Stolen Love (25 page)

"I meant, Miss Willard, has he followed my advice about giving roses to women?"

She knew she was blushing, but there was nothing she could do about it. "I'm sure I don't know, my lord."

"He wrote to you often, did he?"

Elizabeth followed beside him as he began walking along the rose beds. "We wrote nearly every month for ten years."

"And what happened?"

Again, she fancied he seemed more forgiving toward her. "Well," she explained, "his father died and, naturally, as he grew older he was less interested in writing to a little girl, so we did not write so often, only every six or eight weeks."

"Humph! I suppose you've saved all his letters."

There was no earthly reason why she ought to be apologetic about her correspondence with Nicholas. "I have." She stopped and bent her head over a blossom-laden rosebush.

"And tied them with a blue ribbon, no doubt."

"A red one, my lord."

"I understand you have lost both your parents."

The abrupt change in subject disconcerted her. "My mother is dead, but I believe my father is still alive."

"Are you not sure, Miss Willard?"

"I have never seen my father, nor heard from him, but Uncle Havoc would have told me if he had died."

The only sound after that was the soft thudding of Lord Eversleigh's walking stick on the ground, and out of desperation, Elizabeth began asking him about his roses. To her surprise, he did not object to the change in topic. They were soon talking naturally, almost enjoyably. Not until they were headed back to the house did he startle her with another abrupt question.

"Miss Willard," he said, "have you any idea why my grandson is so unpleasant to you?"

"Yes, my lord, I do." She knew he was expecting her to tell him, but she only shook her head sadly. "We disagree on a subject that could not possibly interest you."

"It's a nuisance." He sniffed.

"I apologize for that, Lord Eversleigh. I assure you, I would leave here if it were within my power to do so."

"I thought you were in love with him, Miss Willard."

"It makes no difference if I am, my lord."

"Are you?"

She stared at him, into eyes as black as Nicholas's, fighting down the lump in her throat. "Yes," she whispered at last.

At supper that night Elizabeth did her best not to appear as miserable as she felt. She did not seem to be able to keep her eyes off Nicholas. Tonight she saw the man who had once intimidated Lucy Benford-Smith. He was handsome in a dark blue coat, dark trousers, and a pale green waistcoat. The cravat, a small but complicated affair, completed the picture. But the lines of his face were hard, and despite his smiles, his eyes were emotionless, as black and as unfathomable as a moonless night.

It was not as difficult to keep up an appearance of normality as she had feared. Lord Eversleigh had lost the stiffness in his manner that had made her think he disapproved of her. He adroitly filled in the silences that occurred when Nicholas refused to speak to Elizabeth unless it could not be avoided. But, as the meal progressed, Elizabeth's silences became longer and more frequent until it was easier not to speak at all than to have Nicholas deliberately ignore her. She ate the food on her plate, but she had no recollection of tasting it. The long glances that passed between Nicholas and Amelia were worse than any of the rest. Nicholas and Amelia kept each other well enough amused without her participation in conversation. When at last the interminable meal was over and the ladies rose to leave the men to their cigars and port, she nearly cried with relief.

"Mrs. Villines," she said when they were in the drawing room, "will you please give my apologies to Lord Eversleigh? I do not feel well. I believe I had best go to sleep early tonight."

"By all means, Elizabeth." She patted her hand consolingly. "Shall I come up to see you later?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, thank you."

Mrs. Villines put her arms around her in a quick hug. "My poor, dear little Elizabeth," she murmured.

The pity in Mrs. Villines's voice decided Elizabeth. She wanted desperately to be far away from Witchford Runs. She would not, could not, stay past tomorrow. "I want to leave in the morning," she said to Mrs. Villines in a low voice. "Will you order a carriage for me tomorrow morning?"

"I wish you wouldn't go."

"I can't stay any longer. I can't bear it."

Mrs. Villines kissed Elizabeth's cheek. "I'll check on you in the morning. We'll talk then."

When the gentlemen were alone at the table, Lord Eversleigh signaled for the port to be brought immediately. Havoc raised his glass and stared at it without saying anything. At last he sipped from it.

"Your port is excellent, my lord," he said. Lord Eversleigh acknowledged the compliment with a nod of his head. "I shall miss this, truly, I will."

"Surely you aren't thinking of leaving?" Eversleigh asked. "We had hoped you would stay to the New Year, at least."

"I'm afraid a day or two longer is all we can manage."

"We shall be sorry to see you go," said Mr. Villines.

"Nevertheless, I've business to attend to in London."

"Could you not return here after you've concluded your business? Winifred will be very disappointed to have you leave so soon."

Havoc glanced at Nicholas. "Elizabeth and I both have business to attend to, but I'm sure Mary and Amelia would be glad to stay."

Nicholas finally looked up from his glass, but he said nothing.

"Russell, Mr. Willard," said Eversleigh, "would you be so good as to rejoin the ladies? Nicholas and I will be out presently."

"Shall we?" Mr. Villines looked at Havoc.

Havoc rose with only a bare nod of his head to Nicholas and Lord Eversleigh before following Mr. Villines out of the room.

"You may go now, Carsons." When they were alone, the viscount cleared his throat. "What I have to say to you, Nicholas, I prefer to say in the strictest privacy." He took the bottle of port and refilled their glasses. "I'll not have it said that visitors to my home are being driven away with the kind of unpleasant behavior you've been displaying toward Miss Elizabeth Willard." He looked at Nicholas sternly.

Nicholas drew a breath and expelled it before answering. "I'm sorry," he said, lifting his shoulders briefly.

"Apology accepted. I'll not ask for an explanation, only for an end to it."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, then." He leaned to one side of his chair and peered intently at his grandson. "Dear boy, will you tell me why you have not made the young woman an offer?"

"I do not want to be married, yet."

"Good heavens, my boy, what do you think a long engagement is for?" he chided. "If she is your choice, Nicholas, you have my approval. You might have chosen someone with a greater fortune, but"—he shrugged—"I find I cannot object to her."

"Ripton has asked her to marry him."

"I see." He watched his grandson. "And has she accepted him?"

It was a moment before he answered, sullenly, "Not positively."

He considered what Nicholas had said. "She might do worse than Mr. Rutherford," he replied at last. "But, my dear boy, will that be of much comfort to you when you have finally driven her to marry him?"

Nicholas looked up, startled.

Lord Eversleigh put his hands on the table and stood up. "I think enough as been said on the subject for now. Shall we go?"

"I see our party lacks one of its most charming members," Lord Eversleigh said when he and Nicholas rejoined their guests in the drawing room.

"Miss Willard expressed her regrets, Eversleigh," Mrs. Villines said of Elizabeth, "but she is not feeling well and thought it would be for the best if she retired early."

"Ah, well." The viscount sat down. "Perhaps you, Miss Willard," he said to Amelia, "will favor us with a song?"

"Of course, my lord."

"Nicholas, sit a moment with me." Mrs. Villines patted the spot next to her on the sofa when Amelia had seated herself at the piano. When he had done so, she continued to speak to him in a low voice. "I have only one thing to say to you. You must cease this awful behavior toward Elizabeth. She adores you, she always has, and I cannot bear to see you treat her so poorly. She intends to leave in the morning, and unless you promise to apologize to her, I shall do nothing to stop her."

Nicholas sighed. "I've been positively horrid to her, I know."

"You certainly have."

"I promise you, Aunt Winifred, I will apologize to her."

Mrs. Villines smiled. "Well, then. I've said all I have to say." She looked at Amelia. "Go turn the pages for Miss Willard," she said.

"I am afraid I, too, am unusually exhausted tonight." He stood up. "Will you forgive me if I also retire early, Grandfather?"

"Good evening, Nicholas."

"Good evening, then." He bowed and was gone.

Nicholas knocked on the door to Elizabeth's room but did not open it until he heard her quiet, "Yes?" He stood looking into the room, tense, a little anxious. She was sitting on a sofa on the farthest side of the room, facing away from him with her feet tucked underneath her. Her elbows were propped up on the back of the sofa, and she was staring out the open window. She had not put out any of the lamps yet, and he could see her loosely braided hair hanging down her back, dark against the white of her dressing gown.

"May I come in, Elizabeth?" He spoke softly.

She jumped at the sound of his whispered question, turning her head quickly, arm still resting along the top of the sofa. She was looking at him with wide-open eyes. "Nicholas?" She pressed the fingers of one hand briefly to her eyes. "Please," she said. "Just leave me alone."

He took a step into the room, holding the door open with one hand.

"What do you want?"

"I've come to apologize." He pushed the door closed behind him when a noise made him think someone was coming down the hall. "I've been behaving very badly to you," he continued, "and I want to apologize and offer an explanation." Elizabeth sighed miserably, and it occurred to him that he might be too late, that his foolish, petty behavior of these last days had cost him the thing he wanted most. He finally understood what it seemed everyone else already knew. There was no reason not to be in love with Elizabeth; if any couple were meant for each other, it was the two of them. Since she was thirteen years old, he had been trying to make her into the kind of woman he could love. He was the worst sort of dunce if he thought otherwise.

"I don't think I want to talk, Nicholas." Her voice sounded flat, expressionless. She might have been miles away from him.

"Are you going to marry Ripton?" he asked abruptly.

"I don't know."

"I must know, Elizabeth."

She frowned at him. "Did you invite us here to keep me from saying yes to him?" she asked sarcastically.

"Maybe so."

"Ripton does not think I am too young to be married."

"Neither do I."

"What, then? Does it matter to you whom I marry?" She leaned forward. "I used to think I understood you, but I don't, not at all," she said fiercely. "I cannot stand this! I won't!" She jumped up and faced him. "What must I do to make you stop tormenting me?" The words were said evenly, but he could see the trembling of her lower lip. "Tell me and I will do it. Only do not say you don't want me to marry Ripton because it does not suit you."

"Elizabeth, will you at least hear me out?" He was afraid he might not be able to make her listen, or that she might not care to listen. It frightened him to think what his life would be like without her. Already it was stretching out in front of him, empty, lonely, and utterly without meaning.

She shrugged her shoulders. "If you've come to tell me about Amelia, you might have saved yourself the trouble," she said. "You've made no secret of your feelings for her." She sat down again.

"Amelia!" He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "Why does everyone insist on bringing her up?" This time there was a flash of something in her eyes when they looked at each other from across that chasm.

"Did you really think she could keep quiet? She told me what happened between you at Lord Lewesfield's ball even before you'd left Portsmouth Square. Everyone knows you're in love with her."

"And what happened at Lord Lewesfield's ball?" He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling some of his confidence coming back.

"Nicholas…" She sat up a little straighter. "I don't want to talk about Amelia."

"But I do." He willed her to look at him again. "The night of Lord Lewesfield's ball, I told Amelia she was one of the most beautiful women I've ever met." When she met his look from across the room, he could see her eyes, dark, serious, and saddened. "It's true, Amelia is lovely. But she's not the loveliest woman I know. Not by any means. I told her she was accomplished and graceful, too. But I never told her I was in love with her."

"She said you kissed her."

"Kissed her?" It was the jealousy and despair of the words that gave him hope. "So I did. Shall I show you what happened?" He pressed his hands against the door to make sure it was shut before crossing the room to sit next to her. "This was all it was, Elizabeth." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Her eyes were wide when he sat back, the pupils large and luminous.

"Then why? Why have you been acting as though you do love her?" She looked down. "And hate me?"

"I'm not in love with Amelia," he said, taking her hand in his.

"Did you ever think you were in love with her?"

"Never."

She pulled her hand away and stood up. "If you aren't in love with Amelia, why did you invite us here?" He watched her walk to her dressing table and pick up one of her combs. Her fingers played with it nervously while she spoke. "Before we came here, Uncle Havoc told me he wants me to marry Beaufort Latchley. He doesn't like Ripton, he thinks he's too frivolous or some such thing." She shrugged. "He wants me to accept Mr. Latchley when we return to London. But—" She turned her head just enough to see him from the corner of her eye and said in a hushed voice, "If I must marry someone, I would rather it not be Mr. Latchley." She was watching him in the dresser mirror, and he saw her tense when he stood up. "Nicholas, if you don't love me, then tell me so and let me get on with my life," she whispered.