done.”
Melville gave her a calculated look. “You hired a thief-taker to protect you because of threats to your person, yet you dismiss this egregious event out of hand?”
“Because the flagrant nature of the event makes it unlikely to be unrelated to the rest,” she argued. “I could have been killed. What purpose would that serve anyone? And the location was so prominent, increasing the possibility of exposure. It doesn’t align with the other attacks at all.”
“Regardless, I granted Montague’s request.”
Eliza knew that tone; Melville’s mind was set. “I suspected you had.”
“My years are advancing. I would like you to have someone in your life to look after your well-being, someone whose loyalty is not bought with coin.”
“I can look after myself.” Wielding a pair of silver tongs, she prepared a plate for him, artfully arranging a freshly baked scone alongside slices of shaved ham.
“By hiring someone.”
“Marrying Montague would be nigh on the same thing,” she pointed out.
“With the addition of children and a permanent companion. Not to mention a title and the many responsibilities you would gain with it. You would be busy, fulfilled, and rarely alone.”
“I enjoy being alone.”
“I cannot bear the thought of it.” Melville set his cup down. “I haven’t forgotten our agreement. I know this is your sixth and final Season. You think you’ll be happier rusticating in the country, but I disagree.”
“Rusticating is not quite what I had in mind.”
“I told Montague he had my permission to make the attempt to change your mind, and I wished him well. No harm in that, is there?”
“Would you be happy if I married anyone at all?” she queried, adding milk to her tea. “Or only Montague? You seem to like him quite well.”
“I met his father once or twice.” Melville shrugged. “He seemed to be a pleasant enough fellow. And Montague is determined to have you. There is something to be said for that. But if there’s someone else you prefer, I would champion him over Montague.”
“Thank you, my lord. I will keep that in mind.”
“You’re humoring me,” he said dryly.
Eliza’s lips curved against the rim of her cup. “I am not. In fact, this discussion has me seeing Lord Montague in an entirely new light. You are correct: there’s something to be said for his determination. And yours. Which I think was his point. He wanted me to know he’s serious, and he wanted to ascertain whether or not he would have your support. He said he understands me better now, and perhaps that’s true. Flowers will not win me, but cunning and unorthodox methods…At the very least, I admire his approach.”
Not enough to wed him, but she didn’t see any benefit to reiterating that point. She was enjoying tea with her uncle far too much to ruin it by being unnecessarily contrary. She gestured at his plate in a silent urging to eat.
“Good girl,” he praised. “How is Mr. Bond’s investigation progressing? Is he equally unconcerned by large statues nearly crushing you?”
Just the sound of Jasper’s name caused the tempo of her heartbeat to alter. “No. He was upset enough for both of us. If there’s anything nefarious to be uncovered, he will find it. He would also like to meet with you.”
“Yes, yes. Tell him to come by whenever is convenient for him. If he waits for me to remember to make an appointment, we shall never meet. I doubt I’ll be of much help, however. I have never been with you when you’ve been accosted.”
“He is investigating beyond the present,” she explained. “He wishes to exclude anyone who might hold resentment toward you, Mother, or Mr. Chilcott.”
“Ah, so…well, that’s a reasonable avenue of inquiry.”
They ate in companionable silence for a time, during which Eliza considered his comment about having a permanent companion. Up until now, she thought repasts such as she shared with Melville were all she needed. They rarely spoke while eating, and she enjoyed that. She hadn’t considered how the silence might be deafening if she was the only one to fill it. There was a large difference between sitting quietly with someone else and sitting alone. She realized there was a certain comfort in knowing one could speak if one wanted to and chose not to, rather than being unable to speak because no one was there to listen.
“What troubles you, my dear?”
“Nothing, my lord.”
“I am aware denial is a common female response. But you are too direct for such evasions.”
Eliza shook her head. “I’ve found it best to hold my tongue, if choosing to do otherwise is guaranteed to lead to fruitless argument.”
“Ah…Your mother. You will have to speak of her sometime.”
“I don’t see why.”
“Perhaps then,” he mumbled around a bite, “you will stop thinking of her before making decisions.”
“I do not-” she started to protest, then fell silent when he shot her a look. He was right, as always.
Eventually, Melville drifted back to his notes and Eliza slipped off the stool with the intent of moving upstairs. The day’s post caught her eye and she scooped it up, carrying it over to the small, shallow basket where Melville kept his mail. It was nearly overflowing. She shook her head. She’d long ago learned to separate Melville’s personal correspondence from the rest-so that outstanding accounts were paid in a timely manner-but clearly he was also neglecting to keep in touch with those who reached out to him.
“What will it take,” she asked, as she added to the pile, “to motivate you to whittle this down?”
“What?” He looked up at her, then down at the basket. “Good God.”
“My thoughts exactly.” She pulled five off the top and brought them to him. “Can we start with these?”
He sighed. “If you insist.”
Eliza kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
“Ha.” He snorted. “You are exacting your pound of flesh for Montague.”
She was laughing as she left the room.
Jasper leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingertips on the desktop. “How long was he there?”
“About an hour,” Aaron said, holding his hat to his chest with both hands. He stood just inside the doorway of Jasper’s study, rocking back on the heels of his boots. “Perhaps a little longer.”
“You know why Montague paid that call,” Westfield prompted from his usual spot on the settee.
“No, I do not. She refused him,” Jasper bit out.
“All the more reason to gain Melville’s support. Don’t be obtuse, Bond. Women bow to familial pressure to marry men they don’t want. It happens all the time.”
Jasper’s fingers curled into his palm.
“Do you believe Montague is responsible for Miss Martin’s troubles?” the earl asked.
“I cannot be certain one way or the other.”
“What will you do now?”
“Speak to her.” How had she taken the news? How far would she go to make Melville happy?
The thought of Eliza with Montague did horrible things to him.
It was a new sort of torment to be unable to see her now, to be barred from her company by rules and dictates he’d ignored for years.
Straightening, he uncovered his inkwell and stabbed a quill into it. He dashed off a quick note, powdering the ink with fine-grained sand before folding. Then he sealed the whole and waved it at Aaron. “Take this to the Melville residence.”
Aaron approached and collected the missive.
“Miss Martin may need you after she reads it. Linger to be sure and if so, assist her. When you’ve finished with that,” Jasper went on, “I want you to look into a Mrs. Pen-nington, who runs a newly opened shop on Peony Way. Pink-striped awning out front, lovely blonde inside. There is something not right with her. Find out what it is.”
“Will do, Bond.”
After the young man left, Westfield stood and walked to the console to avail himself of Jasper’s brandy. “It’s unfortunate Montague made so bold a move. Had it been anyone else paying addresses, you could have killed two birds with one stone by encouraging her to marry the gentleman- Montague would be barred from Miss Martin’s
