But she had no intention of telling her what had happened at George’s house.
Her father was still regarding her, his expression, as usual, not giving away his thoughts on the subject. It was one of the traits that made him an effective politician. “Father, what is it?” she finally asked, wondering suddenly if he could read her mind and knew everything that had happened to her the night before. She could suddenly feel her cheeks heat up, sure he knew everything.
He placed the paper on the table. “There is talk Trenton will ask for your hand,” he replied, neither the tone of his voice nor his expression indicating whether he was pleased or not about the subject.
“Oh?” Elizabeth replied, her eyes widening as sudden panic coursed through her. She hadn’t given the earl a single thought since late last evening. How could she when George had done such amazing things to her, leaving her brain so confused she could barely think?
Lady Morganfield straightened in her chair and gave Elizabeth a tentative smile. “And?” she questioned with a hint of tease in her voice. When Elizabeth didn’t answer right away, her mother’s expression brightened. “Oh, this explains why you’re so addled this morning. Gabriel will probably come calling his afternoon!”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Oh, God, I hope not,” she blurted, her stomach threatening to send up her breakfast.
Her mother’s expression changed to one of grave concern. “Why, daughter, whatever is the matter?” She got up and moved to the other side of the table, reaching her arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder. Elizabeth was aware of her father’s eyes studying her, his face changing to show … concern, was it? Or disappointment? Or was that … hope?
“I don’t know,” she replied. It was as truthful a statement as she could make at the moment. “I suppose I am just … nervous,” she offered, not wanting to tell her mother that Gabriel Wellingham kissed like Lady Hannah’s Alpenmastiff and that what was done before intercourse was far more pleasurable than a massive tickle. She couldn’t even imagine anything beyond what she had already experienced!
Adeline Carlington gave her daughter a brilliant smile and kissed her cheek. “Of course, you are. You’re about to be proposed to by one of the richest men in all of England!” she gushed.
David Carlington rolled his eyes, but did not share his opinion of the earl just then. At some point, it would be appropriate. Just not now.
Chapter 38
Charity Means Work in More Ways than One
Lady Elizabeth entered her office in Oxford Street and was relieved to see that both Mr. Overby and Nicholas Barnaby, her new clerks, were busy at the library table. Her desk, completely free of papers only the morning before, was now covered in small stacks of the stuff, leaving very little room for writing correspondence. Both men jumped to their feet, although Mr. Overby did so a bit slowly, his leg having been damaged by a mortar in the battle at Quatre Bras. They bowed to her quick curtsy and said their hellos.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said brightly, her expression faltering when she saw all the papers. “Oh, my,” she breathed, moving to look more closely at the top sheet of one pile.
“We were quite … busy yesterday,” Mr. Overby said in an apologetic tone. His responsibility to the charity was to locate employers willing to hire ex-soldiers. His method for doing so included combing the news sheets for listings of positions and meeting with shop owners and warehouse foremen about positions that might not be publicized.
“Indeed,” Nicholas added, hurrying to stand on the other side of the desk. “If I might explain, milady,” he added, a tooth catching his lower lip. Mr. Barnaby’s job was to meet with applicants, write down their personal and past-work experience information, and collect any characters they might have from prior employment. Judging from the amount of paperwork now covering her library table, it was evident he had earned his first day’s wages.
Elizabeth raised her eyes to meet his troubled expression. “Are all these … applicants?” she wondered, one eyebrow cocking into an elegant arch. Whatever happened while I was at the museum with George? She had to force down the bit of panic gripping her.
Nicholas was suddenly behind her, pulling out the desk chair and indicating she should sit down. She did so, thanking him as he moved to stand to one side. “Not exactly, milady,” he said with a hint of reassurance. “The stacks on the left are the positions Mr. Overby found available to be filled. Most are employers who are willing to hire ex-soldiers in exchange for certain … guarantees.” He straightened the stack in question.
Guarantees being bribes, Elizabeth reasoned with a roll of her eyes.
“Some are simply employers who have warehouse positions. They usually require a more able-bodied man, but allowances can be made …”
“Should there be some sort of guarantee,” Elizabeth finished for him.
Nicholas reluctantly nodded, the air seeming to leave his lungs. “Yes, milady. And this stack on the right,” he said as he leaned over the desk and picked up the sheath of papers, “Are the applicants that stopped by yesterday hoping to have an audience with you.”
Elizabeth took the papers and leafed through them, counting nine in total. “My. You were busy yesterday. I suppose I should get started then,” she said brightly, the panic quickly subsiding. I can do this. Glancing quickly at the addresses of the applicants, she wasn’t surprised to see they lived in close proximity to one another. “And while I do this, I need you to go to this hotel where most of these men seem to reside. Gather them up and see to it they go to this tailor’s shop,” she handed him a pasteboard calling card along with the purse containing the coins the footman had dropped off earlier that week. “Give them fare for the hackney, and go with them if you’re able. They’re to have a suit of clothes made. See to it the tailor is paid fairly. Once that’s done, I’ll get them to one of these employers.”
Nicholas regarded the pasteboard and hefted the purse, quickly realizing the coins inside were not mere farthings. “You trust me with this, milady?” he asked, his expression one of surprise.
Elizabeth regarded him for a moment. “It seems I do, Mr. Barnaby. Please do not do anything untoward with the money. Remember, your pay is commensurate with your job performance.” Although her words held no menace, she hoped she made her point quite clear.
Nodding his understanding, Nicholas pocketed the purse as best he could, took the list of applicants Elizabeth handed him, and bade farewell.
For the next two hours, Elizabeth studied the positions available as well as the applications, matching each man to a job that would best suit them based on their prior experience and their particular disability. Meanwhile, Mr. Overby continued his search of the newspaper listings, occasionally using a scissors to cut out a promising position. She sometimes asked about a particular applicant while he countered with questions about suitable employers. Once she had completed her first task, she lined up Overby’s latest job opportunities on one side of her desk, readying them for the next set of applicants she knew would be along soon. Satisfied she had done all she could for the day, she took her leave of the office, entrusting it to Mr. Overby’s care, and headed for home.
Elizabeth might have stayed longer—she wanted to stay longer—but according to her father, an earl would be showing up at her home at any moment to propose marriage.
She wouldn’t be able to accept his suit if she wasn’t there.
Chapter 39
Proposal Interrupted
Despite having been warned that Gabriel Wellingham, Earl of Trenton would be paying a call on her that day, Elizabeth was still surprised when the butler, Alfred, knocked on her bedchamber door and announced him. She had only been home a few minutes! “I have put him in the parlor, milady,” he said with the kind of stoicism only those in service seemed to exhibit. “Should I ring for tea?”
Elizabeth caught her image in the looking glass over the vanity. Frightened, she thought suddenly. I look frightened. This w
ill not do. Tea made everything just a bit better. It certainly couldn’t hurt. “Please, do, Alfred. I’ll be down in a moment.” Straightening in front of the mirror, she regarded her image. Her maid had done her hair in a rather fetching tumble of curls atop her head, a teal ribbon woven through the strands in a perfect contrast to her auburn hair and a near-match for her eye color. The dark mint muslin day gown she had just pulled on set off her complexion in a way that pastel gowns simply couldn’t. But am I beautiful? she wondered, thinking Lady Hannah was because she looked like a fairy princess, and Lady Charlotte was because … she just was.
How does a man decide if you are beautiful? she wondered, remembering George’s comment from the night before. Was it her hair color or her eyes or the shape of her face? She touched a finger to her lips, a memory of George’s last kiss making her eyes close as she relived it over and again in her head. The mere thought of his touch made her breasts feel heavy, her feminine core ache for him.
She shook herself, remembering it was Gabriel who waited for her downstairs. He of the blond, curly hair and sky blue eyes. He of the ten-thousand pounds a year and who knew what kind of inheritance? Why couldn’t he be George? But the sudden thought of George with blond curls caused a giggle to burble forth. Elizabeth saw her joy reflected in the mirror. She could do this. Taking a deep breath, she hurried from the room and headed for the parlor.
When she entered the brightly lit room—the sun was obviously shining, although she hadn’t noticed when she had returned from her office—she found Lord Trenton leaning against the fireplace mantle, one hand hidden behind his back. He’s wearing a puce topcoat, Elizabeth thought suddenly. And wearing the color quite well, although the fit of his coat seemed a bit snug. He didn’t immediately look up or at her, his attention instead on a miniature in a gold gilt frame.
“Lord Trenton,” Elizabeth greeted him with a light voice. At least, she hoped it was. Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear herself speak.
“Ah, Elizabeth,” he said, a smile showing off his perfect white teeth and forming a dimple in one cheek.
Did I give him permission to use my given name? Elizabeth found herself wondering again, bristling at the way he said it. Not like a prayer, the way George said it, but rather as if it were a stodgy, old-fashioned name that had to be bitten out as quickly as possible.
Gabriel hurried to stand before her and took her hand as he bowed to her curtsy. “You look as beautiful as ever,” he said, his gaze pausing on her décolletage as it swept up her body.
“Thank you, milord,” she replied with a nod, a sense of … disgust suddenly replacing the joy she had felt only moments before. “Tea will be here in a moment,” she added, now wishing she had turned down Alfred’s suggestion. Moving to the velvet settee, she took a seat and arranged her skirts. “Please, do sit down,” she offered as she waved toward the nearest chair.
Gabriel took a quick glance at the proffered chair and returned his attention to her. “I was hoping we might … talk,” he said, his other hand coming from behind his back to shove a handful of mums toward her.
Elizabeth suddenly sneezed. “Oh, of course,” she managed as she gingerly took the flowers from his grasp. Gabriel’s eyes flicked toward the door where a footman hovered.
Taking his meaning, Elizabeth held her breath a moment. “Mr. Thatcher, could you please close the door?” she called out, shoving the bouquet of golden blooms into a nearby vase.
Surprised at being spoken to and even more surprised at the request, the footman glanced about before he stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him. Satisfied they were now alone, Gabriel took a deep breath and positioned himself directly in front of Elizabeth. “Elizabeth. I am sure you must know why I …”
The parlor door opened, the tea cart rolling in ahead of a maid. Gabriel sighed loudly and stepped back to allow the cart to pass between them.
Pursing her lips to stifle a grin, Elizabeth nodded to the maid. “I can serve, Rose. Thank you.”
Reluctantly, Rose made her way out of the room, not bothering to shut the door as she left.
“Tea?” Elizabeth asked as she lifted the pot and prepared to pour a cup for the earl.
The Earl of Trenton seemed to have a debate with himself, his attention again on the open door. “Uh, no, thank you,” he responded. His nervousness was suddenly noticeable.
“A biscuit, perhaps?” Elizabeth offered, lifting the plate of lemon confections from the cart. He is squirming, she thought, surprised a man who displayed such confidence in a crowded ballroom could be nervous.
Gabriel regarded the biscuits and then shook his head. “No. None for me, thank you,” he commented, waving his hand as if the plate was offensive to him.
Stunned he would turn down both the tea and biscuits, Elizabeth angled her head. “Something else, perhaps?” she wondered. “I can have Cook make you something,” she suggested, an expression of concern on her face. It was only polite to at least accept tea, she considered. Although, he looks like he needs a brandy!
His eyes rolling skyward, Gabriel took another deep breath. “No, thank you, Lady Elizabeth. As I said, I …” He stopped and glanced back toward the open door. He lifted a finger and then moved to close it himself.
A bit alarmed, and suddenly aware they were alone behind closed doors, Elizabeth set aside her tea cup and straightened on the settee. “My lord, whatever is the matter?” she asked as Gabriel repositioned himself, although he couldn’t stand directly in front of her as the tea cart took up some of the space. An image of the night he kissed her suddenly filled her mind’s eye.
Was Gabriel about to try to kiss her now?
“Is it true, milady, that you have let an office in Oxford Street for the purpose of performing … work?” he finally got out, his arms crossing in front of his body. His head was shaking as if he knew it couldn’t be true.
“I have let an office in Oxford Street for the purpose of doing charity work, yes,” Elizabeth responded demurely, wondering where he had learned of her charity’s location.
Gabriel’s eyes widened, but the response left him speechless for a moment. “Oh,” he finally said, straightening. “That’s … very noble,” he offered, apparently not prepared for the answer to be what it was. A bit of air seemed to go out of him. “And, have you done this charity work for a long time?” He seemed to have great difficulty with the word work, as if saying it was somehow foreign to his lips.
Elizabeth poured herself a cup of tea. “Not long at all. But I take great pride in having been able to help those that have already benefited,” she offered with a smile. She deliberately kept her answer vague, hoping the earl wouldn’t press her for more details. What could she tell him? She had only placed six soldiers into various positions and, as of this morning, nine others were pending. That didn’t sound particularly successful.
He seemed placated by the answer, but he still seemed ill at ease. And agitated. “My lord, what has upset you so? Please tell me, what is wrong?” Elizabeth pressed. Perhaps she had guessed wrong and the earl would not be supportive of her charity.
“Nothing is wrong exactly,” he replied a bit curtly, shifting his shoulders in the rather tight-fitting top coat he wore. The dark puce, Elizabeth suddenly realized, was a color that did little to enhance the earl’s current complexion. One of his hands was gripping his hip while the other was raised, as if he wished to make an important point.
Elizabeth wondered if he took that stance when he was speaking in chambers.
“Well, there is something wrong, but it has no bearing on my presence here,” he said, his manner suddenly a bit cross.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened at his odd response. Why is he so agitated? Even in his current state, he was as handsome as she had ever seen him, his blond curls a bit wild about his face, one lock curling on his forehead. Will he always be more beautiful than me? she wondered.
What had he said? My own beauty requires a woman with at l
east as much to match my own. Surely, he had said it in jest.
Or had he?
Would he always dress better than she did? She thought of the other men she had seen that week. George wouldn’t be caught dead wearing puce. Or apple green. He wore impeccably tailored suits in dark superfine and conservative waistcoats. He wasn’t flamboyant. Please think of your future happiness … and not just the money or the title, he had said just yesterday. He’d had the same mistress for eight years and was quitting her to marry. Quitting her because he intended to honor his marriage vows.
At the thought of the mistress, one of Josephine’s comments about Trenton’s mistresses came to mind. And a sudden realization washed over her.
She could not marry this man.
It didn’t matter if he was an earl, or if he was rich as Croesus, or blond and blue-eyed or that he dressed better than she and all her friends combined.
I cannot marry this man.
Before she realized it, the words were out of her mouth. “Oh, dear, did one of your mistresses quit you?” she asked in a manner suggesting she was truly concerned, a sympathetic smile touching her lips as her head angled to one side.
“Yes, damn it, and she was …” Gabriel stopped speaking and stared at Elizabeth, shock evident on his suddenly flushed face. “How did … what do you know of my mistresses?” he demanded, his brows drawn together to form a single line on his forehead. The expression gave him a comical look, one that Elizabeth promised to remember for the rest of her days. How had she not noticed this level of vanity before? How had she been able to ignore his quick anger and the sense of entitlement he seemed to exhibit when around others?
Classically handsome men were obviously given too much latitude, she realized then. They didn’t have to work to earn the consideration of an unattached female.
And having buckets of blunt didn’t help the matter, either.
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