Silver Splendor (13 page)

Wrestling with a jolt of jealousy, Elizabeth studied the clay in her lap. “Lady Marianne was making quite a fuss the other night. He didn’t seem to mind
her.”

Cicely grinned. “Didn’t Marianne behave like a perfect ninny? Imagine, thinking she could impress us with her piano playing!”

In a gale of giggles, she collapsed onto the box. Recalling Marianne’s murderous rendition of the sonata, Elizabeth couldn’t help laughing, too.

“Then why do you suppose your brother is interested in her?”

“Oh, he’s used to acting the perfect gentleman,” Cicely said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Leaning forward, she confided, “Anyway, he’s probably just surveying the prospects. I overheard him telling Aunt Beatrice it’s time he married. Family duty and all, you know.” Cicely imitated his deep voice.

Elizabeth’s insides gave an odd squeeze. “Do you think he’ll marry Lady Marianne?”

“Good God, I should hope not!” Cicely’s fair face screwed into a comic look of horror. “I shudder to think of such a silly twit as my sister-in-law. Thank goodness Nick has looks and money. He has his pick of women —” She stopped abruptly and stared. “What about you?”

Confused, Elizabeth tilted her head. “What
about
me?”

“You
could marry Nick!”

“Marry —?” she repeated numbly.

“It’s the perfect solution! Why didn’t I think of it before?” Cicely sprang up and executed an exuberant dance. “If you marry my brother, you’ll never go back to America. And I wouldn’t have to put up with yet another person blathering at me about my behavior.”

“Now wait a moment,” Elizabeth said sharply, trying to untangle the shocking thrill gripping her insides. “That’s the most ridiculous notion I’ve ever heard. The earl would never want to many
me.”

Cicely stopped twirling. “Why not? You’re pretty and talented and brave. You’d make the perfect match for my straitlaced brother. Why, you’d set society on its ears!’’

“I don’t want to have anything to do with society. And I rather suspect society doesn’t want to have anything to do with me, either.”

“Oh, pooh. No one said it would be easy. We’ll just have to come up with a scheme to make Nick propose marriage. Hmm… maybe we could arrange a compromising situation —”

‘That’s out of the question, Gcely.” Shooting to her feet, Elizabeth thrust the clay into her pocket. ‘I’m not marrying
anyone.”

“You’re not?” The girl looked baffled. “Why, everyone gets married at some time or another.”

“Not me,” Elizabeth said firmly.
“I
intend to devote my life to art. I’ve no time for a husband and children. Even if I
were
interested in marrying, a man as narrow minded as your brother would be my last choice.”

“Don’t you ever want to do anything else but, sculpt?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well.” Cicely looked dejected; then she brightened. “Then I’ll have to find him someone else who wouldn’t badger me. Let me think…” She snapped her fingers. “I know! Phoebe!”

“Phoebe?”

“The Lady Phoebe Garforth, no doubt.”

The crisp male voice came from the entrance to the conservatory. Elizabeth whipped around to see the earl standing in the doorway. Warmth flooded her cheeks. How much had Lord Nicholas overheard?

As he strode inside, a few rays of watery sunshine struck the fine planes of his face. His mouth was set in a stern line, his eyes as charcoal gray as rainclouds. The impeccable cut of his morning coat and trousers emphasized his height and breadth. Elizabeth absorbed his presence like dry clay soaking up water.

Nicholas, on the other hand, seemed to have no such admiration for her. Unbidden disappointment swelled inside her. He afforded her scarcely a glance as he headed toward his sister.

“Hullo, Nick,” Qcely said, waving gaily. “I thought you were at parliament today.”

“I was. Apparently I came home just in time, else I might have been denied a voice in choosing my bride.”

His sarcasm seemed to fly straight over his sister’s head. “Oh, pooh, don’t be silly. You’d have final say, of course. I just meant to steer you in the right direction.”

“Ah. And so Lady Phoebe Garforth will be the lucky recipient of my proposal.”

“Well, why not?” Cicely said, lifting her slim shoulders in a breezy shrug. “You keep thrusting me at her brother Charles, so I simply thought to keep it all in the famity.”

A look passed between the two, Cicely merrily defiant and Nicholas patiently exasperated. “You would do well,” he said in a low voice, “to pay heed to Charles’s feelings. He’s an honorable man and he cares deeply for you.”

Cicely thrust out her lower lip. “Well, I don’t care a fig about him. He’s too old and stodgy.”

“He’s twenty eight, a year older than I. And just because he doesn’t steal away to study art or shock people with bold remarks doesn’t make him stodgy.”

The earl’s unreasonable anger brought out Elizabeth’s protective instincts. “Cicely should have the right to choose,” she felt compelled to point out, “just as you do.”

He swung toward her, his eyes sharp with resentment. “Limit your opinions to art, if you please, Miss Hastings. This discussion does not involve you.”

His cutting words hurt less than his contemptuous glance. Elizabeth gritted her teeth to subdue a retort. Something was clearly bothering the earl, but that didn’t excuse his ill mannered behavior.

Turning his back on Elizabeth, he told his sister, “We’ll speak of your future another time.”

With stubborn Ware pride, Cicely thrust her chin up. “There’s nothing to speak of. My mind is made up about not marrying Charles.”

“May I presume, then, that you don’t wish to attend the Garforths’ ball on Wednesday next?”

Cicely assumed an instant posture of meekness. “I didn’t say that. Oh, please, Nick. I haven’t been out of the house for two whole days now and I daresay I’m on the verge of going mad!”

“I have your word that you’ll behave yourself?”

“Yes, Nick.” But Cicely’s eyes, Elizabeth noted, shimmered with irrepressible mischief.

Swinging to Elizabeth, the earl said curtly, “Where is your father?”

“I don’t know,” she said, still mystified by his ill humor. “I haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

“If you do see him, tell him I wish to speak with him.” He paused, his distaste evident as he eyed her Turkish trousers. “The Wallingfords will be here for tea in half an hour. I trust you’ll change that outlandish outfit.”

Clinging to a thread of temper, Elizabeth folded her arms and matched his haughty tone. “I’m not coming to tea, your lordship. I’ve far more important things to do.”

She took great satisfaction in the way his mouth tightened. At least she’d broken through that chilly disdain.

“Pardon me.” He swept her a sardonic bow. “I’d forgotten your devotion to art. I wouldn’t dream of demanding your attention or of foisting my narrow minded wishes on you.”

The color in her cheeks receded, then flooded hotly back. So he
had
overheard her scathing denunciation of him. She told herself it didn’t matter, that it was best he knew her opinion so there could be no misunderstanding between them.

Yet as she watched him stride out of the conservatory, she bit her lip and wished she could call back her words.

Puzzled by her father’s tardiness, Elizabeth wandered through the lengthy upstairs corridor with its gilt wallpaper and medallioned plasterwork ceiling. She wanted to pass along Lord Nicholas’s message, but Owen wasn’t in his bedroom. He wasn’t in the library, either. In fact none of the servants she’d questioned could recall seeing him since early that morning. Now it was nearly dinnertime and worry began to prick her.

These past few days Papa had seemed more moody and withdrawn, though he usually found time to visit and inquire about her work. Elizabeth couldn’t blame him for not wishing to join the Ware social gatherings. She herself found it difficult to adjust to the pomp and circumstance with which Nicholas conducted his household.

Suddenly she caught sight of her father emerging from the servants’ stairwell at the end of the hall. She started to call out, but a peculiar air of furtiveness about him stopped her. He glanced back down the stairs, as if expecting someone to be following. Mystified, she hurried toward him, her shoes making no sound on the plush garnet carpeting, her loose Turkish trousers causing no betraying rustle.

“Papa? Is something wrong?”

He jumped and swung toward her, his hazel eyes glittering in the gaslight. “Bless my soul! It’s you, Libby.”

His face looked pale beneath his gray side whiskers, and his hand tightly gripped his walking stick. Glancing down the length of rum, she spied mud caking his mist dampened Inverness cape, his trousers, and shoes. Concern clutched at her. “What’s happened, Papa?”

He drew a breath; his husky shoulders squared.

“Happened? What do you mean? You just… startled me, that’s all.”

But his eyes slid away and again Elizabeth sensed that curious secretiveness. “Something is wrong.” She stepped closer and ran her fingers over a jagged groove in his walking stick. “This gouge wasn’t here before. And where did you get so dirty?”

“Dirty?” Owen looked down at himself as if realizing for the first time the state of his clothing. “Oh… I went for a walk and fell into the mud. Clumsy of me, wasn’t it?”

Somehow his jovial laugh didn’t ring true. Elizabeth tilted her head at him. What would her father be hiding from her? Could he have gone out seeking a job and felt reluctant to admit failure to her? Elizabeth’s heart constricted. Yes, that must be it. He wanted to provide for her; living off the earl’s charity must sting her father’s pride.

Heedless of the mud, she threw her arms around him and pressed her cheek to the roughness of his whiskers. “Oh, Papa, I’m sorry if you’re not happy here.”

“Hush now, what’s this?” He drew back to look at her, hands on her shoulders, affection softening his eyes. “Who said I’m not happy?”

“I know how you dislike the nobility, Papa, yet you moved into the earl’s house for my sake. If you’re so uncomfortable here, we can leave, find another place to live.”

“No!” Owen burst out. Taking a deep breath, he aimed a frown at the sumptuous corridor, then said in a more controlled tone, “It’s true, all this extravagance isn’t to my liking. The scriptures say, ‘Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.’” Earnestly he squeezed her shoulders. “You’re my riches, Libby. You’re safe here and that’s all that really matters.”

The devotion in his voice brought a fond smile to her lips. She still didn’t believe the robbery and the attack were related, yet she couldn’t bear to upset him by saying so again. “All right, Papa, I won’t speak of leaving anymore.”

“Good,” Owen said, his craggy face relaxing. “Come, Libby, walk me to my room. I’ve a mind to wash up before I ruin the earl’s priceless carpet.”

An arm around her shoulder, he propelled her down the long corridor. Relief poured through Elizabeth. Thank goodness her father didn’t want to leave here. In the deepest part of her, she couldn’t bear the notion of never again seeing Lord Nicholas. The memory of his hand on her breast made her feel warm and breathless. With a pang, she recalled he had meant only to teach her a lesson. A lesson meant to jolt her into behaving like his vision of a lady.

A door opened at the end of the hall and Lord Nicholas stepped out of his rooms. He paused, his tall and elegant form framed by the glow of gaslight. He wore formal evening attire that fit him to perfection, dark jacket and trousers, and a pristine cravat with a pearl pin. As he started toward them, Elizabeth felt her heart beat faster.

Swiftly she murmured, “I forgot, Papa. The earl wished to have a word with you — that’s why I came looking for you.”

Her father stiffened. “A summons from his high and mighty lordship?” he said, twirling his cane. “I wonder that he would deign to speak to a lowly commoner.”

“Please, Papa, he’s our host —”

Then Lord Nicholas was standing before them, sketching a brief bow. His smoothly handsome features gave no indication that he’d heard Owen’s derogatory words or that he recalled her own caustic comment of that afternoon.

“Good evening,” he said. “I trust you both have had a pleasant day?”

“Yes, thank you,” Elizabeth replied, determined to match his impeccable manners. “I was just passing along your message.”

The earl’s sharp eyes took in Owen’s disheveled appearance. “Pardon me for intruding, but you haven’t suffered an accident, have you?”

“Just a clumsy slip into a puddle, that’s all.” Her father’s taut explanation clearly invited no further inquiry.

“I see,” Lord Nicholas said. “I’d like a few moments of your time. If it’s not inconvenient, will you join me in the library after dinner?”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind right now?”

The earl flicked a cryptic glance at Elizabeth. “I prefer to speak to you in private.”

The two men exchanged a long, measuring look that perplexed her. Then her father said tautly, “As you wish.”

To Elizabeth, the earl said, “Will we see you at dinner?”