by Gayle Callen
Unlike William.
She curtsied to Peter. He took her hand in both of his and brought it to his lips. “I can’t wait until this glove is not between my lips and your hand.”
She suspected he hadn’t meant her mother to overhear, for his eyes widened when the duchess said, “Peter Derby! That is far too romantic for the bride’s mother to hear!”
But she was smiling fondly at him, and he gave a boyish shrug.
“Your Grace,” he said, “might I steal your daughter away briefly? I have something for her.”
“Of course, Peter. You two should walk in the conservatory. Very romantic at night.”
“An excellent idea,” Peter said, offering his arm to Elizabeth.
Silently they walked into the entrance hall, down the stairs, and to the far side of the house, where the glass conservatory opened onto the gardens. The doors to the outside were closed, but torches lit the curving pathways in anticipation of their guests’ arrival.
The air was cooler, with the faint musty smell of dirt and growing things beneath the scents of exotic flowers brought from all corners of the globe.
Elizabeth inhaled deeply. “I’ve always loved it here.”
“Is the little fort still in the back?”
She blinked at him, the memory surfacing slowly. “I had forgotten all about that.”
He caught her hand. “Let’s see if it’s still there.”
She knew she should pull away, should insist they had their guests to worry about, or fret over when they were supposed to show signs of strain before calling off their engagement. Instead, she ran after Peter, her slippers crunching on the gravel. In the far corner of the conservatory, where the glass separated them from the terrace, and the dark gardens spread out below, they had to push past ferns that had multiplied since their childhood, and the shrubbery grouped around a private stone bench. Torchlight flickered just above their heads.
“Peter, we can’t get dirty,” she reminded him, feeling suddenly elderly compared to her lost, impulsive youth.
“I’m wearing black evening clothes.” He ignored her, pushing through fronds, while she watched from the path. He looked over his shoulder and grinned. “It’s still here.”
He held back some of the ferns, and she saw an edge of the wooden roof that only came up to his chest. The boys had wanted a fort built in a tree, like at Madingley Court in the country, but their parents had refused to allow that, claiming the trees in the conservatory not sturdy enough.
So the boys had to be satisfied with a rough wooden floor they’d built themselves, and green shrubs and ferns overhead for privacy. When the girls wanted a roof, the boys, in their teens by then, had done their bidding, using posts rather than walls to hold up the small roof.
Elizabeth hesitated, for she was wearing violet embroidered silk that could be so easily damaged. Yet Peter’s grin made her yearn for simpler times, even as he bent and disappeared underneath. So she pushed aside a few ferns, bent her head, and looked in, surprised to find that some of the torchlight reached inside, faintly lighting the gloom. Weeds or vines hadn’t grown up through the floor. The servants had obviously still been taking care of it.
Peter was sitting on the small bench, knees up to his chest, smiling when he saw her. His teeth almost glowed in the near darkness.
“There’s room,” he said, coming off the bench, hunched over. “Sit here.”
Though her corset constricted her as she bent over, she was able to step a few feet sideways and sink onto the child-size bench, her skirts spreading out to cover almost the entire floor, pooling around Peter’s legs where he now knelt, looking at her.
She made herself look away, feeling breathless. The glass wall was right outside the fort, but darkness had taken away the view.
With nothing else to distract her, she at last looked back at him, only to find him reaching into the pocket of his coat and pulling out a small box.
“This is a good place to give this to you,” he said.
Something twisted inside her chest, but she forced a matter-of-fact smile to her lips. “Of course. The guests will expect to see engagement gifts.”
He handed her the box and she opened it, inhaling swiftly at the beauty of the ring set with several pearls. She cleared her throat. “It’s lovely, Peter.”
“See if it fits.”
She took off her gloves and tried it on. It was perfect.
“Your mother lent me another ring of yours so I could match the size.”
“Your sister helped me with your gift,” she said, pulling another box out of the pocket in her skirt.
He glanced at her in obvious surprise.
“I called for her yesterday and took her shopping with me,” Elizabeth said.
“Again? Shopping twice in one week must be a record for Mary Anne. Perhaps you’re having an effect on her after all.”
She didn’t answer that hope, because she wasn’t certain what Mary Anne thought of her. She was beginning to feel like a dead butterfly under a magnifying glass, the way Mary Anne studied her when she thought she wasn’t observed.
“We did have a nice conversation about the latest Dickens novel,” Elizabeth continued. “We both like to read.”
“Don’t sound so desperate to find something in common,” he said dryly.
Shaking her head, she handed her box to Peter and he opened it, smiling up at her as he took out the plain gold ring.
“It seems we had the same idea,” he said, sliding the ring on. “I almost purchased a locket instead, but something about the ring caught my eye.”
She tried to give him another normal smile, but he was studying her face too intently. Looking back out the window, she wished she could pretend to watch something, but the inky blackness made their privacy far too complete.
He took her hand, and his fingers rubbed over the ring that marked her as his. When he leaned toward her, she quickly stopped him.
“No, Peter, don’t kiss me. This isn’t real.”
His eyes solemn and dark, he murmured, “What if I want it to be?”
For one moment she didn’t know what to think. He’d become a man who amused himself with women, with her. He couldn’t possibly mean that he wanted to . . . to marry her.
A pang of sorrow and panic tightened her chest—and she bolted. Simply ducked beneath the roof, shoved aside ferns and began to hurry down the curving paths, past the fountain that sparkled with the light glinting off it, and back into the house, where servants hurried down corridors in last minute preparation.
To her intense relief, her mother, far too perceptive, was no longer alone. She was speaking with Mrs. Derby, Mary Anne, and Peter’s brother James.
Mrs. Derby turned as she walked in, and her face lit up with joy and gratitude. Elizabeth’s tight chest seemed to twist up into her throat.
Mrs. Derby looked at her hand. “I knew the ring would look lovely on you!”
Elizabeth lifted her hand so they could all see Peter’s gift. James, a shorter, stockier version of Peter, glanced at it perfunctorily, then looked over her head and grinned.
Elizabeth knew Peter had come into the room, but she didn’t turn to face him. She couldn’t. Her face would flame scarlet as she thought of his words of longing.
Longing for her? Or longing for the passion they shared, the passion he could have with any other woman?
She’d been such a fool. How had she assumed this false engagement would only hurt their families? And that had been an acceptable outcome, she thought, feeling disgusted with herself.
She hadn’t considered Peter’s feelings or that it would matter to him at all, except to raise his esteem in the right circles. He had wagered against her, and she’d thought that made him deserve whatever he got.
Yet . . . what if she was wrong? What if she’d been misreading him all this time?
She was the one who deserved to feel the pain that squeezed her insides. She deserved to be punished for letting all of this happen, and
making the wrong choices to solve her problems.
But she was trapped—and Peter had to remain just as trapped in her web.
As Peter approached, James clapped him on the back. “So my little brother has made the engagement official.”
Peter smiled. Elizabeth thought that a touch of strain lingered in the curve of his mouth, or perhaps the faint lines at the edge of his eyes.
James looked back at her. “You know you’ve made him unbearable to live with.”
She didn’t have to force a blush. “I don’t know what you mean. Surely you aren’t warning me about our future.”
James shook his head. “For several years it’s been Elizabeth this and Elizabeth that, but now it’s even more monotonous.”
Everyone laughed but Elizabeth, who felt stricken as she watched Peter. Was James telling the truth—or only reporting on Peter’s excellent acting skills? Peter laughed even as he met her gaze unflinchingly.
The evening turned into one strained moment after another. Lucy arrived, mortified to admit that her brother couldn’t attend. Elizabeth assured her that it was all right, and in fact it was.
Then to make everything worse, Thomas entered the room, even though he hadn’t been invited. He mingled with the guests as everyone awaited dinner. Elizabeth was forced to point out his attendance to her mother, who’d handled the seating arrangements.
Her mother only shook her head. “I didn’t know why you insisted he not be invited in the first place.”
“We don’t get along, Mama,” Elizabeth softly said, smiling at her guests. “I did turn down his marriage proposal, after all.”
“You would never know that from him. He’s quite gotten over it.”
Elizabeth ground her teeth together. “I hope his arrival does not inconvenience you too much.”
“Of course not. But now I wish I’d have invited his mother. I explained to her your worry about hurting his feelings, and of course she understood, but . . .” She shook her head and headed out to the entrance hall, probably to confer with the butler.
Elizabeth had a brief moment alone, and she took it, breathing deeply to calm herself, looking at the dozens of guests who’d come to celebrate her impending nuptials.
Lucy was chatting with Mary Anne and James, and it was good to see Mary Anne laugh at whatever Lucy said.
And then Thomas noticed Elizabeth’s solitary stance near the double doors and came toward her with purpose. She stiffened, knowing she couldn’t very well flee.
He bowed to her. “Lady Elizabeth, what a wonderful surprise to find myself here.”
As if she’d sent him an invitation, she thought angrily. But forcing a smile was getting so habitual, it was easily done. “Lord Thomas, you’re a pleasure to entertain, as always.”
Amused, he studied her face before saying softly, “You’ve created the most wonderful charade, my dear.”
“Believe what you wish,” she said, holding up her hand with its engagement gift outlined beneath her glove. “This ring says otherwise.”
“Or it says that poor Mr. Derby doesn’t understand what you’ve done to him.”
She didn’t think even Thomas could make her feel worse, but it was happening.
“Leave me alone,” she whispered raggedly.
“I—”
Something came over his face as he broke off, an expression she didn’t recognize. And then to her surprise, he bowed and left her.
Peter stood amidst several old men, all in the House of Lords with the Duke of Madingley. More than one man had said it was strange to celebrate an engagement without His Grace in attendance, and Peter couldn’t agree more. If things were normal, they would have waited for him to return to town.
But nothing was normal.
They went on discussing the latest bill that would favor the railways, but Peter couldn’t concentrate on business.
He’d made a mistake, he thought, watching Elizabeth and her mother talk. He’d hoped that after her freely given kiss the other night, she might be ready to hear a hint of his true feelings. But she’d panicked and run from him, and everything was worse.
He felt a ripple of unease. How could he prove he deserved to win her in the end, when she was convinced she loved another man?
He watched her talking to Lord Thomas Wythorne. She was stiff, her smile very forced. Lord Thomas’s grin was touched with sarcasm, and Peter had a sudden need to punch that too-handsome face. Was he one of the men who’d tried to force his attentions on her?
“Don’t worry,” said a soft feminine voice, “she chose you.”
Peter knew who it was before glancing her way, and his guilt rose to linger like embers after a fire. “Good evening, Mrs. Leland—Emily,” he answered, just as softly.
She smiled. “I’m glad you’ve finally accepted that we don’t need formality between us.”
He nodded. “What do you mean by telling me not to worry?”
With her head, she gestured toward Lord Thomas, who was just leaving Elizabeth. “Last year, he asked her to marry him.”
“She never told me,” he said, stunned.
“There have been several proposals since she came out,” Emily said, almost laughing at him. “Surely you know how highly sought after she is.”
He nodded. “Of course. I just didn’t know he was one of the rejected. How did he take it?”
Emily blinked up at him. “How else could he take it? In stride, I imagine, since I heard nothing else.”
“And he still visits here,” he mused, thinking of the glimpse he’d had of Mary Anne playing billiards with him.
“He usually accompanies his mother, a friend to the duchess.”
And then as if his thoughts had predicted it, Peter saw Lord Thomas stop beside Mary Anne, who’d been standing near the piano, thumbing through sheet music, something she never did after dinner, when someone might ask her to play.
Mary Anne looked a bit defensive, her chin high, considering she’d already enjoyed a game of billiards with the man. Lord Thomas wasn’t put off by her behavior, but stood talking to her for several minutes. He picked out a song, and Mary Anne vehemently shook her head. The man only laughed, as if sure he’d get his way.
About what, Peter didn’t know, but his gut didn’t like it, and he’d learned to trust his instincts. And then he saw Elizabeth watching Lord Thomas and Mary Anne, and for an unguarded moment he’d seen her worry.
He knew then that he needed to look into this man.
Chapter 19
When Thomas had left Mary Anne, Elizabeth approached Peter’s sister, where she still stood at the piano.
“I hope Lord Thomas wasn’t bothering you,” Elizabeth said. “He can be . . . persistent.”
“I think he’s very confident. I like that.” Mary Anne set down the sheet music, as if she wanted to concentrate on Elizabeth. In a tone that wasn’t belligerent, only firm, she said, “I invited him tonight.”
Elizabeth’s mouth sagged open before she controlled herself. “I don’t understand.”
“I sent him a handwritten invitation. I saw him watching you and Peter at the opera, and I wanted him to see how happy the two of you were together—because you didn’t look all that happy that night.”
“I see.” If the last sentence were a hint that Mary Anne wanted to know more, she would not get an answer from her. “Mary Anne, couples can’t be in perfect agreement all the time. You know how happy Peter and I are.”
“So I hear.”
“But Lord Thomas—I know you think he might be your friend, since you’ve played a game together, but . . .” Her words faded away. She could hardly hint at the threats Thomas had made.
“Just say it,” Mary Anne said coolly. “I’ve never known you to be shy.”
“You don’t know me well, Mary Anne, and I know we can’t remedy that in just a couple days. But I’m concerned for you. Lord Thomas can be ruthless when he wants something.”
To her surprise, that seemed to ease Mary Anne, who c
huckled.
“Elizabeth, you know he could not possibly want anything from me.”
“You don’t know what he wants.”
“Tonight, he wanted me to choose a song he should sing after dinner. Can you imagine? Usually only ladies sing.”
“Lord Thomas tends to do whatever he wants at any given moment, little caring of the consequences.”
“I guess I’ll have to form my own opinion. But I thank you for yours.” Mary Anne nodded politely and walked away.
Elizabeth smoothed out her features before her troubled frown could give anything away.
* * *
Mary Anne found herself watching Lord Thomas. And to her surprise, he watched her. After dinner when he came to find her, she didn’t scurry away. Her heart trembled in her chest, the feeling of panic she’d lived with so long almost clouding her vision. She’d been less afraid of Lord Thomas alone over a billiards table. But billiards, her obsession, kept her separate from men—from her emotions, she realized.
“Miss Derby,” Lord Thomas said with a nod.
“My lord,” she answered, her voice steady. “I’m waiting for that song.”
He laughed softly. “I thought we could discuss what we were doing at the opera first.”
She remembered seeing him there, a scowl on his face, as he watched her brother and Elizabeth argue. Did he want Elizabeth, and she didn’t want him? Did the entire city think Elizabeth the perfect paragon of womanhood?
“I think you were spying on my brother and his fiancée,” Mary Anne said.
He arched a brow and smiled down at her. “A woman who speaks her mind. I like that. It’s one of the reasons I appreciated Lady Elizabeth. I courted her at one time.”
“Didn’t every man?” Mary Anne asked brightly. Inwardly, she winced. That was too revealing of her own weaknesses. Elizabeth seemed genuinely concerned for her—which only made Mary Anne more intrigued by Lord Thomas. Why had Elizabeth warned her about him?
“I asked her to marry me,” he continued, his smile faint, “but she refused me.”
