An Inconvenient Engagement Read online

  “Well, then you have my thanks again. For saving me on the moors and for your hospitality.

  He almost smiled. “You are most welcome to be here. And, if you are truly better, perhaps you would join me for dinner tonight.”

  “I have no evening wear.”

  “Your day dress will do.” He nodded to the dress laid out on the small chaise and rose to leave. “It will be some days before you can go home. Feel free to do as you please.”

  Eliza raised a hand to stop him. “Please, Sir William, I must have some employment!”

  “You need not do anything, just rest.”

  “Sir, that is not in my nature.”

  “If you please, Sir,” Haddely said from the doorway, “I understand her meaning.” She looked particularly at Eliza and said, “I can supply you from the poor basket or with mending.”

  Eliza was all relief. “Oh, thank you, either would be fine.”

  “You are not going to do mending while a guest in my home!”

  “Sir, there are some whose hands cannot be idle. I suspect Miss Denham’s are among them.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Haddely! Truly, Sir William, I will be more comfortable if I have some employment while confined.”

  He shook his head but said, “As you wish, then.” He gave her a final smile, and she was alone for a moment to truly take in her surroundings.

  A lovely room! All blues and teals, with highlights of gold and yellow. The walls were painted a medium taupe with dark wainscot and ceiling beams. The mantle was plain and solid, with a painting of a young woman in the style of dress from some thirty years prior hanging in prominence. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and tested her ankle on the floor. Pain shot through it as her foot touched the floor, but it was bearable. She reached for her clothes and was in the middle of dressing when the maid returned with a large basket of mending. She set it down and helped lace up the corset and button up the dress. Then, she helped Eliza to the chaise near the window and settled the basket and the sewing box next to her. Eliza drew the basket toward her as the maid left and sifted through its contents. She had completed several repairs to small tears and fixed some ragged hems when Haddely appeared again.

  “Oh my, you have certainly worked through that quickly enough!” She held something out to her and actually almost smiled. “I thought you might be interested in this, though I don’t know. It was left in a trunk when the Strathom family took possession of Tredwell Abbey.

  It was a bag of yellowed silk, worked with various colored silk threads in an intricate pattern of flowers. The bottom was a rectangular box, and it had a drawstring top. The string was knotted closed and looked as though it had been for some years…obviously left and forgotten at some time in the house’s past. The knot loosened after a short struggle, and she carefully pulled it open.

  Inside were several hanks of what appeared to be creamy white silk yarn, and a few fine knitting needles. The silk yarn – almost thread – slipped through her fingers smoothly. Suddenly, she knew what she needed to make…inspired by the very short sleeves of her favorite gown and another pair she had in plain cotton. “This would be perfect for fingerless gloves to go with an afternoon dress!”

  “Well, if you need a pair then help yourself.”

  “Oh Ma’am, I couldn’t.” But she was stopped as Haddely tapped her chatelaine and lifted her chin, reminding her of who was in charge of the household.

  “No one has missed this since long before the Strathoms took ownership of the Abbey. It is yours now.”

  “But, perhaps, the new mistress will like to have it.”

  Haddely merely shrugged. “She will likely have other things and not care so much about this leftover from another time. Please, dear, accept it.” She looked about her and said in a different tone, “If you are up to moving about, I can send someone to help you and then you can sit in the great room if you like.”

  Feeling somewhat foggy from confinement, Eliza nodded her thanks, and within minutes of Haddely leaving a fresh-faced maid arrived. She was helped downstairs to the main room with its huge roaring fire and large windows looking out onto the lane leading out to the road. Sir William had described the deep drifts, but there did not seem to be more than a foot or so of snow on the ground. She settled on the very couch she had been laid on the night before, foot propped up and a rug tucked around her. Eliza smiled deep and picked up the needles to begin casting on. She paused and rested her head on the back of the couch for a moment, and her eyes closed.

  She woke, not realizing she had fallen asleep. Some time had passed for the light was much softer and the sky outside had darkened with clouds. She let her eyes wander over the dark, intricately carved wood of the mantel over the fireplace. The overcast sky kept the light coming through the mullioned window muted, so candles were lit above the mantel. The warm glow in the cold light gave a calming sense to the room. It was so quiet, sound muffled by the heavy blanket of snow outside.

  William joined her as she was waking and smiled to see her nestled into the couch, foot propped up and workbag open beside her. Something about the scene brought his mother to mind, one of the only distant memories he had of her. He pushed it away and said, “I was going to see if you wanted to walk over the house, but you look very comfortable as you are.”

  She stretched and yawned, setting the knitting aside. “Hmmm. Yes, but I think I need to move. My limbs are stiff from being too long comfortable.”

  “Where did you get that?” He nodded toward the workbag.

  “Haddely found it. I was in need of employment, so she settled me here with this. I hope you do not mind.”

  “Far be it from me to gainsay Haddely!” He extended his arm to assist her. “Come, if you think your ankle will stand the walk. It is soon accomplished for the Abbey is not overlarge.”

  “It seems large to me! What a job Haddely must have looking after it.” She hooked her arm about his, and he gripped her securely, supporting her on her injured side.

  “She has plenty of help,” was the dry response.

  “Your family has only been here a short time, I believe.”

  “Yes, my father made the purchase after a short lease. He felt it would give our family a well-needed country seat in order to become better established.”

  “We were very sorry to hear of his death.”

  He nodded soberly. “It was a shock to us all. He seemed so hearty! And yet, he was always so driven to work and aspiring to more. Perhaps he just worked himself to death.”

  “Well then, Uncle should live many more years. He is such a gentle soul – I cannot imagine him working himself to extreme!”

  “And yet he has a rich and active mind. I admire that.”

  “Thank you. I admire him, too. If only because he has always encouraged my mind, and I am finding that is rare.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “Can you?” She looked at him. He returned her gaze.

  “Yes. I remember my grandmother listening to my father lecture her about some aspect of the accounts. She just nodded and listened. But I could tell by the way she looked at him that she knew far more than he did and that he did not even suspect. Yet she listened patiently. I was young enough for it to impress upon me how silly my father looked.”

  “And yet, your grandmother responded as she was supposed to.”

  “Yes, but of course, a child knows nothing of that.”

  “Usually they do learn, eventually.” She looked at him.

  “Perhaps. Yes, of course they do. But then I may have been a poor student!” He smiled down at her. She smiled back at him, and the air turned electric between them. She caught her breath, and he looked away, self-consciously.

  The Abbey was well proportioned, and its many rooms had been allocated to functions that perfectly suited their size, even a little ballroom, and a conservatory which Eliza loved instantly. Suddenly, she was envious of the young woman who would soon step into place as mistress of all this. />
  “Your fiancée must be very proud to have this in her future.”

  He did not answer immediately, and she feared she had overstepped her place. But he said, “She has yet to see it. She writes yet again to postpone her visit.”

  Eliza longed to ask him how that made him feel but said instead, “Tell me, are these portraits of your family, or are they attached to the house?” They had made their way to a small gallery that connected the two wings of the Abbey.

  He smiled briefly. “Some of both! The lady in pink satin, you see there, was here when we arrived.” She gazed up at an imperious elderly lady dressed incongruously in flowing pink, lace, and ruffles. He lowered his voice, “Lady Agatha d’Sauncy. I could not bear to see her relegated to the attic!” He straightened, “But that gentleman centered in the gallery is my father, the first baronet. His second wife, George’s mother, is to his right. They are matching portraits, as you can see. Grandfather is down towards the end – his portrait was difficult to fit amongst the others. He sits beside one of the Abbey’s last owners, the Baronet d’Sauncy.”

  “Yes, I remember Sir Alfred. He was an old dear…a little odd toward the end. The pink Lady must be his mother who is rather famous here – I am not at all surprised to see her painted in that gown! Sir Alfred died when I was a little girl. I believe it was his nephew who sold the estate.”

  “I believe so. Father had me accompany him to all the meetings with the attorneys and the D’Sauncys.”

  “There is a portrait in the Teal room…?”

  “Yes, that is my mother. It looked like a room she would have liked, so I had her placed there.”

  A twinge in her ankle forced her to lean more heavily upon his arm, and he was instantly all attention. “Here, rest a moment.” He settled her on a low settee set against the windows to allow contemplation of the gallery’s denizens. She sat contentedly, looking about her in quiet wonder. The wood, age-burnished and solid, the various frames, some gilt, some carved, one very old one of plain board all sat somehow harmonious and serene. She did not know any of the people pictured there, nor did she have even the most distant connexion with them. And yet, she felt at home with them. She shifted her gaze to his tall form beside her to find him watching her with an odd expression.

  “I hope you approve of Tredwell.” His voice was low and warm in the large room.

  “There are few who would not! It is delightful, comfortable and yet…I don’t know how to describe it. Regal, perhaps, yet that is too cold.”

  “I am glad you approve it.” He was, truly. He was instantly on guard. George and his father were suddenly both before him, frowning their disapproval. In a different tone he added, “Perhaps if you are rested, we could continue as I have some things to attend to.” It came out harsher than he had intended, but perhaps that was for the best.

  His tone cut her deep. “Of course.” She stood, with but the barest dependence upon his arm and held herself stiffly at a distance, leaning as little as possible. What was it with this young baronet, that made him change so quickly from warm solicitude to cold indifference? With barely another word between them, they made their way back to the Great Room. He excused himself and left her sitting on the edge of the couch, confused and irritated at herself for letting her guard down, yet again. Oh, why did she continually fall into his trap?

  He stalked off, angry at himself. Why did he relax so around this girl? Woman – lady. No, not a true lady, and that was the problem. She was not a convenient connexion for consideration. Most inappropriate, as his father would have been the first to inform him. He could hear his father discoursing about what was considered appropriate. How their own lack of history must be tethered to a family of long line, unimpeachable if possible and moneyed to boot. Wealth must beget more wealth, the family must prosper and advance. Happiness be damned.

  And why did he add that last part? He thought of his rather quick engagement, and how surprised he had been that he had been accepted. But here he was about to order the carriage in anticipation of their coming marriage. A very large and important item crossed off the list he had inherited. His steps faltered, and he stopped. Suddenly, he did not want to order the carriage for Maria Lockley. When he envisioned that day, it was Eliza Denham he was helping into the carriage, and Eliza Denham sitting at the dressing table of his room, Eliza Denham in his arms…

  “No!” The word broke from him in an agonized whisper. No. What would Father say? What would George say? Oh Lord...what wouldn’t George say? No, whatever his feelings for this girl, he would not act. He knew his place, knew his duty.

  So, why did he feel so empty of a sudden?

  Dinner was a quiet affair. She and Sir William were the only ones seated at the large table. The courses were brought in succession, consumed, and removed in almost complete silence. He made no attempt at conversation, and she made no attempt to break the silence.

  When it was over, he finally spoke, “Good night.” She could only watch him exit the room with swift determination and no backward look.

  A young maid helped her to her room and into the large nightdress, and she was alone again. She knitted for a while by candlelight until her eyes were strained from staring at the small stitches. She stuffed the knitting back in the fine, old workbag and leaned back.

  Perhaps it was the nap she had taken that afternoon, but sleep would not come. Someone had placed an old-fashioned white dressing gown on the chaise, and she wrapped herself into it and stepped out of her room. It was quiet. Servants were all belowstairs, and Sir William was probably in his room in the other wing. She walked down the hall to the landing which opened onto the gallery and went inside. The somewhat narrow room stretched to her right and left. She moved slowly along the gallery, the light coming from the mullioned windows a soft reflection of moonlight on the snow. She limped along, the train of the dressing gown drifting behind her as she looked up at the faces staring emptily outward.

  She looked up at the old lady in pink and paused. By all accounts, she had been proud and would probably have had a sharp word for one such as Eliza to be in her home. Eliza felt a tear trace its way down her cheek and roughly pushed it away. Surely, she thought, there were more important things besides social standing when it came to determining one’s worth…

  A sudden gasp stopped her. She spun around. There, at the other end of the gallery, was Sir William. He stood stock still, and she grabbed the edges of the gown to wrap tightly about herself. Slowly, he advanced until he was within arm’s reach of her. “Are you real?” he asked.

  “It is just I, Sir William.”

  He took another step and heard her catch her breath. His mind was racing emptily along, pushed by the beating of his heart. He could think of nothing, save here she was within his grasp, and he merely needed to reach out. His hand reached out and gently cupped her cheek. She could hear his breath coming fast, hear her heart pounding in her ears.

  Another step brought them within inches of each other.

  His other hand came up, pushing through her tumbling hair. His thumb traced her jaw and came to rest on her slightly parted lips. “Eliza,” he whispered, and kissed her.

  A jolt went through her as his lips touched hers, and her lips parted against his. He pulled her closer until she felt the masculine hardness of his body against hers. He groaned, and his mouth claimed hers in deepening need as his arms went around her. Her lips parted at his insistence and she thought her heart would burst. Her arms went up to embrace him and he froze, suddenly. The moonlight reflected off the snow outside, filling the room with a ghostly shimmer. His eyes were bright, fevered, his breath coming fast. Gently, he put her from him.

  He turned his back to her. “My deepest apologies, Miss Denham.” His voice was rough with emotion and desire. “I forgot myself. It shall not happen again.” The last came out too forcefully, as though a warning. Without looking back, he strode off and disappeared from the gallery.

  She stood still, rooted to the floor. Her
breath forced itself back into her chest after being knocked out by first his kiss, then his rejection. True, he had not rejected her so much as discarded her…her mind could not make sense of what had just happened and she ran back to her room, dragging in ragged breaths and choking back tears. She knew, now, with a certainty that threatened to tear her apart – she loved him! More than loved – desired him, needed him with a terrible yearning. Oh, to be Maria Lockley! To have the promise of his love, his kisses, his body and heart for the rest of her life. To be mistress of this wondrous house and stand by his side forever.

  But no, he belonged to someone else, and even if he did not, he could never want her. She knew by his actions, by some instinct, that he felt something of the same. He obviously was attracted but knew the impossibility as well as she. He liked her against his conscience, and she would not presume upon that. She would guard herself, and him, from any possible furthering of this attraction. It had no future and would not be encouraged.

  Her tears lasted long into the night.

  Chapter Twelve

  Her ankle healed quickly, but her heart stayed wounded and she doubted it would heal. For two more days he avoided her. The only time they were together was during supper, and then it was a silent affair. Still, she caught him looking at her frequently, saw the confusion on his face that made him look so vulnerable. He was as lost as she was, and neither knew what to do about it.

  She wandered the Abbey, exploring empty rooms and the conservatory. She played the piano in the parlor and curled up on the window seat of the library with book after book. Whether she was knitting in the great room or sitting silently across the long table from him, her heart longed for him. Every moment, her senses reached out to him, seeking him out in the large manor house. And every moment, he resisted the call.

  On the fourth day, the snow was melting fast, and the coachman brought the carriage to the front pulled by two bays. She descended the stairs where Sir William stood ready to bid her farewell.