-8-

Eliza

Jane's breathing had eased, and the colour returned to her cheeks when Eliza stepped in to check on her the next morning. Edith was dozing, making endearing snuffling snores, her head lolling towards to her chest. She roused when Eliza's shadow cast across her.

"Miss—'ave I overslept?"

"It's early yet." Eliza reassured her, but the maid shook her head at the light pouring through the window and gave a cry of alarm. "Nah, I should have been up ages ago."

"Nonsense, your duties here override all else until someone specifically tells you otherwise." The reassurance did nothing to calm the maid, who danced about trying to right herself, and pinch life into her cheeks. "How has she been? Any disturbances."

Edith pushed several unruly curls back beneath her mob-cap. "She's been quiet as a lamb. Too quiet. Slept right through with nary a whisper, and me too."

It was a joy to hear that the sedative had given her peace, not mired her in disturbing dreams. Eliza leaned over to smooth the hair back from Jane's brow and press a kiss to her skin. "I'm sure the rest has done you both the world of good. Now, make sure there's tea for when she wakes and have her take her breakfast on a tray. Even if she's not hungry, you should encourage her to eat, even if it's just toasted bread."

"I'll do that, Miss."

The little maid continued to yawn and stretch. She had only just made it into some semblance of liveliness when Mrs Honeyfield came in, bearing a tray. "I thought I'd bring this up, rather than 'ave it go cold. Tothers are already at the table, Miss Wakefield, if you'd care t' go down and join them. There's pigeon pie and eggs, and a nice seed cake, as well as bergamot marmalade his lordship's mam's sent. It's said to be Lincolnshire's finest."

"It sounds delightful." She did enjoy a good marmalade, though she'd never encountered a bergamot. "I'll head down right away now that I've reassured myself." She brushed Jane's hand affectionately, but then left off aware of Mrs Honeyfield's scrutiny.

"You as well, lass." The housekeeper ushered Edith towards the door. "Too much to be done for tha to be idling. And don't be listening to none of Betsy Cooper's nonsense now either. I've had to 'ave words with that 'un this morning already. Stirring up a reet storm she is with her tattle, and tellin' all and sundry about her ladyship's turn."

"Word would reach the village soon enough anyway," Eliza said. It was the way of things; news travelled on the wind, and the castle and its monsters would already be on everyone's minds thanks to his lordship's arrival in the area.

"Aye, maybe," Mrs Honeyfield conceded. "Still, if we weren't so rushed ragged ah'd send her on her way. She's a sly piece, an no mistaking. Ah don't want ya pickin' up her windbag ways or any of her other habits, yer hear me, Edith. It shan't be a surprise if I have ta count the spoons afore her next ‘alf day."

"She just likes to chatter," Edith said in the other maid's defence.

"Blather and idle, tha's true enough. And sneak off t' who knows where at drop of a 'at. But she's what we hav', so wil't 'ave t' make do. Off with ya, now. You too, Miss."

Eliza was along the corridor and down the stairs before she recalled the need to apologise for her tardiness in getting Mrs Honeyfield her potion. No matter, she would go down to the still room after breakfast and make it up, whether Doctor Bell approved or not. Perhaps she'd encourage him to take a peep in on Jane to get him out of the way for a while. Although, that was a risky prospect. The last thing she wanted was for the doctor to administer another dose of opiates.

It appeared she'd arrived late, for the dining room stood empty.

"Hoo there, through here."

She turned at the sound of Henrietta's greeting and found her seated alongside Mr Cluett and Jem at a large circular table in what one assumed to be a breakfast room.

"There you are dear. Do come and join us, and you must fill us in on how our dear hostess is this morning."

George pushed a chair out for her with his foot.

"We were just saying that you might choose to take a tray upstairs, weren't we, George?"

"The pigeon pie's very good," that fellow muttered. Eliza noted that the corners of his eyes closest to his nose were bloodshot this morning, and the surrounding skin mottled purple. "Seed cake was better yesterday. This one's a bit dry."

Henrietta thrust her elbow into her son's ribs. "Oh, George, she doesn't care about that."

"Well, I am rather ravenous." Eliza settled between the two gentlemen and helped herself to a slice of the pie. It had a gloriously golden crust, which was more than could be said of the disappointing cake, which appeared to have been browned with treacle. Jem raised the teapot and waggled it meaningfully. He looked glorious this morning, turned out in a smart blue coat and paisley waistcoat. He nudged a cup and saucer in her direction, then poured a third for Doctor Bell as he entered.

"Miss Wakefield was just about to tell us how the patient fares this morning," Henrietta said.

Bell cocked an eyebrow.

Eliza indulged in a good swallow of tea, before indulging Henrietta's curiosity. "She's proving herself a terrible stay abed." She paused, cleared her throat. "She's yet to wake, but all has been calm overnight. I'm sure she'll be quite herself again once she does rise."

"I suppose Lord Linfield has gone up to greet her?" Henrietta proposed.

Truly the woman was a very determined busybody, but then with so little to entertain her, it was hardly a surprise that she'd wish to turn over every aspect of last night's drama. Truthfully, there was plenty about it that Eliza wished to dissect too. She exchanged a meaningful glance with Jem, who nudged some marmalade towards her. Bell cracked an egg into his tea and added a splash of milk.

"Are you not going to eat, Doctor Bell?"

"What I have is quite sufficient, thank you, Mistress Cluett."

"Oh, pish! It's Henrietta, haven't I said so since the first night? But you didn't answer my question about his lordship, either."

"I believe he is abroad on an early morning ramble."

Henrietta gaped at him aghast, while Eliza took to her feet and crossed to the window. "Has it cleared out, then?" It had not, based on what little she could see of the gardens. Mist lingered just yards away, so all that was visible was a small square of terrace and the faint outlines of a couple of big trees. It was certainly not the right weather to be tramping the moors, but a glance at the doctor suggested that his answer may not have been entirely truthful. Perhaps Linfield was about business he wouldn't wish to be discussed, or Bell simply considered Henrietta too nosy to be indulged.

"Will you check on Jane?" Eliza asked him.

"If you deem it necessary."

"I didn't say that. I'm sure she'll be quite well."

Jem leaned closer. "Don't let him goad you. He has every intention of checking on his patient. It's just he's not adequately fortified himself yet. He functions entirely on tea. That, and he usually only deals with the deceased; I fear he finds the living rather more taxing."

"They are certainly a deal less predictable, but to put all your minds at rest I'll attend to Lady Linfield at once." He took his cup and saucer and left.

"What a dreadfully unsociable man," Henrietta complained.

While Bell was engaged, she could enter his domain without fear of disturbance. Eliza pushed her plate aside half-eaten. "I think I'll just go and tag along."

"Oh, must you?" Henreitta wailed, but Eliza had already left.

She did not race after Bell, but instead deliberately kept her distance. Once she was satisfied that he'd gone upstairs, she snuck through the parlour and into the ruins of the long gallery. The space must once have been glorious, light streaming in through a multitude of large windows and the central cupola. Now all that remained of the glass were the splinters on the marble floor tiles, while the frames formed a skeletal lattice work overhead. The still room lay ahead and down a flight.

Eliza put her ear to the still room door before letting herself in. All was quiet. Within, the air smelled of lye and the sort of heavy incense she associated with the catholic church. All the ingredients she could wish for were lined up and ordered on broad shelves or housed in apothecary-style drawers, each meticulously labelled. Given Cedarton's long abandonment, she could only assume Bell responsible. He instantly rose in her estimation.

Though the vessel full of leeches rapidly tipped the scales in the opposite direction.

She immediately set out gathering the ingredients she required and adding them to the bowl of the conveniently placed scales. The recipe was a relatively simple one, refined over generations and through her own thorough testing. It was not a difficult remedy to mix, and thank goodness, for she did not wish to be caught should Bell come down. So far, he had proved himself efficient and not the sort to malinger. She supposed she liked him for that. Too many medical men outstayed their welcome, insisting on ruminating over their patients. At least he was decisive, even if his methods—she shot a glance at the disgusting leeches—were spurious. In any case, once this was done, she really did want to look around and see if she could determine what had caused Jane's fright.

"Miss Wakefield, do you have permission to be in here?"

Eliza whirled around in response to the deep male voice. Jem was poised in the doorway and had clearly been present for several minutes. There had hardly been an opportunity to converse since their earlier reunion, and Henrietta's beady gaze had prevented them from exchanging more than pleasantries at the breakfast table, now, she couldn't help letting her gaze linger. His smart blue coat lent him an air of elegance; his overlong hair was attempting to counteract. The front had fallen over his brow and set one side of his face in shadow, resulting in a mischievous mien that his smile further called attention to.

"It's a break in," she replied, continuing with her preparation. "Are you going to arrest me? Summon the constable? Snitch on me to Bell?"

"He certainly won't thank you for messing about in his drawers." This he said with a chuckle in his voice that made Eliza blush. It was in her mind to say that she didn't think he'd mind at all if it were his drawers she was choosing to mess about in, but they really didn't know one another well enough for her say such a thing aloud, and in any case, it wasn't the sort of thought a young lady of her standing was supposed to even have.

Of course, she did have them—thoughts that were distinctly lewd in nature and hopelessly distracting.

Not that now was the time for such things. "I aim to be done before he's back. Unless you tell him, he won't ever know that I've been here."

Jem pushed away from the door and approached the counter where she was mixing her ingredients into a paste. "What are you about?"

"The remedy for Mrs Honeyfield's toothache. Bell's done nothing for the poor woman, and I don't like to see anyone going around in such a pitiful state. Toothache's the worst."

He winced as if remembering some past episode. "To be fair, he has been busy with—"

"Jane! I know, but he's not a very able doctor if he's only capable of treating one patient a day."

"Two," Jem corrected.

"Why are you down here?" Eliza asked. The paste was thickening nicely.

"Hm, well, let's see. The only interesting person in the entire household abandoned me at the breakfast table with Mrs Prattlebox and a fop set upon eating his own weight in pigeon pie."

"It was rather good."

"So good you left most of yours."

Her stomach gurgled over the memory. She would dearly have liked to have lingered longer at her breakfast but couldn't not seize the opportunity provided by Bell's intention to see Jane.

"'Tis lucky you know an observant gallant." He held out his hand to her, revealing the remains of her pie, wrapped in a napkin.

Eliza gave a longing groan. "Hang on to it for me."

"I've a better idea—bite." Jem held the pie so that she didn't need to stop her mixing. She took a nibble and then another, finally giving in to her hunger. Jem watched her chew, head thoughtfully cocked. "Here," he reached out and dislodged some crumbs from around her mouth with his bare fingertips.

"Oh. Um," she sighed, flustered by how close he was. She was no petite flibbertigibbet, being quite tall for a woman—her whole family bore the affliction except for Caroline—but Jem was easily six feet, perhaps even an inch or two taller, and he was standing exceedingly close. Close enough that she was conscious of the warmth radiating off him, and the scent of the millefleur soap he used to shave. Crushingly aware too of where his fingertip had brushed against her lips. This was not the first time they'd been thus positioned, nor the first she felt the draw in the pit of her, tempting her to further close the gap. At Stags Fell, there'd been too many people about, likewise at Lauwine Hall for all but the swiftest of pleasures, but now, here at Cedarton, there were barely a handful of people rattling about a property meant to house at least thrice their number, surely, they might carve out a moment of privacy without fear of being stumbled upon.

Could they not?

Dare she? What was the purpose of being allowed the freedom of travelling without a chaperone, if she was not to take full advantage of it?

Jem's gaze lingered on her face. His gold-and-green-flecked irises glittered with promise. She wasn't one to have her head turned by a man, but Jem posed a special kind of lure.

Her hands stilled; preparation forgotten. She hardly dared breathe as he traced the shape of her lips.

"Eliza Wakefield. What is it about you that draws me so?" He seemed to be speaking to himself as much as her. "I've not forgotten our last meeting."

Nor had she. She'd kissed him, and Joshua, both, and not felt an iota of guilt over it. Now she leaned into Jem's touch, wanting to experience that thrill all over again.

Why did he not act? Press his suit? Why did he have to choose to be a gentleman in this moment stymied by chivalry and a code of honour, rather than a thoroughly despicable rake?

"Jem," she sighed, straining towards his touch. If he did not act soon, she would take matters into her own hands, and he could thank her for it later. It did always irk her how one came to be forever waiting around for gentlemen to apply themselves.

Eliza wetted her lips. Prickles of desire were chasing over her skin. Her pulse beat loudly in her ears. Dramatically enough he too could probably hear it.

"This is madness," he murmured, warm breath buffeting her cheek.

The only madness was that he wasn't already kissing her senseless when she desired it so very badly. His finger still rested at the corner of her mouth, and he was gazing at her in a way that left nothing to interpretation. This wasn't simply a connection of minds forged over a mutual love of learning, it was physical. It had her heart caught in an iron fist.

She could do it. Kiss him right here and now, and no one would ever be the wiser. Her family were many miles away, no one here at Cedarton was watching over her. She was entirely free to make her own choices.

Jem slid a hand around the back of her head. "Tell me I shouldn't. Tell me to release you."

Eliza clasped the edges of his coat, and instead tugged him closer. "What if that's not what I want?"

"Then we're both cursed."

She kissed him, rising onto her toes to reach, and groaning at his urgent response when their mouths met.

This… this was what had kept her awake and restless through numerous nights since they'd last seen one another. This possibility. This rightness in the way they fit together. It was a ridiculous impossibility, of course. When Freddy talked of finding suitable matches for her and her sisters, she never saw herself as part of that compact. To wed was to agree to a very specific set of expectations, and while she thought she would like children of her own someday, she did not want them to be the totality of her future, not when there was so much to learn, so many other things she might discover or engage with to leave her mark upon the world.

"Oh, God… Eliza. What is it that you do to me?"

Mayhaps the same thing he did to her, drove rational thought aside.

"We can't do this… we shouldn't," he muttered. "We have to stop." Yet how readily he slid his tongue between her lips, clove his body to her. Eliza startled, feeling the ridge of his desire press fast to her front. It made her feel hot and heavy in a very specific place, and eager for something she knew she shouldn't even contemplate while unwed.

Although that rule was not of her making, and she'd grown exceedingly tired of the rules men made.

"We don't have to stop." Daringly she reached down and brushed her hand against the bulge in his breeches. She was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath.

"Eliza. Gads!" He pushed her to arm's length and held her there despite the tremor in his limbs. "I don't know whether to be shocked or delighted." His eyes were fever bright. He took hold of her hands, kissed each curled finger in turn. "You astonish me, always, every time we meet, but it would be wrong and foolhardy to proceed down this route."

"Who's to stop us? If it's what we desire, shouldn't that matter more than anything else?"

"If only all were that simple," his brow furrowed. "Know this, Eliza. There is no part of me that doesn't desire this. You've haunted me every night since we last parted, but it would be wrong of me to allow this to proceed. There are things… things you ought to know about me before we embark on anything others might consider impropriety."

"Things? What things, Jem? Don't say you are bound to someone else."

His gaze snapped back to her face. "Bound? No, I'm not bound. It's not that."