Chapter 13

They’d enjoyed such a pleasant meal and now they were once again arguing because Eliza was stubborn and infuriating.

Lucian had intentionally questioned her about the caves because he knew that it would likely become an argument. He just hadn’t anticipated how frustrating her questions would be. More demands and accusations that he did not know everything about Wyndhill Park.

The audacity!

Dinner had been far too pleasant and the conversation warm. He had enjoyed dining with only Eliza as they spoke on various matters and shared stories and a future flashed in his mind of the two of them always sharing the table and the house.

He wanted her, but it was a mirage for they were so different that in time it would be impossible for them to get along for more than a day.

She should have given up her search for that mummy years ago. He understood the intrigue when she was younger, especially after he heard the tales of her hunts for vampires, ghosts, and witches while a student at the Wiggons’ School for Elegant Young Ladies. She’d been a girl then and Eliza was now a beautiful woman and should have set such nonsense aside, only to be used in her novels.

“If you are so certain that the caves do not contain the mummy, then why don’t you take me to them and show me?” Eliza demanded.

“Because it is not safe.”

“I am safe if you are with me. Bring footmen along if you wish. No one would dare approach.”

She was correct, yet Lucian didn’t even like the idea of being out where they could be spied upon.

“Where is your sense of adventure?” she asked with a smile.

“Adventure has its place.” That was all he was willing to offer.

“I recall that when I previously visited and you were showing Oliver and me your collection of gems, rocks, and fossils, that you had wanted to travel and explore and to uncover your own treasures, not just collect what someone else had found.”

“I had been young. A foolish young man.”

“What is so foolish about wanting to explore?”

“Unlike you, Miss Weston, an earl is not granted the same opportunity for such frivolity. While you chase mummies, and God knows what else, traveling hither and yon, I have responsibilities not only to this estate, but to my family and future generations.”

Even Lucian heard the bitterness in his tone and wished he would not have revealed so much.

“I do not travel hither and yon. The furthest I’ve been from London is Edinburgh, though I would like to travel to France and Italy one day. As well as Greece to visit with my dear friend Rosemary and her husband.”

Lucian had been under the impression that there was not a border Eliza hadn’t crossed, just as she ignored orders not to trespass on Wyndhill Park. “I have read your books. I had assumed by the descriptions that you had visited those places.”

She grinned. “Thank you for the compliment, Lord Garretson. Unfortunately, my descriptions come from people who have visited those places and from reading histories. The rest is my imagination.”

“I hope one day you can enjoy such travels,” he offered.

“Have you been anywhere besides here, London, and your brother-in-law’s estate in Cornwall?” she asked.

“I attended Eton and Cambridge; after that, there was no time to see or visit any other place beyond what you have listed.”

“How very sad for you, Lucian.”

He blinked at his name on her lips. He had not given her leave to address him as such, though he had addressed her as Eliza. Neither of them should proceed with such familiarity as it indicated a more intimate relationship than they shared.

Could not share.

“We have our stations, Miss Weston. Do not feel bad for me. I am perfectly content. I am also master of this estate and you will not go beyond the terrace without my permission and only then when you have footmen to guard you.”

He finished his tea, stood, and left the sitting room and went to the library where he closed the door behind him.

Blast! He had let her get to him. She’d slipped under his skin by challenging him to an adventure, being sad for him, and then calling him Lucian.

Eliza Weston was everything that he wanted for himself. Everything that had been denied.

Except, he no longer needed to worry about his siblings. His sister was married and his brothers were grown and no longer in need of his guidance or supervision, which left only Wyndhill Park and the duties that came with his station.

He could enjoy an adventure if he wanted to. Except, Lucian had no idea how to shake off the chains of responsibility and simply enjoy.

Eliza threw caution to the wind. He had witnessed it when she had first visited and heard the stories that would have seen any other student at a boarding school sent home. She rarely guarded her tongue and had a zest for life. He was sober and cautious.

It was her influence that caused him to reflect on the past and face the present. He was a respectable lord, staid and honorable, and without the influence of anyone. He could be trusted to make the right, or at least best, decision in all matters and never voted in Parliament without thorough research, nor could his vote be purchased. Honor is what he demanded of himself and in all things.

Eliza threatened not only how he viewed himself but pulled at a dream or hope that had once lived deep within, to be more, which he could not allow or any control that he did possess would soon disappear.

Lucian Sinclair, the Earl of Garretson, was a most aggravating man!

He had walked out on her last evening and left her to sip tea alone. When he hadn’t returned, Eliza had made her way to her bedchamber to retire for the night. Unfortunately, sleep did not come quickly.

Her words had been brave and Eliza still believed that adventure was a wonderful thing, except she wasn’t so certain she was ready to stray from the house, or out of sight of the servants who were tasked with watching and protecting today.

This, alone, irritated her. She had never been one to hide and she certainly never let fear control her actions, but that man had been in her bedchamber.

It wasn’t fear that would keep her inside today. It was caution. Somehow that sounded better than being afraid. Besides, even though her hand pained her too much to write today, she still needed to organize her items. Yesterday, she’d put her things on the desk and attempted to write before she realized that she couldn’t without pain. But she’d not organized, which was necessary because everything had its place. The manuscript she was writing in front and to the right of her. The previous version, in front and to the left. In front of those, spare pencils and quill tips. To the far right, the inkpot.

After Eliza arranged everything as it should be, she then opened and went through the boxes that were brought over from the cottage. Those with books that she’d collected over the years were stacked in a corner. It was a rather tall stack and as she had already read them, they should have been left in her set of rooms at her family’s Mayfair estate. She had not lived there in years but as she collected items, such as books she loved, she left the crates there until they had a permanent place.

Again, she wondered if she shouldn’t purchase a home where she could fully settle, and then all her favorite possessions could be on a shelf or displayed instead of taking so many crates and trunks with her when she traveled because she had not had an opportunity to see them stored.

The remaining crates were various items that she had collected or were given to her as a gift, and Eliza couldn’t help but smile when she lifted the voodoo doll and long pin. She then lifted the documents Oliver had sent that explained the purpose and how it was used.

Of course, Eliza didn’t believe in any of the nonsense, but she wanted to do everything in the instructions so that she could write a better description in her novel.

The doll was only a little larger than her hand, fashioned from straw, or that is what she assumed by the roughness and stiffness inside, covered in burlap with the sides neatly stitched. Two small buttons had been sewn on for eyes and x’s stitched for a mouth. It was rather crude, unlike dolls that were delicately stitched from soft muslin and then stuffed with cotton for a child to play with. And even though Eliza possessed very little talent for sewing, she could have made one of these, and just might in the future. Eliza smiled and wandered to the doors leading to the terrace and stepped outside.

It was a warm day but she needed to be in the sun, for it was the first instruction before using the doll for any purpose.

A footman appeared almost instantly. “Is there something that I can get you, Miss Weston?”

“Perhaps something cool to drink, if it is possible.”

He frowned, then looked about. He had not expected her to ask for something and now wasn’t certain what to do. After all, he was there to protect her, or to keep anyone from entering the house. If he left for the cool beverage he would be leaving her alone. Yet, she was a guest with a request.

“I promise not to run off.” Eliza chuckled.

“It is not that, it is…” He looked around.

“I shall return inside and make the request myself,” she offered.

“You should not, but I…”

The footman was saved in that instant when Stella stepped outside.

“Should you be out of the house?” she asked.

“I am only on the terrace and promise not to go any further,” Eliza swore. “I have also asked for something cool to drink but this poor footman is afraid to leave me alone.”

“He is here for your protection, not to do your bidding,” Stella scolded. “I will request your beverage.”

Eliza blew out a sigh as Stella disappeared back inside and then smiled at a much-relieved footman, before she turned to search out the perfect place for the doll. When she spotted the low table in full sunlight, Eliza walked forward and placed the doll in the center then retreated to the shade.

“What are you doing?”

She turned to find Lucian at the entrance to the house.

“Cleansing my doll,” she answered.

“Cleansing your doll?” he asked in confusion.

“Yes. The instructions are to cleanse the doll of any lingering energy, which can be accomplished with incense, sage, salt water, or several hours in the sunlight or moonlight. As I have no incense, sage, or salt water, the sun will need to do.”

“Why do you need to clean energy?” he asked stepping forward.

“It could redirect the spell to the energy of the person before and that would never do.”

“What are you up to Eliza? I would have thought you had outgrown dolls a long time ago.”

She tilted her head and frowned. “I am not certain that I ever had one.”

“Why do you have one now?”

“It is not just any doll. It is a voodoo doll. Oliver sent it to me from Louisiana.”

Lucian just stood there staring at her. The questions were in his blue eyes, and she was certain he didn’t know what to ask first, or if he even wanted to know.

“Cook had just prepared lemonade,” Stella announced as she came onto the terrace with a tray, pitcher, and glasses.

“Oh, that will be lovely,” Eliza announced. “Thank you.”

She wandered to the table that sat in the shade and took a seat. “Will you join me?” she asked Lucian.

He first glanced at the doll again, then shook his head and joined her at the table.

Stella poured a glass for each of them and then retreated inside.

“I know that I am going to regret asking this, but what is a voodoo doll and why did Oliver send you one?”

“I am certain he sent it because I would find it interesting, which I do.”

“What are you supposed to do with it after it is cleansed by sunlight? What energy needs to be cleansed?”

“The energy of the person it was used on before,” Eliza answered.

“What is it for?” he asked slowly.

“For whatever you need, I suppose.” She shrugged then sipped the tart lemonade, which was also quite refreshing. “I will show you.” She rose from her seat and went into the parlor and gathered the items her brother had included with the doll.

“These colored pins represent different things. You decide on what you wish, visualize it, then stick the pin in the doll.”

“What kind of things?” he asked.

“Yellow for success, green for wealth, white for healing. All the colors have a meaning. Oliver wrote them down for me,” she answered.

“What is the black one for?”

That is when she grinned. “To block someone. Red is to control someone. Red can also be for love and power, so I will not be using that one so the person I use the doll for is not confused as to my intentions.”

“I can only assume who you wish to block.”

“Except I do not actually know what it means to block someone, and not certain it would serve the purpose I need.”

“Your need?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Did you know that the doll could also be used to harm someone?” she asked. “All I would need to do is put a lock of hair of the person I wish to harm inside the doll, place the doll on an altar, light a candle, and ask Lao or an ancestor to harm the person I have chosen. Then I stab the doll with the pin and imagine the person I am targeting.” She frowned. “I think that is what I am supposed to do. I will need to read the instructions again, but I believe that is the idea.”

Lucian leaned back in his chair, his frown deepening as his eyebrows drew together. “Who is Lao?”

“Spirits in voodoo religion. I am to understand there are many.”

“You actually believe that something like that works?” He chuckled with his question.

Eliza shrugged. “I could ask your valet for hair from your brush to put in the doll, stab away and see what happens.”

“You will do no such thing!” he practically yelled. “Besides, it is nonsense.”

Eliza had to agree with him, but it was rather fascinating. “If it did work, I would not be seeking your hair but something from the man who keeps writing missives,” she admitted before taking another sip of lemonade.

“I agree, and in that I would help you,” Lucian offered. “If you do not believe in voodoo, why are you cleansing the doll to begin with?”

“I want to do everything that is necessary, so that I can describe it in a novel accurately.”

“At least this story will not involve a mummy.”

Eliza blinked at him. “How do you know for certain? I often do not know all the elements of a story until it is complete.”