At Amara’s words, Eliza’s eyes flew to hers. “He left?” she exclaimed before she could stop herself.
“He got called away to London.”
“When?” Was it before or after he came to her room? Is that why he’d come, because he knew he was leaving? What did this mean?
All three sisters looked at her.
Crap. Eliza didn’t need hot toast anymore; she was pretty sure she could melt cheese on her cheeks at the moment.
Amara took a sip of her tea. “I overheard him talking with Arthington after the play. He said he’d received a message while the men were at their port; Uncle Desmond is in trouble again, so Dev had to leave for London first thing this morning.”
Becca snickered. “When is Uncle not?”
Emmeline shushed her.
“Our brother is constantly bailing out those who make foolish decisions. They should be left to stew in the remnants of their own soup!” Becca’s chin jutted out in a way reminiscent of her brother’s. Must be a Mattersley thing.
“Easy for a seventeen-year-old who’s never been into major trouble to say.” Amara’s voice was calm. “If it hadn’t been for Dev, I’d have been blacklisted forever, or had to enter into a marriage I didn’t want.”
Becca looked down at her lap. “I’m sorry, Amara. You are right.”
Eliza wanted to throw up. Dev had left? Left her here, on her own? Why hadn’t he at least told her? Oh, sure, he’d said he had to go, but she’d thought he meant back to his own chamber. Not off the estate. Not all the way to London!
What did it mean, that he’d come to her, that he’d spent the night before he left? Had he wanted to forge a stronger connection to bind them together before his absence? Or had he merely wanted his questions answered, in case he didn’t return? He would come back, wouldn’t he? Confusion swirled around her, enveloping her in its disheartening fog.
“Let us not argue,” Emmeline interjected, her voice falsely cheerful. The peacemaker of the family. “Though the house party is over and our guests are leaving today, we still have ways to entertain ourselves. We should journey into Winchester and procure our cousin new dresses.”
“Winchester? Eliza would have more fun learning to ride a horse than visiting silly old Winchester. There’s hardly anything there.”
“Becca, you may think there’s nothing better than a horse, but that doesn’t mean everyone does.”
Eliza took a bite of her egg sandwich, hardly tasting it now. As bewildered and saddened as she was over Dev’s sudden disappearance, though, she enjoyed the banter between the sisters, loved the affectionate edge she heard in their words. These women may bicker from time to time, but it was obvious they had each other’s backs.
She wished she’d grown up with that kind of security, the built-in friendship siblinghood brought. She’d found Cat in her twenties, thank God, but for most of her life it’d been just her and her parents—and they’d focused on their own things so much she’d often had to fend for herself. Until she’d met Greg. They’d gotten married. Friends for life. And then he’d died.
Maybe that’s what made it so easy to leave Cat. Maybe she’d never expected their friendship to last. Horror filled her. Had she really dismissed her best friend so easily? No! Cat wanted me to go. She knew. She knew I couldn’t stay stuck anymore, just as she couldn’t either. “I hope she’s happy, whatever she’s doing,” Eliza mumbled as she traced her finger over the edge of her fork.
“Did you say something?”
Eliza glanced over at Amara. “No, sorry, nothing. Never mind.” After a pause, she steeled her shoulders. Deveric would come back. He had to. For now, she should use this opportunity to get to know his sisters better. “Winchester would be delightful, actually. I’ve always wanted to see the cathedral there.” Not really, but Eliza’s mom had loved that terrible old Winchester Cathedral song. It seemed a good enough reason to go.
Amara stood up. “Let us go to Winchester, then. We won’t find anything nearly as good as in London, but there should be one or two serviceable gowns we can find for Eliza until we venture back to Town.”
“I think not,” a voice called from the hallway. The dowager strode into the room. “Mrs. James can make do with your older gowns, Amara. Harrington is ready for lessons today. Mrs. James shall attend him.”
“But—” Emmeline started, before falling silent again.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Eliza dipped her head toward the dowager. She refused to let the Dragon intimidate her— Eleanor Roosevelt, baby—but she also didn’t wish to make a permanent enemy by responding pugnaciously. When I’m the duchess, we will be equals.
She wasn’t a duchess yet, though, if she ever would be, and so for now, she must cede the battle. Besides, she had volunteered to tutor the boy. “Could someone direct me to the nursery?”
“I will,” Amara said, daring to shoot her mother a look. “Follow me.”
The two women escaped the breakfast room.
“My pardons. Mother feels she must preserve the family name, so she is always on guard against potential scandal.”
Eliza nearly snorted. She, scandalous? As if. Good Lord, she’d been called a Goody Two Shoes more times than she cared to count in Charlottesville. Then again, Lizzie, she doesn’t know you. To Deveric’s mother, Eliza was new, of an obscure background, with manners and mannerisms that didn’t fit in. Hardly enough to raise eyebrows back home, but she wasn’t home anymore, and those things meant everything in Regency society.
Pain shone in Amara’s eyes. After a moment, she whispered, “It’s hard for her to look at me sometimes.”
“It’s your mother who’s missing out, you know,” Eliza said. At Amara’s questioning look, she continued. “You seem pretty wonderful to me. Bright, observant, caring. If she’s going to lose her relationship with you because of something that happened years ago and that wasn’t even your fault, well, that’s her loss.” Eliza shrugged her shoulders as if to say none of it was a big deal.
Amara gave a hoot of laughter. “I like you Americans. If only it were that easy.”
“I like you, too, Amara,” Eliza said, grateful for another moment of connection in the midst of emotional chaos.
“What is she doing here?” Frederick demanded as Eliza entered the room.
Nurse Pritchett slapped him on the knuckles. “A child does not speak to elders in such a manner. Not even a duke’s son.”
Eliza flinched. The boy stared at her mulishly, ignoring his nurse. “Please don’t hit him!”
Nurse Pritchett glowered at her. “You are a stranger in this house, a poor cousin. I am nurse to the duke’s heir. You dare to command me?”
Eliza drew up her shoulders, preparing for battle. Normally, this scary old crow might frighten her, but her anger flared upon seeing Deveric’s son struck. That was not acceptable to her.
It was normal in this time, a voice in her head said. Well, it wasn’t going to be the norm in this house. Not if she had anything to do with it.
Would Deveric’s mother throw her out over this? She glanced at the boy. He was small for his age, but fire sparked in his eyes, his jaw squarely set. Just like his father’s. Her heart flooded with unexpected emotion.
“I do.” Eliza’s composed demeanor belied her inner turmoil. “As a governess, I have deduced if you want children to learn and behave, there are far better methods. And as a family member, I’m telling you, do not lay a hand on him again.”
God, she hoped she was right. She was making all this up as she went. Governess, my ass. She’d never taught children in her life. But she had held Story Hour every week at the Treasure Trove, and saw how kids ate up compliments for good behavior.
On the few occasions she’d had a yeller, as she called them, she’d cringed. Most of the time, those children continued behaving badly, even after being screamed at. They’d grown immune to it.
The nurse crossed her arms under her chest, bristling with belligerence. “I’ve been a nurse longer than you’ve been alive.” When Eliza showed no sign of backing down, she finally huffed, “I leave you to him,” and stalked off.
Round One to the American.
Would Nurse Pritchett report this to Deveric’s mother? Most likely. The dowager was probably a firm believer in corporal punishment. I’m sure she’d like to whip me. Well, Eliza would cross that bridge—and Dragon—when she came to it.
Closing the door after Nurse Pritchett, Eliza made a show of exhaling in relief. “Whew, I’m glad she’s gone.”
Freddy glared at her, mutiny in his eyes. So much for gratitude. After a minute or so, he looked away. So much bravado in such a little boy. “I can handle a knuckle-rapping,” he grumbled.
“I’m sure you can, but I don’t think you should have to.”
He kicked at the floor.
“Does it help you learn when she does that? Does it make you want to work harder?”
He stuck his lower lip out, considering. “It makes me want to hit back,” he admitted. “But I know if I don’t mind, it will happen again.”
“I understand. But I think people respond better to kindness, don’t you?”
His eyebrows lifted as if he was surprised she’d asked his opinion.
“I suppose so,” he said. “Jerome the stablehand always kicks at the dogs, saying that’s what will make them stop chewing at his breeches. But the dogs never chew my breeches.” He took a breath.
“Exactly,” Eliza said. Sensing an opportunity, she continued. “You like dogs, don’t you?” The joy on his face when he’d burst into his mother’s chamber, dog on his heels, just a few days ago had said as much.
“Papa says I’m not to play with them, that they’re for hunting.”
“Hmm. Well, we had a dog when I was young, and I loved him. He was my best friend for years.”
Freddy looked at her, his eyes round in surprise. “In truth?”
“Yes, really. Maybe you can take me down to where the dogs are? Perhaps we could pet one today.” If she couldn’t be with Deveric, at least she could get to know his son.
His face lit up. He stubbed his toe on the ground again. “But Papa—”
“—is gone for the time being. And I will deal with him if it becomes an issue.”
Oh boy. Interfering with Deveric’s authority wasn’t the wisest tack to take. But come on; dogs made the kid happy. And wouldn’t Deveric want his son happy and thriving? Wasn’t that what all parents wanted?
The dowager’s stern face flashed before her. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe in this period, appearances and conformity outranked familial affection. If that were the case, she was in deep trouble.
On the other hand, how much worse could it get? It was not as if Deveric’s mother liked her, anyway, though at least she hadn’t thrown Eliza out. If you keep challenging her, she might, regardless of what her son said.
Shaking off all the what-ifs, Eliza walked over to the boy, crouching down in front of him. “We have not been properly introduced.” The rushed greeting from their first encounter didn’t count. “My name is Mrs. Eliza James. I’m from the United States—Virginia, actually. I’m your cousin”—funny how she hardly tripped over those words anymore—“but also now your governess. You may call me ... Miss Eliza.” Mrs. James sounded too formal for a child that young, and Eliza too casual, so she took the good old Southern approach of slapping “Miss” in front of her first name.
“I am Lord Harrington,” Freddy responded, his voice as supercilious as his father’s.
Lord Harrington? He expected her to address him by his courtesy title? Perhaps he’d been taught to; she was a stranger, after all. “That is an appropriate title for an important lad such as yourself,” Eliza said. “But since I have given you leave to call me by my first name, might you extend the same courtesy to me?”
The boy mulled that over, his brow crinkling in an adorable imitation of his father. “I suppose. My name is Frederick. Though my aunts call me Freddy. Since you are a relative, you may also call me Freddy.”
“Thank you, Freddy.” She wanted to scoop him up in a hug, this boy pretending at his tender age to be a man. “I am sorry it upset you to see me in your mother’s chamber the other day,” she said, her eyes fixed on his darling green ones. “I lost both of my parents. I know how hard that is. I want you to know I wasn’t trying to take over her space—I didn’t even know it was her space. It’s just where they put me.”
His lip trembled. “You did? You lost your Mama and your Papa?”
“Yes, I did. I was older than you are, but they died in a car—a carriage accident.”
Freddy tentatively linked his hand with hers. “Let’s go and see the dogs!” he said, clearly wishing to change the subject.
Her heart melted at the feel of his tiny fingers in hers. “Lead on, my little lord.”