by A.J. Dixon
~Chapter Two~
Elizabeth walked up to her room with her temper at its boiling point. How could one man be so upsetting? It was beyond comprehension. He couldn't be any older than his late twenties, which wasn't a very far cry from her age of twenty.
His piercing green eyes told a story all on their own. But Elizabeth was never very good at reading people, so when she tries to figure out exactly what his story was she failed, miserably. The next thug that stood out from him was his smile; a small, pompous smile that packed a lot more punch than it should have. On the numerous occasions which he'd flashed the same smile, a tiny part of her had melted.
She mentally scolded herself. Was she seriously attracted to this man? This rogue? Definitely not, she told herself. In fact, she was exact opposite of attracted. What was it called again? Oh yes, she was repulsed! Elizabeth chuckled softly. She was definitely repulsed by the General; of the way his hand had felt holding her wrist, the smoothness of his voice and the way his words enveloped her on a silky mist.
There was a knock on her boudoir door as she sat before her large mirror. Her dresser was stacked high with the usual beauty paraphernalia; Lord knew how she acquired them.
It was her mother. Lady Vivian was dressed in a simple forest green floor-length dress. It had a diamond studded neckline, like most of the women in the household's attire. Her slender figure, only partially marred by a tiny pouch below her navel (sadly, she still hadn't gotten rid of her pregnancy fat). And her dark skin as neither wrinkles nor blemished. Wise brown eyes examined Elizabeth and she began to feel uneasy. Vivian didn't look at her daughter in appraisal very often; but, when she did, it was cause for much concern.
"Elizabeth," she started, perching on the edge of her daughter's bed, "how on earth did you get that bruise?"
Elizabeth groaned inwardly. She hoped her mother wouldn't see it. But who was she kidding? Mr Big-Shot-General left a nasty purple ring on her wrist. Already the throbbing pain was gone, but that didn't lessen the mental pain that came with it. The pain of explaining exactly what had happened to her mother.
"I got it when my hand caught in the railing of the stairs when I was coming up here," she said cautiously. "I'm fine; really."
Vivian chuckled and adjusted the sleeve of her gown. "You know as well as your father that I dislike liars, Elizabeth. Now, how did you get that bruise?"
Elizabeth swallowed and squared her shoulders. She was no longer a child; she could stand up to them however she wanted. "With all due respect, that doesn't concern you, mother."
Vivian was taken back. Never had one of her daughters spoken to her with such...ill-mannerisms. She had to admit though; Elizabeth was never one of conformity. Being the most stubborn of the Bellinger Five, conformity was something Elizabeth never stood for. And she didn't care who it hurt in the process.
"Very well then," Vivian said. She arose from the bed and went to stand behind her daughter. "Whenever you're ready to talk, I'm here." She pressed a kiss to Elizabeth's hair and left the room.
I could've handled that a little better, she thought. It's not her fault Iversley's a scoundrel.
With a tiny scoff she pulled on a clean black and red corset, which she pulled loosely enough that the grounds men wouldn't ogle her. She couldn't blame really; she was one of the most eligible spinsters in London.
There was a soft knock on Elizabeth's bedroom door as she pulled on a simple black dress which still highlighted her curves.
"Dinner is ready, Lady Elizabeth." She recognized the voice if their housekeeper--Geraldine.
"Tell mother I'll be right down." With that Elizabeth pulled on a pair of red flats and headed downstairs.
As usual, she announced her arrival by loudly humming her favourite Beethoven symphony. It started as she descended the flight of stairs and continued as she walked into the dining hall. Her mother was seated on one end of the large table. Dressed in a dark blue gown with a beaded bodice and her hair pulled back from her face, Lady Vivian looked as wonderful as ever. Her father was on the next end, dressed in a simple white shirt and black suspenders.
As Elizabeth took a seat beside her youngest sister, Madeline, she couldn't help but notice that all four of her sisters were dressed in the same pale pink gowns. Which wasn't entirely unusual; Lady Vivian thought of her for youngest daughters as quadruplets and often wanted them to dress as such. What was usual, though, was the fact that the seat to her right was empty. There was never an empty seat at the Bellinger dining table. Never. Which paved the way to a very important question: who was joining them for dinner?
Elizabeth's question was answered as a man dressed in a black shirt with a dark purple shirt underneath stepped across the threshold. Immediately, she recognized who it was.
