The truth was, it was an easy thing to accomplish, because Malcolm was hardly home during daylight hours. He was ever off doing business in Winchester or Southampton, or in his study with the door closed, drawing up plans for the renovations to Havenwood Manor. Eliza spent her solitary afternoons exploring the jigsaw puzzle of interconnected rooms inside the mansion. She relished every detail—from the friezes in the small parlor depicting a unicorn hunt, to the burlwood escritoire in her room. As she walked the maze of halls, she traced each baroque line of trimwork with worshipful fingertips and cataloged the martyrs depicted in the stained glass windows. Saint Sebastian had become her favorite, his torso pierced with arrows, his head thrown back in ecstasy. Despite the damp and the mildew that remained tucked in the corners of certain rooms, the house was as much a bridegroom as her husband, and she adored both with fervent admiration.
Eliza was happy. But there was one matter, in all of this decadent fog of newlywed rapture, that concerned her to distraction.
Two weeks after her wedding, she knocked on the doors of Sherbourne House. Her sister opened them, dressed in plummy linen. “You look awful,” Lydia said archly. “You’re not sleeping, are you?” She stood aside to let Eliza through the doorway. In the front parlor, Tante Theo’s porcelain samovar steamed on the console. Next to it, a tray laden with Eliza’s favorite jam-filled sugar cookies beckoned. She greedily chose four, stacking them in her hands as she sat.
“If I’m not sleeping, sister, it’s only because my husband insists on making love to me all through the night,” Eliza said. “I’d no idea men could be so...enthusiastic.”
“That’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it? It seems my concerns about your husband were unfounded.” Lydia searched Eliza’s face. She had a way of looking at a person and seeing the things they wanted to keep hidden. “Still, there’s something bothering you. Isn’t there?”
“Yes. There’s something I would ask of you, if you’re willing.” Eliza took a drink of her tea and set it down with a clatter. “I don’t want to have a baby. At least for a good long while.”
“Why? If you love this man so much, why wouldn’t you want to give him a child? He’ll be expecting you to provide him with an heir. And you aren’t getting younger.”
Eliza closed her eyes. “I just don’t want to, cher. I’m not ready for that sort of responsibility. Perhaps someday. But not yet.”
Lydia sighed. “I suppose I can make you Mimi’s herbal tonic. It may cause cramping, and there’s no guarantee it will work. It also tastes of piss and quinine.”
“I remember. She made it for me once.” Mimi had concocted the bitter draught after Eliza had confessed the loss of her virginity.Foolish child. It may be too late, but I will make something that should right your wrongs.You better damn well pray it works, otherwise your maman will murder you and that poor boy both.“I’ll endure the cramps gladly. I’drather that than face the confinement of motherhood.” Eliza shrugged. “It’s a mercy, really. You and I both know I’m not suited to motherhood. Besides, I’m anxious to build my stables.”
Lydia cleared her throat. “And does your husband know your opinion on motherhood? You should talk of such things with him.”
“Merde.I will give him a child. Someday. Just not now.”
“Fair enough.” Lydia gave a petulant huff of breath. “Are you coming to Sarah’s party?”
“I hadn’t heard she was having one.”
“It’s only a small gathering. This Friday night.”
Eliza paused before answering. Apart from their hasty trip to Brainerd’s office, they’d made no public appearances since their elopement. “Does anyone besides you and Mr.Mason know Malcolm and I have wed?”
“I haven’t said a word. Not even to Clarence.”
“Good. I want our nuptials to remain a secret for the time being. We’re filing paperwork against Eastleigh’s notice of eviction, and Malcolm wants to make sure the legal protections are in place before we announce our marriage.”
“Still, you should come to Sarah’s party. Why not? Everyone already knows you’re courting, after all. You have to be getting bored in that drafty old house.”
Eliza winked. “Sister, I assure you. I amanythingbut bored.”
Eliza dressed for Sarah’s party, choosing a new gown made of watered-silk douppioni. It draped about her figure like a sheath made of shifting ocean waves, bringing out the aquamarine tones in her eyes. She clasped the pearl necklace her father had given her for her debut about her neck, and swept her hair up loosely, letting a few wild curls escape around the edges. As she was finishing her toilette, something flickered behind herin the glass, just for a moment—a blunted streak of light. She pivoted on the stool, but there was nothing there. How funny. Perhaps it was a moth, flitting between the arms of the chandelier. Since she’d seen the mysterious light in the woods, which Malcolm had dismissed as one of the crofters checking snares, a kind of vigilant, hopeful curiosity had enlivened her explorations of the house. What if? Whatifsome of the stories were true? Her skepticism could be made to waver, with enough proof.
Malcolm strode into her room, his white tie freshly starched. He rested his hands on her shoulders as she rouged her cheeks, and then her lips. “Tonight’s a bit of a coming-out party for us, isn’t it?” he said. “Our secret won’t last much longer.”
“Knowing how gossip travels in this town, you’re probably right. But perhaps they won’t guess just yet.” Eliza took off her pearl wedding ring and placed it in the dish on her dressing table. A shiver went over her shoulders as she pulled on her gloves, remembering Eastleigh’s threats. “Do you suppose Eastleigh will be there?”
“He’s not a favorite of the Nelsons.” Malcolm knelt at her feet. “But, if he does come, we’ll have quite a surprise for him, won’t we?” He placed her shoes on her feet and fastened her gilded buckles, then slid his hand up her calf to the soft skin of her inner thigh.
Eliza’s breath caught in her throat. “Keep that business up, husband, and we’ll be unfashionably late.”
When they arrived at the Nelson’s mansion, Sarah answered the door, dressed in a handsome tuxedo with a glen plaid waistcoat and white cuffs, her chestnut hair down around her shoulders and her cheeks rouged. Her gaze lingered warmly on Eliza before she turned to lead them inside. “I’ve never seen a finer-looking sight, I daresay. Like a siren of the waves. It’s good to see you out after all this time, Malcolm. Especially with such pretty company.”
“Our Sarah might steal you away if I’m not careful,” Malcolm teased.
“That I may,” Sarah said with a wink. “Pistols at dawn, sir.”
Malcolm chuckled. “I remember Sarah and I were at a dance in Somerset once, I believe in our sixteenth year, and there was a girl with hair the color of new flax...”
Sarah’s brows gathered in confusion. “Really? Your memory must be better than mine.”
