The room was sparse of furniture now, the piano having long been removed, but there was still a long table set against the windows that had once been used for refreshments. He remembered as a boy hiding under the table with Ronald while some debutante droned on at the piano.
He faltered in the doorway as the memory washed over him, but soon his attention was caught by his wife.
A fire had been lit and candles brought in as the storm muted the light through the windows. His wife leaned over that same long table, a forgotten chair discarded behind her. She was examining something on the tabletop, her attention rapt, her fingers moving with delicate precision.
He didn’t hesitate. He stormed into the room and snatched at the paper she held in her hand. She gasped, stifling a scream, but he didn’t take a moment to either apologize or take in her face as he did not want to see or hear her excuses.
He didn’t know what he expected to find, perhaps a letter to a lover she’d left in London, but had he been in his right mind, he would know the absurdity of such a notion. He’d crushed the paper slightly with his hasty grab, and now regret and guilt washed over him.
It was a watercolor of a small bunny.
His lips parted, and he raised his eyes reluctantly to Eliza, who cowered beside him, her eyes beseeching, her fingers hesitantly reaching for the paper he still held.
“Oh, please. I didn’t mean to get in the way. Mrs. Donnelly said no one uses this room now.” Her fingers reached tentatively for the paper in his hand. “Please, Ashbourne. May I have it back?”
He was back to Ashbourne. Horror at what he’d done seized his throat, and he could only relinquish the paper to her.
She set it carefully on the table and attempted to press the creases he’d made from it. But it was no use. He’d ruined the little bunny and the careful rendition of grasses that surrounded him.
“Eliza, I must beg your forgiveness. I—” But the rest of the words were lost to him.
His eyes moved, taking in the rest of the table. It was covered in watercolors. There must have been dozens of them. All small sheets of paper with a single scene of a bunny or a fawn, sometimes a turtle or a bird. Some contained just the watercolor, but others contained writing. He shifted, afraid to step closer, but needing to see what was written on them. At first it didn’t make sense. The writing was nonsensical until he’d read several of them.
“You’re writing a story with illustrations.” The words came out as hardly more than a whisper.
Eliza didn’t answer, and he shifted his gaze to find her. She still huddled against the table, her back bent as she tried futilely to remove the creases he’d caused in the paper he’d snatched. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, instead focusing on the watercolor in front of her as she shifted ever so slightly.
Had he not been watching her so closely he would have missed it, as it was nothing more than the shift of her shoulder, but it effectively hid her face from him.
His stomach clenched, and he thought he might be sick.
“Eliza, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you wished to be an author. I had no idea—”
She whirled on him, straightening to her full height. While he had expected to see the tears in her eyes, he hadn’t expected such fury.
“I have no such wish, Ashbourne.” Her words were steely and absolute.
He faltered, gesturing weakly to the scattered watercolors.
“But all of these drawings, the script on them, surely you mean to publish these one day.”
That defiant chin went up, and her shoulders went back.
“These are not for publication, Ashbourne. These are for my children.”
All at once it struck him.
The deal she had bargained for with him was not the result of hurt pride and a determination to see her duty fulfilled. Had he been wiser, he would have understood that society had taught Eliza to think very little of her own feelings, and she would never broker such a bargain.
No, this was something that ran deeper, truer.
He whispered the words even as they formed in his mind, “You want to be a mother.”
Chapter 12
During her first season, she’d stumbled upon a group of debutantes in the retiring room. Stumbled literally, for the door had a faulty latch. When she’d burst into the room, she discovered they were discussing the wallflowers present at the evening’s ball and namely her. They were detailing just how precisely her face resembled that of her favored canines.
Even then she had been less mortified than she was now.
She looked everywhere but at Ashbourne, wanting so much to step back in time only a few seconds to keep him from figuring out what it was she truly sought from their bargain.
Never had she revealed her deepest desire, her yearning to be a mother, because in all reality, it had been so terribly unlikely until she’d met Ashbourne. Even now her life seemed like a dream, and she feared at any moment she would awaken.
“I don’t see anything remiss in my natural desire to be a mother. Many women become mothers every day. It’s not so unthinkable.”
When he touched her, she jumped and reflexively tried to push him away.
He shushed her with soothing noises as he drew her into his arms.
“Eliza, darling, calm yourself. I wasn’t thinking anything of the sort. I think it’s wonderful that you wish to be a mother. I’m just saddened that you didn’t feel comfortable telling me.”
She stared resolutely at his chest, her body rigid as she refused to give into his warmth and assurances even for one inch. She knew that way lay danger. It would be all too easy to let his warm words and soft touch sway her, but she couldn’t forget the words she’d overheard. They sliced through her even now when they were just a memory. She had to keep her wits about her.
“You know we mustn’t stop at an heir and a spare. I believe those were the terms of the deal?”
He had her attention now, and she couldn’t help but look up, meet his gaze.
“Yes.” The single word cost her greatly, but she simply needed to hear what he would say.
“As an only child, I missed having the companionship of brothers and sisters. I shouldn’t like our own babes to lack the benefits of a big family.” His brow creased. “You do enjoy being part of a large family, do you not?”
“Oh, very much so.” She hadn’t meant to answer him. She hadn’t meant to engage in this conversation at all, but once again, he lured her in with his gentle tone and promising words.
Like the first night they’d arrived, his honest tone alone had set her at ease, and now with his arms around her, it was all too easy to fall.
“Then why shouldn’t our children enjoy the same comfort?”
He eased her away before she was ready to lose his touch, and she stumbled ever so slightly on the carpet.
“What is it exactly that you’re doing here? I understand it’s a story, but what is it about?”
Words were utterly foreign to her then.
No one had ever asked her about her watercolors.
Her first few attempts at speech fell hopelessly on the carpet at her feet, but she tried again, forcing her lips to form actual sounds.
“It’s a simple story, and it’s really not about the story at all. It’s about the colors and shapes and the animals.” She shifted the watercolors about on the surface of the table so he could see them properly. “When Jo was a babe—” She stopped, licked her lips, and straightened her shoulders.