Frustration took hold once again. To think he would believe her capable of such terrible behavior was disappointing. But that he wouldn’t allow her the opportunity to explain was worse. She deserved better and hoped she had the opportunity to tell him so.
She lifted her chin and forced herself to focus on her surroundings and stop dwelling on Philip. If the occasion arose to speak with him, she’d tell him everything. But she refused to waste the evening pining for him.
If only she could convince herself to stop looking for him.
She pressed her lips tight, determined to enjoy the exhibition. In the large lobby, uniformed waiters offered the finely dressed guests silver trays of canapes and flutes of champagne. Many people lingered in the area conversing.
Eliza smiled as she caught sight of Harriet across the room, standing beside a handsome gentleman who looked at her with such admiration that he had to be the one she’d told the book club about. Harriet grinned when she saw Eliza and wiggled her fingers in greeting.
Since they were on the opposite side of the room, and Eliza wasn’t ready to converse with anyone, she returned the gesture before moving along with numerous other guests into the first room, which featured work by Peter Paul Rubens.
The paintings were displayed in a single horizontal row rather than from floor to ceiling as was the case in many galleries. That made for a much more pleasant experience, in her opinion. One had the chance to consider each painting before moving on rather than being overwhelmed by so many at once.
Eliza glanced behind her to mention it to her aunt only to realize they’d been separated in the crowd. She stepped aside to let several people pass but still didn’t see her. She decided to continue forward, certain Aunt Frieda would be along shortly.
She walked from one painting to the next, sighing when she realized how much she would’ve liked to share the experience with Philip. Rubens’ depiction of religious scenes brought them to life. His use of light to draw the viewer’s eye to specific details was impressive.
If only Eliza had been able to do the same with Philip. To draw his eye to what she wanted him to see rather than what she didn’t. Yet she realized that was where she’d failed. She needed to let him see her for who she was—the good and the bad. That was the only way to have a true relationship with a solid foundation based on honesty and trust.
Would she have the chance to tell him everything?
“Lady Eliza?” A waiter stood at her side and, at her nod, handed her a slip of paper. “A message for you.”
She stared at the note confused as to who would send it to her at the gallery. The waiter had already departed, and a glance around didn’t reveal an answer, so she opened it.
Meet me in Room 12.
T.
Eliza’s heart leapt as she read the masculine script, her heart pounding at that single initial.
But wait.
She’d never called him Trentworth. Why would he sign the missive that way? Probably a force of habit, she supposed.
Another look around revealed Aunt Frieda was still nowhere in sight. This might be her best chance to meet him without anyone knowing. Surely him wanting to see her meant he was prepared to listen to her explanation. Perhaps Winston had shared some details and helped him to see her intention.
With hope lifting her spirits, she moved with the crowd out of the Rubens’ room, uncertain where Room 12 was located. A small brass plate on the door of the next room noted it was Room 6.
She passed quickly through it and exited into a corridor near the staircase toward the rear of the building. A small plaque at the foot of the stairs stated that Rooms 10-18 were on the second floor and Rooms 20-25 were on the third.
Only a few other visitors walked up the stairs. She followed in their wake and found Room 12 tucked in an empty corner of the gallery. The door was closed. How like Philip to know a place they could meet without fear of detection.
Hesitating, she glanced around again but no one was nearby. She tried the knob, which turned easily beneath her gloved hand.
To her surprise, the room was dark. She left the door open as she paused on the threshold. “Philip?”
“Over here.” The whispered words came from a male voice, but something struck her as wrong.
Unease crept over her. She took a step back only to see a shadow rush toward her.
Before she could flee, the man grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward, quickly closing the door behind her.
“Philip?” She didn’t know why she asked when she knew beyond a doubt it wasn’t him. She wrenched at her wrist, but the man’s grip was too tight. “Release me at once.”
“I don’t think so.” The voice definitely didn’t belong to Philip but sounded vaguely familiar.
“What do you want?” she asked.
