Page 14 of The King of Whitechapel (Victorian Outcasts #7)

fourteen

S INCE AFTER THE Great Blizzard, whenever something terrible was about to happen, the back of Elizabeth’s neck tingled.

It was tingling now as she sipped a cup of tea in her sitting room with her mother and Pearce. Two weeks had passed from the day they’d danced together, and he’d insisted on her using his Christian name rather quickly and on seeing her as often as his ducal duties allowed him.

Aside from the particular intimacy of using their names, she couldn’t say their acquaintance had grown deeper, nor did she understand why he kept wanting to see her.

The most annoying thing was that she hadn’t learnt anything regarding Christopher. She hadn’t learnt much about Pearce, either. What she knew about him could be surmised as thus: he loved cricket, fine clothes, and caviar; he disliked French poetry, beaches, and being alone. He loved talking about anything that popped up in his mind, changing the subject of a conversation constantly, and he could read a book in a day.

That was it. Nothing personal about who he was, what he feared, or what he desired. She knew the baker down the road better.

Although the time they spent together wasn’t a matter of quantity but quality. She’d spent a few days with Christopher and knew him rather intimately.

She took another sip while Mother and Pearce discussed the outrageous speed with which London was growing.

“… buildings sprout out from the ground almost overnight,” Mother said. “And young ladies are rebelling everywhere! Young women are disparaging rules of etiquette in favour of studying science. Why would a lady need to be knowledgeable about science?”

“I agree. It’s difficult to find a lady who cares about propriety these days,” Pearce said.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to study,” Elizabeth said. “Education and knowledge are everything, and ladies are entitled to them. I for once love mathematics.”

Mother gave her the slightest shake of her head.

Pearce didn’t seem shocked. “Interesting. But you wouldn’t teach mathematics at Oxford, would you?”

She jutted out her chin. “I would, actually, if they let me.”

“Elizabeth has the oddest sense of humour.” Mother forced a laugh. “Of course she wouldn’t.”

“I’d love to work as an accountant. Many times I have asked Father to let me help with his accounting books, but he refuses.”

“Because your father is a sensible man.” Mother’s tone was final.

“But—”

“Quiet, darling. Mathematics is a boring subject.” Mother turned towards Pearce. “Are you going to Lady Bletchley’s upcoming ball?”

Pearce replied yes, and then the conversation steered towards … she had no idea. She should be frustrated at how Mother dismissed her, but after all those years of hearing that what Elizabeth liked was boring, she didn’t care. She preferred counting the tiny florets in the cores of the daisies in the vase in front of her. Their spiral distribution followed Fibonacci’s sequence. How peculiar.

“Well then, I’ll leave you two alone,” Mother said, interrupting Elizabeth’s musing.

What? Elizabeth lifted her gaze from the flowers, wondering which part of the conversation she’d missed. What was happening?

Mother glowed from within, smiling at Pearce. Then grinning at her, she shut the door behind her.

The door shut? A moment of panic took her.

“Elizabeth.” Pearce put down his cup and angled towards her.

Sometimes, when he didn’t show the fake smile he reserved for everyone, his resemblance to Christopher increased tenfold.

“I wanted … is something the matter?” he asked. “You look tense.”

“I simply wonder what is happening.”

He took her hand, and she suppressed the instinct to withdraw it. “I talked to your father.”

Oh, no. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Not that.

“He gave me his blessing to court you.”

Something had to be wrong with her because she didn’t feel anything. Nothing. No elation, interest, or even annoyance. A void of emotions. Her brain was stuck on counting the petals.

“These past two weeks have been very, very lovely,” he said with an honesty she couldn’t dismiss.

“But brief. Very, very brief.”

“I don’t want to hurry your decision, but we could see each other during our courtship and know each other better before announcing our engagement. We can have a long courtship if you like.” He chuckled clumsily as if embarrassed. “You’d make me the luckiest man in the world if you’d become my duchess.”

The very first thought in her head was about her parents.

No matter what she chose, her parents would push her into marrying Pearce in a matter of months. A ducal marriage wasn’t something a woman refused. Especially if the said woman didn’t have other serious suitors. Her two older sisters had married into old noble families, an earl and a viscount. And a duke was a duke. Appearances and all that.

How frightening.

The only thing she could do was take time to think; rejecting his proposal immediately would be a mistake. Her parents would be upset. She might be at the centre of any sort of gossip. But perhaps if she allowed their courtship, she could find another way out … like incompatibility. She’d make Pearce see they wouldn’t get along after she proved to him they didn’t have anything in common. Her parents wouldn’t blame her if he was the one who didn’t want to marry her.

“A courtship would be appropriate,” she said. For lack of a better word. “We’ll spend some time together and … understand each other better. Then we’ll see what happens.”

He sagged his shoulders. “Thank you. That’s wonderful. I was worried you were going to say no. And do not worry.” He flashed a shy smile. “Of course, you can study whatever you like. You can even become my personal accountant if you wish so. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to upset your mother.”

“Thank you.”

He kissed her hand, and while she didn’t dislike the polite gesture, it bothered her.

“May I ask you something personal?” she asked, gathering her courage.

“By all means.” He kept holding her hand.

“The year of the Great Blizzard, we had a guest in Spencer Hall.” There. She’d said it.

He stiffened immediately. “We discussed the matter before.”

“No. I’m not talking about your father. I’m referring to something else.” She gave him a pointed look. “To someone else.”

He released her hand. “We don’t need to discuss that.”

“You’ve just asked me to court me.” After we’ve seen each other for two weeks . “I think I have the right to ask questions about something I experienced, and that involves you. Something you’ve always refused to acknowledge or discuss.”

“Fine.” He worked his jaw. “I know whom you’re referring to, of course. I swear on my honour he won’t bother us. He won’t be a problem or interfere with our lives. He won’t have anything to do with us.”

She released a breath. “Is Christopher still alive?”

“Yes.” He drew his eyebrows together. “He’s a problem in my family’s history. My father shouldn’t have been so close to him. Father gave him the wrong idea of who he really was. He didn’t teach him what his right place was.”

She wanted to say many things, but since Pearce had never talked about him, she listened.

“Father had a misplaced sense of duty towards that fallen woman and her child. Providing for them was one thing, but having two families was quite another. He should have thought about our reputation and my mother. Instead, by acknowledging Christopher’s existence, he put my mother and me in a difficult position. I had to endure Christopher’s presence even at school.” He clenched a fist. “I’ve never been more humiliated in my life.”

She had to sink her teeth into her bottom lip not to speak her mind. If he’d taken time to know Christopher, he would have never felt humiliated.

“But I promise.” He took both her hands in a pleading gesture. “You will never, ever be the subject of gossip because of him. Your reputation will remain impeccable. Your name will never be associated with his. Please don’t let his shadow ruin what we have. Don’t refuse my courtship because of him.”

Well, they didn’t have much, to be honest. “Do you see him?”

He lowered his gaze. “Occasionally. The last time I saw him was over a year ago. We had a dispute about that dreadful cottage in Dartmoor. His mother was born in some village there. He claimed the cottage was his. I think it should be sold. Anyway.” He waved a dismissive hand. “He’s turned to criminality, unsurprisingly so. I won’t see him again for your sake. Do not fear.”

But she was afraid because she wanted to see Christopher again.

“I’m ashamed of what Father did in the year of the Great Blizzard. He shouldn’t have asked your family to accommodate Christopher in your house. I understand if the experience bothers you to this day.”

It did, but not in the way he thought.

“Do you hate him?” she asked.

“Hate is a strong sentiment I don’t think I can embrace.” He released her hands again. “Father favoured him. He always sang Christopher’s praise about his marks at school, his intelligence, and his strong character, all things he found me lacking. He spent more time with his mistress than with my mother, ran to see her and Christopher whenever he could, and lamented the fact Christopher couldn’t be the next Duke of Grafton. My mother was the daughter of one of Prince Albert’s cousins, practically royalty. Father’s shameful behaviour hurt her deeply and humiliated her. I spent many nights comforting her as she cried because Father was with that woman.” A hard glint flickered in his gaze. “How do you think that made me feel?”

“But he’s your brother, your family.”

“He is not. We don’t have anything in common. We live in two different worlds.” His voice became sharp. “I don’t want anything to do with him, and you won’t even be aware he exists. We’ll not speak of him ever again.”

Oh, she had plenty of other subjects to talk about, especially after he disparaged Christopher.

She tilted her chin up. “Why do you want to court me?”

He gave her a puzzled look as if the question didn’t make sense. “You’re beautiful and the daughter of an earl, who was one of my father’s best friends, and I’m in need of a good wife.”

It sounded as if he were buying a piece of furniture. “You don’t know anything about me.”

He laughed. “That’s why we have courtships.”

Well, there was no arguing with his logic.