did not earn you a friend in Mr. Jones.”
“Oh, no, you’re wrong, my lady.” Eloise shook her head. “He accused me of punching like a lady and took it upon himself to instruct me on the proper way to plant one a facer.” From that point, he’d become her best friend—whether he wanted her friendship or not. Then, he’d welcomed her friendship. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and worried the flesh. Now was an altogether different tale.
The marchioness placed a hand on Eloise’s and she started. The woman held her stare and then said, “I visited Jones for several years…and upon each of my visits, he never opened his eyes. He would sit with his face directed at the window, but his eyes closed. I despaired of ever seeing them. I sometimes wondered if he were incapable of opening them…and yet, one day, he just…” Her expression grew far-off. “He just opened his eyes,” she repeated. “I believe he will open them once more, Eloise. I truly do.”
Not after this. Not after her great interference in his contented life. “Thank you, my lady,” she said, not able to contradict the erroneous claim.
“Emmaline,” the woman graciously reminded her.
“Emmaline,” she murmured. And as Eloise took her leave a short while later, she felt the first stirrings of hope.
Chapter 11
L ucien stared at the Marquess of Drake’s closed office door. He’d been summoned. And he rather suspected he very well knew what this particular meeting was about—the steward’s position in the country.
His mind had shied away from anything and everything that reminded him of Sara. The wife he’d loved and the happy life he’d imagined for them, belonged in the past. Yet, the post dangled responsibility in the respected position using his mind for business matters, a task he’d enjoyed once upon a lifetime ago, before he’d killed too many men on the fields of battle. Accepting the position would also mean he’d be free of Eloise, who’d inserted herself so effortlessly, so seamlessly, into his life. Eloise who, with her kiss and words of love, made him hunger for…more.
He raised his hand to knock. Then froze.
If he accepted the position, he’d never see her again. There would be little chance or need of the Countess of Sherborne to visit the marquess’ country landholdings in Leeds. By all rights, that very truth should have easily sealed his decision. He closed his eyes tight. But by God, now that she’d reentered his life, he could not imagine a world in which she was no longer in it.
Lucien squared his jaw. And yet that great sacrifice would maintain the walls he’d erected about his heart, to keep him safe. He rapped once.
“Enter,” the marquess’ deep baritone carried through the thick panel.
Lucien pressed the handle and entered. “Captain,” he greeted. “You wanted to see me?”
The other man looked up, something, an emotion very nearly pity and regret flashed in his eyes. “Yes, come in,” he said quietly, motioning him forward. “Please, close the door.”
Lucien hesitated a moment, the first stirrings of unease traversed a path along his spine. He closed the door and it clicked shut. He turned to face his employer and a sudden, horrifying niggling entered his thoughts. Did the marquess know Lucien had kissed Eloise, the marchioness’ guest not once, but twice and very nearly a third time this afternoon when she’d arrived? His neck heated with shame and he resisted the urge to tug at his suddenly too-tight cravat.
Lord Drake shoved back his chair. Wordlessly, he crossed around his desk and walked with purposeful strides to the sideboard in the corner. He picked up a decanter of whiskey and pulled off the stopper. “Would you care for a drink?” He splashed several fingersful into a glass.
“No, thank you, Captain,” he said.
The marquess was a man of honor. A gentleman who’d not tolerate his servants, even if they had served under him on the battlefields, to go
“Oh, no, you’re wrong, my lady.” Eloise shook her head. “He accused me of punching like a lady and took it upon himself to instruct me on the proper way to plant one a facer.” From that point, he’d become her best friend—whether he wanted her friendship or not. Then, he’d welcomed her friendship. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and worried the flesh. Now was an altogether different tale.
The marchioness placed a hand on Eloise’s and she started. The woman held her stare and then said, “I visited Jones for several years…and upon each of my visits, he never opened his eyes. He would sit with his face directed at the window, but his eyes closed. I despaired of ever seeing them. I sometimes wondered if he were incapable of opening them…and yet, one day, he just…” Her expression grew far-off. “He just opened his eyes,” she repeated. “I believe he will open them once more, Eloise. I truly do.”
Not after this. Not after her great interference in his contented life. “Thank you, my lady,” she said, not able to contradict the erroneous claim.
“Emmaline,” the woman graciously reminded her.
“Emmaline,” she murmured. And as Eloise took her leave a short while later, she felt the first stirrings of hope.
Chapter 11
L ucien stared at the Marquess of Drake’s closed office door. He’d been summoned. And he rather suspected he very well knew what this particular meeting was about—the steward’s position in the country.
His mind had shied away from anything and everything that reminded him of Sara. The wife he’d loved and the happy life he’d imagined for them, belonged in the past. Yet, the post dangled responsibility in the respected position using his mind for business matters, a task he’d enjoyed once upon a lifetime ago, before he’d killed too many men on the fields of battle. Accepting the position would also mean he’d be free of Eloise, who’d inserted herself so effortlessly, so seamlessly, into his life. Eloise who, with her kiss and words of love, made him hunger for…more.
He raised his hand to knock. Then froze.
If he accepted the position, he’d never see her again. There would be little chance or need of the Countess of Sherborne to visit the marquess’ country landholdings in Leeds. By all rights, that very truth should have easily sealed his decision. He closed his eyes tight. But by God, now that she’d reentered his life, he could not imagine a world in which she was no longer in it.
Lucien squared his jaw. And yet that great sacrifice would maintain the walls he’d erected about his heart, to keep him safe. He rapped once.
“Enter,” the marquess’ deep baritone carried through the thick panel.
Lucien pressed the handle and entered. “Captain,” he greeted. “You wanted to see me?”
The other man looked up, something, an emotion very nearly pity and regret flashed in his eyes. “Yes, come in,” he said quietly, motioning him forward. “Please, close the door.”
Lucien hesitated a moment, the first stirrings of unease traversed a path along his spine. He closed the door and it clicked shut. He turned to face his employer and a sudden, horrifying niggling entered his thoughts. Did the marquess know Lucien had kissed Eloise, the marchioness’ guest not once, but twice and very nearly a third time this afternoon when she’d arrived? His neck heated with shame and he resisted the urge to tug at his suddenly too-tight cravat.
Lord Drake shoved back his chair. Wordlessly, he crossed around his desk and walked with purposeful strides to the sideboard in the corner. He picked up a decanter of whiskey and pulled off the stopper. “Would you care for a drink?” He splashed several fingersful into a glass.
“No, thank you, Captain,” he said.
The marquess was a man of honor. A gentleman who’d not tolerate his servants, even if they had served under him on the battlefields, to go
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