Page 22 of The Lovers (Echoes from the Past #1)

THIRTEEN

London, England

Elise wrapped her cloak closer about her to keep out the cold as she stepped out into the garden.

The sky above was just turning a lovely shade of pink, the lavender clouds lazily floating overhead, signaling that a new day had come.

The air smelled fresh, as if some invisible hand had washed everything clean during the night.

She loved this time of day, a time when everything was coming to life after hours of slumber and the day was still full of promise.

There had been a dusting of snow the night before, but spring was definitely on its way.

Several purple smudges dotted the pristine snow by the far wall—the crocuses refusing to be discouraged by a little snow.

They raised their cup-shaped heads toward the sun, undaunted by the cold.

Elise stopped and smiled at the little flowers.

They were survivors, unlike the other flowers that couldn’t survive a frost. She liked to believe that she was a survivor as well, but the past few weeks had done nothing to restore her spirit.

After six weeks of marriage, Elise’s life had settled into a routine.

Her husband was always solicitous and polite, but he rarely spoke to her or spent an evening at home.

He was a great favorite of the king, having campaigned vigorously for his return from exile, and his presence was expected at all the countless entertainments that the palace hosted night after night.

The Dowager joined Elise for supper every night, but retired to her room immediately after, leaving Elise to spend the evenings alone.

Elise tried to make inroads with Barbara, but the girl, although always happy to be acknowledged, had the mental faculties of a three-year-old.

Elise felt desperately sorry for her, but there wasn’t much she could do to help.

Perhaps, had a tutor been engaged years ago to try and cajole Barbara into learning something, she might be further advanced.

But since she’d been treated like a baby due to her mental disability, she still acted and thought like one.

Maybe she was better off, Elise mused. Realizing that she was deficient and often ridiculed by her own family would only hurt her.

As it was, Barbara seemed content to spend hours on her crewelwork.

She preferred to work in bright colors and only embroidered flowers that all looked exactly the same.

She usually hummed a monotonous tune to herself while she sewed, a half smile on her face, completely lost in her own world.

Barbara spoke in short sentences when she needed something and enjoyed being read to, but Elise wasn’t sure if she grasped the gist of the story or only liked the soothing cadence of the reader’s voice.

Elise had been surprised to come upon James and Barbara several times, James reading to her quietly while Barbara stared out the window of the library, her gaze completely vacant.

Elise never stayed but left them to it, loath to spend even a moment in James’s company.

The only person she actually spoke to was Lucy, but Elise had to be careful of what she shared with the maid for fear of revealing too much.

Instead, Elise encouraged Lucy to talk and pass on household gossip and news of the outside while she brushed out her hair and helped her prepare for bed.

But the conversations didn’t last long. Lucy was only too eager to finish her duties for the day and retire to her chamber on the top floor, where she could have an hour of private time before going to sleep.

She awoke before dawn, in time to wait on Edward’s mother, who had trouble sleeping and refused to wait till the sun came up to get dressed and come downstairs.

James came to Elise several times a week, entering through her husband’s bedchamber and leaving the same way, so no one would know of his clandestine visits.

He rarely spoke, and their coupling was quick and impersonal.

He seemed as reluctant as Elise, and she might have felt sympathy for him if she didn’t despise him with such passion.

At least he didn’t mistreat her. He wasn’t precisely tender, but he did nothing to hurt her or cause her discomfort.

He simply went about his business as if she were asleep.

“Good night, my lady,” James often mumbled after he pulled on his breeches and headed for the connecting door.

It is now , Elise thought once the door closed behind him. But was it? There were no more good nights, just restless ones. Elise was plagued by hopeless dreams, and wishes for a future that could never be.

If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

If turnips were watches, I’d wear one by my side.

If “ifs” and “ands” were pots and pans,

There’d be no work for tinkers’ hands.

Elise sighed. Her mother used to tell her that rhyme when she was little, and Elise laughed, picturing all her childish wishes turning into beautiful white horses that would spirit her away to a world of magic and wonder.

There was no magic now, just endless despair.

She was a prisoner in this house. Lord Asher didn’t like his wife wandering outside on her own, so even if she left the hall from time to time, she had to be accompanied by Lucy, who was only too happy to get away from her endless chores and take a walk.

But the outings were rare, especially since Elise received no invitations nor had any friends or family to visit on this side of the river.

Even her father hadn’t been to visit her.

She missed Amy and Anne desperately, but it was as if she were no longer a part of their lives or her father’s. Who would even care if she were gone ?

Elise stopped dead. Who would care if she were gone?

That was a good question. She’d obeyed her husband and had lived by the rules he’d set out for her for nearly two months, but who even noticed?

Perhaps it was time to take matters into her own hands.

Elise glanced back at the silent house behind her.

The servants were already up, but Lady Matilda had caught a chill and had taken to her bed yesterday.

Lucy brought her hot bricks for her feet every two hours, but the old woman was doubtless still asleep.

And even if she weren’t, she would remain abed today, given her illness.

Edward had come in only an hour ago. Elise heard him crashing about in his bedroom before he finally grew quiet.

He would be asleep for hours and awaken in the late afternoon, just in time to eat, bathe, and head back to the palace, where he likely felt like an important man and not a useless, impotent cuckold on the cusp of old age.

She rarely saw James during the day. She had no idea what he actually did with his time, but it didn’t matter.

As long as he wasn’t interested in what she did with hers, she was safe.

Elise whipped about and headed back into the house.

She climbed the stairs on silent feet and entered her room, breathless with excitement.

She needed to put on her walking shoes since the slippers she was wearing would be covered in muck in no time and get soaked through. And she needed money.

Elise pressed her ear to Edward’s door, but all she heard was rumbling snores coming from the other side.

She eased the door open and entered the darkened chamber.

She couldn’t see Edward behind the drawn bed hangings, but she could hear him.

He was in deep, alcohol-induced sleep. Elise crept toward the chair where Edward had discarded his clothes, careful not to trip over his boots.

His purse was in the pocket of his breeches—she was sure of it .

Elise carefully extracted the leather pouch, making sure the coins didn’t jingle, and pulled out a few coins.

Edward would never notice, but the money would make all the difference to her.

Elise replaced the purse and tiptoed out of the room, breathless with victory.

She quickly changed her shoes, pulled on her gloves, and made her way down the stairs and back out into the garden.

There was a door built into the wall, so no one would see her leave.

The fluffy snow of the morning was already beginning to melt, turning into slush underfoot.

Her footprints would vanish with the melting snow, which was an added bonus.

Elise slipped through the door and closed it behind her, breathing the air of freedom for the first time since the wedding.

Elise pulled on her hood and walked briskly toward the river.

Not many people were about just yet, but the city was coming to life: shops opening, farmers making deliveries now that the gates to the city were open, and wives and servants heading out to buy supplies for the day.

Elise took a deep pull of fresh morning air.

It felt wonderful to be out, especially on her own.

She was as good as invisible, and the freedom of anonymity was intoxicating.

She’d never given much thought to freedom before, but now that she was a virtual prisoner, it took on a whole new meaning, and she understood why men were willing to die for it.

Having say over one’s own life and future was worth everything—even one’s life.

Elise stepped into a boat and took a seat in the stern. “Take me across, please,” she said to the ferryman, who grinned at her, happy to have a fare so early in the morning. His lantern swung behind him as he pushed off and rowed them toward Southwark.

“Ye’re out early,” he commented as the boat sliced across the still waters. A hazy mist rose off the water, offering an extra layer of protection from prying eyes. Somewhere, a bell began to chime, and then several others joined in. It was eight o’clock .

“So are you,” Elise countered.