But he couldn’t deny relief that this was a quieter time of the year, and he would have an evening or two to himself. He needed those more than he needed air. A sense of freedom, however brief.
After Aunt Eleanor departed, he penned a message to Winston to see if he had any plans for the following evening. No matter that he told himself he shouldn’t when his longtime friend tended to enjoy doing things Philip should avoid—those that involved drinking, cards, and women. It made him feel guilty for condemning Markus for doing the same.
Surely, it wasn’t wrong to hold on to the parts of his past life that he’d enjoyed. They helped remind him of who he’d been before inheriting, even if he didn’t want to be that man anymore.
“I won’t be here for dinner this evening,” Winston said when he stopped by the drawing room late the following afternoon.
“Oh?” Aunt Frieda frowned, her disapproval clear.
Her brother’s responding scowl was only partially hidden and made Eliza smile in response. At moments like this, he reminded her of the young man he used to be, being told he had to spend time with his sister rather than going off to play with his friends.
Though she found it hurtful that he hadn’t seemed especially happy to see her, she knew that had more to do with Aunt Frieda’s presence than hers. At least, that was her hope. It must be difficult for him to go from living on his own to having two females underfoot.
She almost wished he’d mention how challenging Aunt Frieda could be. If he did, Eliza intended to tell him that she was more than aware since she’d spent so much time with their aunt of late. He had no idea what it was truly like, especially since he didn’t have to answer to her other than endure her frequent disapproval.
“I’ll be with the Duke of Trentworth.” Winston met Aunt Frieda’s gaze as if daring her to take issue with that.
“Trentworth?” She glanced at Eliza. “Didn’t we meet him at the garden party?”
“Yes. He’s a long-time friend of Winston’s.”
“We’re dining together at the club this evening,” Winston added.
“Followed by one inappropriate activity or another, I suppose.” Now Aunt Frieda was the one to scowl.
“Difficult to say.” Winston dropped into a chair, his humor restored since their aunt’s mood had turned sour. “It’s good to have him around again. He spent far too much time at his country estate the past year.”
“How terrible for him to have lost both his father and brother so close to one another,” Eliza murmured. “What happened?”
“His brother was bitten by a poisonous snake in the fields and the bite became infected.” Winston shook his head. “It happened over the course of a week, but everyone expected him to recover. Needless to say, his death was a shock. Then the Duke fell ill and succumbed to fluid in his lungs the following month. Some said it was caused by grief from losing his eldest.”
“How terrible when Trentworth was so close to them.” Eliza shook her head, her heart aching.
“Yes. Quite.” Winston shared a look with her, and she knew immediately what he was thinking.
The loss of their parents had been more shocking than traumatic—no more difficult than growing up constantly on pins and needles in a home filled with emotional upheaval and uncertainty. She and Winston hadn’t seen their mother and father often. Nor had their parents seen much of each other. But those few times had been fraught with turmoil.
Their parents’ arranged marriage had been tumultuous, filled with loud arguments, long periods of silence, and passionate affairs with other partners. They hadn’t taken any more interest in their children than they had in each other. Winston and Eliza had been raised by various nannies, governesses, and tutors, all who’d gossiped about the pair when they thought the children weren’t listening. But they were.
How ironic that Lord and Lady Linford had been travelling together when their coach overturned in inclement conditions, killing them both.
It was a dark and stormy night.
That phrase fromThe Three Musketeershad taken on an entirely different meaning since her parents’ deaths. Sadly, it had ruined the book for her.
She nearly grimaced at her ridiculous thoughts. Her parents had died far too young. Their presence in her life had been infrequent but turbulent during those brief interludes, but they were still her parents. Eliza had felt like a spectator to their marriage rather than their daughter. An audience to the spectacle of their relationship where Eliza had come to realize what she didn’t want.
Her mother had been beautiful but far too fragile. At least as far as her husband was concerned. Her tendency toward drama grated on him, something he’d made clear. As for her father, he didn’t care what his wife thought of his numerous affairs. Was it any wonder that she did everything she could to gain his attention? They hadn’t bothered to argue in private. Eliza and Winston tried to avoid them when they weren’t getting along, which was often.
Those years had taught Eliza not to indulge in drama. She did her best to smother the highs and lows of her emotions from those around her. She had no doubt her effort to act biddable had allowed her to stay longer with relatives than if she’d been honest with her feelings. That had been one of the reasons she’d chosen to eat too many sweets. Better to have a biscuit or two than give in to the urge to cry.
“How is His Grace faring with not only the loss but inheriting the title?” Eliza asked.
Winston frowned at her. “Well enough, I suppose.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s something we all have to endure at one time or another.”
Eliza stared at him in return, amazed that he wasn’t more sympathetic to his friend. “He has much to work through, wouldn’t you agree? To be grieving while having responsibilities thrust upon him must be exhausting.”
“I had the responsibilities of the title thrust upon me.” Winston straightened in his chair, suggesting he was offended by her remark.
