For Elise (10 page)

“You missed breakfast.” Miles quickly
realized it was not the most eloquent of good mornings.

“I am afraid I did not sleep well last night.” Elise was back to hiding behind her walls. Gone were the eager smiles of their discussion of Mrs. Ash. “I suppose that is to blame for my late morning.”

She pressed her fingertips to her temples, closing her eyes for a drawn-out moment.

“Are you unwell?”

“No.”

Would she not even tell him something so commonplace as the state of her health or well-being?

“You are in time for lunch, however.” Miles kept to a safe topic, though he could feel the tension in the air between them. “And we are having a picnic.”

“A picnic?” She looked up at him. Beneath her solemn demeanor, Miles thought he detected some degree of interest.

Miles silently thanked Mama Jones for the suggestion. “Under the tree, in the meadow.”

A hint of a smile crept onto Elise’s face. “We picnicked under our tree quite often.”

“Do you remember the picnic when you refused to eat anything that wasn’t red?” The Epsworth cook had actually enjoyed trying to put together an entirely red picnic. Everyone had adored Elise.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever eaten so many strawberries in a single meal.” The memory lightened her expression, though she still looked burdened.

He silently listed those things he’d done for Elise the past few days that had been successful in the hope of hitting upon something that might help now.
Looking after Anne. Pleasant memories. Not pushing her to confide in me.
She seemed to be happy about the picnic. “Mrs. Ash, Anne, Beth, and Langley will be making up the picnic party,” he said. “The weather is quite fine.”

“And I am quite famished,” Elise said with a hint of forced humor.

Miles tried to laugh in response but found himself far too concerned for laughter. Elise did not look well. She was paler and more withdrawn. When she’d been small and her worry lines had appeared, he had kissed her forehead. The gesture had seemed to help then. It would be entirely unwelcome now.

“Anne is still a bit shy with Mrs. Ash,” Elise said. “I hope that will improve with time, but she has always been very wary of strangers. Except for you, oddly enough.”

“What is so odd about that?” Miles shrugged with as much feigned arrogance as he could muster. “I’m a very likeable fellow. Hardly anyone has disliked me enough to shun me or push me out of a tree or put dead fish in my bed. Hardly anyone at all.”

“If I promise not to inflict on you any further bodily harm, may I attend your picnic?” Elise asked.

She
did
want to attend. He hadn’t missed the mark so entirely.

“I really ought to extract a promise from you not to teach Anne to push me out of trees,” Miles said. “I’m not certain I’m equal to the task of keeping both of you at bay.”

“We would be a very formidable combination.”

“I believe it.” Miles chuckled.

“When is this picnic?”

“Right this very moment, actually.” He found her surprised expression immensely enjoyable. It was unguarded and completely honest.

Beth’s abigail had taken Elise’s measurements after she’d awoken, Miles had been informed, and would be sending them on to the seamstress in Sheffield, who would begin several dresses for Elise and bring a couple at the end of the week for a fitting. The rest of the day, therefore, was open.

When they reached the back doors, Humphrey handed Miles Elise’s cloak. He draped it over her shoulders.

“Are the others already gathered, then?” Elise asked as he led her around the house and toward the back meadow.

“I was sent to see if you were up and about and desirous to join us,” Miles explained.

No sooner had they reached the picnic blanket than Anne began gesturing frantically. Elise responded in kind. He needed to learn their shared language so he could be part of those conversations. He hated feeling left out of Elise’s life. He’d missed far too much as it was.

“The staff will bring out the meal in a few minutes’ time,” Miles said. “What shall we do while we wait?”

Anne watched him very closely as he spoke.
She has always been very wary of strangers. Except for you, oddly enough.
Though Anne wasn’t entirely comfortable with him, she seemed to like him, at least a little. He would work at building on that promising beginning.

“What would you like to do?” Miles asked her, looking at Anne directly as Elise always did when speaking to her. “We can do anything you’d like.”

She seemed a bit confused.

“A little slower and with fewer words,” Elise suggested. “Your accent is unfamiliar to her. And speak a touch louder, so she can hear more of what you say.”

Miles posed the question once more but more simply. “What should we do?”

He asked twice more before understanding lit her eyes.

“Run,” she said.

Miles smiled at the hopeful enthusiasm in her face. He nodded encouragingly. Quick as that, Anne hopped to her feet and ran into the open field.

Elise watched her, a look of love on her face that Miles remembered well on his own mother’s face. A moment later, Elise was on her feet, chasing her daughter through the grass. Her laugh echoed and jumped. Miles held his breath at the welcome sound of it.

I have been unhappy for a long time.
Elise’s words reverberated in his mind.

“You seem happy now,” he whispered to himself, watching her.

It was suddenly not enough to only watch. Miles slipped his jacket off, tossing it onto the picnic blanket, and ran after them. Anne glanced back at him again and again as if making certain he was still playing her game. Elise smiled broadly, and not even a hint of the weight he’d seen remained in her eyes. He had needed that moment, had needed to see, even for a fleeting instant, a carefree and happy Elise.

He found wildflowers and gave them, with an exaggerated bow, to Anne, who blushed quite endearingly. So Miles suggested they find a flower for the girl’s mother. Anne nodded her agreement and selected a daisy from her own bouquet and gave it quite solemnly to Elise. She accepted it and hugged Anne tightly before letting her run free once more.

Though Miles was far from perfect in his attempts to communicate with Anne, he was doing better. An impulse struck him, and remembering a similar experience with his father, he lifted Anne into the air and spun her around in a circle over his head. She squealed the oddest, most wonderful-sounding laugh he’d ever heard, which instantly had him laughing. Again and again he spun her until his own dizziness threatened to bring their game to an abrupt halt.

He set Anne on her feet. She swayed a little. When they were both finally steady, Anne gave him a brilliant smile—and had full claim to her very own bit of his heart. She ran in the direction of the blanket, no doubt to share their game with Mrs. Ash. Miles watched her as she ran, already formulating plans to improve his ability to speak to the sweet child.

He looked at Elise, intending to ask for suggestions on mastering Anne’s language, when he noticed a single tear slipping down her cheek. “Oh dear. What have I done now?”

Elise shook her head even as she swiped at her eyes. Miles’s handkerchiefs were in his jacket, else he would have offered her one.

“Are you upset?” he asked, unsure why she would be.

“No.” She even smiled a little. “Anne doesn’t laugh often. Hardly ever, in fact.”

Miles sighed in relief—these were tears of joy.

“And she smiled at you. She so seldom smiles. You must come try again.” Elise eagerly motioned him toward the picnic blanket.

Miles opened his mouth to answer but was cut off.

“Lord Grenton,” a woman called out from somewhere behind him.

He turned around and recognized her and the young lady at her side on the instant. “Mrs. Haddington. Miss Haddington. What a pleasure to see you again.”

The Haddingtons were his nearest neighbors, their estate sitting not a half mile up the road. They had been among the first to welcome him when he’d first arrived from the West Indies.

“We were passing by on our way back from Norwood and thought to ourselves, ‘We haven’t visited with Lord Grenton since his return to Tafford.’” Mrs. Haddington smiled at her daughter. “Didn’t we, dear? Didn’t we say that?” Her gaze returned to Miles. “We said just that.”

Miss Haddington met Miles’s gaze, an amused twinkle in her eyes. “Mother has missed you terribly, Lord Grenton.”

“I
am
rather missable.”

Miss Haddington laughed lightly. “I don’t believe that sounded quite the way you intended it to.”

“Mr. Haddington has been quite remiss in calling on you, but I am certain he will soon.” Mrs. Haddington jumped back into the conversation. “Is that Mr. and Mrs. Langley? I had hoped they would visit again.”

“Indeed, my sister and her husband mean to stay for a few more weeks, at least, before returning to their own home.”

“We must go bid them a good afternoon.” Mrs. Haddington made straight for the picnic blanket, motioning for her daughter to follow. “Offer her your arm, Lord Grenton,” she said in a scolding tone. “You are a gentleman, after all, and she is a lady. A gentleman always offers his arm. To a lady, that is. A gentleman wouldn’t offer his arm to a gentleman.”

“I can’t say that is something I’ve seen often.” Miles managed to keep his expression serious.

“Unless, of course, one of the gentlemen had sustained a wound of some kind and was weak from blood loss,” Mrs. Haddington continued. “Then it would be the gentlemanly thing to do, offering one’s arm.”

“Perhaps you should feign a desperate injury,” Miles said to Miss Haddington under his breath. “Otherwise, I can make no guarantees.”

“A lady need not be grievously wounded.” Mrs. Haddington hardly stopped for breath. “She simply needs to be a lady. And my daughter
is
a lady.”

“I am aware of that, ma’am,” Miles said.

Mrs. Haddington’s brows pulled in with confusion. “Then why haven’t you offered her your arm?”

“You’d best make the offer, Lord Grenton,” Miss Haddington warned him. “Otherwise, this conversation will never end.”

He held his arm out for her, and she accepted it with a smile. Mrs. Haddington looked the two of them over, then nodded her approval. She moved swiftly toward the picnic blanket, leaving Miles and Miss Haddington to follow in her wake.

“Forgive Mother,” Miss Haddington said. “She can be very single-minded, especially on such crucial matters as to whom a gentleman offers his arm.”

“And so she should. If we let matters of such importance slip, what would happen to this country?”

“We’d be France.” Miss Haddington managed the comment with perfect seriousness, but her smile won out in the next moment.

They reached the picnic blanket. Mrs. Haddington had already claimed all of Beth’s attention, and Langley was doing an admirable job of appearing pleased to be forced into listening to their conversation.

“Who is this?” Miss Haddington asked.

Miles followed her gaze all the way to Elise.
Elise.
When had she left his side? They’d been walking back to the picnic together when the Haddingtons had arrived. She must have walked away then.

“This is Mrs. Jones,” Miles said, bringing Miss Haddington to where Elise sat with Anne leaning against her. “And this lovely young lady is her daughter, Miss Jones.”

Anne looked excessively uncomfortable, pulling in closer to her mother. Elise didn’t quite manage a smile, neither did she look Miss Haddington in the eye.

“Mrs. Jones”—Heavens, it felt strange calling Elise that, but he did know how to make a proper introduction—“this is Miss Haddington of Ravensworth.”

Miss Haddington offered a very elegant curtsy. “I am so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Jones. Do you live nearby?”

Elise didn’t answer. Her mouth moved about silently. She clutched her hands tightly in front of her.

“Mrs. Jones is a dear family friend,” Miles explained. “My sister and I are enjoying some time together with her again.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Haddington looked more curious than Miles would have expected. “And
Mr.
Jones is . . . ?”

Elise’s chin rose, and a palpable surge of pride filled her posture and expression. “My husband was a soldier. He was lost in battle.”

Beneath her calm declaration lingered a hint of sadness. Until that moment, Miles hadn’t truly contemplated the grief she must have felt at losing her husband.

Her husband.
In his mind, she was still the fifteen-year-old girl she’d been before. He couldn’t entirely wrap his mind around Elise as a wife and mother.

“I am so sorry for your loss,” Miss Haddington said. “This war has brought heartache to so many people.”

“It has,” Elise said, her voice becoming quiet and withdrawn once more.

The food arrived in the next moment, and the Haddingtons joined the picnic. Conversation became general. Almost. Elise didn’t speak a word. Indeed, she sat with Mrs. Ash and Anne, a bit removed from the rest of the party. Anne’s unease was expected, but Elise’s surprised Miles.