known.
They spoke simultaneously.
“He must go see him.”
“He will not go see him.”
Their words ran together, and perhaps it was the jumbled confusion of their blended voices or perhaps it was shock at Eloise’s words, but the marchioness widened her eyes and said, “Beg your pardon?”
She treaded carefully, seeking to divulge only the details she must. Though no matter what paper and ribbon were selected to dress it up, a betrayal was a betrayal. “It is not my place to share Lucien’s history, but strife between them came when the viscount insisted on his youngest son,” she paused remembering belatedly this woman, for all she did know of Lucien, didn’t know all the parts of his life, the way Eloise did. “Lucien wanted to join the clergy. His father insisted he follow the drum.” She moved her attention away from the other woman and her gaze collided with an urn filled with flowers.
“What happened?”
Those cheerful, delicate blooms served as a mark of cheer upon Eloise’s dark thoughts. The white daisies within the arrangement beckoned, and she stood and wandered over. She leaned down and inhaled the sweet, fragrant scent that transported her to fields of spring flowers.
I am quite cross with you, Lucien. You were to help me pick flowers and… And that was the last he’d ever picked a flower with her. Or walked with her. Or teased her. “He fell in love,” her voice, the faintest whisper. She straightened, glancing over her shoulder at Emmaline.
The marchioness stared at her with wide, tragic eyes. “Oh, Eloise.” She gave her a sad smile. “You love him.”
Tears filled her eyes and she blinked back the useless tears of weakness. Emmaline’s words merely served to bring her to the purpose in coordinating their first meeting and coming here this day. “He is quite obstinate.”
“Indeed he is.”
“He’ll not come merely because I ask it, or because he should.”
Understanding dawned in the other woman’s brown eyes. “Ahh.”
Eloise hurried over, her skirts snapping wildly at her ankles. “He will not listen to me.” She sank into the seat beside Emmaline. At one time he would have. No longer. “If you reasoned him out of London Hospital, my lady, then you can convince him to make this journey with me.”
Emmaline said nothing for a very long while and Eloise suspected she didn’t intend to help, thought she might gently, but politely, beg to not interfere in personal matters that did not belong to her. But then, she nodded slowly. “I imagine if I cannot see he makes this important journey, my husband will.”
Her eyes slid closed on a wave of gratitude. “Thank you.”
“Oh, don’t thank me,” she said dryly. “I’ve not accomplished anything yet. And knowing your Mr. Jones as I do, if he does not wish to make this journey, well then it will not be an easy task for either me or my husband to accomplish.”
Eloise opened her eyes and looked to Emmaline. She shifted under the weight of the marchioness’ scrutiny.
Then Emmaline asked, “How long have you loved him?”
“All of my life,” she said softly, remembering back to the day she’d first met Lucien and his brothers. Her father and the viscount, owners of property in the same county, had been fast friends from their youth. A wistful smile tugged at her lips. “Well, not my whole life. We were, however, children when we first met.” The hard, angry frown an adult Lucien had turned on her moments ago bore traces of the child’s frown he’d worn at their first meeting. “His father gave him the task of playing with me.” Her lips pulled in remembrance of that long ago day; the fire in his gray-blue eyes, the tight set to his angry mouth. “Needless to say, he resented being made to play with a small girl.”
Curiosity lit the other woman’s eyes. “What did you do?”
She grinned. “I punched him.”
Emmaline’s laughter echoed off the high-ceilings and plastered walls. “I imagine that
They spoke simultaneously.
“He must go see him.”
“He will not go see him.”
Their words ran together, and perhaps it was the jumbled confusion of their blended voices or perhaps it was shock at Eloise’s words, but the marchioness widened her eyes and said, “Beg your pardon?”
She treaded carefully, seeking to divulge only the details she must. Though no matter what paper and ribbon were selected to dress it up, a betrayal was a betrayal. “It is not my place to share Lucien’s history, but strife between them came when the viscount insisted on his youngest son,” she paused remembering belatedly this woman, for all she did know of Lucien, didn’t know all the parts of his life, the way Eloise did. “Lucien wanted to join the clergy. His father insisted he follow the drum.” She moved her attention away from the other woman and her gaze collided with an urn filled with flowers.
“What happened?”
Those cheerful, delicate blooms served as a mark of cheer upon Eloise’s dark thoughts. The white daisies within the arrangement beckoned, and she stood and wandered over. She leaned down and inhaled the sweet, fragrant scent that transported her to fields of spring flowers.
I am quite cross with you, Lucien. You were to help me pick flowers and… And that was the last he’d ever picked a flower with her. Or walked with her. Or teased her. “He fell in love,” her voice, the faintest whisper. She straightened, glancing over her shoulder at Emmaline.
The marchioness stared at her with wide, tragic eyes. “Oh, Eloise.” She gave her a sad smile. “You love him.”
Tears filled her eyes and she blinked back the useless tears of weakness. Emmaline’s words merely served to bring her to the purpose in coordinating their first meeting and coming here this day. “He is quite obstinate.”
“Indeed he is.”
“He’ll not come merely because I ask it, or because he should.”
Understanding dawned in the other woman’s brown eyes. “Ahh.”
Eloise hurried over, her skirts snapping wildly at her ankles. “He will not listen to me.” She sank into the seat beside Emmaline. At one time he would have. No longer. “If you reasoned him out of London Hospital, my lady, then you can convince him to make this journey with me.”
Emmaline said nothing for a very long while and Eloise suspected she didn’t intend to help, thought she might gently, but politely, beg to not interfere in personal matters that did not belong to her. But then, she nodded slowly. “I imagine if I cannot see he makes this important journey, my husband will.”
Her eyes slid closed on a wave of gratitude. “Thank you.”
“Oh, don’t thank me,” she said dryly. “I’ve not accomplished anything yet. And knowing your Mr. Jones as I do, if he does not wish to make this journey, well then it will not be an easy task for either me or my husband to accomplish.”
Eloise opened her eyes and looked to Emmaline. She shifted under the weight of the marchioness’ scrutiny.
Then Emmaline asked, “How long have you loved him?”
“All of my life,” she said softly, remembering back to the day she’d first met Lucien and his brothers. Her father and the viscount, owners of property in the same county, had been fast friends from their youth. A wistful smile tugged at her lips. “Well, not my whole life. We were, however, children when we first met.” The hard, angry frown an adult Lucien had turned on her moments ago bore traces of the child’s frown he’d worn at their first meeting. “His father gave him the task of playing with me.” Her lips pulled in remembrance of that long ago day; the fire in his gray-blue eyes, the tight set to his angry mouth. “Needless to say, he resented being made to play with a small girl.”
Curiosity lit the other woman’s eyes. “What did you do?”
She grinned. “I punched him.”
Emmaline’s laughter echoed off the high-ceilings and plastered walls. “I imagine that
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