disappointment and wonder. She was still unable to meet his eyes for a long moment, during which she stood silently with her back to the wall, her hands folded before her. Finally, she looked up at him. The thoughtful look on his face mollified her somewhat. It was clear that her reaction had indeed startled him.
"I think I'm tired," she murmured. It wasn't exactly a lie, but it was a deflection. She felt strongly that she needed to get back to her room, to be alone and to consider everything silently and in her own time.
"Very well," Eliot said. His face had become blank mask. He tugged his vest down and turned on his heel. She suddenly felt very foolish, as though she'd ruined something beautiful that was just beginning, squashed a new rosebud between her fingers. But then she reminded herself that what Eliot said had been quite rude. She hadn't misheard him. Of course, his sense of humor was just that way. In fact, what he'd said had probably intended as a compliment. Still, the words had touched something painful in her that she couldn't ignore.
When they reached East wing, Eliot turned and bowed stiffly.
"I trust you have your bearings now. Just down that hall and to the right is your room."
"Yes," she whispered. "Thank you."
She was on the point of calling him back when he turned to go. Part of her wanted to offer him an explanation. But that would entail reliving the past in some way, and she just wasn't ready to do that. Not yet.
With a heavy sigh, she turned and began to make her way back to her chambers. There was a dull ache in her knee once again, and she felt tired – and confused.
***
Cara took dinner in her room, sitting on her bed with a cold cloth draped over her knee. She didn't think she'd re-injured anything. But the exertions of the day had exacerbated the swelling again. Mrs. Cooper fussed over her a good deal, but Cara couldn't enjoy the old housekeeper's banter as she usually did.
"My, you're quiet tonight!" Mrs. Cooper finally exclaimed. She took the dinner tray from Cara's lap and set it aside. "Overwhelmed by the tour, were you?"
"Yes," Cara admitted. In fact, that was a pretty succinct description of how she felt, even if it lacked specificity.
"Did you see the gallery?"
"I did."
"Well?" Mrs. Cooper asked expectantly. The housekeeper's cheeks were as shiny and red as two fresh apples, and a grin was stretching her pleasant features.
"It was most...impressive," was all Cara could manage.
It was obviously not the response Mrs. Cooper had been expecting.
" 'Impressive?’ Why, it's downright regal! All those portraits – the artistry! Awe-inspiring! And to think...someday your portrait will be sitting up there, too! Perhaps Lord Eliot will commission a double portrait, even. 'Twould make a good first anniversary gift, don't you think? Although perhaps he'll wait until you bring some little ones along, and then have a painting made of the whole pretty family!"
The suggestion of children caused images and feelings to pop into Cara's mind like bubbles rising to the surface of the pond. She could still feel Lord Eliot's fingers digging into the flesh of her waist as he lifted her for the kiss and the warm wetness of his lips against hers...his tongue dancing in her mouth. And children... oh God . There was a pulling in her chest at the very word, a deep yearning unlike anything she'd ever experienced. To have Lord Quentin Eliot's children...
"Lady Boyle? Lady Boyle, is something the matter?"
Cara shook her head.
"I don't know, Mrs. Cooper. Sometimes I feel..."
"What, child?" Mrs. Cooper asked, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. If Cara had been in any other mood, she would have checked the housekeeper's informal tone. But no indignant feelings stirred in her now.
"Sometimes I feel as though I'm broken inside," she finished.
Mrs. Cooper's happy features fell and suddenly they took on a look of sincere regret that Cara never would have guessed the jolly woman capable of.
"Oh,
"I think I'm tired," she murmured. It wasn't exactly a lie, but it was a deflection. She felt strongly that she needed to get back to her room, to be alone and to consider everything silently and in her own time.
"Very well," Eliot said. His face had become blank mask. He tugged his vest down and turned on his heel. She suddenly felt very foolish, as though she'd ruined something beautiful that was just beginning, squashed a new rosebud between her fingers. But then she reminded herself that what Eliot said had been quite rude. She hadn't misheard him. Of course, his sense of humor was just that way. In fact, what he'd said had probably intended as a compliment. Still, the words had touched something painful in her that she couldn't ignore.
When they reached East wing, Eliot turned and bowed stiffly.
"I trust you have your bearings now. Just down that hall and to the right is your room."
"Yes," she whispered. "Thank you."
She was on the point of calling him back when he turned to go. Part of her wanted to offer him an explanation. But that would entail reliving the past in some way, and she just wasn't ready to do that. Not yet.
With a heavy sigh, she turned and began to make her way back to her chambers. There was a dull ache in her knee once again, and she felt tired – and confused.
***
Cara took dinner in her room, sitting on her bed with a cold cloth draped over her knee. She didn't think she'd re-injured anything. But the exertions of the day had exacerbated the swelling again. Mrs. Cooper fussed over her a good deal, but Cara couldn't enjoy the old housekeeper's banter as she usually did.
"My, you're quiet tonight!" Mrs. Cooper finally exclaimed. She took the dinner tray from Cara's lap and set it aside. "Overwhelmed by the tour, were you?"
"Yes," Cara admitted. In fact, that was a pretty succinct description of how she felt, even if it lacked specificity.
"Did you see the gallery?"
"I did."
"Well?" Mrs. Cooper asked expectantly. The housekeeper's cheeks were as shiny and red as two fresh apples, and a grin was stretching her pleasant features.
"It was most...impressive," was all Cara could manage.
It was obviously not the response Mrs. Cooper had been expecting.
" 'Impressive?’ Why, it's downright regal! All those portraits – the artistry! Awe-inspiring! And to think...someday your portrait will be sitting up there, too! Perhaps Lord Eliot will commission a double portrait, even. 'Twould make a good first anniversary gift, don't you think? Although perhaps he'll wait until you bring some little ones along, and then have a painting made of the whole pretty family!"
The suggestion of children caused images and feelings to pop into Cara's mind like bubbles rising to the surface of the pond. She could still feel Lord Eliot's fingers digging into the flesh of her waist as he lifted her for the kiss and the warm wetness of his lips against hers...his tongue dancing in her mouth. And children... oh God . There was a pulling in her chest at the very word, a deep yearning unlike anything she'd ever experienced. To have Lord Quentin Eliot's children...
"Lady Boyle? Lady Boyle, is something the matter?"
Cara shook her head.
"I don't know, Mrs. Cooper. Sometimes I feel..."
"What, child?" Mrs. Cooper asked, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. If Cara had been in any other mood, she would have checked the housekeeper's informal tone. But no indignant feelings stirred in her now.
"Sometimes I feel as though I'm broken inside," she finished.
Mrs. Cooper's happy features fell and suddenly they took on a look of sincere regret that Cara never would have guessed the jolly woman capable of.
"Oh,
Similar Books
