Miss Armistead Makes Her Choice

by Heidi Ashworth

  “Just a little? If it is true that it rains just a little in India during the monsoon season, well then of course the two of you love one another ‘just a little’!”

  “Oh, Mama!” Elizabeth cried. “You make it sound as if we meant to fall in love!”

  Her mother draped an arm across her daughter’s shoulders and held her close. “There, there, my darling, it shall all come out all right in the end, you shall see.”

  “But I don’t see! I have made a promise, one which I must keep or Mr. Cruikshank shall suffer. I cannot be held accountable for such an evil.”

  Elizabeth was shaken from her tears with the ringing of the front bell. She stepped back into the shadows of the hall in the case it was Mr. Lloyd-Jones; she had no wish to see him at the moment. Andrews opened the door and closed it again almost immediately, a small parcel in his hand.

  “That should be your delivery from the jeweler’s!” her mother exclaimed.

  “I will share its contents, Mama, but not just yet,” Elizabeth instructed as she took the parcel and headed up the stairs. “It is only a simple wedding ring, nothing overly-exciting.”

  “Very well, then, dear, I shall wait,” her mother said on a rising sigh.

  Elizabeth, all of her attention trained on the parcel in her hand, did not reply. She had not expected the brooch to have been completed nearly so soon and was anxious to ascertain whether or not it had arrived with the ring. The moment she had shut the door behind her, she tore away the paper with shaking hands to reveal a small blue box. Inside were two smaller boxes, the smallest of which she placed on her dressing table. She opened the other to reveal the longed-for brooch, the lock of her beloved’s hair curled tight and affixed into the setting.

  With trembling fingers, she pinned the brooch to the silk bag that once contained the lock and placed it on the dressing table where she might admire it from a distance. She had not intended to don it until the time came when the only other eyes to fall upon it were too weak or sightless to divine its presence. Now that she gazed upon it, however, she could not bear to be parted from it.

  Deciding that she might always claim the lock of hair to be the relic of a dear departed loved one, she set about finding a means to wear it that very night. She was to attend the Scott-Montgomery’s musicale so it was quite unexceptionable to choose a gown that boasted a bit more bodice than most of her ball gowns. She chose a bronze silk gown with a gold underdress adorned with ruched bishop sleeves and affixed the brooch to it. In this manner, she hoped to avoid unwelcome questions as to its origins from the maid when she came to help her mistress dress for the evening.

  Next was the question of the nosegay of white roses Duncan had insisted on purchasing for her after they had left the jewelry shop. It also waited on her dressing table in anticipation of making up some part of her ensemble and she decided that they would do best in her hair. It would never do for Duncan to mistakenly tumble into her decolletage whilst attempting to smell the roses.

  Of course, going out meant they might possibly encounter the Lloyd-Joneses but Elizabeth presumed they would choose a ball, an entertainment she was not likely to ever again attend, rather than a restrained musical evening. In that assumption, however, she was disappointed.

  Her first inkling of danger was when their carriage, containing herself, Duncan, her mama, Katherine and Aunt Augusta, entered the gates of Scott-Montgomery House. Rather than a townhouse that sat in close proximity to its neighbors, this was an enormous Georgian estate that stood quite alone at the end of a long drive. The front garden was ablaze with a plethora of full length torches set alongside a variety of water features that magnified the firelight to great effect. Amongst it all, people promenaded in surprising numbers. There seemed to be more people outside than Elizabeth had anticipated would attend in total and she was assailed with a frisson of apprehension. It looked to be the event of the season and she suspected that the Lloyd-Joneses would be expected to put in an appearance at the very least.

  “What is the matter with you, lass?” Duncan asked as they walked through the gardens to the house. “You seem to be in a bit of a dither.”

  “It is nothing, really,” she replied as she looked about her for any sign of Mr. Lloyd-Jones or his sister. “It is just that there are so many torches; I needs must be wary on my own account as well as yours.”

  “I am indebted to you, as always,” he said smoothly.

  The notion of ‘always’ was one with which Elizabeth was having difficulty coming to terms and she felt herself frown. She was grateful he could not read the expression on her face and not for the first time. He expressed a great number of opinions with which she did not concur and did so in so grating a manner that she found it difficult to remember what the two of them held in common. How she had ever thought she loved this man enough to marry him was beyond her, but she had made her bed and now she must lie in it.

  “Is it a very large gathering?” he asked as they entered the house and were met with the low hum of distant conversation. “It sounds as if there is a great deal of people in attendance.”

  “I am persuaded you are correct but I could not say how accurate until we have entered the room where the guests have been gathered.”

  “‘Tis a pity there are so many guests,” her mother remarked. “They have doubtless been forced to set up the musicians in the ballroom. It is such a shame as this house contains the loveliest music room. I had been greatly anticipating spending the evening there.”

  “Never fear,” Aunt Augusta replied. “The Scott-Montgomerys are possessed of the most exquisite taste. I daresay they have fitted out the ballroom with every comfort.”

  “Well, I find I don’t give a pin as to what room we are in or even to what music we are treated,” Katherine remarked. “I find it is the prospect of encountering Mr. Lloyd-Jones that has me in a state of sweet trepidity.”

  Elizabeth should have liked to agree and was overcome with the knowledge that it would ever be thus for as long as she and Mr. Lloyd-Jones were in the same vicinity. Promptly she decided that the yearly visits to London Duncan had promised her upon their engagement needs must be sacrificed if she were to have any peace of mind. And yet, she strained her neck as she turned her head this way and that in hopes of discovering Mr. Lloyd-Jones and with every bit as much anticipation as Katherine.

  “What is it, love?” Duncan asked. “It seems as if your head is bobbin’ up and down like a cork in the water.”

  “I am merely curious to see what I might of the house. It is excessively beautiful; there are paintings and statues and any manner of sights to see everywhere one looks.”

  “It canna be as beautiful as the views from our cottage in Scotland.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Cruikshank,” Aunt Augusta huffed. “The ocean is blue, the sky is blue, or rather, most days they will both be gray. The mind requires variety, color, does it not, Hortense?”

  “I should like to comply, Augusta, but I do not wish to disparage my daughter’s future home.”

  “Lady Augusta,” Duncan said, “you might find your opinion has undergone a change once you have seen it for yourself. We hope that you shall often come to visit us.”

  Aunt Augusta rolled her eyes but grunted her assent.

  “Well, I say it hardly matters,” Katherine remarked. “We are here, now, and it is quite, quite beautiful and I am positively decided that I shall not go back to India!”

  “Your mother shall miss you sadly if you do not,” Elizabeth’s mother said mournfully.

  Elizabeth swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and considered what her mother had said. Whilst still in Bengal, Elizabeth and Duncan had discussed the fact that his mother would be in the house to give her company. At the time, it seemed a lovely notion but Elizabeth’s mother now seemed irreplaceable. She could not think how she should manage without her.

  When they finally made their way up the stairs and into the vast ballroom, Elizabeth was astonished by its grand
eur. The room was positively brilliant with more chandeliers than she could hope to count over the heads of an enormous throng of people. If the Lloyd-Joneses were indeed in attendance, it would require a miracle simply to spot them.

  Suddenly a chord was struck by the hand of an unseen musician and a hush fell over the crowd.

  “I do believe it is best if we were to take up a seat for the duration,” Aunt Augusta directed in a low voice. Wordlessly, the party of five took up the closest unoccupied chairs they could find. Others all around were doing the same and within a matter of moments, the milling throng had become a seated audience.

  “It is astonishing that anyone should be possessed of so many chairs,” Elizabeth’s mama murmured. “Though, as I can see, there are a number of sofas close to the front, as well. I suppose those went to whosoever arrived on time,” she added with a lift of her brow for her daughter who had insisted that they arrive fashionably late.

  Curious as to who had demonstrated such bad ton as to arrive early, Elizabeth scanned the back of the heads of those fortunate souls who were not made to endure a hard chair at the back of the ballroom. However, the little she could see was not very illuminating and she transferred her attention to the actions of the musicians who were warming up.

  “I have not long been away,” Duncan said, “but this is not what passed for music before I left.”

  “It is only that they are testing their instruments before they begin to play in earnest.” Elizabeth was ashamed of him for his ignorance on the matter, however, she disliked more his need to make such a remark in company. Not that his lack of polished manners would matter once they married and repaired to Scotland as there would be none to hear him. No one to hear her, as well. Or see her. Or her children. Indeed, the circumstances of her future threatened to cut up her peace more and more with every passing hour.

  She lifted her hand to touch the silky lock that curled within its brooch and wondered if it could possibly endure many weeks with her stroking it with as much frequency as she had since its arrival that afternoon. She felt it to be inconceivable for Duncan to know about the brooch, and yet, she could not help but turn her head to search his face for any indication that he suspected her perfidy. Instead, her gaze flew, seemingly of its own accord, to the face of the man standing against the wall directly across from her. He was taller than most, impossibly handsome, and the way that he stared at her, the expression in his eyes so weighted with love and grief, threatened to crush her.

  Suppressing a gasp of dismay, she dropped her hand from the brooch pinned against her heart and hastily turned to face the musicians.

  “What is it?” Duncan asked, his lips next to her ear. It was a sensation most unwelcome. “I feel your agitation from here.”

  “I am merely exhilarated by the music,” she equivocated, hiding their tete a tete behind her fan. She did not wish Colin to see how discomposed she felt with Duncan’s face in such proximity to the very places Colin had so recently favored with his kisses.

  “I believe it is more than that,” Duncan urged but Elizabeth refused to respond to such a baiting.

  She forced herself to stare straight ahead and felt it to be quite dull save the moments when the violin bows seemed to be sprouting out of the heads of those seated in front of her. She wished she had taken a moment to inspect the instruments before sitting; she would have liked to know how many violins there were and what other instruments were at play. She clearly heard the tones of a pianoforte as well as at least one cello, and various wind instruments. She spent a goodly ten minutes in the deciphering of what she was hearing before the first selection came to an end.

  “Well, is that all there is to be?” Duncan asked.

  “Not in the least,” she whispered, stealing a glance at the wall. However, Colin had moved away and she could no longer see him. When she heard his voice coming from the front of the room, she felt no small amount of alarm, and found it necessary to fight the impulse to rise to her feet so that she might behold him.

  “I shall now play for you Bach’s Prelude and Fugue No. 1 in C Major on the pianoforte,” he said in a commanding tone she had never had occasion to hear, but which she knew could originate only from him. “A prelude introduces a melody that the fugue then builds upon in two or more instrumental voices, each in its turn, and round and round it goes. I have, again and again, felt that this particular piece very much resembles love; as often simple as it is complex, with a tendency to land us right back where we started and over all too soon. Its very divinity depends entirely on its ephemeral nature.”

  There came a ripple of laughter from the audience that Elizabeth could only assume was in light of his doomed betrothal to Miss Ponsonby. And yet, Elizabeth knew it was on account of her rejection of him that he spoke as he did. She felt his words to be a harsh assessment and not in the least apt; she knew her love for him would never perish. However, his love for Miss Ponsonby had, by all accounts, melted away the moment he had met another.

  Perhaps he should fall as deeply in love with the next young lady as he had with Elizabeth. Perhaps he never truly loved her at all. Tears sprang to her eyes at the notion and she was careful to wipe them away with her left hand as Duncan was unaccountably alive to her every action. She was as moved by the music itself and found that she must employ her handkerchief much too frequently for her tranquility.

  “Is it the ague that makes you sniff so?” Duncan demanded.

  Elizabeth managed a watery laugh. “I don’t believe I have heard a case of the sniffles referred to as such.”

  “Be that as it may, I still wish to hear your answer to my question,” he said in a hard voice to which she had never before been treated.

  “I find the music deeply affecting, that is all. Of what consequence might it possibly be?”

  “It matters because I canna see you, lass,” he said in kindlier tones that set her to doubting her doubts. “How can I comfort you if I don’t know what ails you?”

  “It is nothing, really; just the music,” she said, placing her hand on his arm in an attempt to reassure him of what, if she were honest, was an utter falsehood.

  “So long as you are happy, m ‘dear,” he murmured.

  “Yes, why should I not be?” she asked, plying her fan to cool the heat rising on her cheeks. To her relief, he made no response and she was free to listen to the rest of the piece. She was a bit taken aback at Colin’s musical dexterity and somewhat hurt that he had never offered to play other than the duet with Katherine. It was a circumstance that could hardly matter, now, but she felt the loss keenly. They might have played together, even, that night when they danced in his sitting room. However, all thoughts were soon held at bay by virtue of the beautiful music.

  It wasn’t until the last note trembled on the air that her mother turned to her. “Elizabeth, how could you possibly let that man get away?” she hissed. “I am persuaded he would offer for you if you would encourage him in the slightest.”

  “Mama!” Elizabeth urged. Mortified by her certainty that Duncan had heard her mother’s words she rose quickly to her feet and made her way past the guests to the end of the row of chairs. She felt Duncan grasp at her skirts as she moved past him but whether or not he was in need of anything she could not find it within herself to care.

  Hurrying through the house, she found her way to the front garden and paused to regain her composure and cool her cheeks. She wished for nothing more than for Mr. Lloyd-Jones to appear at her side and take her in his arms, then took herself to task for entertaining such a self-indulgent thought. She took a few deep breaths to ward off the tears that had started in her eyes and looked about her. Guests wove in and out of the garden and moved past her on every side so it was not until she felt someone take her hand that she knew he was there. She looked up to see him raise her hand to his lips and kiss it.

  “Mr. Lloyd-Jones,” she said, turning to look into his face. His usually bright and mirthful eyes were yet weighed down with misery a
nd her heart constricted with the knowledge that she was the cause of his pain. And yet, she could not help but feel overjoyed that he had come. “I find I cannot agree with your words in regard to love being over all too soon. It has not been so for me.” She did not add how she feared it never would be.

  To her dismay, the sorrow in his face deepened and he bent his head, his gaze catching on the brooch she wore as it gleamed in the torchlight. Smiling, he gently touched it with the tip of his finger. “Come,” he said, taking a step back towards the garden and tugging on her hand.

  She went with him willingly as they traipsed over the grass to the high-hedged maze that stood at the center of the garden. The moment they stepped into its paths of concealment, she heard the music of a fountain, one that was doubtless to be found in the center. In wordless agreement, they moved towards the sound but were forced to hide in a heavily shadowed enclave with the approach of voices.

  She had thought only to mask their presence from any who might discover them, so was taken by surprise when she found herself tightly clasped in his arms, his lips fastened to hers. Having supposed that the kisses they had previously shared were the very embodiment of physical affection, she was astonished to find she was woefully mistaken. These that descended upon her now were even more insistent and demanding than the last, and she burned with an inner fire that seemed to set her skin aflame. Knowing she should turn and flee, she instead wound her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. She heard the breath catch in his throat at her touch and it suffused her being with an elation she had never known.

  Her bliss turned to a daze of confusion when he suddenly released her, the air heaving through his lungs as he backed away deeper into the shadows of the maze. She took a step towards him and once again she was in his embrace. To her vexation he did not kiss her and instead slid his arm up her back to press her head to his chest. They stood thus for several minutes as she listened to the thunderous pounding of his heart in perfect unison with the rise and fall of his chest under her cheek.