Stolen Love (3 page)

"Good afternoon, Father," Amelia Willard said a few minutes later as she glided into the room in her characteristically regal fashion. She stopped just short of Havoc to take off her hat and survey the room. The top of her perfectly coiffed head was barely level with the middle of his chest.

Every time Havoc looked at Amelia, he was struck by how much she resembled his wife. Mary Willard had been an acknowledged beauty in her day, and their daughter had the same delicate looks. She was nineteen years old, with a plump but well-proportioned figure, jet black hair, startlingly blue eyes in a heart-shaped face, and a perfect, pink-tinted complexion.

"Why, this is simply too lovely!" She faced her father again. Not one bow on her dress looked the slightest bit affected by the journey to London. "Isn't this room lovely, Beth?" Her smile revealed two dimples in either cheek.

Elizabeth was just coming in as Amelia spoke. Taking off her hat, she gazed at their surroundings. Her simple blue dress and plainly braided hair would have instantly told even a stranger that she was a schoolgirl new to London. She pushed a lock of chestnut hair from her face and then stooped to pick up her hat when it dropped to the floor. She was taller than Amelia, and her slender figure added to the impression of height. Elizabeth Willard was not the sort of woman who immediately struck one as beautiful. She was certainly not beautiful in the same way her cousin Amelia was, but still there was something about her that eventually made a man wonder how it was that he had not noticed her sooner.

"Uncle Havoc, you've been smoking one of those vile cigars!" Her hat fell to the floor again as she stepped into Havoc's outstretched arms. "The house couldn't be lovelier," she said, looking up into eyes that were the same quiet gray as her own.

Havoc briefly rested his chin on Elizabeth's head. "Welcome to London." He released her to ask, "Where's your aunt? You didn't leave her at the station, did you?"

"Oh, Father!" Amelia said. "Don't be silly! She's making sure the servants don't mix up our trunks."

"There you are, Mr. Willard!" Mrs. Willard stepped into the room after Mr. Poyne and his wife, the housekeeper. "What a lovely house you've found us!" The silk of her skirts rustled as she crossed the room to her husband's side, where she put a hand on his arm. Her hair was lightly streaked with gray, but she stood as straight as Amelia. She was still a striking woman. "Please show us the house, Mr. Willard."

After he had left his wife to meet the servants and had shown Amelia to her room, Havoc took Elizabeth's arm to guide her to the room he had reserved specially for her. It was not as large as Amelia's and perhaps not as conveniently situated, being located at the very end of the hall, but he had reason to believe Elizabeth would prefer this one. He opened the door and waited for his niece to enter. The walls of the L-shaped room were covered with a green striped paper, and on the floor were thick wool rugs from one of Havoc's London warehouses. The bed, a bulky, overcarved mahogany, was in the section farthest from the door, immediately around the corner and thus hidden from view upon first stepping inside.

"I expect you to have the garden looking worthy of the name, Elizabeth," he said, leading her to one of the windows overlooking the sizable gardens at the back of the house.

"You knew I'd love to have this room, didn't you?" Unlike Amelia, Elizabeth did not have dimples, but her smile at Havoc was becoming all the same.

"I had an idea," he said. "While you were away at school we sorely missed your touch with the garden at Breakley House. The roses just weren't the same while you were gone."

She threw her arms around him. "I must be the luckiest girl in the world to have an uncle such as you!"

"Well, now, Elizabeth, I daresay you are."

When Havoc was gone, Elizabeth went back to her place at the window. A wrinkle appeared on her forehead, and she sighed. Just before they left Dartford for London Mary Willard had taken Elizabeth aside and told her that as she had no fortune and no marriage settlement to speak of, she was likely to find that her experiences of London Society would be markedly different from Amelia's.

"Amelia is a beauty," her aunt Mary had said, "and she will have her pick of the gentlemen who, you may rely on it, will surround her when we are in London. It isn't likely you will receive many offers, Beth, and you would be foolish indeed to refuse one honorably offered." Mrs. Willard had then warned her that if she found a gentleman was paying her particular attention, it was important to understand marriage might not be uppermost in his mind. Men, she had said in an ominous tone, would not take much serious interest in a poor relation.

As Mrs. Willard had known she would, Elizabeth took the advice to heart. Though she had once or twice looked in the mirror and thought it might be possible for a man to think her pretty, she now knew how ridiculous such thoughts were. Never had it occurred to her that her fortune was more important. Her aunt, whom she had no reason to doubt on the subject, had as much as told her no gentleman would be interested in her. She suddenly had a whole new set of worries; in the unlikely event that a gentleman did notice her, how was she to know if his interest was an honorable one or a dishonorable one? The more she thought about it, the more inclined she was to think it was for the best she was not beautiful like Amelia. She had once looked forward to coming to London, but now she was not so sure it would be the adventure she had imagined.

Elizabeth continued to stare out the window. Would Nicholas fall in love with Amelia? she wondered.

«
^
»

R
ussell and Winifred Villines lived on Fitzroy Square in a gray building surrounded by an iron fence separating the house from the walkway. The gate was identical with the one at the house the Willards were letting on Tavistock Square, except the brass spikes of the Villineses' gate looked as though someone polished them on a regular basis.

"Beth! Do come along!" Mrs. Willard's impatient command interrupted Elizabeth's examination of the gleaming brass.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Mary."

The Villineses' butler opened the door just as she reached the steps.

"Mr. and Mrs. Villines are in the drawing room," the butler said when Mrs. Willard presented her card. "If you will be so kind…" Obediently they followed him down the hall and waited while he threw open the doors to the room.

When the Willards were announced, Mrs. Villines put down the book she had been reading and rose to greet them. She was a stately woman of about forty-five who wore only two pieces of jewelry; her wedding ring and a small cameo pinned to the collar of her blue crepe dress. Everyone waited while Mrs. Villines and Mrs. Willard embraced and exclaimed that the other looked even younger than the last time they'd seen each other. Finally Mrs. Villines stepped back and offered her hand to Mr. Willard.

"You must sit down, all of you," she said when her husband had also greeted the Willards. "But first let me look at you, my dear little Elizabeth!" She took both of Elizabeth's hands in hers and, cocking her head, assumed a critical expression. "I see I shall have to stop calling you 'little'!" She smiled when Elizabeth blushed. "Now, you must sit next to me. And you, Amelia," Mrs. Villines said when she had established Elizabeth in the chair next to hers. "Why, you are the very image of your mother when she was your age!"

Mr. Villines had retaken his seat and was sitting with his legs crossed at the ankle, one hand resting lightly on the arm of his chair, smiling at Amelia while she thanked his wife. He held a cup and saucer in his other hand, lifting his arm occasionally to take a sip of tea. His dark hair was almost completely gray now, and though Elizabeth tried to remember what he had been like the last time she had seen him, she could only recall that he had, as now, seemed stern.

She accepted a cup of tea and looked around, thinking the room had changed very little. The furniture was still dark and heavy looking, all of it ornately carved and uncomfortable to sit on. Red-and-cream India rugs of varying sizes still covered the floor, and the wallpaper was still the same red-and-gray-flowered pattern. The curtains, a deep red, were drawn back from the windows to take advantage of the view of the gardens.

One thing was different, she noticed: the portrait hanging over the fireplace. The painting of Mrs. Villines's father had been replaced by another portrait. Every feature was almost exactly as Elizabeth remembered. Nicholas was seated at a desk, turned half to one side to face the painter. He was leaning back, one hand holding a book open on the desk, the other dangling over the side of his chair. He was clean-shaven, with his black hair curling over his forehead and down to the collar of his coat. The portraitist had captured in his subject's smile the same look of amusement Elizabeth had seen on Mr. Villines's face just a few moments ago. The eyes were extremely dark, but they were sober, cold even; not so much as a trace of amusement was in them. It surprised her because she remembered how he loved to tease her.

"That is Nicholas, is it not?" she asked suddenly, blushing when she realized her abrupt question had interrupted something Amelia was saying.

"Yes, it is," answered Mr. Villines, looking up at the portrait of his nephew. Everyone's attention was now focused on the painting.

"He's become very handsome," Elizabeth said after a moment. She had always thought so.

"He certainly is handsome," Amelia agreed.

"Nicholas is a most remarkable young man," said Mr. Villines. "We were quite surprised to learn the extent of the debts my unfortunate brother left him. He did not breathe a word of it until there was no need for anyone to help him."

"Surely he didn't go bankrupt?" Havoc exclaimed.

"It's a wonder he did not," Mr. Villines replied. "No, Nicholas paid off the debts without once asking for help."

Havoc made a small noise of approval and sat back in his chair.

Mr. Villines glanced mischievously at the two girls. "I'll wager you think him even handsomer than this painting when you meet him."

"Is he in London?" asked Mrs. Willard, looking from the portrait to Amelia and then back.

"No, he's in Europe at the moment," Mrs. Villines answered. "He's fond of traveling, so he does quite frequently, now that he can afford to." Mrs. Villines looked from the portrait of her nephew to Elizabeth.

"He deserves to enjoy the fruits of his labors," said Havoc.

"How simply wonderful that he is able to indulge his taste for travel," said Amelia.

Mrs. Villines glanced at Amelia. "We expect him back within a fortnight or so. But it won't do to have you pine away in the meantime. We are having guests for supper next Wednesday, and Mr. Villines and I shall be very unhappy if you do not come. Sir Jaspar Charles and his wife have just come back from a tour of Europe, and I'm sure he will have a great many tales. Sir Jaspar is a great one for tales, is he not, Russell?"

"Oh, indeed he is!"

Elizabeth continued to look at the painting even after the subject was changed. The Nicholas in the portrait was older, his expression more reserved, wiser perhaps. It should be no surprise, she thought, they had both changed since they'd last seen each other. In two weeks she would find out how much he'd changed. And surely Nicholas would see that his childhood friend had also grown up.

«
^
»

"B
ut I don't need a new gown, Uncle Havoc!" Elizabeth said when the subject of what the girls would wear to their engagement at the Villineses came up. Elizabeth's frown disappeared magically. "No one in London has seen my clothes, so my green silk will seem new to them."

"I won't have you seen in last year's fashions," cried Mr. Willard. "I'll not have people thinking I can't afford to properly dress my family."

Even Mrs. Willard had to admit the justice of her husband's sentiment. "We can take her to Amelia's dressmaker, I suppose," she said with only a little reluctance.

"I suppose we can, Mary!"

Because her aunt insisted she pay all her expenses from her allowance, Elizabeth protested. "Uncle Havoc, I could never afford her dressmaker. If Amelia will help me choose a pattern, all I really need is the fabric."

"Pshaw, Elizabeth! There isn't time to make a gown."

"Of course there is."

"And will you wear the same gown every time you go out?" Mr. Willard demanded.

"I think the clothes I already have are quite suitable, don't you agree, Aunt Mary?"

Havoc knew he was defeated when Elizabeth resorted to asking his wife's opinion. He sighed; maybe she knew what she was doing. "Very well, then. Disgrace me if you must."

"Beth has very sensible taste, Mr. Willard. I'm sure she won't disgrace us," said Mrs. Willard. "Especially with Amelia to help her."

"Amelia, do you hear?"

"Yes, Father."

That afternoon Elizabeth, Amelia, and Mrs. Willard took the carriage to the Regent Street dressmaker Amelia patronized, where they were soon flipping through pattern books. Elizabeth, seeing Amelia was occupied with an examination of notions, passed over several patterns without even a second glance before finding the one she had in mind. It was the sort of dress she dreamed of wearing; shown sketched from the front and back, it had a rounded collar folded over itself with a generous amount of lace trimming the edge. Just low enough to be daring, she thought, without quite seeming scandalous, though it was one of her secret desires to one day wear a scandalous dress. The sleeves of this gown were wide and also lace-trimmed, and the skirt, with six flounces at the bottom, would be nothing short of perfect with the addition of bows. Such a dress would surely turn a few heads. She was already settling on the color when she showed it to her aunt.

Mrs. Willard gazed at it and shook her head. "The fabric could be purchased for a decent sum, but the trimming!" She clicked her tongue. "Do you think you can afford the extra cost of the flounces? And look here." She pointed to the neckline. "Why, it would take weeks just to sew the collar."