The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,128
would come. That Prinny would have commuted Con’s sentence after all, or some other miracle had occurred and she was not doomed to spend the rest of her life without him.
Below stairs, someone was being let in. Lady Montborne—Clara, as she’d begged Elizabeth to call her, or Celeste or Trestin. Elizabeth’s callers were limited these days. She hardly had the time. When she wasn’t at Nicholas’s house begging to be let in, she could barely muster the energy to see even those she held dear. All her reserves were held for surviving the cold stone steps of the service entrance to her son’s prison.
Nicholas always knew she was there. But he didn’t care.
Mrs. Dalton appeared at the bedchamber door. A flurry of hopefulness buoyed Elizabeth enough to sit up. “What is it? Who’s come?”
The nurse’s eyes shone but her mouth pursed tightly, as if she feared she’d explode with the answer. “You must come quickly, madam. Here, this wrap will suffice.”
Elizabeth looked at the flimsy wrapper and shook her head. “I must dress first.”
Mrs. Dalton didn’t voice her obvious disapproval. She wound Elizabeth’s dark tresses into a quick bun and dusted loose powder across the bridge of her nose, then helped Elizabeth into the many layers required of a proper morning dress. “There,” Mrs. Dalton said, without pausing to look at her handiwork. “Now, go!”
Elizabeth almost tripped over her hem in her haste to get to the door. The few minutes needed to perform her ablutions had been enough time to let her imagination get ahead of her. Her heart was already skipping. She was afraid to speculate. Was it Constantine? Had he come for her?
When she saw her visitor she stopped so suddenly at the base of the stairs, she almost tripped. She caught herself on the banister. “Nicholas!” she said, then clamped her hand to her mouth. “That is, Captain Finn.” And Captain Finn’s wife.
She gaped at them. Nicholas regarded her solemnly, with a touch of pity, but his wife smiled warmly. “We shouldn’t have come, of course. Still, I could even less imagine a scenario where you were invited to our drawing room, instead.” Mrs. Finn squeezed Nicholas’s hand. “We should have, though. We ought to have let you in, and not left you to sit on the stoop like a beggar.”
Nicholas pursed his lips as if tasting something very sour. “I should have done.” His voice was almost a grumble, but there was a touch of chagrin in it, too.
No apology could have shocked Elizabeth more. She didn’t know what to say.
And then, without her baby, nothing either Finn or his wife did say truly mattered. All she wanted was Oliver.
Mrs. Finn stood close enough to Nicholas to nudge him with her shoulder. As if they were the picture of domestic tranquility, rather than a scorned woman and her lecherous husband. “Will you ask her, or should I?” she asked him.
Nicholas grunted. Then he cleared his throat. He shifted his broad shoulders in a weary shrug. “I can’t.”
Mrs. Finn’s sympathy was expressed in a manner as calm and stately as the woman herself. She slipped her hand into his. “My husband’s fleet is readying to sail for America. We don’t know how long he will be away.”
Or if he would return. Elizabeth’s gaze shot to the man she’d once thought she loved. She knew painfully how hard it was to wait for him to return. Not knowing if he’d already died. There was no requirement for the Navy to inform a mere lightskirt of an officer’s passing, and certainly she wouldn’t have expected to receive the news from his wife.
Nicholas squeezed Mrs. Finn’s hand. He looked no warmer than he had a moment ago, but it seemed he did have at least a drop of sentimental feeling for her.
She drew a restorative breath. “I almost can’t say it, myself. One of us must, however. Here it is. If little Oliver is to be left without a father, then it’s only right for you to care for him along with Lord Constantine. He quite tugged on my heart with his unwavering commitment to the boy, and then there is what my conscience tells me is right.” Her complexion waned. “Every day, I see you approach the house. I already love this little boy like my own. But I ask myself, how would I feel if I were you?”
Elizabeth blinked back a tear, moved by Mrs. Finn’s understanding. “It’s horrible,” she whispered. “Wretched.”