“Yet necessary, for the most stubborn of fools. And until it is destroyed, we cannot see clearly.” He lowered his voice, “I am thankful for the lessons given me.”
The color rose in her cheeks. “Now you are being nonsensical.”
“And you do not like nonsense, I recall. I must think of something profound to say.”
Her smile flashed. “Please do not strain yourself for my sake.”
“Ah.” He grinned. “Alas, like Orsino, I can only say, ‘Still so cruel?’”
She laughed. “‘Still so constant,’ Lord Hawkesbury.”
“Nicholas,” he pressed.
“Nicholas,” she murmured, her eyes luminous, before her gaze returned to her book.
He leaned back against the upholstery, watching her a moment longer. Her lips flickered into smiles, the shadows dancing across her face lengthening her lashes. Firelight caught the gold in her hair, making him wonder about the softness of those curls …
He blinked and slowly stood. He really must see about changing these clothes.
Over the next few days life settled into a new, strange routine. Mornings saw a steady parade of visitors, as everyone from Catherine Winthrop to Eliza Hardy felt free to visit, after the earl murmured something at church about Lavinia’s need for company, or so Mrs. Foster said. Nothing would be seen of him until later in the afternoons, when visitors were not expected, and he would find her in the music room or here, in the library, and the subsequent conversation between Aunt Patience, herself, and the earl—no, Nicholas—would flow with convivial ease.
Her spirits had improved, due in no small part to her decision to forgive Lady Milton and not allow offence into her heart. Papa’s daily visits helped also, his faith in her unmitigated—although she doubted he would even notice the innuendo should someone have the temerity to say something to him. Thinking about how wronged she was would not solve anything. God knew she was innocent, so she determined to think on better things.
Better things, like appreciating the many who wished her well. Appreciating time spent in a beautiful house, where a multitude of servants cared for her as she regained strength. Lily was yet another blessing. Aunt Patience, whose dry wit and insightful conversation engaged Lavinia’s sense of humor and her mind. And Nicholas …
“Miss Ellison?”
She glanced up from her book, her cheeks heating. He seemed to appear at the oddest moments, almost like he knew she had been thinking of him. “Yes, my lord?”
“You appear to be wool gathering. I asked you a question, which you ignored, yet I am determined not to take offence.”
“I am glad for your sake, my lord. To take offence at such a thing would display a stingy soul, indeed.”
His lips curved. “Your wit indicates you are well on the road to recovery.”
“Something you will no doubt miss when I am no longer here to plague you with it.”
“I am scarcely plagued, Miss Ellison.”
The humorous glint in his eyes, touched by something that looked remarkably like tenderness, made her heart flutter and her face warm further. “Was there a question, my lord?”
“Miss West has given you a remarkably well-rounded education. I wonder, has she ever taught you to play chess?”
Lavinia exchanged glances with her aunt, sitting away from the fire in the room’s corner. “She has not.”
“Really? I’m surprised. A pity. I was prepared to challenge you to a match, but …” He shrugged.
“I’m sure Lavinia would be able to play. She is a quick study.”
“True, Miss West.” The earl turned to Lavinia. “Would you like to play?”
She put her bookmark in place and smiled sweetly. “I believe I would.”
Half an hour later, they were engrossed in a battle of wits, as her knight evaded capture from his bishop. He’d glance up every so often, catching her swiftly averted gaze, or the smoothing of a smile. Lavinia’s playing ability proved her to be a very quick study indeed, but he didn’t mind her subterfuge. Chess was merely a ploy to achieve his goal—more time with his houseguest.
He shifted his rook from danger and spent the next minute watching her. Lilac smudges under her eyes still testified to her illness; the pock-marks near her hairline were fading, yet continued to bear witness to her compassion. He was relieved. Her face seemed to hold even more character now, her outward appearance increasingly appealing the more time he spent with her.
Not classically beautiful, Lavinia possessed a luminous charm far more alluring. Her eyes sparkled with intelligence, her dimples hinted of her wit, her lips promised romance, her skin a canvas for her emotions … She could hide nothing. Like the fact she now enjoyed his company.
Which was just as well, because he enjoyed hers. She was interesting, well-read, able to converse on all matters of life. How refreshing to speak to a young woman whose topics of conversation were not limited to the latest fashions or gossip about others. And her quiet absorption in his conversation had led him to open his heart as he never had before. Yet he sensed that if he pressed his advantage, she’d simply retreat.
“Lord Hawkesbury?”
“Nicholas.”
“Nicholas,” she repeated softly, stirring his heart to sweetness. “I believe it is your turn.”
He refocused his attention on the chessboard. She had countered his move. He frowned, studying the pieces, before a path revealed itself. He shifted his queen in a long diagonal move across the board. “Check.”
He glanced up. Lavinia held his smile as their gazes connected. Her eyes were like the moonlit Bay of Biscay: beautiful, clear, sparkling with warmth. Something hot rushed through his chest, lending wings to his spirits, his heart, his soul, before she dropped her gaze to resume her perusal of the chessboard. He exhaled silently, watching candlelight flicker mysteries across her features as he waited. She shifted her king from danger so he swiftly moved his bishop, but in doing so, brushed her hand. Heat trembled up his arm, and it took a moment before he could drawl, “I believe that is checkmate, my dear Miss Ellison.”
She studied the chessboard with puckered brow, before she moved her piece once again. “On the contrary, my dear sir, I believe that is checkmate.” Her triumphant smile shone. “My queen takes your king.”
He studied the board, saw that it was so, and shook his head. “You are quite a formidable opponent, Miss Ellison.” He leaned forward until his face was quite close to hers. “Especially for someone who has never played.”
She bowed her head, the glimmer of a smile still on her lips. “As always, I hesitate to contradict …”
“As always.”
She laughed, low and husky. “But Nicholas, you must allow, I did not say I had never played. Just that my aunt had not taught me.”
“Your tactics astonish!”
“So my father often tells me.”
“He is your usual opponent?”
She nodded. “Papa taught me when I was a girl.”
“You are a remarkable young lady. I congratulate you.” He picked up her hand and pressed it gently. “Perhaps I should speak to your father about a match?”
She smiled. That warm, sweet sensation squeezed his heart once more.
“A match?” A new, unlooked-for voice cried shrilly. “What match could you possibly mean?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LAVINIA LOOKED AT the door and froze. A most elegant woman, whose face wore an expression colder than the bleakest depths of winter, stood glaring at them both.
“Mother!” The earl’s face drained of all animation. He dropped Lavinia’s hand like a hot coal. “What are you doing here?”
“When I am informed that my only surviving child is at risk of smallpox, I immediately set out to see how he fares.” She squinted. “This, I presume, is the chit who put my son in mortal danger?”
Nicholas rose. “Mother, this is Miss Lavinia Ellison. Miss Ellison, this is my mother, the Countess of Hawkesbury.”
Her ladyshi
p’s eyes remained frosty as she ignored Lavinia’s small curtsey.
“It is an honor to meet you, ma’am. And I assure you, I had no intention of endangering your son’s life.”
“Pah! You’ve insinuated your way into his graces and into his home. No doubt the entire county is gossiping about your conduct!”
“Mother!”
Lavinia swallowed, the heat in her cheeks rapidly spreading. “You’re mistaken, your ladyship. I had no intention of coming here, but the fact that Nich—I mean, your son—found me when he did no doubt saved my life.”
“Such liberties!” Pale blue eyes snapped at the earl. “You let this mere schoolgirl address you so familiarly?”
“She is not a schoolgirl. And Miss Ellison is correct: I gave her no choice but to come here. If she had not, Dr. Hanbury said she would most likely have died.”
“Hmph!”
“You are correct about the county gossips.” Aunt Patience rose from her corner of the room.
The Countess scowled. “Who is this person?”
The stiff silk of her aunt’s skirts rustled as she moved to Lavinia’s side. “They no doubt gossip about the wonderful generosity your son has shown to such an insignificant person as my niece.”
A tiny smile hovered over the earl’s lips, disappearing as he turned to his parent. “This is Miss Ellison’s aunt, Miss West. Miss West, my mother.”
His mother’s eyes narrowed further. “You, you seem familiar. Have we met?”
“I have met many people in my life. I do not recall them all.”
Lavinia stared at the faint pink staining her aunt’s cheeks. Aunt Patience never blushed. Had she met the countess? How could she? Hadn’t she always lived a quiet life of books and music? The earl’s voice drove further conjecture away.
“As Miss Ellison’s maid, and lately her aunt, have been in residence the entire time she has been here, there has been no hint of impropriety. Miss Ellison’s sterling reputation, and that of her father, means no decent person would even contemplate entertaining such wicked notions.” The earl’s folded arms and stern glare brooked no opposition. “Let me not hear any more silly speculation.”
His mother’s lips thinned as she moved to sit on the settee, divesting herself of her gloves and silken wrapper, which she handed to a thin, elegantly dressed lady of indeterminable age. “Take this upstairs, Pierce. This room is rather warm.” Pierce disappeared.
As the earl sent for tea, Lavinia glanced at her aunt, wondering if they should leave also, but Aunt Patience merely shook her head. She swallowed a sigh.
“Miss Ellison and Miss West have been a tremendous help in helping me understand some of the concerns of the local community, Mother.”
The countess sniffed.
“Miss Ellison holds a real desire to help the poorer tenants attain better housing.”
“The poor? Why should anyone care about the poor? Dirty wretches.”
“Mother!”
Lavinia could keep quiet no more. “The poor are just like you and me. They deserve our sympathy, not our censure! How can we stand idly by and watch their suffering when we have it in our power to help?”
A footman appeared with the tea. She breathed past the quivering indignation, her hand shaking as she accepted a teacup from the earl.
The countess sipped her tea. “You are frightfully forward in your opinions, Miss Ellison, I must say.”
Must you? Lavinia pressed her lips together.
The countess settled back in her chair. “Most well-bred young ladies of my acquaintance do not think of such things. Men don’t admire such independent thinking.”
“Then it’s a good thing my niece is not looking to be admired by a man.”
Lavinia fought to control her words, fought not to look at the earl. “I have been brought up to believe that my life is to be useful in the service of others. I understand that many young ladies of your acquaintance might be content to talk about clothing or draperies, but that is something that will never interest me. So it is most fortunate I will never be in London or some other fashionable place to appear so frightfully forward.”
“Indeed!” Icy blue eyes bore into her.
The duel of wits had left her exhausted. Lavinia placed her teacup on the side table and rose. “Please excuse me. I am feeling rather tired.”
“Of course you are.” Aunt Patience offered her arm, as if determined to show Lavinia was an invalid. “Please excuse us both.”
The earl rose, his lips upturned in seeming appreciation of her aunt’s performance, before turning to his mother with a resigned look.
After escaping the drawing room, Lavinia gave a huge sigh of relief. She glanced to where Giles hovered in the hall, a twinkle in his eye, which disappeared with the reemergence of Pierce.
As Aunt Patience muttered something, Lavinia grasped the banister, half dragging her way upstairs, the sudden exertion causing no small loss of breath. When she reached her room, her weariness was great, but she forced herself to the wardrobe and began removing gowns.
Lily moved to her side, arms outstretched. “Miss, what are you doing?”
“Yes, Lavinia, what are you doing?”
“Packing.”
“Whatever for?”
“We must go. I have more than outstayed my welcome.”
“Lavinia, you are simply not up to traveling.”
“It’s not far.”
“I know, but I would feel more comfortable to have the doctor come and give his consent.” Her aunt nodded to Lily. “That will be all.”
Lavinia met the maid’s worried glance and managed a smile. “Thank you, Lily.”
Aunt Patience waited until the girl had exited before speaking again. “If you leave as soon as her ladyship arrives, it may appear you have something to hide. Far better to stay for a few more days, giving the impression of her approval, than to go scurrying off like a fox set to hounds.”
“Approval? She looked like she wanted me dead!”
“And why should that matter? Her opinion is simply that, an opinion. And you do not care what any Hawkesbury thinks of you, do you?” Her aunt stared hard at her.
She swallowed. No, she cared not for the opinion of the countess. But the earl …
“Remember, you have nothing of which to be ashamed. It is not as if Hawkesbury has any thought of you.”
Her heart clenched. Of course he hadn’t. This illness had made her such a fool.
Her aunt returned the dresses to the wardrobe, muttering, “I believe Margaret Hawkesbury has practiced that sneer for years.”
“You do remember her.”
Her aunt turned away, tugging down the cuff of her dress. “Some circumstances require a little dissembling. Now, I think you should rest while I summon the doctor. Today’s exertions seemed to have wearied you considerably.”
But as Lavinia lay on the bed, sleep refused to come. Her aunt’s justification of pretense warred against years of her instructions in honesty. Questions continued, spinning cobwebs of confusion, obscuring all she thought she’d known, until exhaustion claimed her and dragged her down into oblivion.
Nicholas leaned back in his dining chair, watching the interplay between the three women from under hooded eyes. Since his father’s death, his mother’s forcefulness had escalated along with her coldness, to the point that most people bent to her will rather than face her icy ire. She had never coped well with other dynamic personalities, especially those she believed socially inferior. But apparently Miss West had not received that particular memorandum, as she continued in her disconcerting, abrupt ways and refusal to use formal address for her social betters. It was no surprise Mother detested her, or that in the past three days the two ladies had barely exchanged a civil word. Their sparring amused him, as it seemed to amuse Lavinia, when she wasn’t trying to placate his mother regarding Miss West’s more outrageous remarks.
He glanced at the reverend’s daughter. Since his mother’s arrival, she had avoided his ga
ze. Indeed, she’d barely spoken to him. He missed their repartee, missed the open sharing and the ease. He’d love to know why her brow puckered as she watched her aunt now.
The formidable Miss West. He played with his wine glass, thinking back three days to when she stood before him in the study, determination in her eyes and in the tilt of her chin.
“Hawkesbury, my niece is determined to leave, to rid your mother of any unwarranted concern. I, however, am concerned that may be precipitate. I wish to summon the doctor to ascertain whether such a trip should continue.”
He’d ignored the flutter of unease the thought of Lavinia’s departure provoked and acquiesced to her aunt’s wishes.
Dr. Hanbury’s diagnosis necessitated a further week’s stay before he was satisfied she would be well enough to return home, much to his mother’s displeasure—and Nicholas’s private relief.
As the older women continued trading opinions and thinly veiled insults over the rights of the poor, he glanced across the luncheon table. “Miss Ellison, how do you feel today?”
The other conversation ceased as she replied, “Better than yesterday, my lord.”
“Do you feel like venturing out of doors briefly? There’s something I think you might like to see.”
“What is it, Nicholas?” His mother frowned at him.
“Nothing that would interest you in the slightest, ma’am, I assure you.”
Lavinia’s glance moved from his mother to the dining-room window spilling sunshine onto the dark-stained wooden floors. “I have not been outside in weeks.”
“Some fresh air will do you good.” It was Miss West’s turn to frown his direction. “As long as she doesn’t catch cold.”
He inclined his head. “It won’t take long.”
Lily retrieved a wrap and followed them at a discreet distance. The wind had mercifully died down, and the tall trees stood stiffly, as if at attention.
Lavinia breathed deeply. “I had forgotten how good this feels. It’s wonderful to be out.”
“Away from the hot air?” He cocked a brow.
The Elusive Miss Ellison Page 18
