by Allegra Gray
“But my father—”
“Your father was an unhappy man.” He leaned close, his voice low. “But the man you have married? He is a ruthless man.”
Elizabeth stood numbly as Mr. Pearce departed without further explanation. Her mind whirred with questions, but her body felt mired in sand. “Ruthless,” he’d said. Well, she’d known that all along. It wasn’t proof of anything.
She shivered as she stepped out of the inn and called for her mount.
The ride home was as uncomfortable as the ride there. Her worries remained unabated, and her rump would be sore on the morrow.
She was keenly aware that, if she’d been a better wife and had absolute faith in Alex, she could have spent the afternoon enjoying an intimate fireside picnic rather than traipsing about the cold gray countryside.
“Where in heaven’s name have you been?” Alex stopped pacing his study and turned to stare at his wife, who’d just blown into the room like a gust of cold air. Where had she been this time? It was clear she’d been outdoors, for her cheeks were still pinkened and her hair mussed. She looked beautiful.
Or would have, if he hadn’t just spent the last six hours wondering frantically where she’d disappeared to, or whether she’d met some untimely end. Even now, members of his staff were searching the grounds.
Elizabeth stopped short. He watched as she smoothed her skirts. Was it his imagination, or did her fingers tremble?
“I’ve only just returned from the village, my lord.”
“The village? What foolish notion prompted you to go to the village with snow clouds looming just above our heads?” He knew his frustration showed, but she had no idea how worried he’d been.
He busied his hands pouring a large brandy, then forced himself into a relaxed stance, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.
“I didn’t realize those were snow clouds. There are clouds nearly every day in the winter, so I didn’t pay them much attention.”
A servant appeared quietly with tea and Elizabeth paused, then moved to the tray and focused on pouring herself a cup as she finished answering him. Her movements were stiff, her hands red and chapped from the cold. Alex would have been tempted to offer to pour it for her…if he hadn’t been so irritated.
“I visited the Culpeppers again. And—and—I brought a basket of jams to the orphanage. Cook assured me we’d more than plenty, and I thought those children might like a treat—” She broke off, studiously stirring a lump of sugar into her tea.
“I see. Another of your noble journeys.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Elizabeth, you may give away every last jar of jam in this house if you like, but not in the middle of December, with snow on the way, and without informing anyone of your whereabouts—let alone going without an escort.”
Really, all this disappearing had to stop. His wife of barely two months was as elusive as a wood sprite. Which, in a way, she resembled at the moment—looking so delightfully windblown, her red hair reflecting the firelight. He should hire someone to do her portrait that way.
Alex rolled his eyes. When had he become such a pansy? He couldn’t even get a straight answer from his wife, and yet he dreamt of fanciful paintings of her. Damn it, how did she do this to him?
Elizabeth sniffed. “You don’t have to treat me like a child. I’ve seen to myself well enough until now.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, warming to his anger again. “A fine job you did of that. Let me see. You ran away from home to work for my sister, then ran back home, only to be abducted by your cousin…Yes, I think the evidence stands for itself.
“I’m tempted to lock you up for your own good. I suppose I should have realized, before we married, that you have a habit of disappearing. But, Elizabeth, you’ll be the death of me—if not yourself—if you do not desist.”
She sniffed again. “All right.” She looked miserable.
Alex heaved a sigh, his anger abating. “Likely you’ve caught a head cold out there in this frightful weather. Come here.” He offered her a handkerchief, then drew her into his arms and stood in front of the fire.
He rested his chin on her head, finally relaxing for real. She was back. For now.
He didn’t understand her. When she wasn’t eluding him, she was playful and passionate. And every time she did disappear, she seemed contrite afterward. He could never predict what each new day would bring. Was it too much to ask that she’d give a little thought to her own safety? Or at least confide in him, her own husband, so he could protect her? Bloody independent woman.
When had Elizabeth come to mean so much to him? So much that he’d been nearly paralyzed with terror at the thought of losing her?
In spite of Elizabeth’s reassurances that she would stop disappearing for hours on end, Alex’s gut was uneasy. Instinct told him his wife was slipping away. If not physically, then mentally, spiritually. But he had no idea what he’d done to prompt it. Or how to stop it.
His instincts were confirmed when, two days later, at dinner, she informed him she wanted to travel to London for a spell.
“Why?” he asked, flabbergasted. Who went to London in the winter, unless upon matters of business? Elizabeth was a duchess. His duchess. She didn’t need to work for a living.
Elizabeth sat across the table from him. She poked at the edge of her fork until it was perfectly in line with the other silver. “Well, I, er, thought to visit my family.”
“Charity was here just last month.” And though he didn’t say it aloud, she was the only member of Elizabeth’s family he deemed worth visiting.
“Yes, well…” She fidgeted some more. “There is also the matter of gowns for next spring’s Season.”
“I can arrange for the modiste of your choice to come here.”
That didn’t make her happy either.
“That’s very kind of you, my lord, but then there is the matter of accessories, such as hats, gloves, parasols…” She waved a hand. “And of course London has more in the way of diversion than the country. I can’t say why, it’s just, I’ve been feeling at odds lately. It is terribly quiet out here.”
He gaped at her. Mere months ago, he’d been the diversion she longed for. He’d been the one to brighten her day. They’d had to snatch stolen moments together, and the “terrible quiet” she now described had sounded like a lovers’ paradise. He’d looked forward to time alone in the country with her.
Was his wife truly so fickle? Already, she’d lost interest in him and needed “diversion”?
She’d sworn she loved him. Had it been a lie?
He pushed away his plate, no longer hungry. Too bad, for the cook’s roast quail was exquisitely prepared and one of his favorite dishes.
Elizabeth’s face drooped at his extended silence.
God, she was beautiful, even with the corners of her lips quirked downward. He hated to see her disappointed. Maybe if he gave in, maybe if she had the diversion she sought, she’d come back to him.
“All right,” he agreed hollowly. “We’ll go to London next week. I suppose we can do your shopping, and see your family for the holidays.” It sounded like torture.
But finally she smiled. “Thank you, husband. I do believe our trip will be just the thing to, er, set me to rights.”
He hoped so.
Chapter Nineteen
“What are we shopping for again?” Bea asked. “And why couldn’t it wait? It’s freezing out here.”
“A new riding habit,” Elizabeth answered. “And Alex promised me a fur-trimmed cloak.”
Charity rolled her eyes. “You don’t even enjoy riding. Though I suppose the cloak makes sense.” She’d accompanied the other women happily enough, but when the carriage deposited them on Bond Street, she’d been the first to point out Elizabeth had timed her shopping for the coldest day of the year.
Elizabeth had hoped a day of shopping would take her mind off her problems, and possibly even allow her to discover Lord Garrett’s whereabouts. She suspected that Garrett, being a
bachelor, wintered in town. In fact, she was banking on it, for he was her last hope in her thus far ill-fated investigation. She needed to be certain he was here before putting the rest of her plan, flimsy though it was, into action.
Elizabeth ushered her companions into the mantuamaker’s, where the proprietress clucked over them and the shopgirl brought steaming cups of tea. The hot beverage seemed to soothe Bea’s and Charity’s ruffled feathers.
Elizabeth absentmindedly selected fabrics, linings, and trim from the patterns and samples the proprietress eagerly showed her. “I’ll not lie,” the merchant said. “Business has been slow, with the cold, but it will surely pick up if others learn of your patronage, Your Grace.”
Elizabeth smiled uncomfortably. She had no idea what she’d just selected, so it would be something indeed if other women rushed out to copy it.
None of the women was anxious to venture out again, but Elizabeth promised they would stop only for hot chocolate and sweets, then return to Bea’s. She’d wasted enough time. With the streets so empty, she was unlikely to “run into” anyone who might be of use to her secret purpose. No, she’d decided on another way to corner Lord Garrett, as long as Bea agreed to help.
In the sweet shop, they were again the only customers.
“Elizabeth, is something wrong?” Bea asked, picking at an éclair.
“Why?”
“Well, I thought newlyweds kept to themselves. I can’t speak from experience, of course, since my marriage was hardly a love match, but I thought you and Beaufort were…different.”
Charity seemed suddenly absorbed in her hot chocolate, but Elizabeth knew her sister hung on every word.
“Of course,” she forced herself to say lightly. “Alex is wonderful. It’s just, Montgrave is so vast…sometimes I feel lost. I miss female companionship—my sister and my best friend.”
Bea looked mollified.
“Bea,” Elizabeth asked quickly, anxious to change the subject, “may I ask a favor?”
“Certainly.”
“I want to surprise Alex with something he’d enjoy. Would you host a card party while we are in town?”
“A card party?” Charity piped up. “E., never tell me you’ve taken to gaming.”
“No, not like that, not like father. I just thought, Alex does enjoy playing, and it might be fun to see people before we return to Montgrave.” She lowered her eyes, her heart hammering in her chest. “I know the names of his regular partners. I’m just not entirely comfortable yet in the role of hostess.” God, she was such a liar.
“I’d be happy to,” Bea said. “Heaven knows, I’ve nothing else to plan. Who did you wish to invite?”
“Lord Wilbourne and his wife, Lord Stockton, and Lord Garrett,” she said, ticking off the names. “Do you know if they are in town?”
Bea nodded. “The Wilbournes are in the country for the cold season, but I believe the other two are here. Anyone else?”
Lord Garrett was here. Surely he’d not turn down an invitation once he knew Alex would attend. As for others, Elizabeth replied, “Oh, anyone you wish—so long as they aren’t novices. My husband does take his card-playing seriously.”
“I have a couple female friends who enjoy whist—they would help even out the numbers.”
“I suppose I’m to be left out again,” Charity grumbled.
Elizabeth gave her a plucky smile. “As soon as you’ve successfully appeared in Society, I promise to introduce you to all sorts of scandalous behavior.”
“Is that a real promise?” Charity looked hopeful. “Your affairs have been wonderfully interesting over the past months, E., if a bit scary, but I miss getting into scrapes together.”
Elizabeth smiled, internally praying that she’d have nothing more scandalous to involve her sister in than a few card games. “I promise.”
She’d happily get into scrapes with her sister—once she got out of the one she was already in.
Two days before the card party, London’s cold spell finally snapped. Everyone spilled out of doors, grateful for the reprieve. The air was still brisk, but the sun shone brightly.
Elizabeth called on Charity, and the two went for a quick stroll through Hyde Park.
They were just returning to the Medford town house when Charity groaned. “Oh, bother. Uncle George is headed our way.”
Sure enough, Elizabeth spotted his portly frame on the path ahead. For someone who’d made it clear what a burden it was to care for the three Medford women, her uncle certainly hadn’t hurried back to the country now that his duties were over. If anything, Elizabeth thought, he seemed perfectly content to remain living in the London home her husband now paid for. It was the primary reason she’d avoided visiting her mother since the wedding. Even during Christmas dinner, which she and Alex had hosted and her uncle had had the gall to attend, she’d managed not to speak directly to him.
It was too late to turn onto another path, for within moments, Uncle George huffed up to them.
“Elizabeth—I mean, Your Grace. And Charity. Ladies, I’ve just received distressing news.”
“Whatever is the matter, Uncle?” Charity asked.
“Perhaps you ladies should accompany me home, and we may discuss the matter there.”
Elizabeth wasn’t accompanying him anywhere. “Whatever it is, you may tell me here.”
“Harold Wetherby is dead.”
Elizabeth flicked a glance at Charity. By her sister’s expression, they seemed of the same opinion. This news was interesting but hardly distressing.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I’m afraid the poor man drowned.”
“Drowned?” Charity asked. “How awful.”
“Awful,” Uncle George repeated. “There was a letter left on his desk. The night of his death, he’d just received word that his factory had gone bankrupt, and the laborers at his mines in the north had all given notice. They’d left to work for a competitor who was paying more than Wetherby could afford. He was on the brink of ruin.”
A flash of clarity struck Elizabeth so suddenly she gasped. Alex was behind this. She knew it. He had done this for her, to ensure she was safe from Harold forever. Even better, Alex’s choice to go after his enemy financially was a strong indicator he wasn’t given to cold-blooded murder. Her heart warmed with love for the lordly man she’d married.
“But how did he come to drown?” Charity, ever curious, asked, and a hint of Elizabeth’s worry returned.
Uncle George shook his head. “I’m afraid he wasn’t in a clear frame of mind that night. A dock worker witnessed his fall, but by the time he secured a boat and rowed out under the bridge, Wetherby was gone.”
Elizabeth took her uncle’s explanation to mean that Harold had fallen because he’d been drunk—or that he’d jumped. Either way, he’d not been murdered. Relief flooded her.
Try as she might, Elizabeth felt no remorse for Harold’s loss. “That must have been a shock to you, Uncle,” was the best response she could manage.
“Indeed.” Uncle George looked suitably distraught. “The funeral will be three days hence. Your mother and I will see to the arrangements, as he had no closer family. Can you extend your stay in town?”
Elizabeth briefly considered it. The habits of a dutiful daughter died hard. No. She owed her uncle nothing, and Harold even less. “You may make whatever arrangements you like. I’ve no intention of attending. Nor will Charity.” Elizabeth started to turn, then thought better of it. “And, Uncle? When you’ve done what’s necessary, I suggest you return home. Surely your estate suffers your neglect. You wouldn’t want it to suffer the same fate as Wetherby’s interests.”
She had the satisfaction of seeing his face blanch before she took Charity’s arm and walked away.
Alex had no idea why, after insisting upon visiting London to shop and see family, Elizabeth extended their stay for a card party.
“But you see, it’s winter, so not everyone could attend, and Bea is counting on us to roun
d out her tables,” she’d begged prettily.
Once again, he’d given in. When she’d told him she’d invited Lords Stockton and Garrett, he actually looked forward to the affair. It pleased him that his wife had gone to the trouble to see that his friends were invited to Bea’s party. Perhaps she’d not grown as distant as he’d thought, though her behavior was still worrisome, and their life together far from what he’d imagined being newly married would be like.
That evening, his valet, Hanson, finished knotting his cravat and then said, “There you are, Your Grace. A fine job, if I say so myself. Will you be going out with your duchess this evening, then?”
Hanson rarely spoke, let alone asked questions. Alex was so surprised, he answered without thinking. “Yes, of course.”
Hanson nodded. “Good, good. Look after your lady, my lord.”
Alex frowned. Hanson wasn’t verbose, but he’d been with Alex for years, and the duke knew him to be observant. “What’s wrong with Elizabeth?”
Hanson shook his head. “I never said aught was wrong, Your Grace.”
Alex waited.
The valet sighed. “I’m not a married man, and I don’t profess to know women. But there’s something queer of late, something in her eyes…” He ducked his head. “Your Grace, I apologize. I believe your duchess is perfectly fine after all. My eyes are getting old, playing tricks on me. I won’t allow my thoughts to do the same.”
Alex nodded brusquely and left, meeting Elizabeth at the door to her dressing room. His breath caught at the sight of her. She still did that to him.
She’d taken extra care with her appearance. Her hair was swept up on top of her head, a green ribbon twined through the mass of silken fire. He wondered what would happen if the ribbon was pulled, and was sorely tempted to try it. Her gown was a deep green, draping and clinging to her curves before falling in soft folds to the floor. He swallowed.
“You are beautiful, my sweet.”
She looked up, a smile playing at her lips.
