Page 62 of The Secret Identity of the Lord's Aide
“Well, I won’t tell you if you act like that,” Everett said.
“Like what?”
“Like someone’s killed your dog. How is old Barney, anyway?”
“He’s fine,” Nathaniel said, scratching the top of his neck where the curls coiled towards his shirt. He needed a haircut. “You can’t imagine how worried I was when he was injured, but he’s already walking about, despite the cast. Veterinarian says he should be right as rain by spring.”
Everett tapped his glass into Nathaniel’s, toasting Barney’s health. But moments later, Everett burst into his tale—one of love and loss, one of confusion and passion.
“I remembered the way you were looking at Lady Elizabeth, Lord Linfield,” Everett began. “And don’t confuse, it’s just simply that I was struck with the realisation that, well. We have this single life to live. And I was managing to only half-live without her.”
Of course, Nathaniel knew Everett was speaking of his great lost love, the painter. He peered at Everett, conscious that the man had rosy pink cheeks, and that he spoke with more energy and life.
“I walked up to the door, like some kind of fool. It was the middle of the day, perhaps three in the afternoon. And when the maid arrived, she looked at me with these rueful eyes. Of course, I introduced myself as Lord Everett Beauchamp, and the maid immediately scrambled into action. A lord was calling, and all that. Especially a member of Parliament. She retrieved Nelle immediately. Nelle appeared at the top of the stairs, that blonde-haired beauty toddler upon her hips. And when her eyes met with mine, it was clear immediately that she hadn’t forgotten me. Not for a moment.”
Lord Linfield felt his mind hazy, lost. He sipped the whisky, feeling it burn the back of his throat. Everett continued the story, saying that he and Nelle had spoken for hours about what had happened to them the previous several years; the young girl had taken an immediate liking to him and had even perched upon his lap for a while until she’d fallen asleep on his chest.
“Somehow, it felt that we were a family already, as if we were spending the afternoon together after many years of doing just that. Even the little girl, in my arms … It felt precisely right.”
Nathaniel gaped at him, conscious that Everett had leapt for what he’d wanted and retrieved it, whilst Nathaniel had made the leap (asking Lady Elizabeth to come to dinner, to meet his mother—in essence, to be with him) and come up dry.
“And you?” Everett asked, his eyes shifting downward. “I don’t imagine it will be long before the pair of you figure out your love for one another.”
“It’s simply too difficult, Everett.” Nathaniel shrugged. “She gave me the backstory of her father, of her ex-fiancé. It’s rather messy, and she’s turned her back on Society for good. She sees no purpose in it. And, if I’m being quite honest, I don’t, either.”
“Then it’s perfect,” Everett said, although his smile faltered slightly. “If you’re on the same page. If you see the world with this light …”
“It’s simply that she wants to continue her work at the paper, to volunteer at the homeless shelter, to exist in a way that helps people. She could never sit back and be my—my Countess …” Nathaniel stumbled over his words, feeling his heart ache all over again. “It simply doesn’t matter.”
“Ask her,” Everett said, his voice soft.
“I already have,” Nathaniel murmured before turning towards the window.
That had to be the end of the conversation. It had to end Nathaniel’s racing mind and heart. And that weekend, when he darted up the steps of the podium and made his speech, he was very conscious that Lady Elizabeth was no longer in the crowd. He scanned through the faces, each eager and scrunching forward, trying to hear everything Lady Elizabeth had so expertly written for him.
Sure enough, when the paper was printed, the political analysis was written by another writer, and not L.B. Nathaniel swung through the pages, hunting for her familiar, poetic words.
That’s when his breath faltered. For, there, beneath the title of one of the largest essays the paper had ever printed, was the name Lady Elizabeth Byrd.
Her full name.
Nathaniel didn’t have time to do anything about it, to head to her home and question her about why she’d decided to stop hiding from Society. For, that evening, Nathaniel was hosting a dinner with several of his father’s old friends from Parliament, including his mother and Lord Everett Beauchamp. Already, the men were arriving downstairs, tossing their coats to the maid and exchanging vague pleasantries. Everett entered just after the older men and sounded boastful and loud, speaking over the top of them in a jocular way. Each of their voices rang out, echoing.
God, how Lord Linfield longed to be far away from there. To dash across the shoddy cobblestones of Lady Elizabeth’s foggy neighbourhood and find her there. He imagined wrapping his arms around her, inhaling her lips. He imagined that she would tell him that her reason for revealing herself was him, all him. “I’m ready for you,” he imagined she would say. “I’m ready for whatever we are to each other. Even if that means we’ve fallen in love.”
“Good evening, gentlemen!” he cried.
But today, Nathaniel was meant to bolster his position at Parliament, to enhance these relationships that his father had once maintained. He couldn’t very well kick them from his estate, not after the maids and cooks had toiled over the stoves the previous few hours, simmering a perfect feast for the white-haired men of Parliament.
Nathaniel appeared on the steps. He felt regal, tall, his muscles pulsing with vitality after what he’d just read. As he joined the men in the foyer, he shook each of their hands and flashed that near-perfect smile—knowing that he was every bit the poster boy they’d longed to join Parliament for years.
“That was some speech,” Lord Waldron said to him, gripping his hand with extra force. “I’ve been watching your incredible improvements, Nathaniel. I mean, of course, Lord Linfield. Apologies. You must understand, that was your father, to us. But we’ll make the transition rather smoothly, I imagine.”
“Yes. The new and fresh Lord Linfield.” This was from his mother, who appeared in the doorway after exiting her sitting room. She was wearing a rather regal-looking dark blue gown, with a neckline stitched all the way up to her chin. She bowed her head to the gentlemen, then curtsied, as they all in turn bowed their heads and trotted up to greet her.
“My goodness, Lady Linfield,” Lord Binford said, shaking his head. “You were always quite a sight to see.”
Nathaniel’s mother always knew how to handle a social situation, no matter how awkward. She lifted her chin, tilted her head and said, “Shall we sojourn to the dinner table? It’s nearly time.”
