Eliza sighed again. She had hoped not to have to spell it out. “What if there is an investigation into our father’s disappearance? His death?”
“We tell them what happened. What was going to happen. Show them where we buried the old man. Show them the bullet hole in his head.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat, fought for her brother’s crude words not to gain purchase and ruin what would be any other girl’s happiest of days. “And if the magistrate doesn’t believe us?” She’d run the scenario over and over in her mind but each and every picture ended the same. Guilty. Hanging from the neck until dead. It was the penalty for killing a peer of the realm. Well, one of them. The harshest of them. Unless, of course, death was welcomed by the guilty party.
“Our father shot himself in the head, Eliza. Suicide, plain and simple.”
“Nothing is ever so simple,” she whispered, but was saved from further argument when Gabriella and Grace entered the room.
The next hour passed in a flurry of excited squeals from the girls, scowls from Nathanial and little headshakes from Ethan. He just didn’t understand what all the fuss was about but he would when he was older. Eliza supposed she had sheltered the youngest of the Penfolds but what other avenue was there? At least one of them had to have the chance at a semi-normal childhood. What she wouldn’t give to run about the gardens with a stick playing wars, pretending to catch Bonaparte or climbing trees and exploring the pine forest from dawn until dusk.
She would relinquish her independence and virtue and reputation and anything else London required of her to hold in her hand a plan B. That’s where Darius came in. He had a ship. A fast one by his men’s accounts. If her brothers and sisters needed to leave England suddenly, Darius was the only one who could get them out. He needed her money to repair his ship and he could have it. Every guinea. Her biggest problem right then was how to broach the subject with her almost husband. She needed a promise from him that if the time came, he would take her siblings to America and see them taken care of. After that, the next hurdle then became their wedding night.
She knew she would have to share his bed. They would have to consummate their vows for theirs to be a real marriage. She needed to know there were more than mere words holding him to his promises. He’d said he was an honourable man but he’d spent years as a pirate. Would he be gentle with her? Patient?
Would she ever truly be able to trust him? Should she ever truly trust him?
“It’s time,” Grace announced from the open doorway with a little clap of her hands.
Eliza pulled a shawl the pale colour of the inside of a pink seashell closer about her shoulders but despite its warmth couldn’t help the shiver that ran down her spine.
“Last chance,” Nathanial said as he offered his arm.
“I won’t change my mind.”
“And I won’t just give you away to a stranger.”
Eliza pulled back on his coat sleeve. “You have to. Please trust that I know what I am doing. Trust that I have never steered us wrong before. Please, brother.”
Nathanial seemed to take an age to consider her pleading but then he gave her a nod, held his arm out once again and walked her down the once majestic staircase to where her groom waited in the front parlour. The vicar stood next to him, the second man to frown at her this morning, but she ignored him also.
She had only eyes for her bridegroom. Darius was clean-shaven, right to the skin, with no shadow present at all, and he wore a well-tailored, expensive navy suit, snowy-white cravat, even a watch tucked away in his pocket if the gold chain was any indication. He appeared every inch the gentleman right down to the winking ruby in his neckcloth, a drastic change from their first meeting.
When he held his hand out to her, beckoning her closer, inviting her to what could be her ultimate demise, Eliza felt genuine fear, genuine panic. But for all the wrong reasons.
Irrationally, she wanted to run right into the safety of his arms but he couldn’t know that. It would give him too much power over her. She felt faint. She felt cold and alone despite her siblings at her back, her brother at her side.
“Are you feeling well, m’dear?” Darius inquired, his brows high. Was that real concern in his hazel eyes? Or did he put on a good show for the clergyman?
She swallowed back most of the fear, willed her panic to recede. “Might we have a moment alone? Please?”
Darius hesitated but then he nodded and gestured for everyone to clear the room. He might not hold a title but it was clear to all involved that he was in charge, in command, in control. Not even Nathanial lingered, for which she was most grateful.
When the heavy door closed without a sound and only the two of them remained, Eliza began to fidget, wringing her gloved hands in front of her wildly turbulent stomach.
“Second thoughts?” Darius asked over his shoulder as he crossed the room to a small cupboard and retrieved two crystal glasses and a decanter.
His movements were smooth and determined as he poured amber liquid into both glasses. One he filled to the brim, the other just a splash. “No…not as such,” she managed to stammer.
Offering her the glass with the splash, Eliza eyed the one filled to the top. Liquid courage, her father had once referred to it. Helps a man do what has to be done. Would it help her now? Eliza wondered.
“Drink it,” Darius ordered her.
Despite his tone being rather gentle, she heard it for the
