Parting the Veil by Paulette Kennedy
CHAPTER 15
August came through in a rush, bringing a relentless, steaming heat that made the inner rooms of Havenwood Manor intolerable by noon. Eliza lingered long in her bed, shedding her nightgown as she had in New Orleans, stretching out on the sheets with the windows thrown wide. While she was as lustful as a courtesan at night, she remained as demure and well mannered as her husband had asked during the day.
The truth was, it was an easy thing to accomplish, because Malcolm was hardly home during daylight hours. He was ever off doing business in Winchester or Southampton, or in his study with the door closed, drawing up plans for the renovations to Havenwood Manor. Eliza spent her solitary afternoons exploring the jigsaw puzzle of interconnected rooms inside the mansion. She relished every detail—from the friezes in the small parlor depicting a unicorn hunt, to the burlwood escritoire in her room. As she walked the maze of halls, she traced each baroque line of trimwork with worshipful fingertips and cataloged the martyrs depicted in the stained glass windows. Saint Sebastian had become her favorite, his torso pierced with arrows, his head thrown back in ecstasy. Despite the damp and the mildew that remained tucked in the corners of certain rooms, the house was as much a bridegroom as her husband, and she adored both with fervent admiration.
Eliza was happy. But there was one matter, in all of this decadent fog of newlywed rapture, that concerned her to distraction.
Two weeks after her wedding, she knocked on the doors of Sherbourne House. Her sister opened them, dressed in plummy linen. “You look awful,” Lydia said archly. “You’re not sleeping, are you?” She stood aside to let Eliza through the doorway. In the front parlor, Tante Theo’s porcelain samovar steamed on the console. Next to it, a tray laden with Eliza’s favorite jam-filled sugar cookies beckoned. She greedily chose four, stacking them in her hands as she sat.
“If I’m not sleeping, sister, it’s only because my husband insists on making love to me all through the night,” Eliza said. “I’d no idea men could be so . . . enthusiastic.”
“That’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it? It seems my concerns about your husband were unfounded.” Lydia searched Eliza’s face. She had a way of looking at a person and seeing the things they wanted to keep hidden. “Still, there’s something bothering you. Isn’t there?”
“Yes. There’s something I would ask of you, if you’re willing.” Eliza took a drink of her tea and set it down with a clatter. “I don’t want to have a baby. At least for a good long while.”
“Why? If you love this man so much, why wouldn’t you want to give him a child? He’ll be expecting you to provide him with an heir. And you aren’t getting younger.”
Eliza closed her eyes. “I just don’t want to, cher. I’m not ready for that sort of responsibility. Perhaps someday. But not yet.”
Lydia sighed. “I suppose I can make you Mimi’s herbal tonic. It may cause cramping, and there’s no guarantee it will work. It also tastes of piss and quinine.”
“I remember. She made it for me once.” Mimi had concocted the bitter draught after Eliza had confessed the loss of her virginity. Foolish child. It may be too late, but I will make something that should right your wrongs. You better damn well pray it works, otherwise your maman will murder you and that poor boy both. “I’ll endure the cramps gladly. I’d rather that than face the confinement of motherhood.” Eliza shrugged. “It’s a mercy, really. You and I both know I’m not suited to motherhood. Besides, I’m anxious to build my stables.”
Lydia cleared her throat. “And does your husband know your opinion on motherhood? You should talk of such things with him.”
“Merde. I will give him a child. Someday. Just not now.”
“Fair enough.” Lydia gave a petulant huff of breath. “Are you coming to Sarah’s party?”
“I hadn’t heard she was having one.”
“It’s only a small gathering. This Friday night.”
Eliza paused before answering. Apart from their hasty trip to Brainerd’s office, they’d made no public appearances since their elopement. “Does anyone besides you and Mr. Mason know Malcolm and I have wed?”
“I haven’t said a word. Not even to Clarence.”
“Good. I want our nuptials to remain a secret for the time being. We’re filing paperwork against Eastleigh’s notice of eviction, and Malcolm wants to make sure the legal protections are in place before we announce our marriage.”
“Still, you should come to Sarah’s party. Why not? Everyone already knows you’re courting, after all. You have to be getting bored in that drafty old house.”
Eliza winked. “Sister, I assure you. I am anything but bored.”
Eliza dressed for Sarah’s party, choosing a new gown made of watered-silk douppioni. It draped about her figure like a sheath made of shifting ocean waves, bringing out the aquamarine tones in her eyes. She clasped the pearl necklace her father had given her for her debut about her neck, and swept her hair up loosely, letting a few wild curls escape around the edges. As she was finishing her toilette, something flickered behind her in the glass, just for a moment—a blunted streak of light. She pivoted on the stool, but there was nothing there. How funny. Perhaps it was a moth, flitting between the arms of the chandelier. Since she’d seen the mysterious light in the woods, which Malcolm had dismissed as one of the crofters checking snares, a kind of vigilant, hopeful curiosity had enlivened her explorations of the house. What if? What if some of the stories were true? Her skepticism could be made to waver, with enough proof.
Malcolm strode into her room, his white tie freshly starched. He rested his hands on her shoulders as she rouged her cheeks, and then her lips. “Tonight’s a bit of a coming-out party for us, isn’t it?” he said. “Our secret won’t last much longer.”
“Knowing how gossip travels in this town, you’re probably right. But perhaps they won’t guess just yet.” Eliza took off her pearl wedding ring and placed it in the dish on her dressing table. A shiver went over her shoulders as she pulled on her gloves, remembering Eastleigh’s threats. “Do you suppose Eastleigh will be there?”
“He’s not a favorite of the Nelsons.” Malcolm knelt at her feet. “But, if he does come, we’ll have quite a surprise for him, won’t we?” He placed her shoes on her feet and fastened her gilded buckles, then slid his hand up her calf to the soft skin of her inner thigh.
Eliza’s breath caught in her throat. “Keep that business up, husband, and we’ll be unfashionably late.”
When they arrived at the Nelson’s mansion, Sarah answered the door, dressed in a handsome tuxedo with a glen plaid waistcoat and white cuffs, her chestnut hair down around her shoulders and her cheeks rouged. Her gaze lingered warmly on Eliza before she turned to lead them inside. “I’ve never seen a finer-looking sight, I daresay. Like a siren of the waves. It’s good to see you out after all this time, Malcolm. Especially with such pretty company.”
“Our Sarah might steal you away if I’m not careful,” Malcolm teased.
“That I may,” Sarah said with a wink. “Pistols at dawn, sir.”
Malcolm chuckled. “I remember Sarah and I were at a dance in Somerset once, I believe in our sixteenth year, and there was a girl with hair the color of new flax . . .”
Sarah’s brows gathered in confusion. “Really? Your memory must be better than mine.”
Just then, Polly came whirling into the foyer in a flurry of blush silk and rhinestones and pulled Sarah aside. “Cora says you’re up as dealer. I’m losing terribly and could use your luck.”
“Now how can I resist a plea like that?” Sarah linked arms with Polly and gave Eliza a knowing look. “Do come talk to me in a bit, darling. I hear we’ve a bit of catching up to do.”
“She fancies you,” Malcolm whispered after she’d gone.
“What?” Eliza asked.
“Sarah. She’s an invert, dearest. She prefers women. We often chased the same girls in our youth. She was much more successful than I.”
“Really?” Eliza giggled, thinking of all her stolen kisses with Giselle so many years ago. Kisses that had eventually landed on collarbones and bosoms and could have easily become something more. At times, she still ached for the easy companionship she’d enjoyed with Giselle. She could understand Sarah preferring the same and admired her boldness. “How incredible. Yet she’s married?”
“Yes, well. Her husband is just the same. His summer fishing trips to Bath are a ruse. He goes there to meet his male lovers.”
“My goodness. What other secrets are you keeping?”
Malcolm’s lips curved in a wry grin. “Tons.”
As they moved into the drawing room, a string quartet began tuning up by the hearth. Lydia came to her side, resplendent in scarlet satin. “You look like you’re up to something,” she whispered. “If you’re truly wanting to keep your secret, quit smirking like a cat in the cream. I can always tell when you’re thinking naughty things.”
“Perhaps,” Eliza rasped. “But it’s so fun. Besides, I think Sarah already knows.”
“I’m not at all surprised.”
Clarence Fawcett came forward wearing cleverly patched evening dress, his hair slicked with pomade. He made a crisp bow to Malcolm and took Eliza’s gloved hand in greeting, then whisked Lydia into a rollicking mazurka. Several familiar faces were among the people gathered around the dance floor. Eliza was most relieved to see that neither Eastleigh nor Una Moseley was among the guests.
After they’d had champagne and made polite conversation, Malcolm and Eliza joined the other dancers for a breathless waltz. When the song ended, he guided her from the room as the guests looked on, whispering behind raised fans. They went down the hall and through a doorway hung with lavish fringed curtains. In the secluded alcove beyond, a tufted chaise sloped against the wall, a portrait of a naked nymph above it.
“Did you see their faces?” Eliza giggled. “We’re beyond scandalous.”
“It’s quite fun, isn’t it?” Malcolm pulled her onto the low couch, stifling her laughter with his hand. He lifted her wrist and parted the fabric between her glove buttons, then brought the keyhole of bared flesh to his mouth, flicking her skin with the point of his tongue. A lascivious heat spread from the junction of Eliza’s thighs to her belly. “I wonder how much we could get away with, hidden here,” he said. His fingertips teased her through the fabric of her dress, the heat from his breath warming the skin on her neck.
“Yes,” she murmured, arching her back. God, how he made her weak. Wanton. She ached to have him touch her. His mouth sought hers in the darkness as she guided his hand beneath her petticoats.
“Liza! Come out here.”
Merde. It was Lydia. Through heavy-lidded eyes, Eliza could see her flickering silhouette against the wall outside the opening of the curtains. Malcolm withdrew his hand, a sigh of frustration hissing through his lips. “Your sister has impeccable timing.”
“Stay here. I’ll see what she wants,” Eliza rasped. She stood, smoothing out her skirts. She pressed a hand against her cheeks to cool them and walked out into the drawing room.
“What were you doing?” Lydia gave an appraising look to Eliza’s flushed cheeks and bosom. “All saints. Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Eastleigh is here, in the rear gardens with Polly. She’s trying to calm him, but he knows y’all are here and he’s none too happy.”
Eliza felt Malcolm’s presence behind her. “Miss Tourant, would you care to show me out so I may address the earl? His quarrel is with me.”
Eliza shook her head. Panic twisted in her gut. “Malcolm, don’t. Please.”
“Darling, I’m sure his mood can be lightened after a snifter of whisky and a hand of cards. Eastleigh isn’t the sort to make a public row.” Malcolm’s voice was tense as steel. “Miss Tourant, please.”
Lydia flounced down the wide central hallway and led them onto the terrace facing the garden. Polly and Eastleigh stood a few yards away, near a fountain of Neptune shooting arcs of silvery water from his trident. Polly’s face was wet with tears. “Charles! Forget her. She’s made her choice and she wasn’t worthy of your attention to begin with. It’s my father’s fondest wish, and mine, to see us married. He sent his blessing, just this week!”
Eastleigh had his back to them, but Eliza heard every word. “Marry you?” he slurred. “Surely you didn’t think I wouldn’t set my sights higher than a half-witted admiral’s daughter?”
Eliza gripped Lydia’s hand. “Poor Polly,” she whispered. “I’d no idea they were courting.”
“I don’t think they were,” Lydia whispered. “I think she’s a bit delusional.”
Polly pushed past Eastleigh and hurtled toward them, her pale hair mussed and her eyes streaming. “Ah! Here she is now, Charles. Did you enjoy witnessing my humiliation, Miss Sullivan?”
“Polly, please. I am no rival for Lord Eastleigh’s affections. I’ve only ever wanted to be your friend.” Eliza reached out for the distraught girl’s hand. Her gesture was met with a stinging slap to the wrist. Two bright spots of color flared on her cheeks.
“Do you know?” Polly spat. “I’ve had my cap set toward Charles for years. From the time I was a girl. And he wouldn’t so much as glance my way.” Polly’s hands clenched her skirts, her mouth twisting into a sardonic smile. “And finally, I’d charmed him. He was lately round for tea every Sunday. And then you come here, with your slatternly American ways, and all the lords of the realm fall at your feet.”
“That’s not true, Polly. I do not love him, I promise you. Malcolm owns my heart, and only Malcolm.”
“Miss Whitby,” Malcolm said gently, his arm going around Eliza’s waist. “Charles is not worthy of your tears. Your honor is high above his own, I assure you. You’ve no rival with Eliza.”
Polly cackled. “Have you told your Eliza the full story, Malcolm? I’m quite sure her pretty face and fine figure aren’t the real reason you’re wooing her.”
“Havenwood! I’d have a word with you.” Eastleigh rounded the hedge, reeking of liquor, his white tie rumpled and his hat askew. Eliza’s heart gave a sickening twist.
Malcolm stepped in front of Eliza and lifted his hat. “My lord, how pleasant it is to see you this evening.”
Eastleigh glowered. “I was feeling rather the opposite.”
“Look, Charles . . . I realize in matters of the heart we share the same interest, but Eliza has made her choice.”
“Indeed. I have,” Eliza said, coming out from behind Malcolm. “Good evening, sir.” She took a deep breath and released it through tight lips. “Malcolm and I are married. We’ve been so for over two weeks.”
Polly gasped.
“Married!” Eastleigh sneered. He gave a bitter bark. “Really? I’ve seen no banns. I’d warrant the thing, if indeed it happened, is far from legitimate.”
“I have the paperwork from a magistrate in Basingstoke saying that it is.”
“Bloody hell. Rather fast, after a fashion. I suppose you let him have a run up your skirts and there’s a child in your belly he didn’t want born a bastard. They do say you Americans are loose.”
Malcolm tensed next to her. “Sir, you’ll not address my wife in such a coarse manner. Apologize.”
“Or what?”
“Or I shall be forced to challenge you.”
Eastleigh rolled his head back and laughed. “Bold to be challenging the one who holds four mortgages against your estate, sir.”
“Not for long. We’ve filed an injunction against your notice of eviction.” Eliza’s words were as sharp as cut glass. “I’ll soon be clearing my husband’s debts with my fortune. We’ve more than enough to cover it, I assure you.”
Eastleigh tore his hat from his head and tossed it to the ground, where it rolled in a crooked circle. “You righteous little whore.”
“Right. That’s enough. Let’s go, then.” Malcolm unbuttoned his jacket, his jaw clenching.
“Malcolm, please! It isn’t worth it,” Eliza cried. Malcolm ignored her protestations and handed his jacket to Lydia, then pushed up his shirtsleeves. A cold sweat broke out along Eliza’s brow. It seemed a chivalrous thing in a romance novel, having two men fight over you, but in reality, it was anything but. It was nauseating.
“Look, I don’t rate a fight, little Havenwood.” He made a mocking bow to Eliza. “I’m ever so sorry for offending your honor, my lady.”
“Coward,” Malcolm spat. “More gratifying to insult a woman than face your equal, is it?”
“You may have claimed your prize, but her money won’t take the tarnish off your name.” Eastleigh gave a slow, devilish grin. “Do you know? Your father was never proud of you. Called you his soft, pretty lordling. I suppose you’ve got something to prove then, haven’t you?”
Malcolm went after him with a roar, tackling Eastleigh to the ground. They tangled in a heap down the hill, Malcolm’s fists hammering the smug look from Charles’s face. Polly screamed and sat upon the ground, covering her face with her hands, looking for all the world like a ruined, wilting rose. The door to the mansion flew open. Sarah came running out with a horrified shriek, the rest of the guests trailing her. With some effort, Clarence and the other men pulled Malcolm off Charles, who lay rolling on the ground, laughing, his nose bloodied. “Should’ve been your brother that lived, Havenwood. Real man. Unlike you, crying for your mummy when you so much as scratched your knee.”
“Enough, gentlemen!” Sarah boomed, her usual good humor gone. “Lord Eastleigh, Lord Havenwood, you’d both do well to leave immediately, else I’ll be forced to fetch the constable.”
Charles stood and straightened his jacket, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Fine, fine. I’ll be heading out, straightaway.” He tipped his hat to Eliza. “You’ll soon live to regret your choice, Lady Havenwood. You can set a wager on that.”