Page 45 of The Secret Identity of the Lord's Aide
Their stews arrived. The waiter placed each bowl before their hungry eyes. Irene whispered them a short prayer and then Peter all but leapt into his bowl of stew, tossing it into his mouth. He blinked up at Lord Linfield, almost mischievous. Like he felt he was getting away with something, just through eating.
Suddenly, Lord Linfield was struck with the realisation that this boy had been homeless, or still was. He looked at his gaunt expression, the way he chewed the meat, and knew that the boy had spent many nights outside. He shuddered, not truly being able to understand this kind of world. He turned his eyes back to Lady Elizabeth, trying to link his mind with this woman: the kind of woman who would employ a boy from the street.
Where on earth had she come from? Who was Conner? What was her story?
The conversation was light after that, with every party attempting to avoid anything that might step on another’s toes. Everett drank three pints and began to speak excitedly to Irene about a book he’d read recently, which he was attempting to read in French (despite not studying French for many years).
“I know the two of you must be well-versed in French,” he said with a sigh.
“Between us, we know six languages,” Irene said, grinning. “We could surely help you with any difficulties you’re having with the text.”
“Beside you debutantes, I always felt like some kind of imbecile.” Everett stabbed the last bit of meat onto his fork. “You can’t possibly understand how wretched it is to feel that way when your father is a famous member of Parliament, and when you’re meant to take over the family line.”
Lady Elizabeth and Irene exchanged good-natured glances before laughing. “Look at him. A man from Parliament, asking for ladies’ assistance!” Irene sighed. “It might as well be my birthday.”
Lord Beauchamp and Lord Linfield split the bill after arguing about it for several minutes (“No, I’ll take it, this time, my boy!”). The five of them rose and walked towards the exit where they found Lord Linfield’s carriage and its horses, fully-prepped and ready. Atop the carriage, the carriage boy huddled beneath the overhand. Lord Linfield reached up, passing the leftover stew to the boy, who immediately slurped it up and swiped his hand across his mouth. It reminded Lord Linfield of Peter, and he made a mental note to ensure that he gave his carriage hands more treats, now and again. Made sure they were well-fed, felt appreciated.
The men turned to bid adieu to the women and Peter. Lord Beauchamp bowed his head to both women, saying, “It was remarkable to see you again, Lady Elizabeth. And to meet you, of course. Ms Follett and Peter.” Then, he bounded into the carriage with all the energy of a child.
Lord Linfield paused, sensing tension between him and Lady Elizabeth. He shook Irene’s hand and then Peter’s before coming to Lady Elizabeth. He spoke in a low tone. “It would be beneficial to meet with you once again, to discuss the upcoming speech. I know I’m losing touch with my ability to speak publicly each and every day.”
Lady Elizabeth gave him a private smile. “Don’t be foolish, Lord Linfield. You sound remarkable to me.”
Remarkable? Lord Linfield couldn’t comprehend what this could mean. He gave her a final nod before turning towards his carriage and bounding into it, taking a seat beside Lord Beauchamp. The horses clacked along in front of them, hurrying them away from their dinner companions. Lord Linfield allowed a slow, steady breath to escape his lips.
Everett gaped at him, giving him a sneaky smile. “Correct me if I’m wrong, my Lord Linfield,” he began. “But that woman, that Lady Elizabeth, she must certainly be the one you were planning to speak to me about when we arrived at my home. Wasn’t she?”
Lord Linfield paused, pressing his lips together tightly. How could he possibly translate how he felt about Lady Elizabeth without revealing everything about her?
“She’s certainly an interesting woman,” Everett continued. “I half-remember meeting her as a much younger man. But the moment I brought up Conner …”
“I believe something happened,” Lord Linfield said. “Although I can’t be certain what exactly it was. I have reason to believe her fiancé is dead, that there was some foul play that has left her in this current position. But I’ve been far too frightened to ask her the details. It feels too heavy. I don’t dare cross any boundaries.”
Lord Linfield felt a bit strange, saying “frightened.” For he wasn’t a man who was easily scared. But something within him shook when he even envisioned not being allowed to see Lady Elizabeth any longer. Somehow, she’d become a fixture in his life.
“How was it you came to know Lady Elizabeth?” Everett asked then, arching his brow.
“I can’t explain it without giving her away,” he explained, scratching the back of his head. “It’s really a private affair.”
“Affair, you call it?” Everett said, his voice teasing.
“All I can truly say,” Lord Linfield began, “is that I haven’t met a woman like Lady Elizabeth in all my years of courting. I’ve never met anyone with her sharpness of mind, with her irresistible charm. I would spend more time with her if it was proper. But I know that there must be a distance between us. Even now, I feel impolite asking precisely what happened with her fiancé. Perhaps this distance must remain forever.”
Lord Linfield’s carriage dropped Everett off at his estate. Nathaniel shook his friend’s hand a final time, squinting slightly.
“You know, regarding what happened with Nelle this evening …” he began. “I really didn’t mean to put you in such a difficult position. I understand that matters of the heart …” He trailed off, unable to truly deduce what he should say. “I understand it’s difficult to face these things.”
“It’s difficult, yes,” Everett said, squeezing the edge of the door of the carriage in such a way that made his fingers bright white. “It’s difficult. And we allow so much time to pass us by that, suddenly, we’re dead and gone. Or they are.” He paused for a moment, licking his bottom lip. “Thank you for the company, Nathaniel. I hope one day soon we can speak with even more honesty. For I believe it’s the only thing.”
Lord Linfield stared ahead as he was taken back to his estate. It was darker than midnight, yet only eight or nine. When he entered the mansion, he felt endlessly fatigued, and his fingers shook as they gripped the railing of the staircase.
“Nathaniel?”
His mother’s voice rang out from down the hall, from the sitting room. Immediately, recognition of the voice made Nathaniel feel incredibly small—as if the past few months of growing in recognition and personal bravery could be shelled off so easily. He turned his feet back down the hall, forcing himself to walk to the doorway. From there, he peered in at the slight form of his mother, again hunkered over embroidery.
“Darling, I expected you home for dinner,” his mother said, not bothering to blink up from her stitching.
“I’m terribly sorry. Events ran long with Lord Beauchamp,” Nathaniel offered.
