.
“It’s too late!” someone cried, their words desperate.
“Poor mite!”
“God rest his soul.”
“Why weren’t his sister minding him?”
Malcolm was suddenly in the river next to her, taking the child from her and helping pull her to shore. He laid the boy gently on the grass, and Eliza rolled him onto his side, smacking his back with the heel of her hand. “Wake up, Albert! Wake up!” She struck the space between the child’s shoulder blades, again and again, while his sister cried and the villagers murmured their infuriating, useless platitudes.
“Enough.” Malcolm seized her hand, midstrike. “I’m afraid he’s gone, darling.” Lydia took hold of her elbow and together they tried to pull Eliza to her feet.
“No! I can save him yet. Get away from me!” She slapped and fought free of their grasping hands like a wild animal. Once more, she drove her fist hard against the little boy’s back. For a few seconds, there was nothing. Then a sputtering, choking rattle came from deep in his chest, and a stream of water clogged with river grass and mud erupted from his mouth. His lips and cheeks pinked as he coughed, his eyes fluttering open. Eliza wailed and covered his body with her own, rocking him and rubbing his arms with her hands to warm him. “Albert, my darling,mon petit chou, I’m so sorry. You’re going to be all right. I’m here.”
The sister, her chubby face streaked with tears, looked down at Eliza with mournful eyes. “I should have been watching him. He canna swim.”
