Midnight Bride (15 page)

"Promise?"
Charles asked innocently. Hartley held up the slip of paper that had not left his person since the night it had been written. "Oh, that. Well, even if you do provide a husband Elizabeth will accept, I am not certain I want to sell this land." He walked to the billiards room and picked up a cue, missing the look of anger on Hartley's face. Hartley hurried after him. "Carstairs believes this place could produce more income if it were managed less conservatively," Charles explained.

Hartley picked up his own cue and stood there for a few minutes, his fingers clenched around it. "I suppose that now you have decided that you do not want to be in the army either," he said quietly when he could control his anger. His voice seemed unconcerned.

"Never."
The determination in his voice as clear as ever, Charles watched as Hartley made his shot. "Even my mother would have to let me go if I had the money for a commission." He sighed. "How I wish there were more men in my family."

"What do you mean, more men?"

"For the last three generations our family has produced only a few men. My father was an only child; his closest relative was a cousin, Louisa's husband, who died when he was only thirty-two. On my mother's side, there is only her brother and her sister's son, a five-year-old." Charles put down his cue and crossed to the table where the brandy was. He poured himself a glass and offered one to Hartley. "At times I have wished for six brothers or at least
more
cousins."

"Speaking as someone who is a cousin, especially one of those who always had to wait to be invited to family events, I can assure you that a large family is not always pleasant." Hartley threw back the brandy and held his glass out for a refill. His eyes glittered angrily. "I would prefer to be in your situation."

"You say that now. When my mother started in on you about marriage, you would change your mind." Charles drank another glass of brandy, relaxed now that lie had explained his position to Hartley.

"Marriage.
You would soon be bored," Hartley said as if thinking aloud. "Come. I am feeling in a lucky mood tonight. What about a wager?" And if he were lucky, Hartley would be able to add some more
cushion
between himself and the moneylenders, enough to tide him over without having to use the small quarterly allowance that would soon be due.

His winnings that evening only whetted Hartley's appetite. He waited impatiently for another opportunity. But Charles and Elizabeth spent the afternoon engrossed in a chess game. Finally when the dressing bell rang for the evening meal, Elizabeth sank back into her chair and looked at the
board.
In another few moves he would have her trapped. "Shall we call it a game?" she asked, stretching. Then she jumped slightly as she noticed Hartley sitting where he could watch them, his eyes on her.

"Does that mean you admit I will win?" Charles
asked,
a grin on his face. He had noticed Hartley arrive, but had been so engrossed that he had ignored him.

"I suppose," his sister said grudgingly. "Good evening, Mr. Hartley, have we been ignoring you long?" She smiled at him as if asking his forgiveness.

"I understand. Chess can be absorbing." Hartley rose as Elizabeth got to her feet.

"Please excuse me. I must change." She turned to her brother. "Do you plan to go up?"

"You go ahead. I will be up shortly," he assured her, turning to the man who was making him feel more uncomfortable every day. "Did you find something to occupy your time this afternoon, Sebastian?" he
asked,
a forced smile on his face.

"Counting my winnings helped, Charles." He
smiled,
the quiet, confident smile of a man who knows he holds the winning cards. "Perhaps you would like a rematch later?"

"Neglecting my sister and aunt last evening was enough. I do not believe I should desert them this evening too." Charles smiled, hoping Hartley would accept the statement.

Hartley looked at him for a moment, started to speak, and then thought better of it. He
nodded,
his expression carefully bland. "Then we shall invite the ladies to stroll in the garden and to play a hand of whist." He pulled the cuff of his dark brown coat down and walked to the mirror over the mantel to check the folds of his cravat. "Do you think I need to redo this?" he asked Charles.

"If you plan to change, Beckworth, you had better be at it. The changing bell rang some time ago."

Charles made good his escape. By the time he returned to the salon in a light blue coat that had arrived from London only that day, both Elizabeth and Louisa were before him. And Jeffries was hovering in the hall, waiting to announce the meal. Although Cook was at her best, the lobster patties and fresh peas with mint, usually Charles's
favorites,
disappeared without comment. "Something is bothering the master," Jeffries said, consoling the woman later that evening.

"And why does it always have to happen just before a meal? I ask you, Mr. Jeffries, how people can expect me to work if they do not appreciate my talents?" Cook
asked,
her face mournful. Only the arrival of a footman with an empty syllabub bowl soothed her. Jeffries breathed a sigh of relief, but his own mind was as disturbed as Cook's. He had delivered the brandy to the billiards room the previous evening, his eyes narrowing in dismay as he noticed the condition of his master.

Leaving the men to their port, the women retired to the salon, but they were not alone long, merely enough time for Louisa to ask, "Did you and Charles discuss how long the two of them plan to stay?" She picked up a cup, its floral design of the soft blue of her gown. The matching turban pinned with her favorite sapphire brooch made a frame for her wispy bangs and soft face.

"No." Elizabeth put the teapot back on its tray. "I did everything in my power to avoid discussing any topic that might have upset him. The afternoon was quite a pleasant one." She twitched a bow that was loose back into place.

"Here they come," Louisa said softly, her face carefully bland as the door to the room swung open. "Are you gentlemen ready for some cards?"

The next morning found Hartley in the breakfast room before anyone else. Elizabeth, following her usual routine, descended about Fifteen minutes later. Startled to see Hartley, she paused in the doorway for only a moment, her eyes wide. Then she turned to Jeffries and spoke quietly. A few minutes later Charles
appeared,
his eyes still blurry and his clothing less than his pristine best. As the two men talked quietly, or at least Hartley talked and Charles mumbled, Elizabeth wondered what she would have done had she discovered Dunstan waiting for her. At times her memories of their meetings were so clear she found it hard to believe that they had happened over a week earlier. Even the thought of Dunstan caused a faint flush to rise in her cheeks. Although she would not admit it to herself, each day she waited impatiently for the mail to arrive. The letter she had received was hidden in her desk, carefully put out of sight and away from harm.

Secure in Charles's presence, she laughed lightly and was as gracious as she could force herself to be. Only the stray thought that her stepmother would have been proud of her made her realize how easily she was hiding what she was feeling. Once again she thought about Brighton.

"Miss Beckworth? Do you agree?" Hartley asked, smiling at her, his determination to win her approval of Charles and his friendship. She looked at Hartley, trying to remember what he had said. "Will you join me in the garden later this morning?" he asked again, hiding his annoyance behind a smile.

Elizabeth tried to think of a logical reason for refusing him. "Well," she began and then realized how rude her attitude seemed. "We do need fresh flowers. What time do you suggest?" The arrangements made, she left. Charles, still sleepy, made his way out with her, heading back to his bed for a nap. Elizabeth hurried upstairs, knowing her cousin would be awake and enjoying a comfortable
coze
in bed.

She knocked on her cousin's door. When the maid answered, she entered and then stopped, startled. It was dark, the curtains pulled against the outside light. "What's wrong?"

"She has one of her heads. I gave her the medicine the doctor left for her," her cousin's maid said in a soothing tone. "With a few hours sleep she should be fine."

Elizabeth frowned. Well, Charles would simply have to be in the garden with her. She made soothing statements and left.

By the time Elizabeth finished her morning conferences and got a bonnet to wear outside, her brother was nowhere to be found. Elizabeth drew in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. A frown creased her otherwise smooth brow. The frown increased a few minutes later when she remembered that it was her maid's day off. Finally she found a young maid and pressed her into service as a companion.

When she met Hartley, she could see his eyebrows rise. "Today is Miller's day off," Elizabeth said hurriedly. As Hartley smiled and walked toward her to take her arm, Elizabeth quietly told the maid to walk behind them.

The farther they went from the house, the closer Hartley held her arm. Finally Elizabeth could tolerate it no longer. "Sir, I think you are growing familiar with me!" she exclaimed in a laughing tone that hid her growing nervousness. She pulled away and sat down in the center of a nearby bench, carefully arranging the skirts of her yellow muslin dress around her.

Hartley hastened to her side. In spite of her distaste, he took her hand. She tried to pull away, but he would not let her. "Being able to share such a quiet visit with my friend in the midst of his family has meant so much to me. It is so long since I have had a real home. I appreciate you sharing yours with me." He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. "If I can win your respect I will be happy."

At that Elizabeth gave her hand jerk, pulling it free. She stood up, her face set in stern lines. "You are my brother's friend, sir. That should be enough for you." Her voice was dangerously low and quiet.

"Are you refusing my offer of friendship?" Hartley asked. He moved a few feet away, but his eyes were fixed on her face.

She retreated. For a moment after she had put a sufficient amount of space between the two of them to feel comfortable, she simply looked at him. "Mr. Hartley, you are my brother's guest. I do not wish to be rude."

His face darkened with anger. "Are you so perfect to sit in judgment on me? I think not."

Elizabeth's face turned red and then as pale as the whitest roses on the bushes around him. She turned
away,
hoping to catch sight of a gardener, but the only other person nearby was the maid, who stood beside the climbing roses down the walk. Elizabeth's voice was very soft and surprised as she said, "I did not say—"

"But you implied it." Hartley let his anger show, realizing that he would never gain her support. "You have looked down on me from the first moment you met me. I suppose you and Lady Ramsburg are jealous of the friendship between Charles and me. I could see it in your eyes this morning. So this is the famous hospitality that English landowners are famous for. You only welcome those of equal rank and look down on the rest of us."

Elizabeth took several deep breaths to calm her nerves. Then she said in a voice she was proud was clear but steady, "Obviously, Mr. Hartley, we will never agree. Perhaps you will feel more comfortable in your own home."