At that, Eloise couldn’t contain her snort. “If he’s a gentleman, than I’m a flamingo.”
“Lady Fawcett did say that the two of you were engaged in a rather strained conversation.”
That was putting it mildly.
“What else didLady Fawcettsay? Gossipy old biddy,” she mumbled under her breath.
“She shared the gentleman’s name with me. It seems he’s recently arrived to London, and has already set thetonaflame with speculation. Obscenely wealthy entrepreneurs with rumored ties to nobility tend to do that.” Her mouth twisted in a show of wry humor. “I should know, as I am married to one.”
“Oh?” Eloise repeated, and nowshewas pretending to be casual when in truth, she found herself unwillingly keen to learn everything there was to learn about the American with the cold stare and hot touch. “What is it? His name, I mean. Not that I care. Except when I curse my enemies, I should like to know what to call them.”
“Mr. Adam St. Clair.” Lenora hesitated. “I’ve extended a written invitation for him to join us at Clarenmore Park this summer.”
Eloise almost fell down the stairs.
“You didwhat?” she squawked, grabbing ahold of the railing with both hands. “Why? When? I don’t want him at our home! I told him that I didn’t ever want to see him again!”
“To be fair, that’s what you’ve said to ninety percent of the male population.”
“Because men are stupid, ignorant, brainless nitwits!”
Lenora’s blue gaze flickered. “I cannot completely disagree with you. But surely you must admit that some of them are tolerable, including your brothers-in-law. Or should you like to tell Perth that you consider him to be stupid, ignorant, and–what was the last bit?”
“Brainless nitwit.”
“Yes, a brainless nitwit.”
“What happened to you?” Eloise wondered aloud. “What’s happened toallof you? Not that long ago, you couldn’t abide to be in the same room as Perth! You hated him.”
“I wouldn’t say that Ihatedhim–”
“And Bridget was barely able to look at Graham without turning red as a tomato and tripping over her own tongue! Now all they do is fawn over each other.” She shuddered in revulsion. “It’s disgusting.”
“Your sister was shy at first, but–”
“Then there’s Annabel, sneaking around with a highwayman!”
“In Ezra’s defense, he wasn’t arealhighwayman–”
“You’ve all gone crazy!” cried Eloise, stomping her foot. It was something an errant child might do, but it was either that or cry, and she hadn’t permitted a tear to slide across her cheek since that terrible, terrible morning when their father was pulled lifeless from the frozen pond.
Tears made her weak, but anger…anger kept her strong. Most importantly, it kept the crashing waves of grief at bay. If she was angry, then she couldn’t be sad. If she was angry, then she couldn’t dwell on her guilt. If she was angry, then she could forget that she was the reason her parents were dead.
Your fault, a little voice intruded.
Your fault.
Your fault.
Your–
“I don’t have to listen to this.” Speaking partly to herself, partly to Lenora, she spun on her heel and ran up the stairs two at a time, ignoring her sister’s calls to come back. Racing through the hallway, nearly crashing headfirst into Bridget who managed to leap out of the way at the last second, she didn’t stop until she was in her room with the door locked behind her.
On trembling legs, she went to the bed and picked up a pillow. Pressing her face into it, she used the woven cotton to muffle her scream.
“What’s wrong withEloise?” asked Bridget, casting a glance over her shoulder as she stepped off the bottom stair into the foyer.
Quiet and shy-natured, the newlywed rarely joined her sisters in any type of fighting. Ever the perpetual wallflower, she preferred to stay in the background, her nose in a book, and soothe ruffled feathers once the quarrel had ended. But since marrying Graham Northam, the Viscount Croft, her self-confidence had slowly started to bloom. Even her appearance was brighter; her cheeks a warmer pink, her hair a shinier gold, and her smile far quicker to make an appearance. At the present moment, however, her mouth was turned down in a frown, and her eyes–the same blue that all of the Rosewood siblings shared, albeit in varying shades–were overcast with concern.
