Page 66 of Never a Duchess
Lillian stood and moved to stare out of the window. Eliza could detect a lie from the mere blink of an eye. “The duke plans to return to Scotland within the week. And though I enjoy his company, it is best not to become too attached.”
“I see.”
Those two dreaded words hung heavily between them.
Eliza was not a fool and had worked as an enquiry agent before marrying Adam. Indeed, in the tense silence, Lillian felt the heat of Eliza’s assessing gaze.
“It was the duke’s decision, not mine,” Lillian blurted.
“Dounreay cancelled your plans?” Shocked, Eliza appeared beside her, her hand resting on Lillian’s upper arm. “Did he explain himself? Do you feel disappointed? Hurt? Relieved?”
Lillian’s sigh did nothing to unravel the knot of emotions in her chest. “I’m not sure how to feel.”
“You don’t decide how to feel.” Eliza drew her around so she might peer into her eyes. “It’s a reaction you cannot control. Not until you’ve applied some form of logic. And you can only do that once you’ve identified the problem.”
Lillian shrugged.
“You’re hurt. I see the torment in your eyes.”
There was little point denying it.
“It is always the same. I trust someone. I finally feel able to lower my guard, then I’m abandoned.” She should have listened to her head, not her heart. She should have kept the duke at arm’s length, not let him take liberties.
“You’re still not telling me how you feel, Lillian.”
She closed her eyes against the sudden ache, wishing it away. “It’s like I’m suffocating. I can’t breathe, Eliza. It’s like being full, then so empty I could die.” It was like strolling in a sunlit meadow only to plunge into a dark hole.
“Because Dounreay is leaving London?”
“Because the thought of never kissing him again robs my lungs of air. Because it’s like I am six years old again, standing on the water’s edge, unable to make sense of what’s happened.”
Tears filled Eliza’s eyes. She had heard the harrowing family tale many times, but knew the tragedy had left indelible scars. “Even when we know the answers, they rarely make sense.”
“The worst part is I don’t know what I did wrong.”
“I’m sure you did nothing wrong.”
“I must have done something. One minute we’re embracing, hugging each other so tightly I can feel his grief. The next, he’s cold and dismissive.”
Eliza looked just as confused. “What did he say?”
Oh, she couldn’t bear to repeat the words, but they festered inside like a weeping wound.
“That we can be nothing but friends. That it’s not about what he wants, but what’s best.” Like the fool at the fair, the man spoke in riddles.
A smile touched Eliza’s lips, but she did not reveal what she found so pleasing. “And so you mean to take him at his word? To give up and spend the evening alone in your room?”
Lillian wondered if they were trick questions. “What else can I do? March over there and demand dinner? Tell him he is being ridiculous? Challenge him for breaking his oath? He was quite firm.” Every bit the commanding duke.
Eliza’s shoulders sagged. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Who would want to fight for a man who makes them breathless? Who wouldn’t surrender at the first sign of rejection? Who wouldn’t take Dounreay at his word, a man who’s spent years craving one dance?” Eliza drew her into an embrace. “Never mind. I’m sure you’ll decide on a solution. I shall leave you to think on the matter.”
And then Eliza left.
Left without uttering another word.
Lillian stared out of the window, the bleak scene failing to lift her spirits. Sunset was less than an hour away, but a dense fog had settled, smothering the last remnants of daylight.
Somewhere a clock chimed the quarter hour, drawing Lillian’s thoughts to Dounreay. Was he at MacTavish’s bedside making plans? Were his servants packing trunks for the arduous journey northwards? Was he at home, getting ready to dine alone? Had his sadness consumed him?
