Chapter Thirty
Eli rose atdawn as was his custom, went to the kitchen for coffee as he always did, and took a brisk walk to shake off sleep as was his habit. He ate his breakfast in the servants’ hall like he normally did and checked with the stable master, the butler, and the housekeeper, while they were all together, for any burning issues. There were none.
He missed Fanny, the feel of her, the smell—the taste. He hesitated in the hallway only briefly, staring in the direction of the breakfast room, the other public rooms, and the family quarters to which Clarion had swept her up the previous evening. It wasn’t a place Eli felt comfortable.
He pulled his spine straight and turned on his heel, to his own domain, feeling awkward and unsure, all his confidence and determination to press his suit—as soon as he completed the business in Manchester—dripping away.
The office greeted him as expected. The desk neatly organized. The chair comfortable and adjusted exactly as he liked it. His favorite watercolor paintings of the valley of the Afon River on the wall. Incoming complaints, invoices, and reports stacked in the proper basket. Work awaiting his attention. All familiar, all exactly as Eli liked them. None of it gave him joy.
Why can’t you get to work, Benson?
He tapped his pencil on the edge of the desk, unable to decide where to begin. He knew the answer. He wanted to run up to the family wing to check on Fanny. He reminded himself that he had brought her safely to the hall, where she could be guarded closely and cosseted as befit the daughter of an earl. In this world, she wasn’t his to care for, at least no more than any of the people of Clarion Hall.
Rob seemed to believe Eli had a chance with her, and he clung to that thought, but for now, the work the earl had assigned in her regard wasn’t finished. He still had to deal with the paperwork in Manchester. He wouldn’t have her company when he did. His heart ached.
The only cure is work. Get to it, Benson.He pulled the basket forward and began to sort the mail, the bills, and the other items that required attention, into piles.
“You have visitors, Mr. Benson.” John, the most diligent of Clarion’s footmen, held out two thick packets of paper, the responses from the chancery and episcopal courts in Manchester, no doubt. Their seals, Eli saw, had been broken.
“Visitors?” He accepted the papers, his mind on the contents.Who on earth would be here for him at this hour?
“I don’t need to be announced, young man. I know my way!” His father’s confident voice brought him to his feet.
“Da! I didn’t expect you.” He leaned both hands on the desk and grinned at the old man and Emma, right behind him.
“Did you think to slip in after all we heard and not let your family see you? Alfred said you came in looking like something that had been dragged through the sheep meadow by his feet tied to a bolting horse, took your gig, and left without a word to me.” Da’s stern expression shamed Eli as effectively as it had done when he’d been ten.
“I’m sorry, Da. I had Fanny to care for. I needed to get her under this roof as quickly as I could.” To Eli’s irritation, his face felt hot. He probably looked red as a beet.
Emma made free with one of his side chairs, seating herself, brows raised. “Tell us about how the two of you came to be wandering in on your own.”
Eli breathed in sharply and glanced at John, watching avidly from the door. “That will be all, John. Do stop and tell cook to send tea.” He gestured to the second side chair, and his father sat. Feeling a fool to be sitting behind the steward’s desk, talking to family, he pulled his around, and they formed a circle.
“What do you know about what occurred?” he asked them.
They knew a bit, as it happened. The decoy caravan had passed the Willow early in the day, and Da had sent Alfred up to the hall to ask about it.
“You were missing at that point, and we kept a sharp eye out all day. If it hadn’t been the evening rush, I would have spied you in the stable yard,” Da said. “Word in the kitchen is Miss Hancock—our Fanny—is safe and well. Alfred had her at death’s door.”
Emma glanced at Da. “It was all I could do to keep him from tearing up here in the dark to check on you,” she said.
“Thank you for that! Miss Hancock is fit and well,” Eli said. At least he hoped so. He forced himself to rely on Farley’s word. “We had a time of it, so Alfred’s alarm is understandable. She was so exhausted; she was ready to drop. She slept all the way up from the Willow.”
“When did you separate from Goodfellow and the others? Alfred reported it was two days ago.” Da leaned forward, and Eli retold the story for what felt like the dozenth time, emphasizing Fanny’s strength and courage, leaving out the way she’d collapsed in his arms. Or slept in them.
When he finished, his father gazed at him intently, probing the hollow places in his soul with a father’s unerring concern. The old man spoke softly. “You cared for her well, son. You can feel good about that.” His eyes searched Eli’s for a response.
Eli glanced at a painting of the Willow and blinked twice. “Certainly. The plan worked as we designed, hard though it was on her. We fooled them.”
“How is she this morning?” Emma asked, curiosity vivid on her face.
“I don’t know. I don’t pay attention to what happens in the family wing, and it isn’t my place to query the staff about them.” He glared pointedly at his sister, daring her to ask impertinent questions about Fanny or his dealings with her. Da’s knowing eyes were bad enough.
Tea arrived, and they chatted briefly, Emma exclaiming over his overnight adventure, her hints about his relationship with Fanny becoming more obvious. Da deflected her efforts with local gossip until Eli pointedly picked up the papers from Manchester. “This, I fear, is urgent. I may be returning to Manchester again on the Rundles’ behalf, at the earl’s direction.”
They rose and Eli with them. Da clapped him on the shoulder, pulling him closer than perhaps necessary, to lean his forehead on Eli’s, and murmuring, “You’re looking fine, son. I needed to see for myself.”
“I am well, Da. Truly,” Eli assured him, dragging him the rest of the way into a hug. The old man cleared his throat and pulled away, unaccustomed to the gesture.
