“I’ll tell you everything else, I swear it! We’ll go to Scotland, like I promised ... we can even leave tonight! I’ll spend the rest of my life earning back your trust, Eliza. I’m ready to be free of this. All of it!”
“It is too late! People do not lie to the ones they love, Malcolm. I gave up everything for you. I defended your honor and threw myself into proving your innocence because I lovedyou. I loved who Ithoughtyou were.” Her fists clenched at her sides. “I thought, ‘Here at last is a man who sees the good in me. Here is a man who has been hurt as much as I have.’” She gave a bitter laugh. “You played your role quite well, sir, and it’s a cruel lesson you’ve taught me. But I’ve learned it well, all the same. I’ve been learning not to trust those who profess to love me, over and over again, for my entire life.”
“Eliza, please!”
She pulled her coat on over her nightdress and threw open the door, then raced down the staircase shod only in her slippers. Turner stood at the foot of the stairs, his gentle, wrinkled face drawn, his eyes glassy. “Mum, if I may, his lordship only means to protect you ... He’s not ...”
Eliza shook her head and put her hand up. “Ready the carriage, Mr.Turner. I’m leaving.”
CHAPTER 37
Eliza stood before the window, looking out at the spitting snow. It was her second night in Southampton and she had a decision to make.
The memory of Malcolm’s tears and the way he’d looked at her in pleading desperation had nearly been enough to send her running back. She’d been harsh—cruel even. She had asked for the truth and he’d given it, only to be met with her rage.
But he’d lied to her. Not once, but many times. How could she ever know the full depth of his betrayal? No. Reconciliation was impossible. She could no longer trust herself when it came to him.
She could return to Sherbourne House, of course. But to think of looking down the hill, each day, wondering what Malcolm was doing—she would never fully move forward. She’d already pawned her mother’s diamond necklace—it had given her more than enough money to let this room until she could make passage back to New Orleans, where she might rendezvous with Lydia and come up with a plan. It seemed the best solution. In America, perhaps she would be granted an annulment—so long as she could provide evidence of marital deception.
Could she, though? It was her word against his. And the evidence, if proved, might send him to jail. Or the gallows. The thought sent a chill through her marrow.
Eliza drew the curtains closed over the sash and lay down on the scratchy sheets. Sleep was impossible in this hotel. The other guests stomped down the hallway past her room at all hours of the night, coming in from the pubs or the theatre, the sounds of drunken lovemaking floating through the thin walls. As she tossed with insomnia, she turned her row with Malcolm over and over in her mind, replaying her harsh words as she stared up at the ceiling, measuring the moon’s path across the chipped plaster. As morning light crept over the top of the curtains, Eliza finally drifted into a deep sleep. When she woke, it was already night again. It was a disconcerting feeling, this winnowing of one day into the next, her time spent endlessly scraping the worn furrows of her mind.
Eliza opened the cheap curtains and peered out. The flurries had ceased, leaving a soft blanket of white over the streets. Across the plaza, the theatre’s marquee blinked on, spilling long columns of yellow light onto the new snow. Yesterday evening, a vaudeville had been the attraction. But tonight, an opera was touring: Rameau’sCastor et Pollux.It had been a long time since she’d seen a show—the last had been with Malcolm, the night of their first kiss in the rose garden, when the air whispered a promise of happiness. Eliza rubbed her temples. She winced as another wave of nausea and light-headedness rolled through her. The walls drew in like a squeeze-box. “I need to get out of this room.”
A show would be just the diversion she needed.
Eliza swept into the vestibule of the Grand wearing her blue velvet gown. She handed her cape to the cloak girl and joined the milling crowd queueing up at the entrance to the auditorium. Hampshire’s finest seemed to be out and about tonight, the rare snow creating a festive mood.
She was studying the program when a gentle tap came to her left shoulder. She turned.
Eastleigh in white tie and tails. God.
“We seem to encounter one another more and more these days, Lady Havenwood,” he said, his eyes skimming over her. “Has your husband gone to buy you a posy from the flower urchins? Your dress would be most enhanced with a blushing rose at your bosom.”
Eliza couldn’t hold back her sullen frown. “I wouldn’t know where my husband is, my lord, but he certainly isn’t here.”
“Well. That’s too bad. Has he rushed back to London so soon? We’ve broken Parliament for an entire fortnight.” Was it just her imagination, or did his smile widen?
The usher opened the richly carved wooden doors. The crowd rushed forward in a perfumed mass. Eastleigh offered his arm. “You might get trampled under if you try to find a seat within the orchestra. You should come sit with me.” He motioned to the gallery boxes above, their velvet depths ambient with electric chandeliers. “As I recall, you seemed to enjoy my box.”
Eliza craned her neck, looking for a glimpse of Una’s gleaming, mink-dark hair within the loge. “Shouldn’t you ask your wife first?”
He tilted his head. “Now, why would I need to ask Una, when she isn’t even here? I’d say fortune has favored us this evening, wouldn’t you?”
“I ... I ...” She stumbled over her words as he watched in amusement. Her cheeks flared with heat. “Charles ... I can’t. I’m not in the right state of mind for inviting more gossip.”
“Oh, darling. It’s already too late for that.”
Indeed, heads were turning in their direction and whispers rustled behind fans. Charles lifted her hand and kissed it, his sapphire eyes meeting her own. “Come now, Eliza,” he whispered. “You’re wearing your sadness like a shroud for all to see. If they’re going to talk, we may as well have a bit of fun with it, hadn’t we?”
Eliza batted her fan to cool her flushed skin. A forlorn sense of guilt rankled at her as the crowd below turned in their seats to stare up at her, although Charles didn’t seem to mind their scrutiny a bit. He sat himself so close to her that each time he shifted she felt the nudge of his knee against her own. A waiter brought a tray of fresh oysters and poured bubbling champagne into flutes adorned with the Eastleigh crest rendered in gold leaf. Eliza removed her opera gloves and helped herself to the refreshments, her appetite grown ravenous as the salty-sweet taste of the oysters slid down her throat. She hadn’t had a proper meal since she’d left Havenwood Manor.
“Whyareyou alone in S’oton?”
Eliza took a long swallow of her champagne, the bubbles tickling her nose. “We had a fight—a row. A bad one.”
“I daresay, for you to walk out alone. How long have you been here?”
