The Mysterious Heir (25 page)

She sighed as she encountered her own weary reflection. She had dressed in a demure high-necked rose-sprigged muslin. She had wound back her hair, and wore only a single simple gold ornament. It was well enough, she concluded, if one discounted the slight smudges beneath her eyes. She sighed again; as this was her first highly social tea party, she had so wanted to look correct. But she had little time for further ruminations, as the butler approached her and politely informed her that the ladies had already arrived and were awaiting her in the small salon. Elizabeth thanked him, took a deep breath, and went forth to greet Lady Isabel's guests.

Lady Isabel sat at a tea table, the sunlight making a halo of her fair hair. She was dressed in a morning gown of creamy lace. Her position at the table and her casual but firm air of command made it appear that she was, in fact, hostess of the great house. A fitting and quite natural hostess for an Earl, Elizabeth thought with sad justice, though the thought caught at her heart.

Four other women were present. Mrs. Woods, the physician's wife, the vicar's wife, and the plump mate of the neighboring landowner were recognizable to Elizabeth at once. But the fourth female was a stranger to her. And a spectacular stranger. She was of middle years but slim as a girl. Her gown was of the finest Brussels lace and her hair was almost the same shade as that of her hostess, though Elizabeth noted that she took care to sit out of the sunlight, for when a few stray mischievous sunbeams struck her tresses they struck more brass than gold. Her eyes were small and sharp, as were all her other features. She might have been an attractive female, Elizabeth thought as Lady Isabel waved her to a seat and murmured introductions, if she did not seem so finely honed and almost whittled to a point.

“And Lady Serena Rector you do not know, Elizabeth,” Lady Isabel said, “for she is only lately arrived in the vicinity. She is staying on with family in the next county. But she is a dear friend of mine from London. And when I heard she was passing through the district on her way to her dear friends, the Fitz-Harolds, I hit upon the scheme of asking her here with us.”

“I should not have missed it for the world,” Lady Rector replied in a bored, thin little voice which belied her words.

Elizabeth took a seat next to Mrs. Woods, as that lady's sharpness was only of the mind and somehow her solid presence was comforting.

Lady Isabel led the conversation, and it was hard work for a time. For they were a disparate group. Three were local females who seldom strayed far from their district, and two were ornaments of the highest ton. Elizabeth contributed little, as she was too unaccustomed to social teas, and feared putting a foot wrong. Their initial conversation was labored. Mrs. Henrick, the local landowner's wife, had social pretensions and so only hung upon the two London ladies' words as though committing them to heart. The vicar's wife turned out to be sadly downtrodden, and only agreed with whatever
was put to her. Mrs. Woods said just what she thought, and Elizabeth was nerving herself to do the same.

But as the teacups were refilled and the cress sandwiches were nibbled away, they discovered under their hostess' expert lead that there were commonalities that quite transcended class and station. Lady Isabel led them into talk about matters common to all their sex and they began to chat busily and happily about children, and then fashion and frocks, and then the talk turned inevitably to bonnets.

Lady Rector, with an animation that seemed quite out of proportion to her general state, was rhapsodizing about the most dear and cunning hat she had set her mind on purchasing in London, and had lost through her indecision to a chit who had waltzed into the shop and purchased it in a trice from beneath her very nose, when Lady Isabel cut in and said helpfully, “Why, Serena, you are in luck! For if Madame Dupont refuses to make up another, Elizabeth here could most likely fashion it for you in no time.”

The others all stopped in mid-sentence and stared at Elizabeth, who sat feeling cornered and confused at the turn of the conversation.

“Are you clever with your hands, my dear?” Mrs. Woods asked. “That is a lovely talent. It's all I can do to mend a shirt. Anything more than that, and I'm off to the seamstress.”

“Oh, much handier than that,” Lady Isabel caroled. “Elizabeth is no amateur at such things. No, indeed.”

They all looked to Elizabeth for further comment, but she only stared back, dumb with panic.

“She's far too shy about her expertise,” Lady Isabel said merrily, “and hasn't said a word about it, even to me. But I have it on the highest authority that she is an expert at the manufacture of millinery. In fact, though she is far too modest to brag about it, Elizabeth actually works with a milliner in her hometown of Tuxford. Just think, she spends each of her days working in a shop, making up the sweetest little hats in her corner of the kingdom, and she is too self-effacing to admit to it.”

Lady Rector stared at Elizabeth with the greatest of interest, through narrowed eyes, and then asked her friend, as though
Elizabeth were incapable of speech, “Works as a milliner? In a shop?”

“True,” Lady Isabel trilled. “Aren't you in luck, Serena? Elizabeth only came here as companion to her cousin Anthony, who is cousin to Morgan. Elizabeth is not related to him at all. However, she's a goodhearted girl who gave up a month's wages just to see that her young relative arrived safely to Lyonshall. I am sure that she finds time hanging heavy without her usual occupation to fill her hands. And her purse,” she said in a low but clearly audible whisper to Lady Rector. “And I am positive that with your way with words, you can describe that bonnet to perfection, and Elizabeth can have it ready for you before you are off on your travels again.”

“Is it true, girl?” Lady Rector asked immediately, dropping all affect of boredom, as well as her previous term of address of “Miss DeLisle” as she questioned Elizabeth. “Can you do it? There's a pound note in it for you if you can. It is luck indeed, Isabel, if I can have that hat. For I did long for it so. It is a chip straw,” she said to Elizabeth, “with a few blue feathers and a nosegay at the side. And a wide blue ribbon to support the whole. I'll pay for the materials as well, and if you are half so good as Isabel claims, I'll be well satisfied. And if she is not,” the lady went on to the general company, “it is only money. And if it does not come out right, my maid will be glad of a new bonnet to impress the staff with. As she is a dream with a pressing iron,” she confided to Mrs. Henrick, “it will be well worth the price, however it turns out.”

Mrs. Woods was stunned, and sat with her mouth open as Elizabeth rose and stood to face the others. Her face was white save for two high spots of color upon her cheeks. Her topaz eyes flashed brighter than the sunlight on the tea left unfinished in her cup.

“I am afraid not, Lady Rector,” she said clearly. “For there wouldn't be time to do the creation justice. I shall be leaving Lyonshall shortly and I would not want to get your hopes up by taking the commission. A pound note is very generous, I'm sure,” she added, curtsying as low as she would to a Queen, which Lady Rector noted and stiffened in affront at, “but I shall have to write it off as a loss. If, however, you are ever in Tuxford, we should be glad of your custom. If you will excuse me, ladies,” she said while she still had the control to keep her voice steady, “it has been delightful, but I do have letters to write. So sorry to disappoint you, Lady Rector. Good afternoon.”

As Elizabeth left, so blind with grief and rage that she achieved the door only by instinct, she could hear Lady Rector announce, “Well! I must say, Isabel, I knew the countryside was primitive in many ways, and one must make do, but to have me to tea with a milliner! And when I tried, really tried to make the best of it and offer the chit a few shillings, to be so cruelly distained! Even Madame Dupont, on her highest ropes, is not so high in the instep, and would never think of taking tea with me.”

“I should think she would kill for the privilege,” Lady Isabel's soothing voice went on as she tried to smooth her friend's feathers, and Elizabeth closed the door behind her.

Elizabeth stood in the hallway and drew in deep breaths. It will not do, it will not do, she told herself severely, to rush through the house in tears. As she sought to contain herself, the butler appeared at her side.

“Is anything the matter, miss?” he inquired with concern.

“No, nothing. It will pass,” she said, turning her face from him so that he could not see her glittering, swimming, tear-filled eyes.

“Might I suggest the library, miss?” the butler said after a moment, watching her closely. “For there is never anyone there at this time of day. It is a pleasant spot to relax in, miss,” he urged, beginning to walk toward the library, as Elizabeth followed, “and I shall see that you are not disturbed, Miss DeLisle,” he said softly.

When he had closed the door behind her, Elizabeth finally let the tears fall. But only for a moment. After a few minutes of ragged weeping, she sat up and dashed her handkerchief across her eyes.

One more tear, you silly chit, she threatened herself, and I am done with you. If they have embarrassed you, she thought angrily, it was no more than deserved. For they had not, after all, lied about her condition. Nor had they invented tales about her behavior. They had only spoken the truth. And if, she cautioned herself, you yourself had forgotten that truth here among the idle and the wealthy, then you are the only one to embarrass yourself, the only one to have illusions shattered. So she sat up rigidly and gazed out of the long lettered French doors, unseeing, as she dared herself to drop one more tear over the matter, and refused to think, here and now, about its implications.

“Now what sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into?” the Earl asked, echoing her own thoughts as he entered the library.

“No trouble,” Elizabeth replied stiffly. “It is just that I am unaccustomed to tea parties.” All she could see as she kept her eyes downcast was the silver head of his walking stick as he stood beside her chair.

“And unaccustomed to incivility, insult, and cruelty as well,” he said.

She turned her face toward him and was glad that she had not seen him as he came in, for his lips were pressed into a tight line, and his face was hard.

“I know the whole,” he said, settling lightly on the arm of the chair she had flung herself into. “What Mrs. Woods did not tell me, Weathering did.”

“I am sorry if Mrs. Woods found being forced into company with a mere shopgirl, a milliner, to be degrading,” Elizabeth said defiantly.

“It was the ‘two-faced witch' and ‘that stick of an old tart' that she complained of, actually,” the Earl said, his voice lightening. “I did not hear any mention of shopgirls. The only reference to you was couched in terms of ‘that poor dear child' and ‘the dear young lady.' She parted from Isabel shortly after you did, with an astonished vicar's wife and Mrs. Henrick in tow. And not silently, either, from what I hear. She did say that she had a few choice words for her hostess as she exited. Then she turned the house upside down searching for you, but Weathering was vigilant. He was also quick to guide her to me,” the Earl said ruefully, “and she let me know in no uncertain terms what she thought of my ‘two fine London ladies.' I shall have to swallow a great many of her husband's evil possets till I am in that woman's good graces again. And if it troubles you, whatever the vicar's wife thought, she is certain to unthink, being wise enough to know to whom her husband owes his living. And Mrs. Henrick knows well what society she will be left to after the dear ‘ladies' depart this vicinity. Mrs. Woods made it clear that ‘Emma will come round, and Mary too, if she knows what's good for her.' So come, Elizabeth, the only harm that's been done is to the name of good manners, and Isabel's spite should not sink you so low.”

“She only spoke the truth. It was not a secret,” Elizabeth said staunchly, wondering for the first time who it was that had told Isabel the truth of her occupation.

“No, no secret,” he agreed, “but neither is it common gossip. And do not look at me like that, Elizabeth. Your eyes speak volumes. It was not I. More likely it was Anthony that told Harry, Bev, and everyone else. Not that it matters. For it doesn't. Yes, yes,” he said, now rising, “you think it shameful. And think that everyone in society would as well. Some would, but the majority would know that it is far wiser to work at a trade and survive than die in a socially correct manner as a perfect, idle, starving lady.

“Lady Rector is a rare old piece of goods. I wonder where Isabel got her direction. She is a practiced harpy, and there's not a man or woman of sense in the ton who will credit half a word she utters. Had I known she was coming, I would have canceled the whole,” he mused.

“It has gone on quite long enough,” he said suddenly. “I would stay and convince you of the foolishness of this morning's matter, but I am about to end all the nonsense. My man of business has come. I wrote to him some days ago. Yes,” he said, as she stared up at him, “it is almost over. I have made a decision. I shall closet myself with him this very afternoon, and then I think we can all breathe easier.

“Bear up, it will only be for a little while longer,” he said, looking fully at her. Before she could ask a question, he spoke briskly. “Now, I suggest you leave here, for if you
crouch in the library all afternoon, Isabel will have achieved all she set out to do. I did not think you so tame a creature, my dear.”