Page 81 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
You may, of course, expect further communications on the state of the house through his lordship, with whom I correspond weekly. Once the appropriate repairs have been completed, I shall inform you at once.
I remain,
Your servant
Josiah Crain
Lizzie crumpled the missive from the estate manager Luke had hired and cast it aside. It had been delivered—unopened; its wax seal undisturbed—to Ambrosia just minutes ago, no doubt by one of Luke’s servants. She had thought it would be a simple matter to remove herself, Joanna, and Willie to Hatfield. It hadn’t been until her second day at Ambrosia that she had recalled the renovations Luke had planned, to restore the house to its former glory—a legacy that would one day be Georgie’s.
Where were they meant to go now? Georgie would be on holiday from school in just a few weeks, and their home could not support them.
The little room on the upper floor of Ambrosia felt suddenly too small, too tight. Lizzie shoved herself to her feet, abandoning her chair and her half-finished breakfast. “We’re going out,” she said.
Jo looked up from her Greek primer, from which she was carefully copying text onto a blank sheet of paper. “Out?”
“Of course. It’s a lovely day.” It wasn’t, really. The sky was overcast, and the threat of rain in the not-too-distant future hung heavy over the city. What tiny pockets of sun managed to peek through beyond the clouds were quickly smothered again.
“Could we buy more toffee candies?” Jo asked as she meticulously stashed away her primer and paper. The small sack of candies that Luke had brought her had lasted all of an hour, and Lizzie hadn’t had the heart to refuse them to her.
But she also hadn’t the funds to buy more. “Just a walk today, I think,” she said. “We’ll have to carefully consider what we can afford going forward.”
“But Luke said—”
“We cannot depend upon his lordship’s continuing largesse,” she interjected. In fact, they could not depend upon his lordship foranything. But their land in Hatfield was generating rents once again, and perhaps they would not live quite so hand-to-mouth as they once had. “We’ll discuss what we can afford once we have returned to Hatfield.” She hesitated. “Though that may be some time from now.”
“Lukewould buy me toffees,” Jo said sullenly as she shrugged into the dark blue pelisse which Lizzie held out for her.
Probably he would, Lizzie allowed. “When we return to Hatfield, I’m certain there will be at least enough funds for toffees,” she said. Occasionally.Perhaps.
“I don’twantto go back to Hatfield.” Jo dropped onto a chair to pull on her walking boots. “I want to stay here. Luke saidI could!”
He hadn’t, exactly. Only that he’d do whatever it took to keep her here, which was…mightily confusing. Lizzie wound her hair up and pinned it in place atop her head; a somewhat less elegant style than a lady’s maid could have affected, but already they were imposing more upon Mrs. Knight than they ought. “It won’t be so bad in Hatfield,” she said, and she wondered if she were trying to convince Jo or herself. “Our house will be livable again.”
But that meager promise failed to mollify Jo. “You’re wrong, you know,” Jo said as they headed down the stairs at last, tucked and buttoned into their winter wear. “Lukedoeswant us.”
Lizzie’s heart gave a painful beat in her chest.Thathad been the very worst of his sins, she thought—that he had preyed upon the longings of a young girl, manipulated her affections. That he had given her some measure ofhope.Was it crueler to crush those fragile illusions now, or to lethimcrush them when those hastily-given promises never materialized?
Either way, it would not beLukepicking up the shattered pieces of those dreams. He had left that task to her.
The air was brisk as they stepped out into the mews, the soot-clogged air thick and damp. But there was at least the distracting clatter of carriages down the street, the vague murmur of conversation from those passersby who had not been chased inside by the threat of inclement weather that hung over London.
The air in Hatfield was better, cleaner. And there—that wassomethingto look forward to.
Jo’s fingers wiggled in hers as they proceeded down the street; the sure sign of a child with an excess of energy. But then, there had been little enough opportunity to relieve herself of it within Ambrosia, and the past few days had worn upon them both. A walk wasjustthe thing.
Green Park—it wassomewherenearby, Lizzie knew. It was just that it was soeasyto get oneself turned around in London. Weeks in, and she still had not managed to get her bearings.
Not that it mattered much anymore, when she was soon to leave it.
Jo cast a longing look at a shop off to the left, from which emanated the rich scent of pastries. She heaved a small sigh, her shoulders slumping beneath the thick wool of her pelisse, and for a moment she dropped her gaze to her shoes. A terrible pang of guilt jabbed at Lizzie—just like herself, Jo was relearning not to ask for things that would never materialize. Toffees. Tiny luxuries.Love.
“Lizzie?”
She stopped dead there on the pavement, panic clawing through her gut as her head whipped to the right.
“Luke!” Jo shouted, wrenching her fingers from Lizzie’s grasp, and she went careening toward him in that effervescent, exuberant manner unique to young children. “Whatever are you doing here?”
“I was just leaving,” he said as he staggered back beneath the force of her small body slamming against his legs, draping one arm around her shoulders and only narrowly avoiding dropping the umbrella tucked beneath his arm. “I dropped off a letter that arrived for your sister a few minutes ago. What areyoudoing? It’s going to rain any moment now.”
