Emily Hendrickson (21 page)

Lord Norwood unbent sufficiently to talk to David most knowingly about planning gardens. It seemed that Norwood had rather grandiose plans for his own estate, not far from Oxford. He had consulted several landscape specialists, and brought forth a piece of paper upon which he sketched the final design that would be implemented once the weather proved more amenable.

While the two gentlemen had their heads together over the gardening discussion. Lady Chloe and John Harlowe, Hyacinth and Peregrine Forsythe—George Barr having found it necessary to take his leave—chattered away with great amiability. Although, as Hyacinth confided to Elizabeth when they retired to wash their hands and check their hair and bonnets, she could never be serious about Peregrine.

“Fancy being Hyacinth Forsythe, if you please!”

Elizabeth chuckled, seeing how amusing it would sound. She wished she could share the silly whimsy with David, but when they joined the gentlemen, he still discussed gardening with Lord Norwood.

Oddly enough. Lord Norwood became quite animated when he found something that deeply interested him. He lost that rather stuffy mien, and his eyes crinkled up in a pleasant way. He really was attractive, with his hair tousled by a distracted hand that he thrust through it while pointing out the importance of proper fertilizer.

Hyacinth was in a miff. “I vow,” she whispered, “he is excessively tedious.” There was little doubt as to whom she referred.

Only the entrance of the serving maids and the innkeeper with the platters of food prevented Hyacinth from making a cake of herself. She darted annoyed glances at Norwood, then bent her attentions on Mr. Forsythe with devastating results. The poor man was overwhelmed. Elizabeth could have swatted her cousin with very little encouragement.

“I beg your forgiveness, Elizabeth,” David said quietly while the others began eating the excellent meal. “I do not usually neglect my lady when I can have the pleasure of her company.”

“Fertilizer is by far the more important, I suspect.”

“What, are you piqued too?”

“Not really,” she replied, grinning when he glanced at Hyacinth. “I wonder that I was ever that young, although we are only a year apart in age.”

“May I say the time sits well on your shoulders?”

“You may say anything, sir. Whether I shall believe it is another matter.”

“We ought to find a bonnet to go with that pelisse,” he said, throwing Elizabeth completely into a dither.

“I’ll have you know that it is bad enough for you to order that pelisse for me. To buy a bonnet would be totally beyond the pale.”

“At least you did not call me sir,” he grumbled.

Elizabeth thought it quite good that he failed to get his way. To her thinking, any gentleman who got his way too often became so spoiled as to be hopeless. Not that she wouldn’t pamper a husband with loving care. Thankful the talk was loud and that no one seemed the least noticing of her, she nibbled her food. Finding it surprisingly delicious, she ate a disgustingly hearty meal. So much for the theory that lovelorn maidens wasted away on sighs. Not but what she couldn’t sigh. That she might do very well without any doubt.

The happy party broke up shortly after that. Lord Norwood and Mr. Forsythe promised to join them for a small party at Montmorcy Hall two evenings hence.

Once in the coach, Hyacinth bubbled and bounced until Elizabeth longed to tie her in the corner.

“I trust you have found the trip to your liking. Miss Hyacinth,” David inquired.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, batting her lashes at him in her delight. With Hyacinth flirting seemed to come as naturally as breathing.

Lady Chloe giggled, as young girls do when encountering something vastly amusing.

“What a good thing we left those horrid pattens in the carriage. We had not the least need for them,” Hyacinth declared as they entered the avenue to the Hall.

When the coach pulled up before the Montmorcy house. Lady Chloe and Hyacinth got out, then bobbed proper curtsies and expressed their pleasure as well-reared girls ought.

Elizabeth was detained by the simple expedient of being kept in the coach awaiting David’s help. At last he turned to assist her down the steps.

At her cool look he gave her an amused grin. “I want to see you at Penhurst Place on the morrow. Shall I send my carriage for you?”

“Odious man, to take it for granted I shall come at your bidding. I planned to stay here and not return.”

“But you will,” he replied with confidence.

“Very well, but only because I care about your father and wish to see how he goes on,” she added truthfully.

He smiled a wry acceptance of her words, entered the coach, then waved farewell to her.

She stood by the front door, watching as his coach disappeared down the avenue. Something was up. She could feel it in her bones. But what?

Chapter Twelve

“Oh, drat and botheration!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

A wheel of the coach slid into a particularly deep rut, and she found herself tossed about, nearly landing on the floor. She wondered if she had been wise to attempt the trip to Penhurst Place. Righting herself, she glanced at Rose, who sat in wide-eyed silence as they jounced along the country road.

“It looks to rain again,” Elizabeth commented.

“Yes, miss,” Rose replied dutifully.

Deciding that she preferred peace to attempting a conversation with the taciturn maid, Elizabeth fell to contemplation of her trip to Dorking. David had been all that was amiable, seeing to their every need, especially hers. She had enjoyed their time in the bookshop. Aunt Bel had exclaimed with delight over the novels, declaring they were just the thing to ward off the green melancholy in this dismal spring weather. She had not found a superstition to cover the rain, but she still searched.

Elizabeth ought not have permitted him to buy her the pelisse. Yet when confronting Aunt Bel with the matter, that most proper lady shrugged it off, reminding Elizabeth that not only was it a very nice gesture from Lord Crompton to replace the ruined garment, but that since Elizabeth was practically married to Lord Leighton, there was nothing inappropriate in the purchase.

Chloe and Hyacinth were no better. Of course, their interest was captured by the coming party to be held at Montmorcy Hall. Elizabeth could not truly be surprised at their dismissal of her concerns.

So she was essentially alone, with no one in whom she might confide her fears. For every instinct in her body told her that danger lurked somewhere nearby. Bizarre, but there it was. Something in David’s face had given her the clue. That and an intuitive sense within. Logic as well. For if there was someone who wanted the earldom badly enough to find a way to poison the present earl— supposing that to be true—surely that same person would do away with any other who stood in his way? A man had to be utterly mad to think he might get away with such a scheme. Yet it was terribly difficult to detect a smidgen of poison artfully concealed.

If Lord Crompton was intended for elimination, would his son not be next? Why could they not figure out what substance was being used? And from where it came? She knew that poison was extremely difficult to detect. Even doctors found it difficult. But still... It had to be someone in the house.

But Jeremy Vane? That mild-mannered, unassuming man who was politeness itself to Elizabeth? She couldn’t accept him as a reasonable suspect. Egbert Percy was the likely one.

Actually, no part of the situation made sense, real sense, to her in the least. But then, murder was a frightening, stupid act and poisoning the grimmest. Victoria had dealt with murder, but Elizabeth had been more sheltered, as had most young women her age.

Further speculation ceased when the coach drew to a halt before Penhurst Place. Even on a cloudy day, the house wore a welcoming look. What a pity that strange circumstances brought her here, for she found the house, and its occupants—excepting Egbert Percy—charming.

The door opened wide and Sidthorp watched her walk up the steps, waiting to usher her inside. “Good day, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Where shall I find Lord Leighton, please?” She removed her gray cloak, handing it to the butler, but left her bonnet on, as was proper. It was a small, rather neat bonnet of warm gray velvet, its narrow brim trimmed with a bunch of coquelicot feathers. Her gloved hands nervously played with the cords of her reticule.

“Come to hold my cousin’s hand?” Egbert sauntered from the drawing room wing into the central hall, a superior sneer on his face as he observed her start.

“Not really. I do wish to see how your uncle goes on.”

“Ha! They won’t let you see him. Not even m’father sees him. I think the old chap is dead, and they are keeping it a secret until whatever my dear cousin seeks is found.”

At her look of alarm he smiled, a particularly snide smirk, then continued, “I am not deaf or blind, you know.” His gesture encompassed the library and drawing room wing, for he had drawn her along with him down the corridor, out of Sidthorp’s hearing.

“You had best ask David,” Elizabeth said discreetly.

“Do you really think you have truly captured him? He shows no inclination to marry, in spite of the ring you wear for the moment. I expect you are merely a ruse to help hunt for whatever it is he seeks. Recall, my dear girl, that David is a king among rakes. Whatever would he do with an innocent like you?” He drew back to peer at her with an exaggerated leer. “Do not tell me you really believe him to be in love with you? That is too, too amusing. Remember, David adores being amused, dear girl.”

“People change,” she said, her voice stiff with anger.

“I doubt that he will. But I daresay you have provided him with no end of
amusement.
Country life can be so deadly dull. A chap needs a bit of excitement to liven things up. I shouldn’t be surprised if the betrothal is all a hum just to have you here.” He strolled away from her side, down the hall, turning partly to add, “But then, some women think they can reform a rake. I say, once a rake, always a rake. He could have his pick of the cream in London. Do you really think you could satisfy him?”

Elizabeth watched Egbert disappear around the corner toward the billiards room. Most likely he would meet Lord Augustus there to commence their tedious rounds of play.

She turned in the opposite direction to walk slowly into the library. A look out of the window revealed that the rain had begun again. If it kept up, they most definitely would need that ark. Or a boat of some sort. Water stood along the roads, fields looked more like ponds.

And she was avoiding her dilemma. David.

How lowering to have to face the truth.

“Elizabeth. Sidthorp sent word you had arrived. Good to see you, my dear.” David entered the room, then stopped. Something in her expression must have warned him that all was not as it should be.

She studied his face. Did Egbert have a basis for his words? Would David honor Aunt Bel’s insistence the he and Elizabeth marry? Or did he merely toy with her affections?

“David? Kiss me.”

She had clearly startled him, not to mention herself. Whatever she intended to say to him, it was not these words. But she did want to discover his real feelings for her. The words hung in the air between them. They had been spoken.

He took a step toward her, then halted, looking exceedingly uncomfortable. “Elizabeth, be serious. You know full well I dare not kiss you.”

It hadn’t stopped him before, she reminded herself. Her inner mind had been correct, as had Egbert. David had his own reasons for involving her in his scheme, but it did not include love. Perhaps not even regard.

She thought she saw regret on his face, a hint of something else as well. Whatever it was, it was an emotion she didn’t recognize.

Pride rushing to her rescue, Elizabeth pinned a polite smile on her face. This was the prime rake of London. She had best remember that. He was not to be
her
rake after all.

“Good morning, my lord. Forget those silly words. I cannot think why I said them.” Her laugh was a trifle forced, but she managed it. “Now, what do you hope to do today?”

She crossed to the desk, studying the house floor plan that lay spread out there. “Is there a room we have forgotten, some attic or cellar?” She glanced back over her shoulder to give him a bland, politely inquiring look.

“Elizabeth, for pity’s sake, what is going on?”

“Nothing, my lord. Not one thing.” She turned to face him, noting the confused look on his handsome face. He was no more bewildered than she. “How long do you wish me to wear this ring? I worry about it. I shall not feel easy until it is safely returned to you.”

She extended her hand toward him after slipping off her glove. “As it is, I am very careful always to wear my gloves. Chloe laughed when I came to breakfast with them on. I shall take no chances, my lord.”

He approached her with a wary look on his face, as though expecting her to do something extraordinary. Like bite. He took her slim hand in his strong, capable one, glancing at the beautiful diamond, then turning that remarkable hazel gaze on her face.

She stiffened her spine, and her resolve as well. There was only one phrase he could
say
that would alter matters now, and she strongly doubted he would utter those words.

He didn’t.

Elizabeth found herself in his arms, with his lips seeking hers in a hungry, searching kiss. Did he think to uncover her very soul this way? For one mad moment she yielded, for she knew this would be the last of his kisses for her. Then she tensed.

His hands were not idle. From cradling her head just so, they had slipped over her body in a most familiar way, and now compelled her intimately close to him.

She broke free. Somehow her arms had found their own way around him, and the fingers of her ungloved hand had thrust up into those tumbled brown locks, twining possessively in them as though she had that right. “Forgive me. I feel quite foolish,” she said in a strangled voice most unlike her normal tone.

Her hands slid down to his shoulders, but neither of them moved away from the embrace.