Emily Hendrickson (4 page)

Determined to keep the matter as unromantic as she could, Elizabeth said, “It was all a hum, you know. I believe I mentioned he is the greatest tease in all of London. I daresay this prank will cause him to think before he tries such again.” Elizabeth strolled back into her bedroom, glancing longingly at her pillow, wishing she might crawl beneath the covers and sleep for a week.

“A prank?” Hyacinth said, looking puzzled. “He strikes me as being past that sort of thing. I cannot agree.”

“Nor I,” added Chloe, a dreamy expression on her sweet face. “It is far too romantic, the handsome nobleman who climbs the vines to see his true love.” Her dramatic sigh caused Elizabeth to seethe. “And just to speak with you?”

“It is not romantic in the least. Oh, he is the most vexing creature alive!” Her eyes sparkled with indignation and something else neither of her cousins seemed to identify.

“Dear Elizabeth,” cried Chloe, much affected by the thrilling event which had occurred in her dull life, “you are worn to flinders, and we stand here nattering on like a tea party. Forgive us, do.”

Hyacinth also recognized that her cousin needed sleep more than a coze and returned to the door. “We can discuss this later. I should like to know what it was like to nurse such a handsome man through the night.”

That was precisely what Elizabeth wished to avoid until she had consulted her aunt, and possibly talked the problem over with the invalid in the room across the hall. She crawled beneath the covers of her bed, inhaling the oddly comforting scent of brandy and sandalwood that remained from the previous occupant.

* * * *

Some hours later, feeling refreshed and well rested after her sleep, Elizabeth dressed herself in a warm gown of an unusual berry red color. Draping a cream wool shawl over her shoulders, she peered around her door; then seeing not a soul around, she ventured into the hall. Tiptoeing to the door of the blue room, she paused, listening.

Not
a sound.

Depressing the door lever, she peeked inside to see his lordship propped up against several pillows. The snowy sheet was tucked neatly about him. He was now dressed in a proper nightshirt. And he looked bored to death.

“Come in,” he whispered. “I trust you have satisfied yourself that I still live, no thanks to you.”

“Good morning.” She noted his wince and recalled the brandy, not to mention the pungent odor he had brought with him. Bristling with irritation, she thrust the door open wider, leaving it ajar, then stepped closer to him.

The blue silk hangings on the walls matched those draped over the bed. The carpet was a dull mixture of blues and tans, and added to the masculine appearance of the room. All this she ignored, concentrating on the man.

“You know full well that if you’d not had the harebrained notion to call upon Hyacinth in the middle of the night, we should not be in this pickle now.” There. It was out in the open. She waited to see what he would say in his defense.

His stare was quite disconcerting, she decided after a few moments had passed. “Well, have you nothing to say for yourself?”

“I have a better understanding of what a fellow who has been tried and judged before opening his mouth must feel like. You have it all wrong, you know,” he said softly.

“Until last night, Hyacinth occupied what is now my room. Aunt Bel had a vision, you see, and decided we must change rooms,” Elizabeth added by way of explanation, although why it was needed, she wasn’t sure. “Your informant could have no way of knowing of that change, surely?”

“I had no informant, other than the knowledge that you resided with your aunt in this house. You gave me the information yourself,” he proclaimed with satisfaction.

“I have not seen you in months, sirrah.” She had been unable to conceal a start of surprise at his words. “There is no way that you might have learned such from my lips.”

When he shifted his gaze from her eyes to her mouth, Elizabeth groped about for a chair and sank down upon it, her knees feeling oddly weak.

“I have been trying to see you for an age, it seems. I need your help.”

This pronouncement brought Elizabeth a feeling of alarm. “You
needed
to see me?”

“Indeed. And as for your location, I heard you singing in your room, and knew it could not be anyone else. I recalled your rather, ah, unique voice.” He gave her a faint grin, and Elizabeth shifted back against the chair.

Nodding somewhat regretfully, she said, “That has the ring of truth, for I was singing before I went to bed. You ought not have been in the cold for so long. You must have waited a long time while I went to sleep.”

Her scolding brought a wider grin. “That wisteria vine is handy. I managed to climb up and down with ease. Your aunt ought to have it cut back, for it makes it far too simple for a thief to enter the house.”

“As you did,” she reminded him.

“Quite so. Now that we have settled the matter of the not-mistaken identity or mixed-up rooms, shall I reveal why I was bound to see you?”

She gave him a judicious look. While dying to know what had prompted such drastic action on his part, she feared he would overdo, and subside into a decline. “If you are certain it will not make you tired, I should like to comprehend such outrageous behavior.”

“Not going to make this easy, are you?”

“No.” She clasped her hands in her lap, and waited with outward patience.

“I needed someone I could trust and depend upon. You know I came here because my father was unwell. Dr. Dibble has done what he could, but ... It’s all dashed peculiar. I need your help.” He gave her a beseeching look, glancing pointedly at his wound as though to remind her that she owed him something. “He should be improving, yet he declines.”

Any romantic notions Elizabeth might have harbored sank at once. “How can I help? I am not a nurse, although Purvis has tried to train me.” She frowned at him, puzzled.

“My father has always had a constitution of iron, but lately he has failed badly. I fear something havey-cavey is going on. Pretend to nurse him, but I want you to keep your eyes open. I suspect everyone, but I can trust you.”

She blinked at this encomium from a man who usually teased her to death.

“I knew you had aided the government before coming here. I have not forgotten your engraving banknotes. When Edward told me I was amazed at your daring. I figured that someone who knew how to hold her tongue and had a lively curiosity would be ideal.”

“Ideal for what?” Elizabeth asked warily.

“I had hoped to take you over to Penhurst Place, to see what you might uncover,” he repeated patiently.

Even as he spoke, Elizabeth realized that while she had conversed with him, he had abstained from his previous mocking manner in London. Rather, he treated her more like an equal, or at least like someone who possessed a particle of sense. Yet she wavered, aware others would deem her behavior improper.

Apparently mistaking her hesitation for a refusal. Lord Leighton continued his appeal: “Could you go to the house, bring the message to my valet, and inform my family I shall be gone for a bit? At least Sidthorp, our butler.” He did not explain why the butler rated such attention. “I had thought you might tell your aunt that I have need of your nursing skills. You might come with me when I return home.”

He glanced at his neatly bandaged arm and added, “I ought to send Purvis along. Perhaps she could determine what ails my father. Dr. Dibble certainly is puzzled, not that Father permits him around all that much. Detests the man. Calls him a quack.”

Considering his request, Elizabeth found it impossible to deny. Not only had she been bored, she did not welcome the idea of attending the Valentine’s Day ball and be subjected to the inevitable gossip that must be circulating by now, given the nature of things and the way servants talked.

“I shall be glad to do as you request. At least, I shall see that your valet brings what you wish, and I will inquire after your father.” She felt dreadful about shooting Leighton, and felt she ought to make amends. She rose and walked to the door, pausing there to add, “I shall also attack Aunt Bel, to explain why we simply cannot be wed. This silly superstition about marrying the first man one sees on Valentine’s Day is just that—silly. I doubt if you wish it either.” Not wanting to hear him agree with her, she held up a finger for silence, then went on. “You had best rest now, for you must be fearfully tired after all that explanation.’’

Not waiting for a reply, she left the room, unaware of the sly grin on his face, closing the door quietly behind her before swishing down the stairs in search of her aunt. One thing at a time.

She ran her to ground in the room given over to the ball. Actually, it was three rooms that opened on to one another. Sliding panels could be pushed back into slots so that the area could become one huge room, as now. It was an eminently practical arrangement, offering flexibility without the problem of having an enormous room delegated to being a mere ballroom.

“Aunt, we must talk, if you please.” Elizabeth did not have high hopes of making her aunt see sense. When Aunt Bel became convinced of something, that was usually it.

“Naturally, dear girl. You wish to establish a wedding date, one that will be good for a woman born in April. May is unlucky. Best consider June. Monday for wealth, but Wednesday is the finest of all days to be married.”

“No,” Elizabeth cried in frustration. “Not in the least. You must see that this entire situation is impossible. You cannot force his lordship to wed me merely because he stumbled into my room after midnight.”

“I could do that even if he stumbled into your room
before
midnight. “ ‘Tis not the thing, you know.” Her look of reproach brought Elizabeth to a halt. “Propriety!”

“I do not wish a forced wedding, Aunt Bel,” Elizabeth replied through clenched teeth. While she might be compromised, just how many knew? Compromise be damned.

“Nonsense. You are of an age to be married; he is a handsome young man with a tidy fortune who needs a wife. What else is there to consider?”

“Why not try a different custom?” Elizabeth begged, bringing forth the one she’d gleaned from one of the maids. “Each girl may write the names of three beaux on slips of paper, wrap each in clay, then plop the clay balls in a bucket of water. The first to bob to the surface will be her valentine. It would be different,” she concluded with hope in her voice.

Aunt Bel stared off into space for a time, evidently considering the custom from every angle. “Noooo, I think not. Besides, Leighton’s name would likely be the one to pop up, anyway. I take these things seriously, you see.”

Exasperated beyond belief, Elizabeth frowned, then replied, “I shall not marry the man, you know. Geoffrey has to give his consent, and he will listen to what I say.” She actually didn’t know that for a fact, since it had been a long time since she had talked with her brother. But she hoped he would pay heed to her reasoning, and have no more liking for a forced marriage than she did. If she could reach him before Aunt Bel acted.

“By the bye,” Elizabeth said before she disgraced herself by losing her temper with her aunt, “Lord Leighton has requested that I check on his father, and also bring a note to his valet for certain things he wishes to have. His family needs to be told of this, and I am the most likely one to bear the news. Will that be acceptable, ma’am?”

“By all means. Be sure to take Rose with you.”

Elizabeth welcomed the presence of her maid as a buffer against whatever might befall her at Penhurst Place. Although what that might be, she couldn’t guess.

Leaving her aunt directing the placement of satin hearts, Elizabeth recalled she had yet to consume any food that day. She wandered to the breakfast room, where she found a selection of cold meats and rolls, a salad of sorts, and a torte set on the sideboard for anyone who wished a nuncheon. She filled a plate, then sat at the far end of the table by the window, where she could look out at the dreary scene. If it did not snow it would be a wonder, for the leaden skies looked ready to dump several feet of the stuff before nightfall.

“There you are!” Hyacinth declared as she peeped into the room. She marched in, remarkably as her aunt was wont to do, then plumped herself down at the table. “I must hear all!”

“Precious little to tell,” Elizabeth replied after a bite of cucumber pickle. She surveyed the assortment of food on her plate, and assembled a sandwich to facilitate the consumption of it.

“But what happened? That is, before the gun went off? Did he ravish you?” she concluded, having only a vague notion of what this meant.

“No,” Elizabeth asserted, having a much better idea of things. “I heard a sound. I was afraid, so I withdrew my pistol from beneath my pillow. When I heard the third sound, I fired. And hit his lordship,” she concluded with a grimace. “The dratted man ought not have been in my room.”

“You seem rather unfeeling, cousin dear.” Hyacinth studied her cousin with an assessing gaze.

“Actually, it was utterly beastly. There was so much blood and his wound looked awful.” The sandwich, at first eagerly contemplated, was placed on her plate and pushed away. “I cannot bear to think what he must have suffered, all because I avoided him at every turn. He was right, you know. I would have refused to see him if he had presented himself at the house. So, in effect, I drove him to climb up to my room.”

“Mercy.” Hyacinth sighed at the drama that had unfolded in her mind’s eye. “Now what?” she demanded impatiently.

“Now I shall do as I promised. I am traveling over to Penhurst to deliver a number of messages. His family must be told he will be away for a day or so. I dread informing them of the shooting. If his valet has not already left, I have instructions for him as well.” Elizabeth glanced out of the window once more. “I only hope that the weather will hold until I return.”

“And then?”

“Why, you shall be the belle of the ball, and I shall tend the invalid.” It sounded about as appealing as a jail sentence. But, Elizabeth realized, she would have the rake in her power. And that thought was oddly pleasing.