Malcolm
Eliza crumpled the note in her hand. A bitter taste crawled up the back of her throat.
Malcolm’s note was related to Eastleigh’s visit, there could be no question. Una had surely contributed to their rivalry by sharing the results of her spying with Eastleigh, but Eliza had a feeling there was more at stake than Una’s jealousy and Malcolm’s debt. Despite Sarah’s comforting words that afternoon, the mysteries surrounding Malcolm’s past still weighed heavily on her mind.
Couldshe truly trust Malcolm? Were Una’s words merely the ravings of an addled rival, or a warning against something far more sinister? Eliza crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed them. She needed her bath. And time to think. “Mr.Mason,” she said, “can I trouble you to stay awake late tonight? I’ve a feeling I may need to call upon your help.”
He gave a rare, ragged grin. “Certainly. I’m happy to be in your service, miss.”
Eliza knelt over the spigot to the high-backed copper tub and opened the tap, waiting while the basin filled with warm, steaming water. Sheundid the buttons of her day dress and shrugged it into a sodden heap on the floor, then stepped out of her undergarments. Outside, the rain still spat against the windows. She imagined Sarah had convinced her sister to stay out the storm. They were probably huddled over a game of pinochle or playing drunken charades with the other girls. Well, good.
After her bath, she donned her nightdress, made tea, and sat in the open window to comb out her hair. The skies had ceased their weeping, leaving the grass a brilliant green and bringing a cleansing freshness to the air. She chose a book of poetry from Tante Theo’s sparse collection and read until twilight had fallen. The cuckoo clock downstairs rang nine, then ten. She looked toward Havenwood Manor. All the windows were vacant and dark. Still she waited. And still, there was no sign of Malcolm. As night descended, seamless and black, weariness settled deep in Eliza’s bones, and the softness of her downturned bed beckoned.
She had just pulled the coverlet to her chin when she heard the sound of hoofbeats.
Eliza sprung out of bed and pulled open the sash, her heartbeat quickening. Malcolm clattered through the copse of trees surrounding his manor, steam billowing from Apollo’s nostrils as he jumped the stone wall separating their estates. He slowed when he saw her at the window, easing Apollo into a trot.
“Eliza! Thank God you’re still awake.” He came to rest beneath her window, his face shadowed by the brim of a crofter’s hat. He was dressed like a farmer, in rugged trousers and a corduroy jacket. “I realize this is stupidly dramatic, but please come down and I’ll explain.”
“I’ll meet you in the rear gardens, by the dovecote.”
She reached for her dressing gown and stepped into her house slippers, then padded down the stairs and through the hallway to the rear terrace doors. Malcolm stood beneath the eaves of the dovecote she and Lydia had converted to a gardening shed. She ran to his side and he gathered her into his arms, kissing both her cheeks and then her mouth. “We must be careful,” he murmured. “I cannot stay long.”
“No one will know you’re here. I asked Mr.Mason to guard the gate all night. Eastleigh paid an unexpected visit while I was out.”
“He came to me soon after.”
Eliza breathlessly took him by the hand and led him through the dovecote’s low door. Dry leaves scuttled across the dirt floor as they ducked under the lintel and into the small room. The scents of rosemary and thyme wafted from the drying bouquets Lydia had strung from the ceiling. Eliza reached for the kerosene lamp and matches they kept on the shelf above the door and lit it. Malcolm removed his hat, his curls falling over his forehead in disarray. She pulled him to the rustic wooden potting table, where they sat, the lantern throwing weak, orange light across the walls.
“Eastleigh has demanded I vacate Havenwood Manor within a fortnight, or he’ll begin legal proceedings to force me out. I’m being evicted, after all this time.”
“What? Why now?”
Malcolm raked a hand through his unruly hair, grimacing. “I suppose, since he’s aware you’ve rejected him in favor of my suit, he’s getting back at me the only way he knows how.”
Eliza’s heart dropped. Not the house. Not before she even had a chance to become its mistress. “Well, we can’t let that happen. How much do you owe him?”
“Forty thousand pounds.”
Merde.
“That much?” Eliza stuttered.
“I’m afraid so.”
Eliza pulled her hand from Malcolm’s and stood, walking to the latticed window opposite. Her skin suddenly felt clammy and her stomach roiled fitfully. It was astonishing. He owed Eastleigh the equivalent of almost a quarter-million American dollars. How could his father have been so reckless?
Apart from the eighty thousand pounds she was set to inherit from her aunt’s estate upon marriage, she still had enough left from her father’s inheritance that she could afford to give Malcolm half of what he owed as a loan. Money she’d set aside to buy her horses. Or ...
She felt him behind her, his breath warm on her hair.
“I won’t accept your charity, Eliza,” he said quietly. “I’ll go to Scotland. Our family has a hunting lodge there. No one knows of it—I’ve made sure of that. He will leave me in peace so long as I swear to never see you again.”
She turned, her eyes filling. “Andwouldyou swear such a thing?”
“You deserve better than I can give you, Eliza.”
How bitter those words. The very same words she’d written to Jacob in a letter bound for Cuba the year before. Tears trickled over her cheeks, unbidden, and she angrily wiped them away. “You’d give up so easily? Why woo me with your words and company if this is the only end that could come of it? How cruel of you!” Her words pierced the air, brittle as ice.
