Emily Hendrickson (5 page)

Chapter Three

Elizabeth slipped surreptitiously from her room, down the stairs, and out to the stables. The house had been at sixes and sevens between last-minute preparations for the ball—which Aunt Bel would not dream of canceling, even if Lord Leighton lay wounded on a guest room bed—and watching over his lordship. It must be admitted that the latter task fell to Purvis, who assumed the job with obvious relish.

The entire house knew of the shooting and subsequent betrothal of Elizabeth and Lord Leighton. Although not a word came directly to her, she could tell by expressions, the looks that followed her wherever she went.

At the thought that she might be forced to wed the rake, Elizabeth sighed. That was not what she wished. Not in the least. She would plot and scheme, and if worse came to worst, she’d run off. Julia and Victoria would understand.

Thankful her aunt was preoccupied, and that she need have no worry for Lord Leighton, for Purvis was the best possible nurse, Elizabeth urged Rose along to where the carriage ordered some time ago now awaited them.

“Hurry, Rose. I’ve no wish to be pressed into service by Aunt Bel with a last-minute commission.”

“Yes, miss.” The maid timidly climbed in beside her mistress, then settled uneasily in the corner of the gig as they set off smartly down the drive. “You plan to live at Penhurst after your weddin’?” Rose ventured to ask in a small voice.

“I fancy that Lord Leighton would wish me to remain there,” Elizabeth replied, thinking that his rakish lordship would most likely consign her to the country forever if he was compelled to marry a slip of a girl like herself.

Then, realizing that Rose felt threatened, Elizabeth added kindly, “No matter where I am, you shall go with me if you wish.”

The shy young maid, her eyes large with joy, murmured, “Oh, thank you, miss.” She drew farther back against the cushion, her face rosy with relief.

The road that led to Penhurst Place was most impressive, Elizabeth decided as she drove the gig along the back roads. She studied the land they passed. Pretty cottages and farms revealed the excellent stewardship her sisters had mentioned when they scolded her for not enticing Lord Leighton into a parson’s mousetrap. Since his lordship behaved well in their presence, they could scarcely be expected to understand how he teased her, or how she hated it.

At the rather plain but elegant brick gate, she paused while the caretaker opened it for her. Then, with a flick of her reins, she continued to proceed along the avenue to the front entrance.

The house was beautifully situated on the crest of a hill, with a fine view to the south of the Ranmer woods across a pretty valley. She considered the pleasant two-story building, built of mellow, saffron-hued stone. It seemed small for an earl. Perhaps it was but one of his residences, maybe a favorite? Come to think on it, the house looked very new, with no ancient ivy clinging to the walls, much less the sturdy wisteria vines her aunt’s house wore.

With Rose trailing behind her, Elizabeth braved the front door, glancing back at the lad who walked her horse and carriage. Then the door opened silently, and a portly man appeared, a questioning look in his eyes.

“Sidthorp? I am Miss Dancy. I bring news that Lord Leighton was wounded last evening. He remains at Montmorcy Hall. I have brought a message for his valet, and wish to inform his family of the event.” The terse description of his home had included the names of pertinent servants. “Is Hadlow about?”

“Lord Augustus and Mr. Percy are out at the moment. Hadlow is here. I trust his lordship is not seriously injured?”

“No.” At least she hoped not.

Upon learning the valet had not departed for her aunt’s home, Elizabeth asked to speak with him. She followed Sidthorp across the elegant, high-ceilinged hall, and along a paneled corridor that opened on one side onto a central courtyard. Sidthorp showed her in to a charming drawing room, leaving Rose behind to wait in a quiet alcove in the hall.

Left alone, Elizabeth surveyed the room where Lord Leighton must have spent some time as of late. It seemed odd to have the drawing room conveniently situated on the ground floor. French doors opened out onto a gallery that ran the length of the house, with a southern view of the pleasant valley.

Over her head carved and gilded paneling indicated that the earl had spared no expense in decorating his new house. Gilt lavishly adorned the pretty panels painted with cherubs. She was pleased to see that the furnishings were placed where they might be used, rather than lined stiffly against the wall, as had once been the custom. The crystal chandelier must be beautiful in the evening when lit for company, for even now, rainbows danced as the prisms caught the daylight.

A stir at the door brought her whirling about. Her first impression of the valet was that he would never get along with Purvis. He looked to be as strong-willed as the abigail, and twice as despotic.

“Hadlow, his lordship is anxiously awaiting your arrival. I brought a list of items he wishes to have you take him.” She handed the slip of paper to the valet. “I trust the earl is well?”

The narrow glance from the valet did little to reassure her. “He is rather poorly at the moment.” Then he left.

Deciding that her best course of action was to see for herself, Elizabeth crossed the room to make a stately progress along the corridor to the front hall. Sidthorp conducted her up the stairs to the bedchamber. Bowing, he left her standing before the door. She rapped gently. A thin face appeared when the door cracked open.

“I wish to see his lordship. Lord Leighton wants to know how he is.”

“He sleeps now, miss. Tell his lordship he be unchanged.”

Accepting his reluctance to permit a stranger inside, she nodded, then returned to the hall, where she found Rose.

Somehow the sight of her gig before the house did not surprise her in the least. With the earl ill, it was highly unlikely that any caller would remain for long.

While she and Rose jogged along back to Montmorcy Hall, she examined the situation from every angle and decided the entire matter was beyond her.

When she entered her aunt’s house, the place was in a well-ordered hubbub. Footmen and maids bustled about, intent on their missions. Upstairs, she noted all the closed doors along the hall, and surmised that the occupants were either resting or preparing for the ball.

Elizabeth elected to do both. Her gown of coral silk was not new, but also not seen by anyone likely to attend this evening’s function. And since she would most probably be required to dance attendance upon Lord Leighton, she really didn’t care what she wore.

The dinner gong sounded precisely at six of the clock. After months of her aunt’s company, Elizabeth rushed to gather her reticule and hurry down the stairs. There would be no dallying about, no waiting for a tardy guest. Aunt Bel would take a look at that locket watch she wore every waking hour of the day, and at five past the hour, head into the dining room. Woe betide a latecomer.

Outside the drawing room door, Elizabeth caught up with Lady Chloe and Hyacinth, who appeared to be leisurely strolling into the room while deep in conversation. At the sight of Elizabeth, Hyacinth broke off.

“I looked for you this afternoon. Wherever did you go? It was as if you vanished into thin air.”

Gratified that her disappearance had proven so effective, and that not one of her aunt’s capable servants had found her out, Elizabeth smiled, then murmured, “I had a brief errand to perform.”

“For Lord Leighton?” demanded Lady Chloe in a breathless voice.

“More or less. Do you know, I do believe the weather is going to hold. Although the clouds are rather murky and look as though they might prove nasty, they won’t.”

“I wouldn’t either, if it meant risking Mama’s wrath,” Lady Chloe retorted, then darted a glance at her formidable parent.

Elizabeth reflected that it was quite odd how that dainty woman, who looked as though she wouldn’t harm a gnat, could have everyone quaking in their slippers at her merest frown. Perhaps it was her habit of checking her locket watch, demanding punctuality, and nicely getting her way in practically everything.

Which brought Elizabeth back to the riddle she’d been trying to solve all day—that ludicrous insistence that she wed Lord Leighton merely because he was the first man she had seen after midnight on St. Valentine’s Day. Or did Aunt truly feel Elizabeth was compromised beyond redemption? That she must wed? Her aunt had uncommon persistence. What she wanted, she got, willy-nilly. And she wanted a wedding.

Perhaps later on, after dinner, Elizabeth could slip up to his lordship’s room to discuss their counterattack. They needed to plan, put their heads together, and decide how best to change her aunt’s mind. It could be done. Otherwise, it was a middle-of-the-night flight for Elizabeth Dancy!

He might be a viscount and wealthy and handsome as a hero in a novel, but he was a teasing rake, and she wasn’t going to have him. Not as hers. If she decided to wed, it would be to someone who cherished her, whom she loved. The gossip she’d heard while in London about Lord Leighton’s wild escapades and his bits o’ muslin had scandalized her.

With her resolve firmly fixed, she sat down to dinner with an easier heart, ignoring those nigglings of disquiet that entered her mind whenever she glanced at her aunt’s placid face. She knew that behind that amiable facade hid an implacable will. Still . . .

Hyacinth was in alt to be seated beside the Marquess of Norwood. Lord Norwood’s Brutus cut displayed his blond locks admirably. The black velvet coat he wore to such advantage complimented his fair looks. That his cravat was a trifle too high for Elizabeth’s taste, or the blood red ruby set in the center of it a bit too large, did not matter. Hyacinth seemed enthralled.

Down the table from where Elizabeth sat between Squire Littledale and Mr. Beamish, Lady Chloe could be seen—when Mr. Beamish turned aside—happily chattering to the youngest of the Harlowe family, John. That connection would not be approved, since he had not a feather to fly with and would most likely be placed in the church. Since clergy were not known to be plump in the pocket. Aunt Bel would maneuver him to the outermost. Of course, had Harlowe sufficient connections so as to obtain several livings in prosperous churches, which naturally would be handled by an impecunious curate, John might do well enough. But Elizabeth suspected her aunt would look higher for Lady Chloe.

Leaving the gentlemen to their port, Elizabeth drifted after the ladies. Aunt Bel charging in the lead, to the drawing room. They congregated there for a short time before going on to the ballroom. Exclamations of delight at the lovely decorations were heard from all. It was there the gentlemen shortly joined them.

Two dances were all Elizabeth was to be allowed. Mr. Beamish requested one, John Harlowe the other. Aunt Bel summoned her with a faint nod, then ordered, “I would that you attend Lord Leighton. The poor man must be bored to death. He would be gracing our ball had you not acted so precipitously. I trust you have stored your gun in a more appropriate place by now?”

“Yes, I have. Aunt Bel. You wish me to entertain Lord Leighton? In his bedroom?” Elizabeth whispered the last sentences lest someone overhear and make the worst of it.

“Indeed.”

Taking an irate breath, for she hated to leave the gaiety for the sick room, yet knowing she must do as her aunt thought best, Elizabeth left. Never mind that she had originally intended to do just this. She disliked being ordered about.

The upper floor was silent, the rooms deserted, with only faint strains of music creeping up the stairs and down the hall. One could hear a wisp of laughter, a snatch of melody, the murmur of conversation, but all muted, as though from a great distance.

His door stood ajar, and Elizabeth paused after touching the lever, wondering if she might sneak away and later pretend he had been asleep.

“Come in, whoever you are. I vow, the veriest tweenie would be welcome” came an irritated voice Elizabeth had grown to recognize.

“Aunt Bel sent me up here to look after you. Where is Purvis? Or Hadlow?” Elizabeth had hoped the abigail would be there, to keep him from his teasing worst. His valet was another matter, and she could not like the man.

“Ah, the treasure. Purvis decided I may be left alone for the nonce, and has taken herself off to the kitchen. I suspect she intends to brew up some more vile concoctions to pour down my throat. Hadlow returned to Penhurst for the moment. He decided I required a change of clothing.”

“You look well enough, sir.”

“So timid? Is this indeed the fearless woman who shot the intruder who dared to enter her holy of holies, her bedchamber?” His voice mocked her, while those unusual hazel eyes looked almost black in the dim light. They had a slight tilt to them, which added to that rakish image. Quite devilish he was, and his glance turned her legs to mush.

Elizabeth favored him with a narrow-eyed glare as she groped for a straight-backed chair to ease down upon. “It could have been an intruder, a thief ... or worse.” She could feel her cheeks grown warm at his speculative look.

“Worse you definitely do not want.”

“Aunt Bel insisted I spend time comforting you, as I am responsible for your being here, instead of gracing the ballroom.” Her tone clearly revealed that she, at any rate, doubted his ability to grace any place well.

“Hm.”

She considered him a few moments, then said, “If we were smart, we would be figuring how to spike Aunt Bel’s guns, instead of sparring like this. I mean, you cannot wish to marry me and, as I have stated several times, I do not wish to marry you.”

He looked affronted.

Elizabeth repressed a smile. “I did not tell anybody that you were, er, disguised when you entered my bedchamber. Perhaps I ought to have revealed that in aid of our release.”

“Foxed? No. Well, perhaps just a trifle in my cups. Dutch courage.”

“You? I do not believe that taradiddle for a minute. I rather suspect this piece of mischief popped into your mind, and you blundered into my room on the spur of the moment. I trust that in the future you will be less impetuous.”