Page 75 of A Most Unlikely Lady
Ivy scooted back on his bed, bending her legs and wrapping her arms around them. Her pink toes peeked out from her white linen nightgown, and she rested her chin on her knees. ‘How did you find out? Did Philippa tell you?’
Edward could still remember the moment he discovered them. ‘No. I found them. One afternoon, we were all meant to go riding. The girls weren’t in the house, so I went out to the stables to look for them. Philippa had Liza trapped against the stall. At first, I thought they were just being silly, but then I saw her kissing Liza. And Liza kissed her back.’
‘Oh, my.’ Ivy huffed out a breath and he wondered if she was trying to imagine it. Edward’s memory of that moment was burned into his mind. Warm sunlight filtered through the barn door. Sweet hay tickled his nose, and the sounds of feminine laughter drew him deeper into the barn. Philippa was wearing one of her scandalous split skirts. Her leg was pressed between Liza’s more traditional riding habit. One hand was buried in Liza’s chestnut hair and the other gripped his sister’s waist. Philippa whispered something in Liza’s ear and her smile lit up the barn. But Edward didn’t see the love shimmering between them. He only saw betrayal.
‘I was so lost in my own anger and jealousy, I went straight to my father.’
‘You didn’t confront them?’
‘No. I’m not sure they even knew I was there until later. My father was furious. He stormed out to the barn and caught them, dragging Liza back to the house and forcing a footman to escort Philippa home. He’d never hit Liza before that day, but he was determined to beat the devil out of her. That’s what he told her as he thrashed her to ribbons.’
‘Oh, God.’
Warm droplets were tracking down his cheek as he remembered Liza’s horrified screams. ‘He locked her in her room then went to Philippa’s father and told him what happened. Both men determined it was time to find husbands for their daughters. And Father didn’t waste a moment. Within the week, he informed Liza a marriage had been arranged between her and one of his friends, a man whose first two wives died, one from scarlet fever, the other in childbirth.’
‘No! How could he marry his daughter to one of his friends?’
‘Because he wanted to punish her. But Liza refused. She told him she wouldn’t speak the vows, and if the man married her anyway, she would run away. Father never took well to threats. He told her she would either marry his friend or be committed to a sanatorium. Her mind was unwell. Why else would she pursue an unnatural relationship with Philippa? At least, that is what Father thought. He determined she would either cure herself by marrying, or he would cure her by sending her to bedlam.’
Ivy tightened her grip around her legs and shook her head. ‘Are all fathers so cruel, or just ours?’
A weight Edward didn’t realise he’d been carrying cracked. With such a simple question, Ivy managed the impossible. She made Edward feel validated. Understood. Like he wasn’t alone. Like mayhap this wasn’t all his fault.
She continued before he could answer her question. Which was fortunate as he had no answer to give. ‘Poor Liza. And poor Philippa. What happened?’
Edward wished he could forget. He had never told anyone of the last night he saw Liza. Not even Philippa. But the words spilled from him like hot, sticky tar.
‘I waited until the house was quiet and I snuck into her room. She was sitting at her desk writing a letter. To Philippa, I presume, but it felt like an intrusion to ask. I’ll never forget that conversation.’
The years disappeared and while he stared at a stain on the floor, he saw his sister with her chestnut hair tied in a loose braid, her eyes haunted, her hand holding a quill. The lamplight flickered.
‘What’s done is done, Edward. My fate is sealed.’ Liza’s voice was too calm, her eyes devoid of their mischievous spark.
‘I did not mean for him to send you away. You must know. I wasn’t thinking. We can still get you out. I’ve sent word to Philippa. We’ll sneak you through the servants’ hall and out the kitchen. She is to meet you in the western woods. You can flee from there together.’ When at first it pained him to think of Philippa with anyone else, now he would happily suffer such heartbreak to save his sister from the hell their father planned.
‘To where, Edward?’ Her doused fire flared up again as anger brought life to her features. ‘Two young women with no money, no protection, no future. It’s madness. I will not see Philippa’s life ruined. Her father is going to send her to Europe, to a finishing school instead of making her marry right away. She might yet persuade him to let her remain single. But Father will never be swayed. He hates me, Edward. I saw the rage seething in him when I told him how much I love her.’ Liza’s voice broke as tears tracked down her pale cheeks.
Edward desperately wished to disagree with her. But he feared she was right. ‘If you won’t leave with Philippa, at least consider his proposal. Marriage might not be so bad. Bridgemore is old and in bad health. You may only need to endure for a few years.’ Even to his own ears, the argument was horrific. Edward couldn’t imagine suffering a moment of Bridgemore’s hungers, let alone years. But surely it was better than bedlam.
‘Listen to yourself, Edward. I would rather rot in a sanitorium than submit to any man, especially a man like Bridgemore. If it comes down to it, I shall throw myself from the roof first.’ Her voice was resonant with defiance.
‘Don’t, Liza! Don’t even say the words.’
‘Death is not always the worst fate, Edward.’
‘Bedlam might be.’ He couldn’t let her be taken to the sanitorium. He’d heard the horror stories and read the ghastly accounts of ice baths, restraints, beatings and starvation. His sister did not belong in a house for the insane. ‘You must consider marriage, Liza.’
‘No, Edward, I mustn’t. If my freedom is going to be taken away, I will at least control this one last decision.’
If only she had known the horrors that awaited her. If only Edward could have seen into the future. He would have forced her to make a different choice.
‘I can never forgive myself for what I’ve done to you.’ Edward’s whispered words hung between them and when he would have welcomed her rage, instead, she offered him something far more devastating.
‘Punishing yourself does not ease my sorrows, Edward. You are my brother. I would not wish misery upon you, not ever. I love you.’
She loved him when he was the very worst kind of brother. The very worst kind of man.
‘She died in the sanitorium several months later.’ Edward closed his eyes as his heart ripped in two once more. But this pain belonged to him. He earned it. It was his to carry. Leaning into the heart of his suffering, he forced himself to continue. ‘They found her in her room. She’d used her bed sheets to—’ He couldn’t speak the words.
