Page 82 of A Single Obsession

They stood in awkward silence. There seemed nothing else to say.

“I’m feeling a little warm,” Eliza said after a few moments. “I’d like to go inside.”

He nodded, and took her arm again, and they walked back to the house together without another word.

Beau thought he would be relieved she was still determined to marry him, but he wasn’t. How could he be when she looked more as if she had agreed to a death sentence than a wedding? He could see the emptiness in her eyes, and he knew he had caused it—and it made him feel like the worst scoundrel alive.

It was his fault she didn’t believe he loved her.

He had fought so strenuously against getting married that he had refused to admit his growing feelings for Eliza, and by the time Romeo was stolen, it was too late.

He should never have made that stupid bet. This wouldn’t have happened if he’d realised sooner how much Eliza meant to him.

Would she ever believe anything he said again? She intended to go through with the wedding, but all hope of a shared intimacy was at an end.

Beau did not know if he could bear it, though he supposed, for the sake of his stables, he must.

He’d already lost Romeo. Now, he’d lost Eliza too.

He didn’t want to be married to this iceberg. He would rather sell all his horses and live in retirement than see her over the breakfast table every morning, looking at him as if he were a stranger, remembering the laughter he had shut down by acting like a heartless cad.

Chapter 36

Eliza stared out the window of the travelling chariot as it trundled away from Holybourne House on its weary way to London. The carriage bore Beau’s coat of arms, but he was not inside.

An hour earlier, she had watched him leave for Epsom. Although he no longer had a horse to race, she had encouraged him to go with Anthony. She wanted him to know from the start that she would not come between him and his horses. That was where his priorities lay, and she, as his future wife, must respect it.

Her heart ached for the love she would never have. If only he loved her as he loved his horses, then she could have a proper marriage like Georgiana.

The next time she saw Beau, it would be for their wedding. A day she should have been looking forward to with joyful anticipation, but she now dreaded.

The last week of her stay at Holybourne House had been a strain. It was more difficult to feign indifference toward her betrothed than she had expected, and his determination to pretend an affection he didn’t feel made it even harder.

It was kind of him to try to make her think he wanted her. To try to restore her confidence in him. But it was an uphill struggle. It was her unwavering belief that his mother had put him up to it and the thought filled her with anxiety about the influence Lady Harting would have on their future life together.

Finch rode behind the carriage, leading Eliza’s horse beside his own. It was a beautiful day, but as far as she was concerned, it might as well have been pouring with rain. The bright weather was at odds with her feelings, which were as dismal as she had ever known them to be.

By dinnertime, she would be back at the Castlefords’ house in London, enjoying the balm of sisterly affection. It would not mend her broken heart, but it would soothe the pain of unrequited love. And maybe, though she thought it unlikely, she would tell her sisters how she felt. Despite her bitter disappointment at how strained her relationship with Beau had become, she was loath to confess the truth to anyone—even Georgiana.

She gave herself a shake. This was the path she had chosen. Her sister had warned her about him, but she had not listened, believing Beau could be something more than the downtrodden man his mother had made him.

But she had been wrong. He was as unreliable as Georgie had feared.

There was no point getting sentimental about what might have been. She sniffed in an unladylike manner, causing Sarah to clear her throat in disapproval. With an apologetic glance at her maid, she opened her reticule, found her handkerchief, and blew her nose.

Eliza wished it wasn’t so hot in the carriage. Perhaps she could let in some air. She pulled down the window and a light gust of wind tickled her heated face, but it wasn’t enough. If only she could get out of this stuffy atmosphere, she was certain she wouldn’t feel so miserable.

Without hesitating, Eliza rapped on the roof, signalling her desire to stop, and a few minutes later, the coach driver drew up at a far from fashionable looking inn.

“What devilry are you up to now, Miss Eliza?” asked Finch, drawing his horse alongside. “Don’t tell me you’re travel sick, because if you are, it’ll be for the first time in your life, and we’ve not travelled more than two or three miles.”

“But I am,” she said, glaring at her groom out of the window. “I am sick of travelling in this closed carriage already. I wish to ride. Have one of the men take down my trunk so Sarah can find my riding habit.”

Finch muttered under his breath as she ordered him to make her horse ready, but she refused to listen. He would try to persuade her not to follow such a foolhardy course. Remind her that the roads were dirty. That it was not appropriate for a lady of quality to travel by horseback on the post road.

But his recriminations were pointless. She had to get outside. Now. Or she would suffocate. Besides, she didn’t intend to ride along the turnpike road. They could take a route across country and meet up with the carriage at Farnham.

Not waiting to be released from her prison, Eliza opened the door and climbed down the steps. She breathed in the fresh air, allowing it to fill her lungs and calm her agitation. What a relief to be outside again.