Nat had paid Tom off using her dowry.
The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.
She felt cold and doubting, not wanting to disbelieve Nat’s integrity and yet suddenly facing the fact that he was not the man she had thought him.
“You must not tell her,” Nat said, and Lizzie felt sick and dizzy to hear the words that confirmed Nat’s guilt. “You must not tell Lizzie, Fortune. I don’t want her to know the terms of our agreement. Not ever.” He sighed “What do you want this time for your silence?” He sounded tired.
Lizzie sagged against the banister, her fingers clenched tight on the smooth wood. So it was true. She would never have believed it if she had not heard Nat’s words for herself. But it was true. Nat had seen her as his opportunity to revenge himself on Tom. He had just admitted it. That was why he had not confided in her about the blackmail-because she would have realized he had paid Tom with her dowry. She would have realized that he had used her.
Lizzie sat down heavily on the stairs. In the beginning, when she had seduced Nat and he had offered her the protection of his name, she had been sure he had been acting out of honor. She still believed it now, though her faith in him was battered and tarnished. It was the same honor that had prompted Nat to protect Celeste and pay Tom’s price. Nat was not a bad person; he was not like Tom, motivated by nothing but greed. But then Monty had died and Tom had refused his permission for the wedding and Nat had seen the most perfect opportunity for revenge. He had outwitted Tom by getting Gregory Scarlet’s agreement for the match. He had taken Lizzie’s dowry and in doing so not only had he denied Tom his share under the Dames’ Tax but had also rubbed Tom’s nose in it by paying him the blackmail money from his sister’s fortune. It was neat, it was cunning, it was the perfect revenge. And she had been the instrument of it.
“I want the Scarlet Diamonds,” Tom was saying. “They should have been mine anyway and it’s the least you owe me for stealing my share of Lizzie’s dowry. I almost won them off her that night at the gaming tables. So if you give them to me now I’ll say nothing to her about the small matter of you using Lizzie and her dowry for revenge.”
There was a pause and Lizzie realized that she was holding her breath in the hope that Nat would still refute the allegation and tell Tom he loved her, that he had married her because he cared for her and not to settle some score. But then Nat said:
“I cannot give it to you now. Lizzie is in the house-I need more time…Tomorrow…” And Lizzie’s heart sank like a stone and she drove her nails into the palms of her hands to prevent herself from crying.
“Tomorrow, then,” Tom said. Lizzie heard him laugh. “That seems a fair bargain, Waterhouse. We have divided Lizzie up, you and I, to our mutual satisfaction now. Bought her, sold her, split the money.”
Somehow Lizzie got herself back up the stairs and into her bedchamber, closing the door with shaking hands. She felt cold through and through, teeth chattering, hands shaking as though she had an ague again.
Bought and sold, bought and sold…
What price now her pitiful hopes that Nat was starting to love her in the same way that she cared for him? She could see just how futile and sad her dreams had been. Her naïveté felt so painful. Nat might have cared enough for her to give her the protection of his name and wed her to save her reputation, but his prime desire had always been for her money and now she knew why. Blackmail and revenge…
She felt wretched and betrayed and she could not, she could not stay here and pretend she had not overheard that damning conversation, nor could she challenge Nat and hear him repeat the truth to her face and experience the hurt of it all again. It would destroy her. Her love for Nat had been ripped apart by what she had heard; it had been so devastated that she no longer knew how she felt.
She dragged out some writing paper and her inkpot but she was shaking so much that she spilt the ink across the skirts of her green gown and mopped it up clumsily with her handkerchief. Then she paused. What could she say? It all sounded so pitiful:
I have loved you for so long.
I wanted someone who loved me for myself alone.
Better simply to go with it all unsaid.
She knew she was running away again but this time she could not stop herself. She took nothing with her. She could not seem to think clearly enough to know what she needed to take. She heard Tom leave and Nat go into his study and she crept down the stairs and out to the stables and she took Starfire with no tack and rode off into the night, still in her green evening gown.
PART THREE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
N AT WAS SHAKEN to discover how strong was the urge to go and find Lizzie as soon as Tom had left, to speak to her, to wake her even if she was sleeping. He knew he needed to tell her the truth at once before Tom had the chance to see her. Despite buying himself some time, he did not trust the man an inch.
Nat had begged for time from Tom not because he intended for one moment to give him the necklace, not because he wanted to keep the truth from Lizzie, but because he simply had to lull his brother-in-law into a false sense of security. He had to keep Tom away from Lizzie until he had the opportunity to tell her about the blackmail himself. Nat knew that Tom, in his cruelty and malice, would hurt Lizzie again, smash all the bright confidence that Nat had seen growing in her, trample her feelings in that hateful, careless way he had and destroy Lizzie’s happiness all over again. The thought of Tom harming Lizzie, crushing her spirit, made Nat furious.
He could see now that he had been mad and misguided to keep the truth from Lizzie for so long. He had thought he was doing the right thing in protecting her. He had not told her because he could not bear to disillusion her even further about her brother; news of Tom’s latest outrage and his extortion would surely wrench her to the heart. Nat had seen for years how much Lizzie had cared for Monty and Tom Fortune and felt angry and powerless in the light of their indifference toward their little sister. He had thought he could not add to Lizzie’s disenchantment by telling her even more of Tom’s sordid affairs. Yet now he could see only too clearly how his actions could be interpreted. Tom’s corrosive, spiteful words seemed to be all that he could hear:
“We have divided Lizzie up, you and I…Bought her, sold her…”
Nat went to the table and poured himself a glass of brandy, drinking it down in one gulp. It was true that he had needed Lizzie’s money to pay the blackmail but he had never for a single moment resolved to marry her just to thwart her brother. The idea was sick, twisted, but it had a kind of appalling logic. Under the Dames’ Tax Tom would have been entitled to half of his sister’s dowry. By carrying her off and marrying her against Tom’s wishes, Nat had cheated Tom of that twenty-five thousand pounds. Then he had paid Tom with Lizzie’s money. Oh, yes, Nat could see why Tom, with his warped and bitter mind would see his actions as no more than coldhearted revenge. But he did not care what Tom believed. The only thing that mattered was what Lizzie thought, and he had to explain to her, had to make it absolutely clear in a way that proved that he had never intended her to be an instrument of revenge against her brother. Everything between them was so new and so fragile. He would not let Tom despoil it.
He paced the room. He loved Lizzie. He knew that now with a clarity he only wished he had achieved earlier. He had been a fool, so unutterably slow to realize his feelings for her, so trapped by the way things had always been that he had not been able to see that everything had changed. He loved her gallantry and her courage and the way that she was maturing and growing into such a fine person. He was so proud of her that it made his heart ache to think of it. And he needed her, knowing that only Lizzie with all her defiance and her stubbornness and her spirit could fill his soul and banish the dark that had been left by his sister Charlotte’s death.
He saw that Alice had left him a note. She had written that Lizzie had woken, had taken some food and was resting. Nat had intended to go up to Lizzie as soon as he had returned home, but Tom Fortune h
ad caught him just outside the house. Now, though, he knew he could not delay. Lizzie might be weak and tired after her fever, it was probably the very worst time to add to her woes, it was certainly the last thing he wanted to speak to her about when all he wanted to do was to hold her and tell her he loved her, but the matter could not be put off a moment longer.
Nat went out into the hallway and looked up the darkened stairwell. Not a sound. The house was still and quiet. Premonition stretched his nerves tight. For the first time he realized that Lizzie might have come down whilst Tom was there and that she might have heard their conversation. Nat had been forced to invite Tom inside, being unwilling to have such a loaded discussion in the street, but now, belatedly, he could see how dangerous that move might have been. But surely if Lizzie had overheard she would have burst in, challenged them and demanded to know what they were talking about? That was Lizzie’s way-to confront an issue not to run from it. Unless…Unless she had been so hurt and distraught to think that he had married her for no more than money and revenge that she had run from him. Gone without a word…
Even as the thought was in his mind Nat took the stairs two at a time and slammed open Lizzie’s door. The room was empty and quiet with the candle burning down on the chest and a blank piece of paper and pool of ink on the dressing table.
Nat felt the shock and dread drive all the breath from his body. He ran through the quiet house, down to the stables where the groom said that Lady Waterhouse had ridden out ten minutes before and no, he did not know which road she had taken.
The breath pounded in Nat’s chest and the shock and fear made his head ache. He had to find Lizzie. Where would she run? What would she do? She was barely recovered from her fever and should not be out riding about the countryside. He knew he had finally driven her away this time. In the past it had taken her so much strength and courage to stand and confront her issues. The only example she had ever had was of a mother who had run away from unhappiness and two brothers who indulged themselves indiscriminately.
Nat sent to Drum Castle, to Alice and Miles, and to The Old Palace, to Dexter and Laura, asking if they had seen Lizzie. It was far too late to pretend to his friends or indeed to anyone else that there was nothing wrong. He had made a terrible, monumental error in not trusting Lizzie with the truth sooner and he could only hope that when she had had a few hours to calm down she would come back and he could try to explain to her and they might begin anew.
That hope lasted as he rode out on all the tracks from Fortune’s Folly, searching for Lizzie hour after hour. It lasted when he called at all the alehouses and no one had seen her. It lasted until he reached Half Moon House on the road to Peacock Oak, where the landlady Josie Simmons was throwing the last of the late night drinkers out into the darkness.
“Lady Waterhouse?” she said. “Yes, she passed this way a couple of hours ago.” She jerked her head toward the stall where the horses were stirring. “Her mare is stabled there. She said she did not need her anymore. She went in a private carriage.”
Nat frowned. “A private carriage?” There was no way that Lizzie could have made an assignation because she had left so abruptly. Unless…The doubt slipped into his mind and could not be dislodged. Unless she had been thinking of leaving him all along and her discovery of the bargain he had made with Tom had simply precipitated her actions. She could have sent word to someone as soon as she left.
“Meet me at Half Moon House…”
But he could not believe it. Not Lizzie, fiercely loyal, courageous, admirable Lizzie. Not when she had told him in her fever that she loved him, not when they had started to build a future, not when there was so much he needed to explain, so many things he wanted to say to her…
“She went with Viscount Jerrold,” Josie Simmons said, extinguishing Nat’s hope like the snuffing of a candle. “They took the road to the south.”
LIZZIE SAT IN A CORNER of John Jerrold’s traveling coach and felt lonely and wretched and betrayed. The curtains of the carriage were drawn and inside it was almost as dark as out. The track was bad and the journey slow, but Jerrold had wanted to make as much progress as they could that night. Lizzie had not asked him why he was leaving Fortune’s Folly. She had barely spoken to him. When his carriage had pulled into the yard at Half Moon House she had scrambled in and begged to be taken wherever it was he was going, and had sat and shivered like a dog left out in the rain. Jerrold had asked no questions, had wrapped the blankets around her although their warmth seemed to do little to dispel her chill, and had passed her his brandy flask. She had drunk from it with gratitude and great appreciation, feeling the coldness in her bones ease a little although it seemed likely that the soreness of her heart would need more than the numbing of drink. This time, it seemed, not even the strongest brandy could dull the pain. It hurt too much.
“I’m leaving Nat,” she had announced baldly at one point, and Jerrold had laughed and said that he had rather thought she was, and they had lapsed into silence again. He had not asked her why; perhaps, Lizzie thought, he did not care. She had thrown herself at him-for she had got into his carriage in front of the entire alehouse and fully aware that it would be the final ruin of her reputation-and he was not going to ask any questions. There was tension in his silence and in the way that he watched her. She knew what would happen when they reached the next inn and stopped for the night.
She waited to feel something. She was about to betray her husband, break her wedding vows and give herself to another man. Surely she should feel some guilt? Yet no feelings came. There was nothing. Nothing but cold, black emptiness. She felt as though she was floating, tiptoeing lightly but inevitably, toward disaster. Her mind was numb. What did it matter what she did now? Nat did not love her and nothing else seemed remotely important. She had lost him. He had never truly been hers to lose. Gregory Scarlet had been right when he had said she was like her mother. Like the Countess of Scarlet she had pinned everything on her one true love, gambled and lost. Like her mother she would run away with second best-with a man who wanted her even if he was not the one she wanted.
They finally stopped in Keighley at the Crossed Hands. The inn was busy but the landlady, seeing quality, made a private room available to them at the top of the creaking stair. Lizzie sat down on the bed, realizing as she caught sight of herself in the mirror what a shocking fright she must look. She had no cloak or bonnet, her hair was awry and the diamond clasp long gone, and her gown was ripped and stained. She wished she cared but she looked at her reflection and saw a stranger looking back at her.
“Here you are, my lord, my lady.” The landlady’s eyes darted slyly from Lizzie to Jerrold and back. “A nice cozy room for you. Shall I send up some food?”
“Just some wine, thank you,” Jerrold said. Lizzie heard the chink of money changing hands. “Then you can leave us alone-and you have not seen us.”
“No, my lord,” the woman said. She dropped a curtsy.
The wine arrived quickly. Jerrold poured her a glass and Lizzie drank it down almost greedily but still she felt nothing other than a lassitude that stole all thought. It was too much of an effort to move, too much of an effort to do anything at all. John Jerrold came across and sat next to her on the bed. He took the glass from her hand and placed it on the table. She watched his movements and they seemed so slow, as though everything took so long to happen, her seduction unraveling before her eyes with agonizing detail. She could not feel, could not think. Jerrold kissed her. He was good at it. She had known he would be. She remembered that a month or so ago-was it so recently? It felt like an age-she had been tempted to go out onto the terrace at the Wheelers’ house with John Jerrold to see if he was any good at kissing. And now she knew.
Yet still she did not feel anything. Jerrold turned her around so that her back was to him and put his hand beneath the fall of her hair, his fingers cool on her nape. Lizzie closed her eyes and thought of Nat tracing his fingers down her neck and down the curve of her bare back, and s
he shivered. Jerrold’s hand had gone to the laces of her gown. She felt the ribbons give and the bodice ease, and then it fell apart and Jerrold’s hand was on her bare skin and she thought of Nat sliding his hands over her body and suddenly her feelings came alive with such force that she gasped. The pain hit her so hard and so fast that she almost cried aloud in anguish. She grabbed the bodice of the gown to her breasts and spun around.
“I can’t do this!” She stopped, looking at the expression on John Jerrold’s face. “My God,” she said slowly as she saw the look in his eyes. “Neither can you.”
Jerrold’s expression eased into rueful amusement. “Actually I think I could,” he said, “but I’ll allow it is more difficult than I had thought.”
“I love Nat,” Lizzie said. She gulped in a breath. “Whatever he has done, I still love him. I’m so sorry, Johnny.” She felt stricken, desperate. “I did not mean to be a tease,” she said painfully. “I don’t know what happened to me, but I can’t make love with you because I cannot bear to betray Nat. I love him so much.”
“I think I knew that really,” Jerrold said wryly.
“Fasten my gown up so that we can talk,” Lizzie said, spinning around again. “I cannot hold a conversation like this.”
“A pity,” Jerrold said, the amusement returning to his voice. He tied her laces. “I could definitely have done it,” he added, his hands lingering on her bare shoulders. “Damn it, Lizzie…”
Lizzie slapped his hands away. She felt wretched with misery over Nat but at the same time a small spark of spirit had kindled inside her. It made everything hurt like the devil but at least she was feeling again.
“It’s too late for that,” she said. She looked at Jerrold, at the fall of his fair hair over his brow and the wicked light in his narrowed eyes and she sighed. “You make the perfect rake, Johnny, but I cannot let you seduce me.” She put her head on one side. “Nor do I think your heart is really in this. Tell me what was so difficult for you. Was it because I’m married?”
The Undoing Of A Lady Page 24
