Page 39 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

“Perhaps,” she admitted.

“Do not trouble yourself,” he continued. “These matters take time. Langshire is not old—precisely—but he is older than you, and more deliberate in his actions. That is not a fault. It is, in fact, something that will likely benefit you.”

“That is very easy for you to say,” Eliza replied, a touch too sharply—before catching herself. “Forgive me. That was unkind.”

“Forgiven,” Gabriel said lightly. “Though I must say, it is rare indeed to hear such a timely apology.” He turned toward his wife. “Is it not so?”

Pere promptly smacked his arm. “I could say the same of you.”

Eliza laughed, rising from her seat. “I believe I shall leave the two of you to resolve that particular disagreement.” She paused. “I think I will practice the pianoforte—now that the house is awake.”

“That sounds delightful,” Pere said. “I intend to go into town this afternoon before our at-home hours. Would you care to join me?”

“Yes,” Eliza replied at once. “That would be lovely. I find I must leave the house from time to time—even if I am becoming rather fond of Hawthorne House.”

“That is good to hear,” Gabriel said warmly. “Enjoy your practice.”

Eliza made her way to the parlor, where the pianoforte awaited her.

She lost herself in the music—Mozart first, then something lighter, and finally Bach, letting the notes steady her thoughts and quiet the restless edge beneath them. Her choices ran toward the smoother pieces, as if trying to soothe her nerves with each note.

It was only after several hours had passed that the butler entered.

“A letter for you, my lady.”

She rose from the pianoforte and accepted it from the silver tray.

The handwriting was unfamiliar.

A faint sense of unease stirred.

She broke the seal.

At first, she merely scanned the contents—searching for a name.

Then—

Like stepping into icy water, she was seized by the shock.

Her blood ran cold.

She did not finish reading.

Instead, she turned at once and left the room, moving quickly through the house until she reached her brother’s study.

She knocked once and entered without waiting. “Gabriel—” Her voice trembled despite her effort to steady it. “I think you must see this.”

She extended the letter with an unsteady hand.

Immediately, he rose and came around the desk, taking it from her.

Eliza sank into a chair, her fingers tightening in her lap as she watched him read.

Silence stretched.

Then Hawthorne set the letter down. “Well,” he said evenly. “It would seem Lord Carver has decided to meet his daughter after all.”

And all Eliza could think was how very many ways this could go wrong.