“Lydia has the stomach for such work,” Eliza said. “She’s rather adept at bossing people around as well, if you hadn’t gathered.”
Lydia gave a playful swat to Eliza’s arm. “Only when theyneedbossing.”
“Certainly, it’s a noble calling. More and more women are working these days, it seems,” Sarah said. “Our daughters may not even have to marry to secure their futures. Imagine a world in which men might become redundant! We’ll be like Sappho and inhabit a solitary island, filled only with beautiful women.”
“An entertaining thought, that,” Eliza agreed with an ironic smile. She yawned, covering her mouth with her lace gloved hand. Her headache from the day before still throbbed dully behind her right eye. “If you’ll pardon me, ladies, I’m feeling a little tired from yesterday’s excitement. The sun and your delicious lemonade have gone to my head, Sarah. I think I’ll walk home and draw a bath.” Lydia rose slightly from her chair. Eliza patted her shoulder. “No, cher—stay. Enjoy the game.” With a kiss to Lydia’s cheek, she left the bright garden nook behind and pushed through the bushes onto the wooded lane. She was very seldom alone—Lydia was ever hovering in the background, interrupting hersolitude to go on about Clarence or talk about something she’d overheard at the market. As much as she loved her sister, Lydia’s youthful energy made Eliza weary at times. They’d relied only on one another’s company for far too long.
Eliza sighed with contentment and took a slow path through the forest, enjoying the singsong call of the birds. After a while she came upon a light-filled clearing in the woods she’d never noticed before. It occurred to her she’d walked well past Sherbourne House and was now deep within Lord Havenwood’s estate. Sure enough, the manor’s south façade loomed to her left, and to her right was a path leading down a flower-strewn hillock. Wooed by her curiosity, Eliza followed the trail until she reached the bottom of the rise.
A stone circle stood in the little valley—a ring of ancient monoliths just taller than her own head. Tiny blue cornflowers sprouted between the slabs. She walked around the ring twice and knelt to pick the flowers for a bouquet. As she rose, Eliza had the distinct feeling of being watched. She looked up at the windows of Havenwood Manor. A shadow moved within, as if someone were peering down at her from parted curtains. She tented her eyes with her hands to see more clearly, but where there had been a hint of movement moments before, there was now only the reflection of clouds and sky on the surface of the glass.
She resumed her flower gathering, finding a trove of purple foxgloves behind the tallest stone, which was figured with ancient symbols. As Eliza ran her fingers over the carved surface, the sun ducked behind a cloud, sending the cairns into shadow. A soft spatter of raindrops landed on her cheeks. If she’d learned one thing about England, it was that the weather had more moods than a woman during her courses. She made her way toward home, eager for a warm bath and a nap.
As she climbed the hill to the path, the feeling of being watched settled between her shoulders once more. She paused to listen. There was only the wind soughing through the birches. Eliza walked on, brushing aside her unease. As the twin chimneys of Sherbourne House came intoview, something scraped on the dirt path behind her. Footsteps. A chill settled in the marrow of her bones. She whirled to face whoever was stalking her, her heartbeat thudding in her ears.
There was no one there.
Eliza stood stock-still, her eyes darting through the undergrowth. The raindrops became larger, plopping onto her white lawn dress and soaking through to her skin. A shriek of laughter came from the direction of Sarah’s house, but all the birds had gone silent. Out of the corner of her eye, movement. A shadow parted the undergrowth.
Una Moseley came onto the path, lithe and slinking. She was dressed in dove-gray muslin, her expression deep and glowering within the fine contours of her face. “I know what you’ve been doing, Miss Sullivan,” she rasped.
“Miss Moseley. What a pleasant surprise.” Eliza kept her tone measured, though the flowers in her grasp trembled.You’ve made an enemy, my dear.“Out for a ramble?”
“I saw you, last night. Withhim. In Lord Eastleigh’s box.” Una’s mouth screwed into a mocking twist. “Charles knows all about that now. And he’s none too pleased.”
Eliza wavered. “We hadn’t a clue it was Lord Eastleigh’s box. They were the only seats left in the house.”
“Malcolm knew they were Charles’s seats. He knew he’d be upset, too. He knows a lot more than he lets on,” Una said wistfully, twirling from side to side. “A trickster full-up with pretty lies, that one. He has such sweet kisses, too—but I’m not the only one who knows.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Eliza stepped backward and dropped her flowers to the ground. Her fingernails dug into her palms. She’d only been in one tussle with another girl—a redheaded bully who had stolen her lunch pail in finishing school, but she had bested her within moments. She could do it again, if it came to it.
“You think I’m jealous, don’t you?” Una crossed to Eliza’s side of the path, peering at her through lowered lashes. “You think our betrothalended because of money. That’s what Sarah told you. But Sarah doesn’t know whatIknow.” Una waggled her fingers in front of Eliza’s nose.
Eliza widened her stance and fixed Una with an unflinching glare. “Look, Una. I know you’ve been spying on me, and I’d thank you to mind your own business, as I mean to mind mine. I don’t know what happened to spoil things between you and Malcolm. Nor do I care.”
“You’d better have care, Miss Sullivan. You’d better.” Una’s eyes grew frighteningly dark as the light grew even dimmer. “Else Malcolm will break more than your pretty heart.”
CHAPTER 12
The sky tore open with a fierce crack of lightning, charring the air as a mixture of rain and hail pelted to the ground. Eliza flew down the path away from Una, her skirts knotted in her hands. She undid the latch to her rear gate with clumsy, wet fingers and bolted up the hill, drenched and shivering.
Mr.Mason stood beneath the shelter of the rear veranda, his fingers hooked in his braces. Something was wrong. She could tell by the set of his angular chin as she drew near. “There’s been some trouble, miss.”
“What is it?” Eliza asked, unpinning her hat. It was ruined, the papier-mâché roses on its band weeping dye in lurid pink rivulets. “Do we have a leak?”
“No, miss. Nothing with the house.” Mason squinted. “Lord Eastleigh was by, in rather cross spirits. Demanded to be let in.”
Eliza’s stomach twisted and dropped. “Is he here?”
“No. When I wouldn’t allow him entry, he threatened me.” He crossed his arms, and she got a glimpse of what Giles Mason must have been like as a younger man. “I came through two wars, miss. I lived through the Battle of Balaclava. I do not stand down when some prancing, toffy boy threatens me.”
Eliza couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. “Indeed, sir. To your great credit.”
“He won’t be bothering you again. You can be sure of that, so long as I guard your gates. But there’s something else.” He pulled a folded envelope from his trousers pocket and handed it to her. “The Phelps lad—Nigel—delivered this shortly after.”
The envelope had been hastily addressed, her name an illegible scrawl. Eliza tore it open, her dye-stained fingertips marring the paper.
My darling girl, I must see you tonight. Discretion is in order. Watch by your window.
