“Lady Ramersby, Lord Ramersby.” Whitfield’s voice was smooth as snake oil. “How fortunate to encounter you. I was just thinking I should call on you soon.”
“Were you?” Lady Ramersby’s laugh was practiced, musical. “How kind. We’re always delighted to receive you, my lord.”
“How have you been faring? I know these past weeks must have been difficult.”
There was a pause. Eliza pressed closer to the wall, straining to hear.
“We manage,” her father said stiffly. “One does what one must.”
“Indeed.” Whitfield’s tone held a note of sympathy that made Eliza’s skin crawl. “And Lady Eliza? I trust she’s recovering well from her… illness?”
Eliza’s breath caught.
“Oh, yes,” her mother said quickly. Too quickly. “Much improved. The country air has done wonders for her constitution. We expect her back in London any day now.”
“I’m very glad to hear it. I confess, I was quite concerned when I heard she’d taken ill so suddenly.”
“It was a shock to us all,” Lady Ramersby agreed. “But she’s a strong girl. Resilient.”
“She is indeed.” There was something in Whitfield’s voice that made Eliza’s stomach turn. “I hope she recovers as soon as possible, so that we can finally wed.”
Wed.
The word hung in the air like poison.
“You’re too kind, Lord Whitfield,” her mother simpered. “I’m sure our Eliza feels the same. The dear girl was simply overwhelmed by grief over poor her friend. She didn’t know what she was saying when she… well. These things happen.”
“They do indeed.” Whitfield’s voice had taken on a harder edge. “And I am nothing if not patient. When Lady Eliza returns, please do alert me as quickly as you can. I dearly miss her.”
“’We certainly will,” Lord Ramersby said, and Eliza could hear the desperation in his voice. The gambling debts clearly hadn’t gone anywhere. “I am sure she misses you too, my lord.”
“Excellent. Now, I’m afraid I must be going. I have an appointment at White’s. But it’s been a pleasure, as always.”
“The pleasure was ours, Lord Whitfield.”
Footsteps. Moving away.
Eliza remained frozen against the wall, her eyes squeezed shut, willing herself not to scream. Not to run. Not to do anything that might draw attention.
He’s still looking for me.They’re still trying to sell me to him.Nothing has changed.
“Miss Graham?”
Eliza’s eyes snapped open. Mrs. Dawson was standing a few feet away, parcels in hand, looking concerned.
“Are you ill? You’ve gone quite pale.”
“I…” Eliza forced herself to breathe. “I felt a bit faint. I am warm… I-I…”
“It’s not particularly warm, but come along. Let’s get you back to the house. We can finish the errands another day.”
“What about the milliner’s?”
“It can wait. His Grace won’t begrudge us one unfinished task if you’re unwell.”
Eliza nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She glanced once more toward where her parents had been standing, butthey’d already moved on, disappearing into the crowd. As had Whitfield.
The monster who’d killed Abigail. The monster my parents want me to marry. The monster who is still waiting for me…
