Page 52 of The Secret Identity of the Lord's Aide
They were big enough that he’d had to confess them to his mother, which meant everything.
An hour prior to dinner, Lord Beauchamp arrived. He bolted through the front door with a bottle of whisky stretched forward in his left hand. He held it like a kind of weapon, or a medal. “Good evening!” he cried. “I’ve brought one of the very best from my collection for this evening.”
Lord Linfield led Everett into his father’s study, where he drew out two antique crystal glasses. He placed them upon his desk and poured them each an inch of whisky. Everett’s eyes glittered as they clinked glasses.
“I read The Rising Sun’s review of your previous speech,” Everett said. “I couldn’t have imagined a better review for you. Everyone’s saying it’s fairly certain you’ve locked down the seat. Congratulations are in order.”
Nathaniel gave Everett a half-smile. “This is a celebration of sorts,” he said. “With Lady Elizabeth Byrd and her friend, that Irene Follett.”
“Ah! My goodness,” Everett said. “You mentioned there would be other guests, but I didn’t imagine …” He paused for a moment, his smile widening. “I knew I was correct in your feelings for her, Lord Linfield. If you don’t mind me saying.”
“It’s terribly complicated, Everett,” Lord Linfield stammered.
“It doesn’t have to be,” Everett offered.
How strange that everyone seemed to be saying the same thing. Lord Linfield forced his eyes down, unable to feel Everett’s gaze upon him. The gaze felt like it demanded something from him. An answer or a bit of bravery Nathaniel wasn’t yet sure he had.
The men sipped their whiskies in silence, with Nathaniel blinking down at his shoes. Moments later, one of the maids arrived to announce the women’s arrival. Nathaniel’s heart cranked up in his chest. “I think I need to get the full story on what happened to her,” he murmured, following Everett towards the door. “I can’t possibly do anything until then. Not that it’s necessary. As we both know, love is a menial thing, when compared to everything else.”
“Menial, perhaps,” Everett said, arching his brow. “But you know better than most that I spend many nights up late, staring out the window and wondering what might have been with my woman. The one mere blocks away. The one with a child, with an entire life that has nothing to do with mine.”
When the men reached the first landing on the staircase, they stood in full view of the ladies. Stretched-out and almost-too-tall Irene, who gave Nathaniel a sneaky smile as she removed her gloves and flashed her white fingers into the foyer air. Lady Elizabeth Byrd stood beside her, blinking nervously. Her coat was an elegant, dark green. She swept it off her shoulders like some kind of cape and placed it over the coat rack. She seemed to be making a conscious effort not to look Lord Linfield in the eyes.
Was it as intense for her as it was for him?
“Ladies!” Everett said in greeting. “How wonderful to see you again.”
The greetings were performed, seemingly rushed and strange. When Lord Linfield found his hand over Lady Elizabeth’s, his heart scuttled in his chest. For a moment, their eyes met, and Lord Linfield felt he could count each and every moment that Lady Elizabeth had spent thinking about him and only him since their previous meeting.
Although, of course, he couldn’t be sure of such a thing. It could have been projection. There was no way to know.
The four of them sat at the dining room table, with Everett and Irene largely filling the silence with their own opinions and light banter. Lord Linfield felt strangely stunted. Anything he thought to say, he felt sure it would be too idiotic, too strained in front of the rather genius mind of Lady Elizabeth. He grinned, remembering what his mother had said about women being superior to men. In every way, he thought her to be correct.
It was a fact he’d never heard his father admit, although he felt fairly certain that most worthy men understood this to be true.
Irene was tittering along, explaining some of the upcoming columns they would feature on The Rising Sun. “And you know, I just keep nagging Lady Elizabeth to write some other work. With that mind of hers, imagine the sort of philosophical and historical texts we might be allowed to read …”
Lady Elizabeth’s face scrunched up. She dropped her fork, making it crackle against the top of the plate. “Please, Irene. You don’t need to give them each and every detail of my little meaningless life.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Irene said, chuckling. “I know they’d be terribly thrilled to read your work, as would the rest of England. Lord Linfield, you should have heard the analysis she made the other day on a French essay. You see, our new friend, Peter, he’s been diving into the strange pool that is learning the French language. And of course, with the brilliant mind of Lady Elizabeth there to back him, it won’t be long until he finishes and is on to the next language. Ridiculous, thinking of what I was doing when I was his age. Surely dreaming about ball gowns and joining Society.”
“I wrote a great deal more philosophical and historical texts prior to my engagement,” Lady Elizabeth said, folding her hands across the tablecloth. She peered at something just beyond Lord Linfield’s head, perhaps feeling that looking directly into his eyes would be too intense.
Such a rarity to get Lady Elizabeth to speak such truths. Lord Linfield stopped, placing his fork softly beside his plate. He was no longer hungry, not for the roast duck upon his plate nor the Brussels sprouts slowly cooling beside it. But just as she began, Lady Elizabeth realised she’d overstepped—at least in her own mind. She reached for her fork once more and quickly stabbed it into a single Brussels sprout before popping it back in her mouth and chewing slowly.
“Yes, well. I’m afraid most women I know who’ve settled and have children haven’t given themselves much space for such writing,” Everett offered.
“You must do it,” Lord Linfield suddenly said, his voice loud and booming.
Lady Elizabeth peered up at him, finally meeting his eyes. She swallowed, and then set back down her fork. “Excuse me?”
“The world has been allowed to read your political essays. Your analyses. And even—through my voice, of course, your political speeches. It would be a great honour for me, and for the rest of England, to hear what else you have to say.”
Everett adjusted his posture, turning his eyes from Lady Elizabeth to Lord Linfield and back again. Nathaniel waited for him to demand what he meant, as Nathaniel hadn’t yet filled Everett in on the details of his speechwriter. But Everett just bowed his head in apparent respect of the situation, returning to his food. The man was open-minded, alive to the waves of change that Nathaniel had only recently felt.
The conversation was unneeded. And after a pause, Lady Elizabeth continued to speak, allowing Everett in on their secret—despite the breech in contract.
“You really wish to read something like that?” Lady Elizabeth asked, sounding doubtful.
