Mary walked back to join her husband, Robert, and Elizabeth darted…or, slid…toward the inviting door on the edge of the ballroom.
No one seemed to notice her open the door and slip through. One glance around the dim hallway told Elizabeth this was not a part of the home in which she was supposed to be. The ladies’ retiring room must have been through a different door.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, looking both ways down the empty hallway. Her palms were sweating and butterflies fluttered in her stomach in the way they always did when an adventure was in the making. Thoughts of spending the remainder of the night exploring the halls played in her mind. It could be like a game, trying to avoid detection, like a…no.
Focus, Elizabeth. You are an adult now. Act like one.
She refocused her attention on the matter at hand, raising her gown and removing her slipper to inspect it. Of course. Irreparable. She flicked the limp hanging sole, no longer attached to the rest of the shoe, and silently cursed its delicate fabric.
“There you are.”
Elizabeth jumped and turned toward the man who had just stepped into the darkened hallway with her. He glanced quickly over his shoulder, peeking out the door before closing it.
Oliver Turner.
Chapter Two
Elizabeth hugged the banister rails as she waited to catch sight of Carver and his new friend, returning from boarding school for the summer holiday. Miss Emma had assured Elizabeth that she would fetch her from the nursery just as soon as Carver stepped through the door. But Elizabeth was ten years old now and much smarter than her stuffy governess suspected. She knew that Miss Emma would wait until Carver and his friend had settled in and had tea with Mama and Papa before she ever went to collect Elizabeth. That’s why Elizabeth snuck away from the nursery the moment Miss Emma had stepped away to fetch a book, and now waited on the second floor landing, peering through the banister rails, full of anticipation.
She didn’t like that Carver had to go away to school for most of the year. It seemed unfair that she should get to remain at Dalton Park for her education while Carver had to live at Eton with no mothers and no sisters and only a slew of smelly boys to keep him company. She had missed him more than anything while he was away and was already concocting a plan to convince Papa that Carver should stay home for his studies and have a tutor rather than be sent off to school again. Of course, Papa had tried to trick Elizabeth when he said that Carver was actually enjoying his time at Eton. But Elizabeth didn’t believe him.
She knew her big brother missed her just as much as she missed him.
A knock sounded at the door and Elizabeth pressed her face in between the spindles to get a better view. Their butler, Henley, walked to the door and grasped the knob. Elizabeth heard Mama’s swishing skirts before she saw her rushing toward the door. “They’re here!” Mama called out over her shoulder.
Mama had missed Carver, too. She knew because Elizabeth had seen Mama crying one day in the garden and, when she had asked her what was wrong, Mama said her heart was made up of five pieces—one for Papa, and another each for Elizabeth, Mary, Kate, and Carver. She said one of her pieces was away at school and she couldn’t wait for it to return.
Elizabeth’s own heart raced as Henley opened the door. Mama stretched out her arms and Carver stepped through the door to wrap Mama up in one of his big hugs. Elizabeth couldn’t wait for one of her brother’s hugs. He would probably even pick her up and spin her around as he always had. Elizabeth stood, ready to rush down the stairs and claim her brother’s attention, when suddenly another boy stepped through the door.
She froze and sat back down, shrinking behind the banister and peeking through the rails once again. She’d never seen this boy before. Carver had written home and asked if his
friend, Oliver Turner, could come stay for the summer holiday with him. Papa, of course, had agreed because he always loved to stuff the house with as many people as he could. But Elizabeth was a little worried that this new boy was going to take away Carver’s attention.
Mama released Carver, after saying words Elizabeth could not make out, and looked behind him to Oliver Turner. Elizabeth thought Oliver looked a little nervous. Mama smiled and gave Carver’s new friend the same hug she had given Carver. The look on Oliver’s face was strange. It was the same sort of look she had seen on Miss Emma’s face when Elizabeth had surprised her with a bouquet of picked flowers—like she wasn’t quite sure they were meant for her but was happy to receive them anyway.
Why did he look that way?
Elizabeth continued to watch, still unsure of this Oliver Turner and not ready to announce herself yet. Papa’s happy voice boomed into the room as it always did before he came into view. She could hear and see them all exchanging more hugs and greetings, but Elizabeth never looked away from Oliver. He didn’t look like Carver. She knew he was the same age as her brother—fifteen years old—but his hair was lighter and he wasn’t quite as tall. But then again, no one was ever as tall as her big brother. The biggest difference between Carver and Oliver was that Oliver looked a little scared. He stepped back as Papa approached him. Papa looked like he was going to hug Oliver but then he paused and, instead, slowly extended his hand. Oliver stared at Papa’s hand a moment before taking it. After the handshake, Oliver smiled—a little tentative, but it was still a smile.
Everyone started moving out of the foyer and toward the drawing room. Elizabeth didn’t stand up, but she hoped Carver would look up and see her, race up the stairs, and capture her in a hug like he always did. But he was laughing at something Papa had said and walked right by without seeing her. Her smile fell and she let go of the rails. It wasn’t Carver’s fault. She was probably just too high up for him to see her.
Elizabeth was just preparing to stand up when Oliver stopped walking. She froze, trying to remain undetected by this boy who she wasn’t sure about yet. His blue eyes bounced over the foyer and then up the stairs until they landed on her. Elizabeth gasped. She didn’t smile or move. Oliver seemed startled to find her there at first, but then he smiled a nice, kind smile and raised his hand to her in a soft wave.
Something strange and new happened. It felt as if a thousand flutters rushed into her stomach.
She wasn’t sure about those feelings, or about the boy with the blue eyes. But he seemed nice. And for some reason, she liked that he saw her.
Elizabeth simultaneously relaxed and tensed, just like she always did in Oliver Turner’s presence.
He walked toward her, his impressive frame even more alluring in the darkness. A subtle light played across his face—the warm glow caressing the skin of his jaw in a way that Elizabeth longed to. “What are you doing in here, Lizzie?”
Lizzie.
He’d been calling her that name since she was ten years old. Every time she heard the nickname she had to try very hard not to wince. It sounded childish, a constant reminder of how he saw her: his darling little longtime friend.
“Nothing,” she said, quickly placing the torn slipper behind her back.
He grinned, his usually bright blue eyes looking as dark as midnight in the dim light of the hallway. “What do you have there?”