by Allegra Gray
“I see.” Lady Holbrook’s face softened marginally. But she wasn’t done. “You know there were rumors after your disappearance.”
Elizabeth glanced at the Grumsbys and dipped her head. “So I have learned. Though I believe, as is often the case, the rumors were more interesting than the truth behind my absence.” She prayed her hosts couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart. Lying always made her uncomfortable.
“I see,” Lady Holbrook repeated. “Then you are not involved with Beaufort?”
“Lydia!” Her husband’s eyes bulged at the brutally direct question, but she waived him off.
“Involved?” Elizabeth echoed, trying to summon a blush. Not a difficult task when she considered the true extent of their “involvement.”
“I did meet him at Lady Grumsby’s estate, where I visited after leaving my cousins. The duke was there helping his nephew train a new pup. He’s quite an amiable man.” She prattled lightly, like a schoolgirl who’d developed a naïve but unrequited crush on the imposing duke. Again, not a difficult act, given that that’s exactly what she’d been a couple years ago.
“Amiable?” It was Lady Holbrook’s turn to sound the echo.
Marian and her husband stood nearby, smiling benign smiles, as though every word Elizabeth spoke was the full truth.
“Yes, I’ve always found my brother-in-law personable,” Lord Grumsby averred.
Elizabeth’s mother and Bea smiled and nodded as well, though the story she’d told did not implicate them in any way.
Behind their little group, additional guests had entered and were waiting to greet their hosts for the evening.
Lord Holbrook stepped forward. “Well, Miss Medford, welcome back to London. I hope your health will be sufficient to see you through the Little Season,” he said, taking his wife by the elbow and turning her to their newest guests.
Lady Holbrook looked as though she had more to say, but she dutifully went with her husband.
Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief.
Slowly, the pounding of her heart subsided. She still had to get through the rest of the ball, but she’d passed the first test.
She scanned the ballroom as her party proceeded into it, but Alex had not yet arrived. She sighed and prepared herself to spend the next several hours either propping up the wall or taking refuge in the retiring room.
As it turned out, things were not quite so bad. The elderly Lady Tanner came over to join their party, followed by some of her friends.
“Young lady,” Lady Tanner addressed her gruffly, “I hear you’ve given your family some trouble over the summer.”
Elizabeth flicked a glance at her mother. “I believe we’ve settled our differences,” she said softly.
“Oh?” the older woman said, looking to Lady Medford for confirmation.
For once, Elizabeth’s mother did not let her down. “Elizabeth’s always been a headstrong girl,” she said. “But in the end, she’s done well for herself.”
Lady Tanner’s eyebrows raised. “Shall I take that to mean there is an engagement forthcoming?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Lady Medford replied with a mysterious smile that clearly implied she was withholding a juicy morsel of information.
“Well, then,” older woman said, and gave Elizabeth a gruff nod of approval.
Lady Tanner and her cronies soon fell to gossiping with Elizabeth’s mother. The presence of so many of Society’s matrons near Elizabeth seemed to quell some of the rumors about her reputation. She was by no means the most popular female on the dance floor, but she did not have to sit out every number.
Finally she heard the butler announce Alex’s name. Her heart caught in her throat as she watched her handsome duke enter the room. His evening wear was black, almost stark, but for a snowy-white cravat and shirt. He looked dangerous. Dangerously appealing.
Elizabeth swallowed. Why had she agreed to wait an extra week for their wedding?
“Are you certain two dances would be too many?” she asked Bea.
Marian and Bea, her mentors in this wild attempt to salvage her reputation, had allowed her to reserve only one dance with Alex.
Bea smiled knowingly. “Two dances would be showing him particular favor.”
“But we’ll be announcing our engagement soon. Oughtn’t he favor me?”
“Better not fuel the rumors more than necessary,” Marian advised. “If we’re to stick to our story that he became enamored of you while rusticating in the country, and that you’ve been chaperoned at my estate this whole while, we can’t have people asking too many questions.”
Elizabeth nodded, disappointed.
The story they’d concocted was full of holes. Technically she had been with a cousin—Harold—in the country, though she preferred not to remember that. And as far as having been in residence at the Grumsbys, well, that had happened, too, though not in the order her fabricated story alleged.
She hadn’t been a friend of the Grumsbys until recently. She’d been their governess.
She just hoped she’d managed to stay out of sight on the few occasions her employers had had guests, and that no one had recognized her there.
Yes, the story was shaky, but there was simply nothing better they could think of.
When Alex came to claim his one dance, he kept his demeanor businesslike, as though she were merely a friendly acquaintance. Only the intimate gleam in his eyes when he took her hand told her otherwise.
She wanted nothing more than to slide her hands beneath his jacket, beneath the crisp white of his shirt, to hold him close and touch him fully. She’d never been graceful on her feet, and now, merely breathing in his clean masculine scent made her head spin. How on earth was she going to concentrate on dancing?
The first strains of music sounded and Alex grimaced. “A reel? You’ve got to be joking. Couldn’t you have at least reserved me a waltz?”
She gave him a helpless smile. “Marian’s orders. A waltz is too intimate. She intends to present me as the soul of respectability.”
Alex took his position, several feet away. When they next came close, he gave her a wolfish grin. “I hadn’t intended on marrying ‘the soul of respectability.’”
Elizabeth missed a step. Alex’s grin widened.
“Right,” she finally managed, several beats later. “Well, had you been privy to our earlier conversation with our hosts, you’d have learned that you, Your Grace, are now the soul of amiability.”
His brows lifted. “I’ve never been described as amiable in my life.”
The nature of the reel allowed little further conversation, but as her fiancé returned Elizabeth to her mother, she whispered to him, “I find you quite amiable. At least as amiable as I am respectable.”
He laughed, then gave her a sober smile. “I do have the utmost respect for you, Elizabeth. ’Tis only the thought of marrying someone nicknamed ‘the soul of respectability’ that makes me shudder.”
“I shall endeavor not to live up to it.”
“And I shall hold you to that promise.” He handed her off to her mother. “Soon.”
Elizabeth was too warm and tingly to care that the moment he left her, as usual, a throng of admirers surrounded him. It was something she’d have to accept, at least until their engagement was publicly announced.
Marian and Bea gave her matching triumphant smiles.
“I think,” said Marian, “you have managed it.”
Bea nodded. “I’ve been eavesdropping,” she confided. “There are some who still wonder, but most figure you’d never have dared show your face tonight if half the things that have been said about you were true.”
Elizabeth smiled back. If only they all knew.
Chapter Sixteen
Preparing for the Holbrooks’ ball was nothing compared to preparing for her wedding.
Elizabeth and Alex announced their engagement a mere week after the ball. Though a few nasty rumors resurfaced, they were mostly bandied about by envious young
women, each of whom had hoped to see her own name associated in the papers with that of the Duke of Beaufort.
The young men of Society favored the marriage, for it gave them a better chance at the unmarried females who no longer could hold out hopes of a proposal from Beaufort.
The rest of the ton seemed to accept it as well. People who had shunned Elizabeth weeks before now came to call, offering congratulations and, Elizabeth assumed, hoping to curry enough favor for an invitation to the event.
Bea’s house had turned into a veritable blizzard of wedding-related paraphernalia, and Charity was present so often Bea had offered her one of the other guestrooms.
Fortunately, in Elizabeth’s new role as fiancée to the Duke of Beaufort, every modiste in town was praying for her patronage. Never mind that the wedding was scheduled for two weeks hence, and most of them would have to delay other clients’ requests in order to satisfy hers—they each wanted to be able to claim the distinction of having designed the Duchess of Beaufort’s wedding gown.
But a wedding dress was only the beginning. There were any number of garments a duchess would need, she discovered. Walking dresses, riding habits, capes, ball gowns, and theater gowns were the bare essentials…not to mention the bonnets, capotes, gloves, and other accoutrements she must have to complete each ensemble.
And nothing she already owned would suffice, as Marian, Bea, and Charity unanimously informed her.
They’d packed her governess’s gray serge and black mourning gowns and sent them to a mission for the poor. Her chemises, stockings, and undergarments went right with them.
When Elizabeth protested, arguing that her underthings were perfectly serviceable, the two ladies who’d been married laughed aloud.
“I can’t claim to have had a passionate marriage, E.,” Bea had told her, gaining a curious glance from Marian, “but even I know your duke won’t wish to see you in old, plain cotton.”
Elizabeth was no innocent, but she’d still been shocked when they’d whisked her to a French modiste and she’d seen what that lady deemed “necessary” to her wardrobe.
Filmy confections of fabric designed to reveal, to entice, more than to cover. Elizabeth had colored until her ears matched her hair, but the proprietress of the shop assured her that her new husband would be pleased.
After spending a truly obscene amount of Alex’s money—though Marian promised her there was nothing her brother would rather spend it on—they left the shop.
Marian strode like a woman on a mission toward the nearby hatmaker’s, but Beatrice quickly pulled Elizabeth aside. “E., are you absolutely sure this is what you want? I mean, I know how you’ve always felt about the duke, but marriage, well, it’s different.”
“Different how?”
“You’ll have to answer to him, for one. And,” her face grew red, “there’s more to the marriage bed than kissing.”
Elizabeth smiled, though her heart swelled with pity for Bea and the type of marriage she must have had. “I know, Bea. But”—she lowered her voice further—“I must confess marital relations with Alex don’t hold any distaste for me. In fact, they’re a reason favoring marriage.”
Beatrice’s eyes grew round at her friend’s tacit admission that the rumors about the affair with the duke were true. “I see,” she murmured. “Yes, I suppose with a man like the duke it would be different. I just want to know you’re happy, E.”
“Very,” Elizabeth confirmed. “Now, let’s catch up with Marian.”
After the hatmaker, it was the glove maker, and then the perfumery, before Elizabeth finally pled exhaustion. Since her friends were drooping as well, they all agreed to rest and regather at Bea’s the following day, when Elizabeth was due for a fitting for her wedding gown.
On the way home, Elizabeth’s eye kept straying toward the packages containing her new undergarments. What would Alex think? Their intimate encounters before had been rushed, secretive. She’d never deliberately dressed to seduce him.
But across from her, an innocent-looking white box held a gown made entirely of sheer lace, with slits up to her thighs and nothing but a flimsy tie to hold the bodice together.
Yes, he would like that. She remembered the way his eyes darkened before he kissed her, imagined his touch with nothing but the lace separating them…for however long the gown stayed on. Elizabeth’s fantasies made her shift uncomfortably in her seat, longing for the day when she and Alex would be married and could once again share a bed.
It wasn’t a bed—or even an enclosed carriage, which might afford them some privacy—but when Alex offered to take her for a ride in his new curricle the following Tuesday, Elizabeth eagerly accepted. Since returning to London she’d had precious few moments with the man she loved, and most of those few had occurred in settings that hardly even allowed for conversation.
No sooner had they entered the park than a young man in a cheaply made suit ran up.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace.” He doffed his hat and gave an awkward sort of bow. “Miss Medford. I wonder if I might speak with you a moment.”
“Who are you?” Alex asked.
The man looked embarrassed. “Tippen’s the name, Your Grace. I work for Harrow and Morton, Solicitors.”
Elizabeth pitied the man his obvious unease, though at the mention of his occupation, she felt a twinge of unease herself. “And why, Mr. Tippen, would you wish to speak with me?”
“Well, it’s only that, er, our firm has business with your late father’s estate—sorry for your loss, miss—and, er, we’ve been having quite a time of it trying to get a firm answer from his solicitors…” Tippen trailed off, his face red.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Elizabeth said politely.
Beside her, Alex fingered the reins in obvious impatience.
“Right, well. Miss Medford, I can’t quite think of a delicate way to put it, but there’s a rather large sum of money involved. And, er, my firm is quite anxious to recover it.”
“I’m sure they are.” Elizabeth was aware there were probably solicitors, tradesman, and merchants all over town wringing their hands over her father’s unpaid debts. But this was the first time one had been bold enough to approach her—with the exception of the jeweler who’d made her father’s brooch. And in that instance, Elizabeth had gotten involved only after Charity had intercepted the firm’s letter. At any rate, she had no intention of getting involved again.
“I fail to see how I can help you,” she told the man firmly. “Your inquiries are best directed toward the solicitors of my father’s estate. If you are having difficulty gaining a response, perhaps a personal visit would be in order.”
“I just thought—” Tippen stammered, face redder than ever.
“I’m sorry, I must be going,” she said firmly.
At her words, Alex gave the reins a little slap and the curricle moved off, leaving Tippen standing at the park entrance, hat still in hand.
“I cannot fathom what made him approach you like that.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I’m sure he’s only trying to do his job. No doubt he must answer to someone, and I imagine he’s not anxious to explain the lack of progress on the Medford account.” Her lips twisted in an ironic smile.
“Still. In a public park, when it’s obvious to anyone you’re on an outing. And in front of your fiancé, no less. A terrible breach of manners. What did he think to gain?”
She glanced away, uncomfortable. So much for the romantic outing she’d hoped for. “I imagine he thought to make you aware—in case you were not already—of my father’s problems, perhaps in the hope you would cover his debts.”
Alex’s face darkened. “Surely you jest. I’ve already forgiven a lordly sum owed me by the baron. I’ve no intention, nor any responsibility, to cover his others.”
Anxious, Elizabeth placed her hand on his arm. “No, I never meant you should. Only that perhaps it is what that man was after.”
Alex’s features relaxed, slightly. “Truly, Elizabe
th. The position your father left you in is untenable. I cannot imagine how such an irresponsible, overreaching man—let alone the rest of your family—raised a daughter like you.”
“He wasn’t so bad as that.”
Alex’s look was disbelieving. “How can you defend him?”
Elizabeth sighed. Alex was a wonderful fiancé, but he clearly did not care for her family. In fact, he had an odd habit of changing the subject whenever she mentioned one of them. Especially when she mentioned her father. Whenever he was brought up, Alex’s expression immediately became shuttered.
She knew the reason, at least partly. It still hurt to know her father had offered her as payment to Alex. But she had other, better, memories as well.
She tipped her head to one side as she attempted to explain. “I know he spent too much on gaming. And I know he and my mother were not always happy with one another. But there was another side to him, as well. A kind, laughing side. And that I cannot forget.”
“But if it weren’t for his actions, you never would have been placed in the situations you’ve faced since his death,” Alex argued. “Elizabeth, he tried to sell you to me.”
She nodded. “I know. And I can only hope that, somewhere beneath the depths of his desperation, he did so out of some intuition for how well we’d suit.
“Alex, it may be hard for anyone else to see, but I remember my father as a good man, at least when I was young. When I was twelve, for instance, my mother enrolled me in dancing lessons. She was disappointed in not having a son, and determined her daughter would make an amazing match to compensate for not providing her husband with an heir. I’m afraid I disappointed her further, however. As you may have noticed, I am not particularly graceful.”
“I never noticed.”
But she could see the twinkle in his eyes.
She swatted him playfully. “Anyhow, the dance lessons were miserable. The instructor berated me, yelling the beats and the steps loudly, as though I were hard of hearing and if he simply raised his voice, I might be able to follow. After each lesson, my mother would chastise me for my lack of improvement.
