Emily Hendrickson (22 page)

He shook his head, as though to clear it. “I ought to be asking your forgiveness. Elizabeth—”

“Well, well,” Egbert said from the doorway in his most insinuating voice, “what have we here? The rogue’s seduction? The rake’s ravishment? Dalliance with an innocent is so sweet.”

Elizabeth stepped away, in her mind echoing the soft swearing Lord Leighton made under his breath. She might have learned something, perhaps heard those words she longed to hear, had Egbert not made his unwelcome entry.

Then again, perhaps his intrusion kept her from seeing the truth again. That she would not have heard the words she longed to hear, rather the teasing of a seasoned rake, that dashing man about London who captivated more hearts than could be numbered.

What a silly little fool she was, to think she actually had seized his interest.

“I had something in my eye, and Lord Leighton was merely getting it out for me. The roads are so utterly dreadful in these rains.” Elizabeth fumbled in her reticule for a handkerchief, finding it in the very bottom. Dabbing her eye, she turned away so neither man could see the very real tears that now fell.

“Dusty too,” Egbert observed in malicious tones.

David assumed an amused look, then strolled across the room to confront his cousin. “I say, old boy, can you not think of something else to do but spoil my fun? May I remind you that my father strongly suggested you take off for London, or anywhere but here. I repeat his request.”

“I would not dream of leaving here with my uncle so seriously ill that no one, not even your soon-to-be-bride, can see him. What is it, David? Why the secrecy? Perhaps you grow tired of waiting for the earldom?”

“Egbert, that is quite enough,” David insisted in a firm but quiet tone.

“Really?” With his familiar contemptuous sneer tilting his mouth, Egbert sauntered from the room, leaving the door open behind him.

By the time David had collected himself, Elizabeth had dried her tears and composed her emotions.

“That was unforgivable,” he declared angrily.

“He is a very bitter man. Do you see now why I feel he might be responsible for the threat?” That David had called that precious kiss mere fun cut her deeply.

She might be inexperienced, but she knew better than to believe a rascal like David could change. No, she would finish what she had promised to do, then go away, with fond memories of the dashing Corinthian, her very own rake, even if but for a brief time.

A loose shutter banged against the house as the wind picked up. Rain slashed against the window panes of the French doors, and they began to rattle and shake as though an angry giant wreaked vengeance upon the house.

Elizabeth looked out in alarm. Once she might have been willing, even eager, to remain in this house overnight. Now she knew she must return to Montmorcy Hall, come what may.

“Surely you do not believe his spiteful words?”

She swung her gaze back to him, then dropped it to study the elegant carpet. “I scarcely know what to think, do I? As he said, I am a little innocent. Hardly the sort to appeal to a rogue like you. It is intelligent to
face
reality, my lord. And I believe I am quite sensible.”

A stir at the door brought her gaze up again. Filpot stood there, an apologetic expression on his thin face
.

“Excuse me, milord. Your father requests your presence.” He bowed most properly, then left the room.

“You had best go. And I as well. This was a harebrained scheme to have me here today. Ask Sidthorp to summon a carriage, please.”

“Elizabeth, nothing is as you believe. Nothing.”

He gave her a frustrated look quite as though he wished to say more, then
tore
himself from the room, marching down the hall, then up the stairs with impatient steps.

She glanced about the room, wondering if she would see it again. She noted a patch of damp beside the fireplace, and her thoughts turned to Jeremy Vane. At first she had believed him to be a fine steward. But now she wondered.

She had heard of dishonest stewards, men who lined their pockets with vast amounts of money while their masters, absent in London or the continent, believed them tending their jobs. Indeed, Victoria had worried about the management of their father’s estate once he was gone. The girls knew nothing of estate administration, and Victoria had done her best. But who knew if the steward was honest, or if he embezzled sums here and there, difficult to detect.

Elizabeth resolved to ask her sister’s new husband to look into the matter, if Victoria had not already done so.

She walked over to the fireplace to touch the spot of damp plaster. Odd.

“Miss Elizabeth, your coach awaits you.”

She turned away, then swiftly joined Rose, walking along the corridor as though she could not leave fast enough.

Sidthorp looked puzzled, but naturally said not a word. He held an umbrella over her while she entered the carriage, then he disappeared into the house before the coach had gone a few yards.

“A fool’s errand, that’s what it was, Rose. I ought to have stayed at home.” Elizabeth pulled the handkerchief from her reticule, blew her nose, then resolutely faced the wretched trip back to Montmorcy Hall.

Gibbons met her with the large red umbrella kept for such inclement weather.

Once inside the house, Elizabeth ignored questioning looks from her cousins. Instead she threw herself into planning the party.

“Do you think the rain will stop long enough for our guests to come?” Chloe asked with a dismayed look out the window.

“If I could travel on these roads, anyone could. Especially if they are as tired of being confined indoors as we have been. Mark my words, they shall be here.”

Hyacinth had not missed the grim inflection Elizabeth had not been able to keep from her voice.

“And what about Lord Leighton? Will he join us?”

“When I left the house, he had been called to his father’s room. I cannot say whether he will be able to come or not.”

“I would think if he had any tender sensibilities, he would stay home,” Chloe said. She inspected a vase she had filled with blooms from the greenhouse, turning it this way and that to see which angle proved the best.

“He is different,” snapped Elizabeth. “Do not expect the more tender sentiments from Lord Leighton. Recall that he is among the premier rakes of London.”

“I detect a bitter note in your voice, cousin,” Hyacinth said thoughtfully. “Am I to gather that the course of true love does not flow smoothly?”

Elizabeth gave a wavery chuckle, then plumped herself down on the sofa, proceeding to mangle a pillow while she spoke. “I believe that might be an accurate assessment of the situation. Except there has been no love from the beginning. It all stemmed from that silly superstition of Aunt Bel’s that I must marry the first man I saw on Valentine’s Day.”

Hyacinth sank onto a chair not far away from Elizabeth, looking at her with concern. “But if he was in your bedchamber in the middle of the night, what other conclusion can there be? ‘Tis not your fault the silly man climbed in your window because he knew you’d not see him otherwise.”

Chloe drifted over to join them, leaving her bouquet on a low table. “You had been in that room earlier, Hyacinth. Perhaps he intended to see you!”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, he claimed he knew I occupied the room, for he heard me singing, and you all know what a frightful voice I have.”

“How did he know?” Chloe demanded, her eyes wide and pretty mouth ajar.

“He had heard me sing whilst on our way back from target practice while in London. With that nasty spy sneaking into the house, Victoria decided we had better prepare for the worst. That is when I got in the habit of sleeping with my pistol beneath my pillow. I heartily wish I had never thought of the notion. If I had not shot the blasted man on Valentine’s night, I’d not be in this pickle now.”

“Are you in a pickle?” Chloe blurted out, fascinated by this glimpse of the older, most sophisticated girls’ lives. “What sort?”

“Ninny,” scolded Hyacinth. “Elizabeth is disappointed in Lord Leighton and being compelled to wed him.” She turned to look at Elizabeth, adding, “Although I should think it not so bad. He is most attentive to you whenever I have seen you together. If Lord Norwood paid me that much consideration, I should be in alt, not crying in my soup. I fear all is lost with that man, for he is more concerned with his gardens.”

“Who says I cry in my soup!” Elizabeth jumped to her feet and marched to the door. “I intend to do what I can to make the party an enormous success.”

“I wonder if John Harlowe will manage to come,” Chloe said as Elizabeth strode away.

Far from her cousins and their comments, Elizabeth paused by a window that just happened to face in the direction of Penhurst Place. What went on over there? She thought she could see smoke spiraling up from the chimneys.

Lord Augustus would have his fireplace in a roar, if he wasn’t nagging Egbert to play billiards with him. And David? Oh, she did hope that his father was all right.

A carriage appeared on the avenue, but rather than stop in the front of the house, clip-clopped around to the back. Curious, Elizabeth slipped down the servants’ stairs and out to the back hall.

Purvis stamped into the hall, shaking her umbrella with care, then setting it aside to remove her patterns.

“What happened? Why are you back home?”

Purvis straightened, giving Elizabeth a narrow look. “So you listened to the earwig, eh? I came back because there was nothing more I could do.”

She snapped her mouth closed and Elizabeth suspected that she would not say another word on the subject, come what may.

However, Elizabeth tried. “Is Lord Crompton dead?”

“What’s it to you if he is, missy?” the abigail snapped pertly. Then seeing the distress in Elizabeth’s eyes, she added, “No, not at this point, he isn’t.”

Once Purvis had returned to her quarters next to Aunt Bel’s room, Elizabeth wandered about, adding finishing touches to the rooms when she remembered where she was and what needed to be done.

By the following evening, the house stood in readiness. Chloe was all flutters and giggles, as might be expected in a young girl barely out of the schoolroom. Hyacinth worried about her looks, sure her gown was not quite right. Elizabeth was a bundle of sensibilities.

Acceptances had been received from all invited. Aunt Bel had expanded the original group to include the Harlowe family, Emma Fenwick and her family, plus a goodly number of other local notables. As far as Hyacinth was concerned, the only notable of importance was her marquess. Lord Norwood. All looked forward to a break in the tedium caused by miserable weather.

Elizabeth wondered if Lord Leighton would dare show his face.

“Your betrothed accepted, but I expect you knew he would be here,” her aunt informed her.

“Actually, I had no idea,” Elizabeth replied, tugging the neckline of her gown. She looked like a frump. The dress was dreadfully proper. Insipid French gauze over a turquoise silk slip decorated with a row of dainty silk roses about the hem looked horridly prim, what with the little puffed sleeves above her gloves. She tapped her sandaled foot impatiently, anxious for the evening to be over.

Since they were in the country, country hours would be observed. Dinner was to be at five of the clock, and all knew Lady Montmorcy’s insistence regarding time. None would dare to be late to one of her parties.

Hence, the carriages began to roll up before the house, laughing, chattering guests hurrying in to escape the light drizzle. Gibbons ushered each party inside with remarkable speed, then returned for the next group, holding his huge red umbrella aloft like a torch.

Only Lord Leighton was late.

Aunt Bel was very annoyed. “Ain’t like the boy to be late. He is usually most considerate. Cannot think what has happened,” she fretted softly to Elizabeth.

“I fear I know nothing about his plans. Aunt. The last I saw him we were not precisely in good footing with each other.”

“I did not realize you quarreled.”

Disregarding her aunt’s exasperated look, Elizabeth calmly, for she had practiced for hours at this, shook her head.

“Not quarreled, precisely. A mere difference of opinion.” How could she confess that she had been such a goosecap as to fall head over toes for a polished Corinthian from London who saw her as a delightful girl to tease?

“Well, that is all right, then,” Aunt Bel said, relieved.

They proceeded to dinner, Lady Montmorcy unable to tolerate lateness even in her dear Lord Leighton. Midway through the meal, a disturbance in the front hall brought Aunt Bel’s gaze to Elizabeth. A faint nod of her head, and Elizabeth excused herself from the table, hurrying out of the dining room.

Lord Leighton stood in the process of being brushed off by a horrified Gibbons.

“What on earth happened to you? You look as though you crawled through a hedge backward, my lord.” Elizabeth added the words of respect as an afterthought, being dumbfounded at David’s less than perfect appearance.

“Carriage overturned. Road’s a damn quagmire. Ought to know better than to have a party in miserable weather,” he grumbled.

“None of the others assembled seemed to have any difficulty.”

“None?” He gave her an arrested look, then turned to Gibbons with a softly spoken request. The butler nodded, then bustled
off
in the direction of the kitchen.

“I suppose your aunt will never forgive me for being late.”

Elizabeth allowed a prim smile. “You are a favorite of hers. Like Lady Jersey, she has a soft spot for rascals. Given the circumstances, I would wager you can slip into your place without any difficulty. Come.”

Why, she was being so nice to the blasted man was beyond her. Yet he winced as he moved, and limped slightly as he walked along with her to the dining room.

Aunt Bel was properly horrified at the accident. At Elizabeth’s side. Lord Leighton managed a wicked grin under the cover of his napkin.

She ignored him the best she could, given the fact he sat next to her and frequently brushed up against her, thanks to Aunt Bel cramming so many people at the table.’