Scales and Sensibility by Stephanie Burgis

Chapter 10

“Mr. Hawkins!” Elinor took a step back in surprise before she recollected herself. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I know it’s shockingly improper.” Taking a careful step back from the doorway of her bedroom, he glanced around the deserted hallway with a wince. “I’m afraid I couldn’t help myself, though. You see, I tried to ask you an important question in the carriage, but Aubrey interrupted us, and I lost my nerve. Now I don’t know how else to ask in private. Mrs. De Lacey…”

“Yes?” Elinor felt her pulse beating swiftly against her throat. He couldn’t know the truth, she told herself. It was too impossible, too unlikely. But the way he was looking at her…it was as if he could read the secrets hiding behind her disguise.

He stepped closer to the doorway, his green gaze intent. “Mrs. De Lacey, I must ask you, in the strictest confidence: what truly happened to the young lady who left the inn last night? Elinor Tregarth?”

“What?” She let out her held breath in a whoosh of surprise and relief as she stepped forward to meet him, lowering her voice to a discreet whisper. “I beg your pardon? Mr. Hawkins, surely you heard me tell Sir John—”

“Yes,” he said. “I heard what you told him. But, ma’am…” He smiled ruefully as he looked her up and down, from the top of her head to the bottom of her cheap, unfashionable brown gown. “I understand that eccentricity can be fashionable, and I was impressed by how well you told your story…and yet, I’m afraid it didn’t quite convince me. Not when there was a much simpler explanation for your situation that made so much more sense.”

“Oh?” She braced one hand against the doorframe and raised her eyebrows. “I can hardly wait to hear it. Do tell me what wild story you’ve concocted.”

“Well…” Linking hands behind his back, he took a breath. “If Sir John is to be believed about his niece’s character, then there’s one rather obvious explanation. Miss Tregarth could have stolen your carriage, with all your clothing inside, and taken off into the night like the criminal her uncle calls her.”

“Fascinating.” Elinor fought to keep her voice level and her eyes on his. “Is that what you think happened, then? You apparently met Miss Tregarth, Mr. Hawkins. Did she strike you as a wicked criminal and a fugitive from justice?”

“Did she—?” Letting out a stifled half-laugh, he turned away from her, his gaze fixed on the empty passageway and his expression frustratingly impossible to read.

“It doesn’t matter how she struck me,” he said at last. “There’s a rather more compelling fact in play. Why would you let a fugitive escape so easily? Why would you allow yourself to be robbed without a single word of complaint?”

“Perhaps I take all of my possessions lightly.” Elinor could hear a roaring at the back of her head; she had to force herself to relax her fingers around the wooden frame of the door. “Perhaps I have so many carriages and clothes to spare that I don’t mind losing a few here and there.”

“Or…” He turned back to face her. “Perhaps you’re the one who suggested it in the first place.”

“Suggested that I be robbed?” Elinor let out a laugh that creaked with strain. She shifted a few inches backwards, her arm falling to her side. “Mr. Hawkins, as entertaining as it may be to listen to these flights of fancy—”

“No, listen,” he said. “You can trust me!” He stepped forward, eating up the distance between them, and Elinor couldn’t bring herself to move away. “I met Elinor Tregarth. I understand. She needed help. Good God, she deserved far more help than I could give her—I only realised how much today, when I met her uncle and understood how much trouble she was in. If you did choose to help her—to give her your case of clothing and order your coachman to drive her to any safe harbour you knew—I will be infinitely grateful, ma’am. But...” He swallowed visibly. “Please, you must tell me, so that I can stop torturing myself about what’s become of her!”

Elinor blinked, twice. “You’ve been worrying about her?”

“Of course I have!” He spun away, grasping the doorframe with one big hand as if it were an anchor. “She hasn’t any money at all—not at all, did you realize? Our carriage knocked her into a ditch. She lost everything from her reticule—and I’d wager there wasn’t much in there to start with! She had no means of supporting herself in the world, no relatives to offer her any protection, not even a maid to stand with her against the dangers of the road—and if you think of all the rogues only waiting to prey upon helpless young women like her…!”

Elinor shook her head. “I don’t understand. You heard Sir John—”

“I heard exactly what he said,” Benedict Hawkins snarled. “And after talking to both Elinor Tregarth and her uncle, I know exactly which one to believe.” Turning back to her, he fixed her with a grim look. “Forgive me for speaking disrespectfully of any acquaintance of yours, Mrs. DeLacey, but can you honestly tell me that you would trust Sir John’s word over that of any young lady?”

Elinor thought of one in particular. “It would depend upon the lady, I suppose.”

He dismissed that with a quick gesture. “Elinor Tregarth is painfully honest.”

“Ah.” Elinor swallowed uncomfortably and shifted another inch backwards.

“She has far more integrity than is good for her. Otherwise she would never have found herself in such a situation in the first place! If she stole that dragon, she had a reason for it.” He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “Mrs. De Lacey, please. I must know. Did you spirit her away in your carriage last night or did you not?”

Elinor opened her mouth. No words came out.

Elinor Tregarth is painfully honest.

She felt Sir Jessamyn watching them from the bed, his golden gaze intent.

If Mr. Hawkins truly meant everything that he had said…if he would actually believe her, or even take her side…

Wait.

“Tell me, Mr. Hawkins.” She brushed down her gown. It gave her an excuse to look away from his too-compelling eyes. “You’re very agitated for Miss Tregarth’s safety, but you don’t seem to have considered the other side to this story.”

“What other side? She’s alone, friendless—”

“Her cousin,” Elinor said sharply. “Miss Hathergill. What was it Mr. Aubrey said of her? ‘Pretty girl, large dowry, salvation’?”

Mr. Hawkins winced. “Ah. Yes. I was...rather hoping you hadn’t caught that.”

“Were you indeed?” She raised her eyebrows. It was as haughty a ‘Mrs. De Lacey’ look as she could imagine, but at that moment, it came entirely naturally. “Are you telling me that he was incorrect?”

“No,” he said. “Aubrey wasn’t incorrect.”

“I see.” Elinor met his gaze full-on. “Then you are hoping to persuade Miss Hathergill to marry you?”

He stood as rigid as a soldier at attention. “Yes. I am. I must.”

“And Miss Hathergill is the one whose dragon Miss Tregarth stole. The one who sent her father out to hunt Miss Tregarth down.”

Benedict frowned. “Sir John did seem to be implying as much, but that hardly seems likely, does it? I’m sure he was only using her as an excuse.”

Disappointment tasted bitter in Elinor’s mouth. “Indeed,” she said. “We can always hope as much. But now perhaps you’d like to leave the way you came? You’ll have to forgive me, Mr. Hawkins, but I don’t believe I owe any account of Miss Tregarth’s whereabouts to Penelope Hathergill’s future fiancé.”

The angry, hurting words were out of her mouth before she could even think them through...and Benedict Hawkins went still at the sound of them.

“‘Future fiancé’?” he repeated.

Oh, Lord. Elinor’s chest tightened. “Well?” She swallowed before her voice could crack. “Isn’t that what you are? Or, at least, hope to be?”

He was staring at her, his hazel eyes wide. “It’s an ear-catching phrase. Not one used every day.”

She managed a brittle smile, without meeting his eyes. “Are you accusing me of being ordinary?”

“No-o,” he murmured. “Not that. But…” His voice dropped away.

The silence between them hummed with tension. Elinor could feel his frowning gaze resting on her face. She barely breathed, all of her focus on staying perfectly still, not making a single move that might reveal the truth.

Be Mrs. De Lacey, she told herself. You are Mrs. De Lacey. You are—

And then suddenly it was perfectly simple. Would the real Mrs. De Lacey ever allow herself to be trapped by a stranger’s questions in her own bedroom—for the second time in a day, at that?

Elinor waved her arm in a truly magnificent gesture of dismissal. “This has been an entertaining interlude,” she said, “but really, Mr. Hawkins, I think you may have gone a little deaf. Did you not hear me say that it was time for you to leave?”

“I did.” The tension in the air released with his sigh. “Again, I must ask you for your forgiveness.” He began to turn but then paused, his frown deepening. “I won’t pursue you any further for answers, Mrs. De Lacey. But from what little you’ve told me…you’ll have to expect me to draw my own conclusions.”

“You may think whatever you choose,” Elinor snapped, “so long as you do it in your room rather than mine—and don’t allow anyone to see you leaving! I’d prefer not to have any scandalous rumours spread about me on this visit.”

“I understand. And I thank you.” He stepped forward, the tips of his toes just passing the barrier into her room. As his rueful smile caught her gaze, he reached out—and before she even realized what he was doing, he had taken her hand and raised it to his lips.

“Aah!” She jumped backward, yanking herself free...too late.

He had kissed her actual hand.

Her knuckles tingled where his dry, warm lips had brushed against them. Her fingers tingled with reaction, too—her true fingers, which were at least half an inch smaller and stubbier than the long and elegant fingers of Sir Jessamyn’s illusions. He had just felt them in his grasp...

And now he was staring at her as if he had seen a ghost.

Panic rang clanging bells of warning in her ears. “You may go now!”

“I…” Blinking hard, he shook his head and then took a step forward. “But you—”

“Now, Mr. Hawkins!” Elinor scrambled backwards.

He turned and left the room without a word.

* * *

Elinor sankdown onto the bed, gasping for breath. Faintly, she heard Sir Jessamyn cheep with concern behind her. She couldn’t bring herself to turn around, not even for him.

Benedict Hawkins had kissed her hand—but that wasn’t the important part, no matter how much her mind wanted to linger on every irrelevant sensation. Think, Elinor! He had felt the truth behind the illusion. And then…

“No,” she said. “No, no, no!” She lunged up from the bed. “He does not know me. He does not.”

Too many prickling emotions were swamping her at once. She paced through the room, struggling to shake them off. Be sensible, she told herself. Don’t let emotions carry you away! You’re not a romantic heroine, remember?

Perhaps Mr. Hawkins had felt the wrongness and dissonance between the illusion he’d seen and the truth he had touched for that one, fleeting moment. But it would be madness for him to leap to the impossible, true conclusion based on that moment of startlement. If Elinor carried off her next meeting with him with panache, he would be forced to set it down to a trick of his own mind.

She was safe. Of course. She was safe from Benedict Hawkins in every way.

And now she was lying to herself, too.

Elinor tipped her head against the glass of the window, letting out her breath in a sigh. Outside, the gardens of Hathergill Hall spread out in neatly ordered rows, every flower marching in perfect order. Each one could be confident of its place in the world…just like everyone in Hathergill Hall except for her.

Elinor Tregarth is painfully honest.

She wanted to shut her eyes against the truth, but she couldn’t.

Her knuckles still tingled where Benedict had kissed them. She remembered every word he had said about her. She already knew—no matter how hard she tried not to—that she would hear them again before falling asleep that night, and for many nights to come.

She wondered if she would ever manage to forget them...

But no matter how much common sense railed against it, she couldn’t bring herself to forget the impractical, impossible truth now that she had finally admitted it to herself.

Elinor had fallen head over heels in love with Benedict Hawkins, her cousin’s future husband.