Miss Armistead Makes Her Choice (22 page)

She attempted to turn her head away, but he had taken her face in both of his hands so she could not. Her only defense was to close her eyes, but his next question brought them fully open with alarm.

“Did Miss Hale speak true when she claimed you have rarely been kissed?”

Her heart took up its hammering again and she found that her gaze had fastened onto his well-shaped lips. To her dismay she was powerless to look away. “Only by Mr. Cruikshank,” she whispered, “and only the once.”

“In that case, might I ask if it is judicious to state that you have never been kissed by the man you love?”

She looked up, then, into his impossibly light gray eyes, and found it pointless to dissemble. “Yes, most judicious,” she said weakly.

“In that case, my adored Miss Armistead, you shall know, before it is too late, what it feels like to be kissed by the man you love nearly as well as he loves you.”

Why such a statement should cause her such misgiving, she could not say. “But how shall I know,” she asked as she put her hand to his chest to prevent his drawing too near, “that he is not like the others who have professed to love me, and all for the sake of what they feel when they look at me?”

“How can one not love you for the pleasure of gazing upon eyes the color of a field glowing in the sun after a hard rain or the feel of one of your curls as it clings to his skin?” he asked as he lifted a trembling finger from her face and stretched it far enough to touch a ringlet. “And yet, you deserve to
be loved so much more for your flawless perception, limitless patience and compassion, lively temperament, faultless integrity and your so cherished virtue. He who perceives these qualities in spite of the sound of your laughter and the perfume of your skin,” he breathed as he leaned closer, regardless of her hand to his chest, to brush his nose along her cheek, “deserves to be best loved by you.”

Suddenly, she felt faint with an exquisite need to feel his lips against hers but his attention was wholly taken up in rubbing his nose in circles along her cheek. It brought his mouth in and out of tantalizing proximity, causing her lungs to squeeze and her breath to come in fits and starts. When he finally dropped his hands from her face to gather her near, she was so bold as to align her mouth with his. The unanticipated motion sent his bottom lip skimming along the top of hers and it continued on up to hover against her temple for so long she feared he had thought better of kissing her altogether. The notion pained her past bearing and, determined to seize this last means of divulging all she could not say, she turned her face once more in pursuit of his mouth.

She had moved merely a fraction before his lips met her own with a speed and intensity that robbed her of breath and sent her senses spinning so that she found she must put her arms about his neck to steady herself. He tightened his hold on her and his mouth pressed against her such that she experienced wondrous sensations that were entirely new to her. She had not known that a kiss could be so full, last so long, and bring to life so many sensibilities of which she had previously been thoroughly unaware. It occurred to her that, as long as his mouth was pressed to hers, she would have no need of food or drink, rest or sleep. There was nothing that came to mind that mattered in the least compared to the feel of his arms around her, the sound of his ragged breathing, the scent of his skin, and the taste of his lips.

He left off kissing her mouth in order to trail kisses along her jaw and down her neck when, without the slightest warning, he pulled away to gaze at her, his eyes bruised with pain. “I had counted on having a better command of myself than that. I must beg your pardon for taking liberties neither of us intended.”

“I did not perceive them as liberties,” she murmured even as she acknowledged that the one dry kiss Duncan had bestowed on her now seemed as unwelcome as if he were a stranger who had forced himself upon her.

In reply, Colin drew her close against his chest. “I am the man you love, but you will be his wife. If only I could find a means to be both, one that did not compromise your principles, I would be the happiest of men.”

She rubbed her cheek against his coat to distract herself from the desire to cry when suddenly she recalled what she had brought with her. Pulling away, she reached into her reticule and drew out a tiny pair of scissors and two small bags made of silk. She took a lock of his hair in her fingers and looked to him to apprehend if he objected. He gave her a slow, sad smile such that she felt no hesitation in clipping a curly lock from its brothers. She wrapped it round her finger and was about to place it in one of the bags when he stayed her hand and kissed the dusky lock. She gave him a tremulous smile and tucked the curl safely away before passing to him the scissors.

Though his fingers trembled, he took care to find a small ringlet at the nape of her neck that would not be missed and snipped it quickly before she could think to regret it. He gave it to her to kiss, and then he kissed it, as well, before he slid it into the remaining silk bag and secreted it in the inside breast pocket of his coat. “I shall keep this by me always, never doubting.”

“And I shall do the same. I shall have it made into a brooch and wear it every moment of the day.” It was not as if her husband would see it and take offense and she found that the truth of it caused her to break into earnest tears.

He pulled her once more against his chest and stroked her hair. “Elizabeth, why must you endure this pain? You have the power to end it all forever by crying off. There is not a man or woman in all of England who should blame you.”

“Save him,” she said, sitting up and drying her tears. “You and I, we would be happy, but he would be heartbroken, bereft and nearly alone.” She did not add that he would be unable to support
himself through work or even throughout the hours of a single day.

“But you needn’t sacrifice your happiness for him. You needn’t sacrifice
ours
. There are other women in the world, a fact I have gladly learned. As have I, he is very likely to meet one who truly loves him in ways you do not.”

“I think not. It is too romantic a notion for this world. Perhaps that is all it is to me, as well. But I have made a promise and I cannot go back on it. I cannot! I pray, do not press me further.”

“I will not, I swear it,” he insisted, taking her hands in his. “I wish for your happiness far more than my own. If only I might know that you will indeed be happy.”

Elizabeth had no satisfactory reply to this. “I must return,” she said as she removed her hands from his, retrieved her bonnet and placed it on her head. “I shall be forever grateful that you have come today,” she said, her voice wavering, “but it is time for me to begin my new life.”

He stood, with no word at all, and held out his hand to help her to her feet. As they returned to the carriage, he did not put his arm about her as before and stayed far enough distant that she could not link her arm through his. He handed her up into the curricle and when she had taken her seat he gave her the smile that was meant only for her, the one that seemed to melt her bones and that she feared she would never again behold. Then he took his place beside her, taking such care to keep his distance that her heart broke, and drove so sedately that there was no chance that she might jostle against him. It was a far more peaceful ride than the one prior and she was grateful for the time it gave her to cool her face and gain her composure. And yet she could not help but mourn what she had lost.

When they arrived, he held out his hand to help her down from the curricle. She stood and looked down at it, fully aware that it was the last time that they would touch. She felt dizzy with grief but willed herself not to swoon. To her great astonishment, he put his hands to her waist, lifted her from the carriage and slowly lowered her to the ground, all the while his gaze locked with hers. They stood perilously close to one another and just as she decided she would put her hand to his cheek one last time, the front door opened and Katherine came tripping down the steps.

“Mr. Lloyd-Jones!” she cried as if he weren’t a mere foot away. “I should be most grateful for a turn in your curricle, as well.”

With great reluctance, he tore his gaze away from Elizabeth and backed away in order to sketch a brief bow for the benefit of both ladies. “I regret that I have other matters to which I must attend. Some other afternoon, perhaps.” Quickly, he mounted the steps and took up the reins and, with a savage flick of the reins, drove away without a backwards glance.

“Well, that was very lowering, indeed,” Katherine insisted. “I only wished to ride in his curricle, not marry him.”

“Oh?” Elizabeth said more testily than she wished but far less than she felt. “Do you not? And what of Mr. Cruikshank? I suppose you have no wish to marry him, either!”

“I . . My papa has forbidden it,” Katherine replied, her eyes wide.

“Therefore, you now want another man you cannot have,” Elizabeth snapped as she marched up the steps to the front door. It was opened by a footman whose expression of alarm widened with the door.

“Who is to say I can’t have him?” Katherine demanded. “Do you have the final word as to who is to marry your tossed-aside suitors?”

“Do not be childish, Kate. It doesn’t suit you.” Elizabeth swept through the door and went directly to the staircase, Katherine just behind her. “Please,” Elizabeth begged, “I have the headache and wish to go to my room.”

“Then you are not to marry Mr. Lloyd-Jones?” Katherine demanded.

“Why should anyone think I would marry Mr. Lloyd-Jones?” Elizabeth picked up her skirts and hastened her steps up the staircase.

“It is not as if I were the only to notice; the two of you are forever smelling of April and May.”

Elizabeth stopped and turned to give Katherine her full attention. “What is it that you wish me to say? That I love him? That he loves me? It is of no consequence. I am to drive out to Mr.
Cruikshank’s lodgings with Mama to bring him hither, the notice of our engagement is to be posted in the newspaper and the banns read, at which time we shall be married. Is this not why I have come to England?”

“But, if that is how you want it, Elizabeth, why should I not marry Mr. Lloyd-Jones?”

Elizabeth only just refrained from stamping her foot. “Because it is beholden on you to wait for him to offer and he never shall!” she insisted before turning to stomp up the remaining stairs.

His heart was broken over Miss Ponsonby,” Katherine said as she picked up her own skirts and hastened after Elizabeth, “and yet, here he is, madly in love with you. Who is to say that he shan’t be quite ready to fall in love with me a fortnight from now, as well?”

Elizabeth felt as if her head would split in two. “I couldn’t say, Katherine, I suppose he might.” Tears started in her eyes and she ran across the landing to her chamber door. “I intend to lie down for a while before I dress for dinner. I shall see you when we have returned from fetching Duncan.” She put her hand to the latch and stood, her lungs heaving, facing the door until Katherine swept by.

The moment Elizabeth was certain Katherine would not turn about and renew the argument Elizabeth entered her room, shut the door and pulled the bolt. Fast falling tears obscured her vision as she stumbled towards the bed and sank down, leaned her head against a post and gave vent to her feelings. She was finally sobered by the realization that she used the little silk bag with the precious lock of hair to stem her tears. Staring at it for some moments, she finally concluded that a proper hiding place must be found for it, one that kept it by her always.

She removed the scissors from her reticule and employed them mercilessly to cut one of the ribbons from her bonnet. Threading the ribbon through the drawstring of the little bag, she tied it around her neck and found that the silken bundle fell just low enough to be concealed in the folds of her stays. With the treasure where she could feel it, she felt somewhat restored and could turn her mind to selecting a gown to celebrate the arrival of her bridegroom. He would not see her choice, however, it would be an indication to everyone at table as to her sentiments and they must be led to believe she
was the happiest girl who ever drew breath. As such, she took the red silk gown from the clothespress and rang the bell for the girl to come and freshen it up.

With the little bag tucked next to her heart, Elizabeth was able to close her eyes and sleep until the girl returned to help her mistress don the gown. Though there would be few to appreciate it in days to come, Elizabeth was grateful to have the gown as a tangible memory of the informal dinner and dance at the Lloyd-Jones establishment. Neither Mr. Cruikshank nor his mother need ever know what thoughts were hers when she wore it after her marriage. To her regret, the scent of Mr. Lloyd-Jones’ cologne no longer lingered in the red threads but she supposed it was too dangerous to have it otherwise. She noted that the ribbon that held the bag, a distinctive green one with embroidered leaves of gold, was visible around her neck but, that could not be helped.

As she tossed the bereft bonnet into the back of the clothespress, she found one she had yet to wear and tied it under her chin. She collected her reticule, minus the scissors, her long kid gloves and a grass green cloak and quit her room in search of her mother.

“There you are my darling!” her mother sang. “It is time to fetch home your Mr. Cruikshank.”

“Yes. Indeed.” Elizabeth was careful not to meet her mama’s eyes and swept down the stairs ahead of her so as to hide any signs of distress that might remain in Elizabeth’s face. “I cannot say how eager I am finally to have him safe beside me. I am ever so glad that we are to have dinner at home, tonight,” she chattered cheerfully, “as I am not certain how well he has learned to cope whilst we have been apart. However, I am persuaded he should enjoy an evening entertainment. To where are we invited tonight?”

“I believe it is the Roberts’ but it shall depend on Mr. Lloyd-Jones and his sister.”

“What have they to say to it?” Elizabeth asked in a low voice. She had obtained the bottom of the stairs and was glad of the need to pull on her gloves as it kept her eyes downcast.