Turner came onto the terrace, his hands clasped behind his back. “Mrs.Duncan is readying tea, m’lord. Shall I have her hold off for a while?”
Malcolm turned to Eliza. “Would you like to take a ride in your new carriage before tea, darling?”
“Shouldn’t I change first?” she asked, poking an errant curl behind her ear. “I’m sure I look dreadful.”
“Nonsense. You look as fresh and lovely as a spring day.” Malcolm pinched her chin and smiled. “Turner, have Mrs.Duncan pack a picnic basket instead. Her ladyship and I are going on a ramble.”
The new carriage was indeed as fast and nimble as Eliza had imagined. They rolled along the lane, past Sherbourne House, where Mr.Mason waved to them and called a greeting as he trimmed the shrubbery. Lydia was rarely there these days. Eliza had learned if she wanted to hold congress with her sister, she’d need to go to the hospital. Nursing had become Lydia’s driving passion in life, and Eliza was glad for it.
They rambled through the thicket of spindly birches on the outer edge of the forest glen. Malcolm guided the horses onto the same mounded knoll where they’d lingered on their first outing. Instead of summer’s daisies and yarrow, red grass and purple heather now crested the hill in colorful runnels.
“Taking me back to where it all began, I see,” Eliza said.
Malcolm slowed the horses to a stop and looped the reins over the carriage’s lantern post. “It’s one of my favorite places, after all.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “We’ll walk on for a bit, if that’s all right. I want to show you the mill.”
She gathered the quilted blanket and picnic basket Shirley had packed for them and handed both to Malcolm. They walked arm in arm over the grass, the wind ruffling Eliza’s cotton skirts. When she first glimpsed the edges of the millpond, a brief moment of terror shot through her belly. It was nearly identical to the pond Albert had drowned in, down to the narrow jetty angling toward its center. The only difference was the windmill slowly turning at the far end, its wooden blades creaking.
“Are you all right, darling?” Malcolm asked. “You’ve gone a bit pale.”
“I’m well. It was just a moment.”
“Memories of your brother?”
Eliza nodded. “They come unexpectedly. Small things, rippling through like a finger placed in a puddle of water. Sometimes I hearhim crying in the call of a bird or see a glimmer of his hair in the way the sun shines on a plume of sedge. He’s ever out of my reach, yet ever present all the same.”
“Memories of my brother often come in the same way.”
Malcolm spread the quilt out on the ground, and Eliza sat next to him, hugging her knees until her breathing steadied. He poured tea for them out of a squat, lidded carafe and sweetened hers with honey before handing it to her. Eliza cupped it in her hands, savoring its warmth. “Tell me about Gabriel.”
Malcolm smiled sadly. “As I’ve said, my brother and I were as different as we were alike. Much of our trouble was due to how differently our parents treated us,” he said, removing his tweed derby and reclining next to her. “Our mother seemed to favor me. ‘Mollycoddled’ was what my father said. Perhaps he was right. Gabriel was a difficult child. Independent, rash. Our father admired his spark but knew he wouldn’t be suited to play the subtle politics of a country lord. Still, I became jealous when Papa would crow about Gabe’s military accomplishments. He was made one of the youngest lieutenants in the Royal Navy, you know. He would have been a captain someday.”
“Butyouare so clever, Malcolm! Talented and quick of mind. It’s one of the things I admire most about you. And you’re an artist. The plans for the renovations are superb. You’re an accomplished architect.”
Her husband turned bashful, fiddling in the pocket of his coat until he drew out his pipe. “I do find great comfort in the orderliness of numbers and geometry. It’s predictable and reliable. Unfortunately, my father never saw the merit in my interests until it came time for me to manage the estate’s ledgers.”
“We’re opposites in that regard. My papa always treated me as his heir and reassured me I was capable,” Eliza said. “He was too indulgent with me at times, I suppose, but Maman’s criticisms brought me back down to earth. No matter how hard I tried for her approval, I would never be as graceful as she, or as talented at singing and the harp. Shesaw me as an impulsive little girl with hopeless manners and knock-knees. And then after Albert ...” Eliza turned away, looking out over the water. “I should have never been made responsible for his care. I wasn’t suited to it. I’ve never thought I’d make much of a mother. I still don’t. I’m sorry.”
“That’s utter nonsense! You show the utmost care when it concerns the feelings of others. I see it in the way you treat our staff. You’ll make a fine mother, darling.” Malcolm packed his pipe and lit it, a curl of smoke streaming from his nostrils.
“You say that now.” Eliza looked down and took a steadying breath. It was time to lay her own fears bare, in the hopes that her husband would reciprocate. “But what if one ofourchildren dies, Malcolm? What if I get distracted and turn away at the wrong moment, and your son and heir wanders out into the road? What if he pulls a kettle from the hob, or falls from a tree? Will you truly be able to forgive? Or will you blame me? Will I suffer the removal of your affection and your silent disregard?” She shook her head. “I couldn’t endure that. Not again. If I’m ever to happily bear your children, I must be assured your love is evergreen, come what may.”
Malcolm put down his pipe and grasped her hand. “My dearest wife, if the worst were to happen—which I’ve the utmost confidence it willnot—you have my word we’d shoulder it together. I promise you.”
He pulled her down onto the blanket, his lips meeting her own in a chaste kiss. She sighed and nuzzled beneath his chin, inhaling the earthy fragrance of his skin. He undid her hair from its long plait and combed through it with his fingers, holding it up so the sun’s rays sparkled through. “You remind me of our wild Boudicca, with your fire-bright hair.”
“I was always teased for it, as well as the freckles that come along with it.” Eliza sighed. “Maman made me scrub my face and arms with lemon water and wear long sleeves in summer to prevent the damnable spots from multiplying.”
“Spots and all, I’ve rather come to appreciate your rustic kind of beauty.”
Eliza frowned. “Your compliments need a bit of tuning, husband. I’m not a log cabin or a grizzly bear, after all.”
“Fair enough.” He smiled and cupped her jawline, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. “I’d no idea I could feel so happy. You’ve brought me back to life, Eliza.”
When they’d returned from their drive, Eliza went upstairs to her dressing table. She withdrew the amber bottle of herbal tonic Lydia had given her. She grasped it for a moment, briefly wavering, then went to her water closet. As the last dregs dripped into the flush toilet, a well of calm resolve settled over her. If deception were to truly be undone in their marriage, she would no longer play the hypocrite.
CHAPTER 27
Dressed in worn linen dungarees, Eliza hefted a length of MacCulloch tartan over her shoulder, pins bristling from the cushion on her wrist. Shirley held the tail of the fabric as Eliza climbed the ladder to reach the ballroom’s crown molding. There she gathered the satin in billowing puffs, pinning the bunting to the trim. She dropped the remaining lengths of green-and-red plaid and left them to pool on the freshly waxed floor.
