Utterly Devoted (18 page)

Eloise gripped the arms of the chair, knowing her face must be ashen. This was so much worse than she thought. She could see her father’s brows drawing into a deeper frown. “Father, I ... “ She swallowed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Is it true, then?”

Lie!
Her brain shouted.
Tell him a story, lead him away from the truth. He could never understand the choices you made. He will despise you if he knows.
The fears crowded around her until her shoulders slumped under the weight.

“Eloise?” Her father’s voice was gentle. “Will you answer me, please?”

She met his gaze, no warmer now than the day her mother had died. What truly did she risk? She had lost his love long ago.

“Yes, Father,” she said. “It is true.”

“I see,” he replied with the same thoughtful tone. “And why did you not tell me sooner?”

She sucked in a breath. “Miss Martingale forbid it. She thought I had led him on, you see. She thought I was trying to trap him into marriage.”

He rose abruptly and went to look out the window, hands clasped behind his back. She could see his fingers curling in a pale sickle against the brown of his wool coat. “And what would you have told me if you could?” he asked the glass of the window.

She hesitated. What good did it do to bring it all up now? In truth, she wanted only to forget the past. Yet something in his manner told her that he very much wanted to know. She swallowed the lump that persisted in her throat. “I would have told you that I was alone and frightened. That I was afraid you would despise me for what I’d done, just as Miss Martingale seemed to despise me. I would have begged you to understand that I was so in love I could have refused him nothing. That I believed my choice was right. Very likely I would have pleaded with you to find him and return him to me. I’m sure you would have been able to tell that at that moment I would have done anything to be loved.”

Her father’s shoulders bowed as if she had somehow transferred her burden to him. Indeed, she marveled that she felt lighter. His voice was grave. “I seem to have failed you when you needed me most.”

“No,” she replied, refusing to blame him. “You could not know. And later, I didn’t have the strength to tell you.”

“I should have asked.” He turned to eye her, face set in deep lines. “I have felt for some time that there were things left unsaid between us. I thought perhaps it was your mother’s death, and I can no more talk of that now than when she died over ten years ago.”

“I understand, Father,” she said, although in truth, she had never been able to understand why they had drifted apart.

“Do you? Then I have done a far better job than I suspected of raising you.” He shook his head. “But I did not raise you, did I, Eloise? I left it entirely too much to the hands of others. Talented others for the most part, but others to be sure. What else have I missed in your life?”

“Nothing of import,” she assured him. “You know about my troubles before Cleo befriended me last Season.”

He nodded. “I remember Lord Hastings assuring me that the ton had begun to think you fast. Perhaps you were still looking for that love you were denied.”

She shook her head, more to remove that vision of herself than to argue with him. “I have changed, Father. I am attempting to be a woman who can be respected. I have friends now and suitors who claim to care. I no longer need to chase after love.”

She was shocked to see moisture pooling in his eyes. “You should never have had to chase it, Eloise. You should have grown up knowing you were loved. I have no one to blame if you did not but myself.”

“Father,” she started, voice rough with the emotions she felt building.

He held up a hand. “Hear me out. I am not a demonstrative man, Eloise. Very likely I did not show you the attention you could have expected from your mother. But I love you, with all my heart. Nothing could ever change that. Please forgive me for making you doubt that.” He opened his arms.

She stared at him, stunned, but there could be no mistaking his gesture. Rising, she met him halfway and fell into his arms. Her father held her so close she could feel the warmth of his wool coat against her cheek, see it darken from the tears that coursed down her cheeks. One hand patted her back awkwardly, and he murmured words of comfort as if she were a child again.

And, just for a moment, she was a child again. A frightened, lonely child, abandoned by everyone who had claimed to love her. She sobbed against her father’s shoulder, crying out the pain of years of fear, regret, confusion, and longing. She cried for the child she had been and the woman she would have become but for Cleo’s friendship and her own determination. She cried for the woman she still might become if she could not find the courage to love again.

And in that instant, she realized why that courage was so very hard to find. She had thought she had put her past behind her. She had thought she was focusing on becoming a woman of character. She had forgiven Cleo for the times her friend had doubted her. In her heart, she had already forgiven Jareth. This moment she released any hurt she had been harboring against her father. What she had never faced was the hurt she had caused herself.

She had made her choice those years ago and worked her way through the consequences. But some part of her was angry, angry at Jareth, angry at Cleo, angry at her father, but most of all angry at herself. She should have been smarter, she should have seen more clearly what would happen if she indulged her passionate heart. She saw those arguments now for what they were: the pain of a lonely child. She was no longer that child. She was the woman of character she had dreamed of becoming. She surrendered the last of her pain and resolved to look only toward the future and what more she might become.

She straightened out of her father’s arms. His cheeks were as damp as her own. She wiped at her face with her fingers. “Thank you, Father.”

He smiled, laying a hand on her shoulder as if to prevent her from pulling any farther away. “Thank
you
, my dear. I shall endeavor to never again cause you to doubt my love.”

She returned his smile and laid her own hand on his in a pledge. “And I hope I never give you cause to doubt mine.”

“I am certain that will never happen,” he replied, releasing her at last. “And in that regard, would you like me to make Jareth Darby disappear?”

“Have you a magic wand, Father?” she teased as she returned to the chair.

“No, but a number of good friends and connections. Has he hurt you?”

She paused. Feeling for the pain, she was surprised and pleased to find that it had disappeared. “Not recently,” she replied. “And I do believe he has changed.”

Her father was watching her closely. “Then you would welcome this suit?”

She smiled. “Yes. Though I wonder whether there might be too much between us. He is a rogue. Yet I think if I had not known him before I would still be charmed by him. He sees the ridiculous in every situation. He lives life on his own terms, but not in defiance, in supreme self confidence, shackled only by his own convictions, however skewed.”

“And I believe some young ladies find him attractive.”

“
All
ladies find him attractive,” she corrected him with a wry grin. “Young and old alike. Yet though you know you must be one of many, he has a way of making you feel as if you are the only one whose opinion he values.” She stopped herself. “Do you hear me, Father? Despite my best efforts to hold myself away from him, he has managed to gain a foothold on my heart.”

Her father cocked his head, birdlike. “Does this disturb you?”

“It should! Look at the wreck he made of my life the last time he chose to join it. And yet, if he asked me this moment to marry him, I would answer yes.”

He nodded. “Mr. Darby is a fortunate man. I am glad he insisted I talk with you.”

“Jareth insisted we talk?” She frowned. “Why?”

“He seemed to feel you needed my support. He was obviously quite right. In that, we both owe him a debt of thanks.”

“I suppose we do,” she marveled. Indeed, it was the most unselfish thing she had ever known Jareth to do.

“You need not fear him, you know,” her father continued. “Surely you see that the situation is completely different this time. Then you were inexperienced, alone, and defenseless. Now you are a confident young woman, you have friends and family behind you, and you are quite able to defend yourself. Follow your heart, and you have nothing to fear.”

His logic wrung a laugh from her. “But Father, my heart is exactly the problem!”

He smiled at her. “Because it says Mr. Darby is to be trusted this time?”

“Precisely!”

“Why is that wrong?”

So many reasons flooded her mind. He had betrayed her, he had dallied with other women, he had run away to the Continent, he sought her only for her forgiveness. But as she considered each, she realized they were all founded on the fears of the past, fears she no longer needed to heed. Since his return, Jareth had repeatedly proven himself a gentleman, someone worthy of her trust, someone worthy of her love. He had never attempted to harm her. He had consistently put her needs before his own—going through with her tests, breaking off kisses to suit her, even urging her father to help her.

Yet she felt as if Jareth were hiding something from her. There was the way he had reacted when she suggested that money motivated him to seek her forgiveness, and the way he refused to meet her gaze when explaining why he had never returned for her. She could think of no good reason to explain those actions, but neither could she think of a nefarious one. Surely these feelings of hers were only more ghosts from the past. She should ignore them until she had reason to do otherwise.

She leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek. “Thank you, Father. You are right, of course. There is nothing wrong with trusting Mr. Darby. If he decides to call and offer, I shall listen carefully and trust my heart to answer.”

Chapter Nineteen

Eloise had just finished luncheon with her father when Bryerton announced that she had a visitor. Her father smiled at her, but she felt her heart leap into her throat. She rose from her seat as the butler continued.

“Miss Sinclair is here, Miss Eloise.”

She froze. “Miss Sinclair?”

“Miss Portia Sinclair,” he intoned. “She is in the sitting room, alone.”

She had all but forgotten Portia Sinclair and her attempt to entrap Jareth in marriage. She had little interest in seeing the girl, but she couldn’t find it in her to send Portia off. Excusing herself, she followed the butler downstairs.

Her first thought on entering the sitting room was that Portia looked horrid. The girl’s face, framed by a straw bonnet, was blotchy, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. She kept clenching and unclenching her hands in the lap of her pink cotton gown and when Eloise moved forward to greet her, she shot to her feet as if guilty of being caught in some indiscretion.

“How can I help you, Miss Sinclair?” Eloise asked, taking a seat on the closest chair and nodding to the girl to retake her seat opposite her. Instead, Portia threw herself down beside Eloise and turned soulful eyes her way.

“Oh, Miss Watkin, I had to speak with you. Even though we are not well known to each other, I have sensed a refinement of spirit in you that tells me you will understand my plight.”

“Your plight?” Eloise probed, wondering whether the girl meant to confess her plot against Jareth.

She nodded, digging in her pink satin reticule to produce a silken handkerchief with which to dab at her eyes. “Yes. You see, I have fallen in love, but the gentleman does not return the sentiment.”

Small wonder, if she chose to show her admiration by trapping the fellow into marriage. “I imagine there are many young ladies who would understand the difficulties of falling in love in vain. It seems the nature of the Season.”

“Oh, indeed. But I must admit to my own naiveté. You see, I believed he cared, and I allowed him to take certain liberties with my person.”

Eloise refused to encourage her by looking shocked. “Such things happen.”

“So I have heard. But I fear my father will not be so understanding. I fear ... that is, I believe ... oh, Miss Watkin, I am in the family way.”

Eloise felt cold all over. “Then the gentleman must be persuaded to do his duty.”

Tears fell to dot her dress a deeper rose. “Oh no, he cannot. And Mr. Darby has made it clear that he despises me and wants nothing more to do with me.”

The girl’s shoulders shook as she bent over the handkerchief. The end over her clenched fingers was neatly monogrammed with the letters JD. Eloise stared at them. Her intellect readily seized on the evidence. Here at last was the proof that Jareth had not changed after all, proof that he was despicable, that he was heartless. Yet her own heart protested. He had told her he was innocent. If she loved him, she had to believe him.

But asking Portia whether she was certain her betrayer was Jareth seemed pointless at best and cruel at worst. Unfortunately, it was just as hard to believe the girl was set on entrapment as it was to believe Jareth was innocent. Her sorrow seemed very real to Eloise. In fact, Eloise could not seem to help feeling it inside.

“It is devastating when men are so cruel,” she told Portia. “They either do not know or do not care the damage they leave behind.”

Portia nodded, sniffing. “I was certain you would understand.”

“Better than you can know. And from my experience, I can tell you that you must draw on your own strength, and that of God above, to see you through this.”

“And my dear friends like you, Miss Watkin,” she amended, raising a tear-streaked face.

“And your family,” Eloise insisted. “You must not fear to talk to them.”

“I could never tell my father,” Portia said with a shudder that shook her slender shoulders anew. “And my stepmother has been insistent that I resolve the issue. I am not sure of her support. May I count on yours?”

“I will do all I can to help you, Miss Sinclair.”

Her gaze was worshipful. “Then you will speak to Jareth for me?”