He was not stealing kisses. She was giving them eagerly. If it weren’t for this cursed fence between them, Eli would—
She broke away from him, panting. “I can’t kiss you all day. I have work to do. Besides, if Papa glances out of the window and catches us, he will gloat unbearably.”
Oh, good Lord, her father. Eli had forgotten about everyone except Olive.
He stepped backward until she was safely out of reach. “Duke is eyeing me rather jealously as well. I can take a hint. Enjoy your horses as you meant to. I can entertain myself in the conservatory for days.”
“Perhaps limit it to hours,” she said. “Though I suspect you are exactly what the conservatory needs, you must eat. Shall I see you for dinner?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
There were only five days left in their arrangement. As enticing as the castle glasshouse was, there were plenty of plants in England, but only one Olive.
Eli went to his guest chamber to pack his leather satchel full of notebooks and pencils, then set out on the pavement leading up to Marlowe Castle. The Harper residence was one of the farthest from the castle, but a mile walk in brisk weather would do him good.
The conservatory had been the most perfect gift Olive could give him.
Very well, it wasn’t hers to give, nor was the glasshouse Eli’s to keep, but while he was stuck up here in the middle of nowhere, perhaps he wasn’t so far away from his research after all.
Ironically, it might even be easier. Eli’s usual physic garden was in London, but so was his father, who denounced botany and other related fields as irrelevant nonsense, unbefitting for the son of a lord. The marquess had long ago forbidden Eli from dabbling in “embarrassing scholarly pursuits,” resulting in Eli sneaking about like a footpad so his father wouldn’t catch him with a notebook in his hand.
The quantity of tourists increased as he approached the castle. One group fell into step beside him, smiling in recognition.
“Mr. Weston, is it?” It was the gentleman whom Olive had bested in a horse race. “Miss Harper’s friend?”
Friend was... not quite the right word.
“Her guest,” Eli hedged. “Temporarily.”
“Well, guest, allow me to introduce my wife, my uncle, my brother, my sister, my brother-in-law, my sister-in-law, my niece and nephew—”
Only because Eli spent his life memorizing details was he able to keep up with the names, faces, and how all of the Skeffingtons and le Ducs were related. He surprised the lot by reciting their names and relative positions back to them, in the same order they’d been presented.
“Very good!” They exchanged impressed expressions. “We’re heading to the pond for ice-skating. Are you up for an adventure?”
“I appreciate the invitation, but I’m off to...” He was in Cressmouth, Eli reminded himself. He could say the words aloud. He was safe here. “...the conservatory.”
They nodded as if looking at plants was a perfectly reasonable Yuletide alternative to ice-skating. “We’re having dinner afterwards here at the castle, if you’d like to join us.”
“I would like to,” he said, and found that it was true. “But I’ve already promised the meal to Olive.”
“We’re trundling hoops tomorrow,” said the nephew. “Bring Miss Harper. I bet I could beat her at hoops.”
“I bet you can’t,” murmured his sister.
“I will convey the invitation and challenge,” Eli promised and watched, bemused, as the large family teased and laughed their way down a walking path that presumably led to a frozen pond.
Cressmouth was full of surprises.
Nothing could surpass London in sheer number of apothecaries and opportunities for study, but this picturesque village was easy to navigate in all of the ways London was difficult.
Making friends here was as simple as bumping into someone on the street. There were no recriminations, no impossible-to-meet expectations, just good cheer and sunny dispositions everywhere he—
“What the devil do you think you’re about?”
Eli’s blood ran to ice. He stood rooted at the entrance to the castle, unable to turn his legs about. There was no need to. Eli knew that voice as well as he knew the fury of the man it belonged to.
His father was here.
“Join me in my suite,” the marquess demanded. “Now.”
The more witnesses, the safer, had been his boyhood rule around his father, but Eli was the larger man now, had been so for years, and no longer feared his father’s violence.
In turn, the marquess had found countless new ways to twist the knife without lifting a finger.
“After you.” Eli followed him up the marble stairs in search of privacy.
Whatever the marquess had to say was not something Eli wished to be overheard.
His father’s suite was on the fifth floor, with a stunning vista that stretched for miles. The window was barely visible due to the retinue of servants cowering before it.
This wasn’t castle staff. These were familiar faces from the London town house. Maids, footmen, even an under-butler. Eli hadn’t been permitted his valet, yet the marquess—
Eli laughed to himself, startled. His valet wrung his pale hands on the other side of an even paler chambermaid. Eli hadn’t been allowed to bring his valet because the marquess had already poached him.
Just another of the fun little ways Father liked to prove his superiority.
“Let’s make this quick,” Eli said, knowing that failing to comment on his valet’s presence would rankle the marquess more than an argument. “Why are you here?”
“Make this quick?” Father’s face empurpled. “You were supposed to be finished by now. Harper said his daughter negotiated a ten-day reprieve, but it shouldn’t take that long to—”
“You’ve been corresponding with Mr. Harper?” Eli said in surprise.
“Someone has to keep me informed, since your letters are less than satisfactory. How difficult can this be, Elijah? If the chit won’t obey her father, just spread a little gossip. It’s simple.”
“No,” Eli said flatly. “Anything she does must be her decision.”
“You’d be the first man who thinks so,” the marquess scoffed. “And only a fool dares tell me no.”
Eli sighed. “I’m honoring our agreement.”
“You’re dragging your feet,” his father snapped. “I’ll be watching from this window until the task is complete.”
Of course he would.
His father smirked. “At least you needn’t kiss her this time. That’s a relief, eh?”
Eli glared back in stony silence, biting back a retort. Claiming no wish to kiss Olive was a lie, but admitting he’d already done so would only give the marquess more kindling to use against her.
His father gestured toward a sideboard.
The entire retinue scrambled to prepare his glass of port.
“All you need is a ‘yes,” the marquess said as though he were speaking to a child, “so that you can say ‘no.’”
“I’m aware of the terms.” Eli had hated them then. He hated them even more now.
Father settled in a comfortable chair and raised his glass of port.