Page 17 of The Lost Lord
“That sounds serious. I had hoped you would put your earnings toward a more charitable cause, but it’s your money to spend. If you want a silk gown dripping in diamonds to be married in, then it’s your decision.” Livingston tried to smile indulgently but it came off as a grimace at the thought of wasted coin.
“I can’t imagine spending money on anything sillier than an extravagant gown. A simple dress works for me, should my wedding day ever come to pass.” Miriam tucked the newspaper under her arm and rose on tiptoe to kiss her father’s bearded cheek.
“I’m glad it’s not a done deal before I had a chance to meet the blighter. You had me worried there for a minute,” Livingston chuckled. “Who is he?”
“Lord Richard Northcote,” Miriam offered with a note of pride. Her father’s expression darkened.
“I’ve heard of him. He has some affiliation with Howard Shipping Enterprises.” Livingston’s mouth formed an o, as if he were about to speak, then closed. All he said was, “Shall we take a walk uptown later this afternoon?”
“Of course,” Miriam replied. They went every day, weather permitting. “Tomorrow, however, I beg leave to entertain a guest in the afternoon.”
Her father winked in response. Her nerves settled, like a flock of birds on a tree branch, ready to take flight again at the first glimpse of the fascinating, mercurial man who’d captured her imagination—and possibly her heart.
Yet ten full days would pass before Miriam laid eyes on Lord Richard Northcote again.
Chapter 9
The first three days without wine, or whiskey, or any sort of drink at all, left Richard a shaky, aching mess. The only company he could stand was Howard’s. His friend’s delight upon learning that Lizzie was no longer in the picture was tempered by Richard’s immediate substitution for a new love.
Besides, as angry as he was with his lover’s plotting, Richard told himself he missed Lizzie’s company. At least she badgered him to get out of bed, or into it. Without her Richard was forced to think about honoring mealtimes. He couldn’t rely on her to remind him to eat. For several days, Richard missed his landlady’s provided breakfast and went to Howard’s warehouse with a stomach so empty it rumbled loud enough for others to hear.
“You’re not moping over the red-haired woman, are you?” demanded Howard. He didn’t like to speak Lizzie’s name. Claimed it summoned the devil in the flesh.
“Of course not,” Richard lied. True, he was in a sulk. He did not wish to court Miriam under false pretenses or possibly at all. After sending the rash letter, he had sent a second making his excuses. The part of him that Richard only listened to when his muscles burned with the effort of unloading and reloading ships whispered in his mind that the longer he waited to call on Miriam, the more likely the attraction was to fade. With distance, he hoped he wouldn’t hold so much appeal to a fragile young lady. With time, his awkwardly genuine desire to touch her would surely diminish.
Once his hands were steady without drink, Richard debated hourly whether he ought to visit Miriam. Each time, he resolved to leave Miss Walsh in peace. As his need for wine crested and crashed, Richard buried himself in long hours of hauling freight to support his future child.
Lizzie, of course, didn’t think this at all sufficient. Although she’d publicly reconciled with her husband—her affair with Spencer had ended preemptively after his ignominious defeat at Richard’s hands—Richard held no doubt their reunion was grounded in the thinnest layer of reputational self-preservation.
One afternoon, about a week after their separate return from the Pines, Richard found Lizzie waiting on his unmade bed when he arrived home from the warehouse. His skin was crusted with dried salt. He looked forward to filling a hip bath with warm water and sinking into it, but that meant hauling buckets from the well, starting a fire in the stove of his too-warm apartments, and then emptying the tub into the rear yard. It was such a bother, having to perform these menial tasks himself. Richard had developed a new appreciation for the servants who’d hauled endless buckets of water up and down stairs to keep him clean back in England. Here, he could afford only a twice-weekly maid to keep his rooms from falling into total disarray.
“Have you been to see Miriam, yet?” Lizzie demanded idly, with an ice pick in her tone. She turned the page of her fashion magazine. The dress she wore was new, made of creamy linen embroidered with green trim. In it, Lizzie looked cool and resplendent. There was no hint of the licentious woman who had taken him on that very bed many times over the past several months. Lizzie barely glanced up at him.
“You know I haven’t,” Richard replied. A weariness he couldn’t attribute to hauling cargo crept over him. Lizzie’s presence fatigued his very spirit. He wanted her gone.
“I haven’t told Arthur yet.”
Another page flipped past. Lizzie had folded up the bottom corner to mark the page.
“About our baby,” Richard clarified.
Green eyes met his, slowly. Beneath the glacial indifference, Richard saw a barely-banked cold fury that chilled his marrow.
He’d hurt her. It didn’t matter how impractical her desires were. What Lizzie wanted she went after with the tenacity of a badger.
What she’d wanted was him.
“Yes, about the child we are making.” Lizzie returned her attention to the periodical she was perusing. She shifted back, displaying her breasts. The linen gown draped over his tangled quilt, revealing nothing. It was cut, he realized immediately, to hide a growing belly.
“You might yet lose it.” The wish popped out of his mouth without intervention from his brain. The thought of siring a child with Lizzie, of all women, sent a shudder through him. He wished he’d thought of that before falling into bed with a woman he’d never liked and since come to abhor. “I see advertisements for mother’s helpers, to bring back the menses, in every newspaper. It can’t be that difficult.”
Lizzie rolled back and sat up in a single, fluid motion. Her eyes went wide with purposeful astonishment.
“Are you asking me to kill our child?” she asked quietly.
In Richard’s view, this was mighty early to refer to an invisible bump growing in Lizzie’s belly as anything so momentous as a child. What if he went through with seducing Miriam and Lizzie miscarried? Being a coward when it came to arguing with Lizzie, he changed the subject.
“There is no hope of a marriage between us, Lizzie. Even if I could give you the status and wealth you crave, what you’re after is entirely dependent upon the arrival of a person who will never thank you for being born into a loveless partnership. You have nothing to offer the infant but unhappiness.”
