Miss Armistead Makes Her Choice

by Heidi Ashworth

  She removed the scissors from her reticule and employed them mercilessly to cut one of the ribbons from her bonnet. Threading the ribbon through the drawstring of the little bag, she tied it around her neck and found that the silken bundle fell just low enough to be concealed in the folds of her stays. With the treasure where she could feel it, she felt somewhat restored and could turn her mind to selecting a gown to celebrate the arrival of her bridegroom. He would not see her choice, however, it would be an indication to everyone at table as to her sentiments and they must be led to believe she was the happiest girl who ever drew breath. As such, she took the red silk gown from the clothespress and rang the bell for the girl to come and freshen it up.

  With the little bag tucked next to her heart, Elizabeth was able to close her eyes and sleep until the girl returned to help her mistress don the gown. Though there would be few to appreciate it in days to come, Elizabeth was grateful to have the gown as a tangible memory of the informal dinner and dance at the Lloyd-Jones establishment. Neither Mr. Cruikshank nor his mother need ever know what thoughts were hers when she wore it after her marriage. To her regret, the scent of Mr. Lloyd-Jones’ cologne no longer lingered in the red threads but she supposed it was too dangerous to have it otherwise. She noted that the ribbon that held the bag, a distinctive green one with embroidered leaves of gold, was visible around her neck but, that could not be helped.

  As she tossed the bereft bonnet into the back of the clothespress, she found one she had yet to wear and tied it under her chin. She collected her reticule, minus the scissors, her long kid gloves and a grass green cloak and quit her room in search of her mother.

  “There you are my darling!” her mother sang. “It is time to fetch home your Mr. Cruikshank.”

  “Yes. Indeed.” Elizabeth was careful not to meet her mama’s eyes and swept down the stairs ahead of her so as to hide any signs of distress that might remain in Elizabeth’s face. “I cannot say how eager I am finally to have him safe beside me. I am ever so glad that we are to have dinner at home, tonight,” she chattered cheerfully, “as I am not certain how well he has learned to cope whilst we have been apart. However, I am persuaded he should enjoy an evening entertainment. To where are we invited tonight?”

  “I believe it is the Roberts’ but it shall depend on Mr. Lloyd-Jones and his sister.”

  “What have they to say to it?” Elizabeth asked in a low voice. She had obtained the bottom of the stairs and was glad of the need to pull on her gloves as it kept her eyes downcast.

  “Why, I have invited them to dinner, tonight. Have I done wrong?”

  Elizabeth looked up and gave her mother a bright smile. “Of course not. Why ever say so?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” her Mama said as she pulled the cloak around her daughter’s shoulders and tied it shut with the broad, satin ribbons. “I thought perhaps there was a bit of a contretemps when he departed this afternoon.”

  “No. No contretemps,” Elizabeth murmured, “though, it is true, Katherine was most annoyed that he departed without offering to give her a ride.”

  “Well, I thought that is what I heard. It isn’t as if the entire house overheard the exchange, mind you,” her mother vowed, “but I was by the window in the sitting room and you know how the sound rises.”

  Elizabeth acquitted her mother with a smile.

  “Well!” her mother exclaimed. “You must see that I felt it only proper to invite him so as to give Katherine her chance at attaching his interest.”

  “Mama, please don’t,” Elizabeth begged but her mother did not attend her daughter’s words.

  “I am persuaded you shall enjoy the company of Miss Analisa, as well. Besides which, you must wish to make them both known to Mr. Cruikshank; the Lloyd-Joneses have been family to us these past weeks.”

  “Yes, I suppose it would be odd if we did not make them known to one another. It is not as if the Lloyd-Joneses have not been aware that he is to arrive from the outset.”

  “My point precisely. Now, I do believe the carriage is waiting and so is your Mr. Cruikshank.”

  Elizabeth offered no reply and the remainder of the journey was made in almost complete silence, leaving her with a generous amount of time to reflect. How she was to carry on during dinner with Colin Lloyd-Jones at table, she could not guess. Despite his blindness, Duncan was not a half-wit and there were sure to be undercurrents he would sense and wonder at. She could hardly explain every obtuse comment that was made in the case he might construe the truth from her protestations.

  She hadn’t the time to arrive at a satisfactory solution before the carriage drew up outside his lodgings. To her surprise, Duncan waited outside the establishment where she could readily see him, a circumstance for which she was grateful as it obviated the necessity of going inside to inquire after him. With naught else to do but quit the carriage and greet her betrothed, Elizabeth drew a deep breath and opened the door.

  It was odd, indeed, to approach the man she was to marry after so long an absence and receive no reaction from him. When he had been abed in hospital, he had known her step as well as her scent and he had always greeted her before she spoke. Matters would be different in London and she wondered what manner of challenges would be presented as a result. She looked into his face and felt her stomach drop and her pace slow.

  “Come dear,” her mother said as she took Elizabeth’s arm and drew her forth. “It will not do to put off the inevitable.”

  Once she drew near enough, he turned at the sound of her step, a quizzical expression stamped to his features.

  “Duncan, it is I,” she said, hesitant to step too near before she had identified herself.

  “Elizabeth? Can it really be you?” he asked as he put forth his hand.

  She took his hand and linked her arm through his. “Yes, it is, and Mama, too.”

  He bent to sketch Mrs. Armistead a bow and she was forced to take a few quick steps back in order to avoid his chin making contact with her head. “My,” she said, “you seem to be making great strides in your independence.”

  In truth, he looked more than a little shoddy, precisely as one would expect from a blind man who traveled alone.

  “Haven’t I, though? I believe the time at sea was well spent in that regard.”

  “Yes, you look exceedingly handsome,” Elizabeth insisted. Silently she wondered if there were a way to get him properly shaved and availed of a clean cravat before the Lloyd-Joneses arrived for dinner.

  “We must hurry if we are to arrive in time, Duncan. Shall we proceed?” Elizabeth asked as she gave his arm a bit of a tug.

  “Aye, I am at aux anges to make your aunt’s acquaintance. I have ne’er met a Lady afore.”

  Elizabeth suppressed a desire to wince. His heavy Scottish burr had never troubled her in the past. In fact, she had scarcely noticed it. However, compared to the elegant phrasing of the Lloyd-Joneses, Duncan’s accent sounded positively savage. “Aunt Augusta is every bit as eager to meet you as is Miss Hale,” Elizabeth added as a means to test the waters; she had known nothing of his offer for Katherine before they left India.

  “I shall be verra glad to meet Miss Hale again,” he said softly.

  His reply left Elizabeth in as much doubt as ever.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Colin believed he had never seen so disheveled a gentleman, if his use of the term gentleman was an accurate assessment. He had been taught that it was rude to stare but trusted Mr. Cruikshank would remain in ignorance of Colin’s manifest consternation. He wondered if he were the only person at table who felt that Mr. Cruikshank looked as if he had shaved, in some cases, with a spoon, and in others, with a carving knife. His cravat resembled nothing more than a dish of Spotted Dick and his waistcoat was buttoned all askew. His cuffs had clearly not been attended to in many a moon and though the scars about his eyes were interesting, they were utterly eclipsed by the fact that Elizabeth had entirely failed to mention that her intended was blind. That she had kept th
is intelligence from Colin by design was patently obvious. Nevertheless, he refused to behave badly and add to her already undeniable discomfiture.

  “Mr. Cruikshank, how was your ocean voyage?” Colin asked.

  “Oh, it were a treat, it were. Though I couldna see, I had the feel of the spray to my face and the scent of the water to give me a feel for where I were.”

  Colin could feel the heat of his sister’s gaze on his face but turning to share in her mirth should only serve to further humiliate Elizabeth. “Sea legs are difficult enough to acquire without a loss of vision, Mr. Cruikshank; how did you fare in that regard?”

  “It was verra difficult but I came about,” he said, turning his head towards the sound of Colin’s voice. “I had long enough, didna I?”

  “Yes, it is remarkable that you were able to tend to your own needs for the entire voyage. I stand in awe of your considerable finesse.”

  “There were some dark days, indeed,” Mr. Cruikshank replied as he slid his hand across the table in Elizabeth’s direction. “Howe’er, I thought about my own Elizabeth and I came round soon enough.”

  She laid her hand on his and looked down, biting her lip as she usually did when she was not sure she ought to say what had come to her mind.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” Analisa ventured, “you must be vastly pleased with the improvement Mr. Cruikshank has made in the time you have been apart. I am persuaded I should not do half as well were I unable to see.”

  “Indeed,” Elizabeth replied. “He is a man of great character. His persistence in times of trial and his constant good cheer in spite of troubles are truly admirable.”

  Colin doubted not that she meant every word of it. Indeed, before making the acquaintance of her intended, Colin would have expected nothing less than the absolute truth to ever fall from her lips. However, the glaring omission in regard to Mr. Cruikshank’s circumstances made possible a sliver of doubt. In order to better consider a suitable topic of conversation, Colin pushed aside the panic that assailed him when he wondered what else Elizabeth might not have divulged. He should have liked nothing better than to pepper Mr. Cruikshank with any number of questions but Colin suspected they would not be in the least welcome.

  “What are your plans for the future, Mr. Cruikshank?” Colin asked even as he realized his question was far from well considered if the way Elizabeth’s gaze flew to his face, her eyes wide with apprehension, was any indication.

  “Why, I plan to farm my land and take care o’ my family.”

  Colin doubted there would be any farming of land on a sandy rock such as Sheridan. “And what of Miss Armistead?”

  “What o’ her? She shall be my wife and bear my children and work alongside me.”

  Colin allowed a surge of revulsion to wash over him. “Forgive me Mr. Cruikshank but don’t you mean to say that she shall work for you? Or will her dowry negate the need for either of you to farm anything?” He restrained himself from pointing out that a blind man could hardly be expected to wield so much as a hoe, but only just.

  “Mr. Lloyd-Jones,” Elizabeth interjected, “you go too far.”

  “No, leave him be, Elizabeth,” Mr. Cruikshank said, blinking rapidly. “If I am not mistaken, I feel that he has stood your friend in my absence and it would not be surprising if he were a might fashed o’er our circumstances.”

  “Yes, he has been a friend, and Miss Lloyd-Jones, as well,” Elizabeth said with a warm smile for Analisa. “However, I do not feel it gives him leave to interrogate you as if you were a criminal on trial.”

  Colin could only wonder at her choice of words; there was indeed something rather criminal about Mr. Cruikshank and Colin intended to discover exactly what. “Have you not been in service to the crown?” he asked, avoiding Elizabeth’s gaze. “How fares the farm in your absence?”

  Mr. Cruikshank smiled coldly and, in spite of his lack of vision, seemed to look directly into Colin’s eyes. “It fares well enough. We shall need to plant directly upon our return, but I have no doubt Elizabeth is up to the challenge.”

  Colin’s gaze swung to Elizabeth’s face just in time for him to note the color that swept up to the roots of her hair. “You mean to put your wife to work on the land? In your stead?” Colin demanded.

  “She shall soon grow accustomed to it and I shall soon learn to cope,” Mr. Cruikshank said smoothly.

  “What is there to farm in Sheridan?” Lady Augusta asked, her voice rising up from her place at the head of the table. “Perhaps you intend to farm mussels or crab? I daresay you should need a brace of good, hearty men in aid of such an endeavor.”

  Mr. Cruikshank sucked in his breath and seemed not to know where to train his sightless eyes.

  “Hortense,” Lady Augusta said to her sister-in-law, “do you intend to be off again tomorrow to find a suitable caterer for the wedding breakfast? I have said again and again that my cook is up to the task. Of course, he is not as talented as Mr. Lloyd-Jones’ cook, of that I am most positively persuaded.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Armistead agreed, “every morsel of that splendid meal was divine.”

  “By all means, Elizabeth,” Mr. Cruikshank said, “let us put her to the task if Mr. Lloyd-Jones does not object.”

  “Oh, no, I am persuaded it should be a terrible inconvenience,” Elizabeth insisted.

  “She shall prepare your wedding breakfast, Miss Armistead, if you wish it,” Colin said, willing her to comprehend his stipulation: that it would depend entirely on the groom. Her obvious distress at his words was as painful as if it were his own, but his curiosity as to a certain ribbon around her neck soon permeated his thoughts. It was the same distinctive ribbon that had adorned the bonnet she had worn that afternoon and he wondered what it could hold. He stared at her until she was forced to meet his gaze, whereupon he put his hand over the breast pocket where lay the little bag containing the lock of her hair.

  Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she ran her finger along the ribbon and he knew that the lock of his hair hung round her neck. He knew, as well, the truth, in startling clarity: Miss Elizabeth Armistead loved Colin, but she would not marry him. That she did not love her intended hardly mattered; she hadn’t loved him a day in her life and yet he would be the one with whom she would spend her life. Mr. Cruikshank would possess her beauty, her fortune and her continual presence, but Colin would have her heart.

  It was not nearly enough.

  Rising to his feet, he sketched a bow to all assembled and made his excuses. “I find that I have forgotten a previous engagement. It is . . imperative. I should be grateful, Lady Augusta, if your carriage was called out for Analisa when the evening has come to an end.”

  “Oh, but Colin, what could be more imperative than this?” she insisted with a wide-eyed look for her brother coupled with a slight inclination of her head in Elizabeth’s direction.

  “I really couldn’t say,” Colin said. It wasn’t a lie.

  “I shall walk with you to the door, then, shall I?” she asked.

  “I shall walk with him,” Miss Katherine said and she was out of her seat and taking his arm before anyone could part lips to object.

  As she linked her arm in his, he looked to Elizabeth, mute and miserable, for what might be the last time. The thought crossed his mind that if he had only abided by the pact Tony and he had made, his heart would not, even now, be crushed and throbbing, the breakage of which into tiny pieces was imminent. He wished to be far and away from even Analisa when the moment came. The last image of Elizabeth he beheld before he turned away was of her eyes bright with candlelight and tears, her hand at her throat and her fingers caught in the ribbon that adorned it.

  “Come, Mr. Lloyd-Jones,” Miss Katherine said in a voice so cheerful it grated on his ears. “You shall soon call on us again, I have no doubt.”

  Colin waited until they had reached the landing and were heading down the stairs to disabuse her of her misconception. “Miss Hale, I shan’t be calling here, again, but pray, do
not perceive it as a slight.”

  “What can you possibly mean by that, Mr. Lloyd-Jones?” she asked in a voice full of laughter. “I am persuaded you are merely jesting.”

  “I assure you, I am not. Miss Hale, certainly it cannot have escaped your notice that I have been courting Miss Armistead?”

  “Well, yes,” she stammered. “I knew it would come to naught and that soon you would be looking about for a sop to your wounded heart, just as you did after Miss Ponsonby.”

  Colin paused at the bottom of the stairs and gently extricated his arm from Miss Hale’s grasp. “I pray that I have never given you reason to hope, Miss Hale. What I felt for Miss Ponsonby is nothing compared to what I feel for Elizabeth. I ought to have kept my own council and remained home for the duration of the season,” he said ruefully.

  Miss Hale, visibly shaken, looked down at the ground. “I can hardly credit it. Is there nothing I might say that should lead you to look on me with any favor?”

  “I fear that I shall never look on any woman with that sort of favor again. Goodbye, Miss Hale.” He crossed the hall, collected his hat and gloves and had the door closed behind him before he changed his mind. As there had been no time to order his carriage brought round, he decided it best to walk. It was early yet and the lamps still lighted but the air was brisk and he recalled that he had forgotten his outer coat. It was one he did not wish to lose but consoled himself with the thought that, if Analisa should not collect it on his behalf, Elizabeth might carry it to her chamber and hold it close.

  He arrived home, cold and hungry, and ordered that a fire should immediately be laid in the dining room and food brought forthwith. He paced the floor in the library whilst he waited for the dining room to become habitable and was relieved when he could sit in the room that spoke so much of his beloved. He passed the time in waiting for his meal in staring at the painting that marked the day of their coming together as something more than mere acquaintances. As such, he failed to hear the butler enter.