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Eleven
Breakfast was trial by tea and toast. Elijah’s host and hostess bid him safe journey to London, then drifted off to whatever business would fill their day. Elijah took his customary place, back to the windows, and prayed Je
Then he prayed that she’d come down early and spend every possible minute with him before he rode out of her life.
Then he prayed that a blizzard might start up and prevent them both from leaving, because the developments of the previous night had been too complicated and overwhelming to allow a man to think them through clearly.
“My lady.” He rose as Je
Her smile was hesitant. “My—Mr. Harrison.”
He’d told her about the title. He’d very nearly told her he loved her. “Won’t you sit with me? There’s a little sun to be had at this end of the table. May I fix you a plate?”
May I tell you that despite the fact that I thought we were to be married, and you did not, I will always treasure the hours you spent in my arms?
He’d told her that much when he’d deposited her fast asleep in her own bed not two hours past and kissed her cheek in parting. How brave of me.
Her smile became more confident. “I’d like that. The day looks encouraging.”
No, it did not. The day looked all too well suited to travel. Her smile, though, looked encouraging. “What will you have?”
He heaped up a plate for her, knowing she’d never eat that much but wanting to give her something, even if it wasn’t what she’d asked him for last night. When they were seated at the end of the room nearest the hearth, Elijah filled her teacup with strong, fragrant tea and added cream and sugar.
This was the last bit of solitude they might have. “Are you well, Genevieve?”
“Quite, thank you. These strawberries are particularly good.”
He tried again. “You know there might be consequences from last night?”
She went still, a succulent berry halfway to her equally succulent mouth. “Consequences?” The word came out care-ful-ly, as if she hadn’t realized any such thing. “But you didn’t… I thought… Heavens.”
She’d blushed nearly as red as the strawberry.
“I did not.” Thank a merciful, benign, forgiving Deity. Elijah had not spent his seed in her body. “There can still be consequences, and you will not bear them alone.” He passed her a folded piece of foolscap. “My man of business always knows where to reach me. If there’s need, you will contact me immediately. Promise me, Genevieve.”
She took the paper, stuffed it in some secret female pocket in her skirts, and nodded.
A tension in Elijah’s chest eased. “Butter?”
“Please.”
Ah, God, not that word. He buttered a slice from the toast rack in the center of the table. “What will you do with yourself today, Genevieve?”
“My parents will collect me shortly, and I’ll probably spend the morning pla
He chose a toast point for himself and tried to memorize the curve of her cheek. “House party?”
“My entire family is gathering for the holidays. Morelands can hold such a crowd, but it’s quite an undertaking. When did you stop putting butter on your toast, Elijah?”
He stopped chewing and stopped trying to pretend. “I’ll miss you, Genevieve, and I’ll worry about you. Will you come see the children’s portrait when it’s complete?”
“If I’m still here, of course. I’ll miss you too. Very, very much.”
Two verys. The tension eased more, which was no help. Without anxiety to mask other emotions, Elijah felt a welling sense of loss, as if leaving Sidling was another leg in the long and ill-advised journey away from Flint Hall.
“Ah, there’s my darling girl!”
His Grace the Duke of Moreland came striding into the breakfast parlor, cheeks ruddy from the cold, smile warm, blue eyes merry. “Je
She went into her father’s arms, while Elijah got to his feet.
Her family should not have her back yet, please, not just, quite, already… yet. “Your Grace, good morning.”
The duke hugged his daughter, clearly a man who need not stand on ceremony, and a papa glad to be reunited with his offspring. And then, with an arm still around Je
“Bernward, felicitations of the season. I hope my girl hasn’t been pestering you too awfully. She does take her little pictures seriously.” He winked at Elijah and kissed Je
Little pictures.
“Lady Je
“Right. Je
The relief in Je
“Bernward, good day. I’m off to corrupt the youth of England.” His Grace wrapped several slices of stollen in a napkin and strode off, and not a moment too soon.
“They’re not little pictures, Genevieve. You have talent. Never doubt that.”
She sat with the air of a convict whose petition for a royal pardon had just been denied. “Papa loves me. He loves all of his children. Mama does too.”
And their love was choking her. Je
“You will take Paris by storm, Genevieve.” Another nod, and Elijah felt despair wash over him, because how was she to take Paris by storm when she hadn’t yet secured decent lodgings? When she had no clue where to begin with the gallery owners and shopkeepers?
Rather than offer her more hollow assurances, he offered her relief from his company. “Will you see me to my horse?”
“Of course.”
They traveled through the house until Elijah paused with her in the entry hall. “Which cloak is yours?”
She passed him a pretty green wool cloak with cream trim, the buttonholes elaborately embroidered in a gold fleur-de-lis pattern.
“You’ve been pla
“Years. More dreaming than pla
“Of course.” He did not tell her he might come back for a few more sittings, because French dragoons couldn’t have marched him back at gunpoint. Until she left for Paris, he’d be wise not to set foot anywhere in Kent. “You won’t lose the direction for my man of business?”
She stroked an ungloved hand over his scarf. “I promise, Elijah. Good-bye.” Without warning, she went up on her toes and kissed him. “Safe journeys, and Elijah?”
Somewhere nearby, a sprig of mistletoe hung—or should be hanging. Elijah kissed her back. “What?”
“Go home. Reconcile with your family. I’m leaving my family behind, but I’ll also take them with me in a sense, if they’ll allow it. You can’t racket around forever, pretending you’re an orphan when you’re a titled lord with a family you love, and who loves you.”
This was not what he’d expected from her in parting. He escorted her from the house, lest he be tempted to kiss her again. “Is that advice my Christmas token from you?”
“No.” She fumbled about beneath her cloak and produced a small packet wrapped in red paper and tied with a green bow. “This is.”