Page 21 of A Single Obsession

Her spirits lifted when she caught Beau’s groom raising his eyebrows in his master’s direction behind Harriet’s back before turning a politely disinterested face toward her as he helped her climb back into the phaeton.

As she took her seat, she glanced across at Beau, and her spirits rose even more. He did not look smitten by the very obvious charms of Harriet Whitlow—he looked harassed.

They bid their farewells to the two ladies, and Beau turned his attention to his horses, letting out an audible sigh of relief as they drove away.

Eliza could not suppress a grin. In that moment, she was quite content. Seated beside Beau, she felt no need to talk as she enjoyed the breeze blowing on her face, cooling the annoyance from her heated conversation with Frances and Harriet’s flirtatious behaviour.

Beau seemed to appreciate the quiet and when they arrived back at her sister’s house, he gave her a definite smile of approval before handing the reins to his groom so he could help her down from the phaeton himself.

On balance, Eliza thought it was no bad thing that she had been forced to give up her seat to Harriet for a time. The contrast between them was so great that the comparison must benefit her. Beau had seemed so relieved to be rid of Miss Whitlow there could only be one interpretation.

A whisper of hope settled in Eliza’s heart. He preferred her to Harriet.

Chapter 9

By the time Easter Sunday arrived, Eliza’s confidence was waning. She had seen Beau often, and danced with him at every ball, but it was hard to keep believing he preferred her when he danced as much with Miss Whitlow.

Horrible Harriet pursued Beau relentlessly, and he seemed unable—or unwilling—to resist her. Eliza feared her rival would stop at nothing to catch him, even to the point of trapping Beau into marriage if the opportunity presented itself.

Eliza knelt in the pew of St George’s Hanover Square and prayed for forgiveness for the wicked thoughts she harboured toward her rival. She knew the Bible said she should love her enemies, but it was hard—so hard—to love Harriet Whitlow.

As she rose from her kneeling stance and retook her seat, she glanced across at the Harting pew. She could not seem to stop herself, although she’d already noticed Beau wasn’t there. She was disappointed he was missing church on Easter Sunday.

After the service had finished, Harriet approached her. She seemed to delight in mocking Eliza whenever the opportunity arose.

“Such a waste of a new bonnet,” she said, looking at Eliza’s hat.

“Why? I like to wear my best for church, especially as it’s Easter.”

“Because Lord Beaumont is not here,” she said, as if stating the obvious. “I saw you glance at the pew. Didn’t he tell you he would be absent?”

Eliza stiffened at Harriet’s mocking words. No, Beau had forgotten to mention he would not be in church today. Had he told Harriet? The possibility upset her, and she did not trust herself to reply.

“Frances says Beaumont only attends service because his mother requires it. I do not suppose he would take kindly to being obliged to attend church every week.”

“No, indeed. I don’t care to be obliged to attend church every week either,” said Eliza.

Harriet’s brow puckered. “And yet you must. Because of your father. And now, because you are staying with your highly religious brother-in-law. I daresay the habit is so ingrained, you would find it hard to stop.”

“But I have no wish to stop. I said I don’t care to be obliged to attend. I come because I want to.”

Harriet gave a muffled laugh, as if such a notion had never crossed her mind. “If we only came because we wanted to, the church would not be half this full, and Beaumont would probably never attend church at all, but spend the time with his precious horses instead.”

Eliza could hear the contempt in her voice and thought what a dreadful wife Harriet would make Beau. She despised what he loved. Horses. Racehorses.

Her lips spread into a wide smile as realisation dawned. She knew why Beau wasn’t here—he was at Newmarket for the races. No one would insist on his driving back from Suffolk to attend a service in London. How foolish of her to forget.

“But then, Beau’s absence today does not reflect a reluctance to be in church. It is unavoidable. Not even my father would expect it of him under the circumstances.”

She watched a look of disbelief descend onto Harriet’s face, followed swiftly by one of chagrin as it occurred to her that Eliza knew why Beau was not here. And she was sure Harriet did not, though she did her best to hide it.

“No, of course not. It would be quite unreasonable.”

“Indeed.” Eliza bowed her head toward Harriet before moving away to join her sister, unable to quell the distinct feeling of triumph she felt in having bested her rival.

She would pray for forgiveness for her uncharitable feelings later.

The following Tuesday, Eliza was obliged to visit the British Gallery with her aunt—and Harriet. She stared up at a painting, wishing for the tenth time that morning she had realised Beau was out of town before accepting the invitation. To spend hours staring at pictures without the balm of his presence was purgatory.