Eliza had been about to stand, but she stopped dead at Mrs. Fletcher’s words.
“What is that?” she asked, her mind racing ahead of her, sorting through the seamstress’s words.
“I grew ever so much with Nancy here. I was just a little sprite of a thing before.” She laughed. “I was quite the sight.”
“It was the same for me.” Mrs. Longbottom stood and shook out her own gown, a near replicate of the green one but this one was in a deep shade of lilac with a gorgeous row of flowers trimmed along the hem and cuffs. “I was a little wraith of a thing carrying my two big boys. I never thought I’d be capable of it. But somehow our bodies just know what to do.”
Eliza finished standing, putting her hands firmly across her flat stomach.
“I think there’s been a mistake, Mrs. Fletcher. I’m only here for the ball gown.”
Mrs. Fletcher laughed and laid a hand on Eliza’s arm.
“I know that, dear. But even I can tell just by looking at you, a babe will soon be on the way, and you’ll be needing to let your gowns out.” She waved carelessly as she bustled her way through the shop toward a row of ribbons. “Just be sure to come by before heading back to London this fall. We’ll alter these gowns and any others you need for the growing babe.”
Eliza was suspiciously quiet on the ride back to the manor house.
She wasn’t very talkative when they had supper on the terrace or walked Henry in the gardens before retiring for the evening. It was as though she were not quite present, but somewhere deep in her mind where something made her both happy and sad at the same time. He wondered just what had gone on in Mrs. Fletcher’s shop.
That night when they made love there was an earnestness to it that hadn’t been there before, as if Eliza had taken her inner struggle and brought it out as if it were something she could physically wrestle with. Her kisses were ardent, her caresses deliberate. And when they finally fell asleep, her arms were locked tight around his torso.
She was like that for several days following, and every time he chanced a glimpse of her walking in the fields with Henry or striding along the beach, her feet awash with the waves, he thought for the briefest of moments she was someone else entirely.
It didn’t help that Mrs. Fletcher’s gowns had transformed her. When he’d gone to fetch her that day at the shop, he hadn’t expected she’d be outfitted with a new gown immediately, but there she had been, resplendent in a forest green gown that lit up her complexion. It also fit properly, and for the first time, he didn’t fear she would fold in half in a strong breeze.
Now she roamed Ashbourne Manor like the mistress he knew she was always meant to be. Henry trailed at her feet, and her wild hair commanded the wind as if it were made for such things. He wasn’t sure what had happened to the wallflower he had married, but he suspected she hadn’t changed at all. It was simply how he viewed her that had changed.
The ocean and the shore had cast a light on her that had never before had opportunity to let her shine. She did here, brighter than she ever would in London. Here she was mistress of all the wind and sea spray she touched. Here she was home.
The thought sent shivers down his spine. He had long given up trying to refute Sebastian’s warning for he knew now that it was Eliza herself that could slay him. Beauty was such a flimsy weapon. He should have realized.
The realization only drove him to be more diligent when it came to his emotions. While he enjoyed her company, craved her kisses, and genuinely took interest in her pursuits, he steeled his heart against it. He kept his focus on the livestock and the breeding plans. He met regularly with Sheridan to ensure the health of the crop that would be needed to meet their feeding requirements, and he made routine inspections of the entire estate to ensure any necessary repairs were made immediately.
But his nights were still for Eliza.
He had made a bargain with her after all, and he was a man of his word.
As much as he wished to remain aloof, he could not when he held Eliza in his arms. They were beginning to learn each other’s nuances, manners, and thoughts. Their lovemaking grew richer, deeper, more poignant. It was after they had made love though that he was truly in danger, when Eliza would lay her head on his chest and tell him of her childhood, the antics of her sisters and brother, and the time spent getting the family dog to sit at the table like a human.
It made it difficult to concentrate as he sat at his desk that morning going over the wheat yields from the previous years as they projected what should be planted in rotations for the following year. His wife had taken Henry off in search of a place to work on her watercolors as the morning had proved a bright and considerably pleasant one. He’d watched her disappear over the fields, her wide brimmed hat flopping as the wind played with her braid.
The sweep of domesticity that overcame him at the sight made him want to wretch, but at the same time, it was as though he’d been given a prize he couldn’t quite believe he’d won.
A knock at the door shook him from his thoughts, and he looked up just as Stephens entered bearing a silver tray with a card atop. The clock hadn’t even chimed ten yet, and it was terribly unfashionable for calling hours. At the sight of the card, his stomach churned, knowing whomever it belonged to was not here for a social purpose.
Stephens bowed and extended the tray. As soon as Dax fixed eyes on the name scrawled across it, the blood drained from his head.
Lady Bethany Danvers, the Marchioness of Isley
“Lady Isley has requested an audience. Shall I tell her you are in?”
Dax stared at the card, years of hurt and betrayal crashing through him.
He stood with resolution.
“Please show the lady to the front drawing room.”
Stephens bowed in departure and slipped out the door. Dax took a few moments to collect himself before starting the trek to the front of the manor house. He had several minutes to gather his thoughts. He’d had seven years to think about what he would say to Bethany should he ever see her again, and his mind rattled with the possibilities.
Words of accusation tripped over his tongue, and his hands shook with the pent up anger he’d carried for so long.
But even as all of this simmered inside of him, a single thought stilled his progress, and he stood silent in the corridor.
Why had she come now?
She’d had seven years to make amends. Why was she suddenly here today?
He knew word of his marriage had likely spread throughout the ton, and he knew from personal account it had spread through the village. But Isley had not occupied the adjoining estate in nearly a decade, preferring instead the title’s main country seat in Derby.
There could only be one reason Bethany was here now, and it left a sour taste in his mouth.
She stood facing the windows opposite the door when he entered. Her gown was simple but exquisitely cut. His body reacted to the silhouette of her figure as he knew she had expected it would. Her golden hair was pulled up under a small hat and hung in sweeps of curls about her face.
And God, her face.
He hadn’t forgotten a single detail of it.
When she turned to him, her chin was tilted slightly up, giving her a woeful expression anyone would find endearing.
But not him.
“Bethany.” He spoke the single word as if he were sighting a rat.