Blood Marriage (8 page)

Elizabeth left the maid and Dr. Bergen with her sleeping mother and went through the connecting door to her own room. There were three bedrooms in this wing of the house that looked out on the front lawns. All were connected by doors that led through small dressing areas. Judging by the décor, Elizabeth's room, the one in the center, with its deep burgundy curtains, massive oak bed, and equally large fireplace was the master's bedroom. To each side of it were smaller rooms. The one her mother occupied was done in frothy pink and white linens, the furniture delicate and girlish. The other bedroom sported more rugged furniture and was decorated in a boyish blue. It was clear the pink and blue rooms had been intended for children, the center bedroom for the parents. It was an unusual arrangement. Not only because it implied husband and wife would share a room, something uncommon among the titled class, but also because children of the upper classes normally occupied a nursery some distance from their parents. It was an odd. Yet it was exactly the arrangement Elizabeth would have desired for her own children. 

Heat stung the corners of her eyes. Tomorrow she might be a wife, but she would never be a mother. Even if she were to conceive -- a vision of Lord Devlin flashed through her mind and her stomach did an odd flip – there was little chance she would survive long enough to bring the child into the world. Elizabeth pushed the notion from her mind. She'd given up dreams of what might have been long ago. They were a painful waste of time. She would be grateful instead. Grateful that for now they had a roof over their heads and the finest medical care Devlin's money could provide. Grateful for the peace the coming wedding seemed to have given her mother. And perhaps even grateful – she thought of Devlin and her stomach did that odd flip again -- that she might not go to her grave a maiden.

As Margaret had promised, a redheaded parlor maid sat in one corner of the master bedroom. The girl's hands were folded primly in her lap and an astonishing number of boxes littered the floor at her feet. The maid stood, dimples appearing at the look on Elizabeth's face. 

"He must have bought out all of London," the girl said. She selected a box from the pile and set it on the bed before Elizabeth. "I'm Katie." She bobbed a curtsy as she removed the box lid, exposing a pair of slippers nestled in tissue. She lifted the slippers from the box and set them on the bed. They were fashioned of pure white silk over-stitched with pearl thread.

The design that reminded Elizabeth of a spider web.

"Aren't they lovely, miss? There's a pair of riding boots and several pair of house shoes as well." 

Elizabeth looked at the maid. The girl gave an apologetic shrug. "I couldn't resist a peek, miss. Only at the shoe boxes. You don't mind?" The expression on the young maid's face was so guileless that Elizabeth couldn't help but be charmed.

"I don't mind, Katie."

"Try them on, miss." 

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed and slid her feet into the white slippers. The fit was perfect. How could he have known? 

Katie opened a large flat box. The girl's gasp brought Elizabeth to her side. 

Together they lifted out a dress of liquid moonlight, its shimmering silk bodice embroidered with delicate white roses. A circle of the same tiny flowers, this time in pink, danced a few inches above the hem and along the low cut neckline. Elizabeth could almost hear Mrs. Huntington's voice:
It's what happens when you go beyond the pink roses
. Whatever his failings, her betrothed had a sense of humor. Elizabeth laughed. Katie looked offended. 

"But I've never seen anything so beautiful!" the girl exclaimed. "Don't you like it?"

"It's perfect, Katie." Elizabeth smiled her first real smile in months. "Absolutely perfect."

"Good." The deep masculine voice sent a tingle of recognition up Elizabeth's spine. She whirled around.

Devlin stood in the doorway that connected the blue bedroom to hers. His buff-colored breeches and long riding coat were covered with the dust of the road. His hair was windblown, his boots scuffed and muddy. Katie bobbed a curtsy, tucked the gown back into its box, and left, pulling the hallway door shut behind her.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said. She slipped out of the white shoes and pushed them beneath the bed with one stockinged foot, "for the doctor and the carriage and the clothes."

Devlin advanced into the room and what had seemed so generous a space just moments ago, felt suddenly small. He took a seat on the bed and gestured to the counterpane beside him. "We must talk, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth nodded. Entertaining a man in her bedroom, even a man who would be her husband in less than twenty-four hours, was more than irregular, it was scandalous. But Elizabeth was not in a position to complain. Nor did she want to. They did need to talk. He deserved to know the truth.

To avert scandal he'd done the honorable thing. But there was little point in saving the reputation of a dead woman. And that was what she would soon be. She sat beside him, avoiding his gaze by staring at the hem of her dress, beneath which she carefully tucked her slipper-less feet.

"You need not marry me," she began, trying not to think of what she might be giving up and the suffering it would cause her mother. "In the shock of the moment," she blushed, "after finding Mr. Fosse and Miss Blakely like that, you were hurt. I realize you announced our engagement as a way to save face, but you needn't go through with this. It wouldn't be fair." 

"You're right, Elizabeth. I haven't been fair." 

She looked up then and their eyes met. 

"I was upset that night in the garden," he said. "But not because of any deep feelings for Miss Blakely. I assure you I have none, other than a simple admiration for her as a sensible young woman with a good scientific mind. The fact that Mr. Fosse, one of my closest friends, hadn't told me the truth of how he felt for Amanda, that did hurt. He should have known better. But all has ended as it should have, with Leo married to the woman he loves."

"You do not need to marry me," she repeated.

"But I do, Elizabeth. And I will. Tomorrow night you will be mine." He reached out and wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger. The expression on his face made Elizabeth's heart race.

"You offered for me because Mrs. Huntington forced you to, because it was the right thing to do, because you thought I would be ruined, but none of that matters because--"

He leaned in close and Elizabeth forgot what she'd been about to say. His hand released the single lock of hair and slipped around the back of her head. He pulled gently. She came to him. His lips pressed against the inside of her collarbone and a delicious shiver ran through her. Her head fell back and she arched toward him. A path of slow fire followed the route his tongue traced up the side of her neck. She barely knew the man; she should be alarmed. Instead she felt mesmerized by the sensations tingling through her. 

He released her abruptly. She made a soft mew of protest. When she opened her eyes, he was standing in the open doorway, his back to the room, one hand clenched on the door frame.

"Devlin?" 

"I must change for dinner." His voice was strained, guttural. He didn't turn to face her. "The gown of moonlight and roses is for our wedding. There are others that will do for tonight." He started to leave.

"But we didn't talk," Elizabeth said. 

"Tonight," he said, and was gone.

Chapter Thirteen

"I had my wife cover the girl with a sheet, but otherwise all remains as it was found, right down to the wash basket. At least so my good spouse assures me." Mr. Dawes trotted across his back lawn, adjusting his paisley waistcoat with one hand, smoothing his thinning hair with the other. A bit of kidney pie, if Fielding didn't miss his guess, road along in one of his sideburns.

"My health being what it is..." Dawes lips tightened against a belch; his cheeks expanded in a toadish puff. "...I've not been able to be of great assistance. But my father was a magistrate, you see, so I know how this sort of business is to be handled and was able to give my good wife the best of instructions. She is gone now to share the harsh news with the girl's family." 

They reached the low-slung clothesline. Detective Fielding stepped around a basket of clothing and ducked between two fluttering shirts. No more than three yards distance from the abandoned basket lay a sheet-shrouded figure. Serviceable boots protruded from one end of the white linen. The top of a prim maid's cap was visible at the other. Fielding nodded to two uniformed bobbies and they moved a discrete distance away leaving Lennie Hodges standing alone on the opposite side of the body.

"She's a parlor maid. She wouldn't normally be hanging clothes, but my wife, being of soft heart, allowed the laundress a few days off to care for ailing parents." Mr. Dawes had followed the detective through the drying laundry. "Her name's Penny or Patty or some such. Mrs. Dawes will know, I'm sure."

Lennie dropped to one knee and lifted the sheet away from the maid's face. "What little sun there's been today will be down soon," he said. "Judging from the condition of the body, it probably happened this morning."

"This morning?" Fielding frowned at Mr. Dawes. "And she wasn't found until now?"

Mr. Dawes minced sideways at the detective's tone. "It's the servants' day off. Once they finish their morning duties of course. I don't track such comings and goings, but the household likely thought she'd taken herself off for the day. Found her when they went out to fetch the wash in." 

"Seems a footman was the last to see her alive," Lennie said. "Noticed her leaving the house just before dawn with a basket of hanging wash. He was in the yard walking a visitor's horse."

"You were entertaining visitors this morning, Mr. Dawes?" The man startled at the sound of the detective's voice, though Fielding was certain this time his tone had been as pleasant as Maria's plum pudding.

"One only. Lord Devlin had come to address a point of business for his father. It was his stallion my footman was walking."

"Address a point of business? Before dawn? Did you not find that odd, Mr. Dawes?"

"Deuced inconvenient. But he intended to quit London to travel to his country estate directly after our business was concluded and wanted to make an early start." Dawes glanced down at the body. His skin grayed and he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. "I fear I must be excused," he sputtered before dashing back through the sea of furling laundry, the morsel of kidney pie still riding his sideburn.

Lennie scowled at the retreating man, then spat tobacco hard at the ground. "No sign of a struggle," he said. With surprising gentleness he cupped his rough hand against the parlor maid's jaw and turned her head to one side, exposing her neck. "Same as Madame Nanette's shop girl."

Chapter Fourteen

Elizabeth left her mother in Margaret's care and returned to her own room through the connecting door. Katie, who'd been finishing the unpacking, set aside the clothes to peek out the hallway door.

"He's waiting for you near the stairs, miss." The maid cocked her head at Elizabeth. "I was right about the violet gown. It matches your eyes. If I had eyes like yours, I'd make sure that new footman, Lennie, never gave Margaret a second look." Katie closed the door to return to the unpacking. She picked up a white negligee and carried it through the clutter of boxes littering the room, opened a drawer, but didn't tuck it inside. Instead the young maid let the material glide over her hand. "It's like mist," she said and giggled.

Elizabeth blushed. The negligee was so sheer it was indeed little more than mist. Her hand sought her neck; her fingers tracing the line Devlin's lips had so recently traveled. A tingling sensation, one that was becoming too familiar, fluttered below her stomach.

After Devlin had left, she and Katie had spent almost an hour opening boxes, marveling at each new item. There were dresses for every occasion: day dresses, riding habits, evening gowns, and ball gowns. There were shoes, hats, ribbons, purses, and lacy under things. There was a robe and slippers. But the most shocking of the boxes was the one they'd opened last. Three scandalously sheer negligees had been nestled within: one black, one white, and one a stunning shade of red. Elizabeth had stuffed the night things back inside the box and shut the lid firmly, insisting it was time she dressed for dinner. Katie had dimpled prettily, but she'd gone in search of an appropriate gown.

Now Elizabeth smoothed guilty hands over the violet silk she wore, delaying the moment when she would go into the hall to meet Lord Devlin. Meet him and tell him the truth. 

"He's waiting. Are you well, miss?" 

"Yes, of course." Elizabeth hid her shaking hands by pretending to pat her hair into place. Katie had piled it high at the back of her head, allowing a few dark coils to escape to brush one shoulder. 

"You look pale, miss. Perhaps I should pinch some color into your cheeks." Katie reached out. Elizabeth ducked away, escaping across the room. She'd no wish to be bruised at dinner tonight or to have to explain to Devlin's guests why she was.

"I'm fine, Katie. Fine," she insisted, palms out to ward off the maid. Katie looked offended. 

"Perhaps," Elizabeth said, both to make peace and delay facing Devlin, "I should have a shawl. Or a ribbon about my neck."

"It isn't cold and you need no ribbon. Really, miss, it's good to keep a man waiting, but not too long." Katie opened the door and waved Elizabeth through. "He'll be pleased." The maid closed the door so close behind Elizabeth it actually tapped her bottom, propelling her into the hall.

"She's right." Lord Devlin stood near the stairwell landing. He'd exchanged his traveling clothes for formal dinner attire. He came down the hall and offered her his arm. "I am pleased."

Elizabeth couldn't meet his eyes. In a few moments she would tell him the truth. How would he react? She pressed her lips together, willing the trembling in her limbs to stop, and placed her hand on his arm. Together they walked to the landing. Elizabeth hesitated. The stairs seemed to descend endlessly into the cavernous entry hall below.