by Joyce Alec
“And even now, you do not do me the honor of conversing with me,” Lord Hartley continued, sounding even more wretched. “Whatever have I done in order to have you treat me in such a manner?”
Moving nearer to the staircase, so that, should there be any difficulty, she could call for the shopkeeper, Ellen threw a scornful glance toward Lord Hartley. “I am well aware of your reputation, Lord Hartley. I do not intend to be another one of your conquests.”
He snorted. “What makes you think that I should wish to chase after you?”
Heat mounted in her cheeks, as she turned to look at him directly, aware of the scorn in his expression. “I do not consider that you would, my lord,” she said calmly. “However, even if you did not, there is nothing in me that wishes to become further acquainted with you. I have my sights set on altogether better gentlemen, and therefore, I do not wish to have any kind of interaction with those who are not worth my time.”
Her words were scalding and harsh, but Ellen did not back down. She wanted to make her thoughts on the matter more than clear, aware that if she appeared to be any kind of shrinking violet now, that Lord Hartley would take full advantage of her weakness. So, she stood tall, speaking to him directly and firmly, hoping to goodness that he would finally leave her alone.
Lord Hartley’s face turned puce, his arms folded in front of his chest and his bravado beginning to evaporate before her very eyes. Ellen could not help but think that he was, regardless of his ungentlemanly behavior, a very handsome gentleman, with his dark hair and hazel eyes that were, at the moment, slightly narrowed. She could see how easily a lady might become entangled with him, especially when all of his attentions were trained on her.
“My, my, you have got your claws out today,” Lord Hartley murmured, coming a little closer to her. “Are you truly this spiteful, Lady Ellen?”
“Not spiteful, but honest,” she replied, aware of just how close he was coming to her and realizing that he intended to use his presence to intimidate her. “I will not allow myself to be so easily bent to your will, Lord Hartley, even if you have managed to get whatever you wish and whoever you wish in the past. I will not be like them.”
He chuckled softly, even though anger remained in the depths of his eyes. “So, you will not so much as speak to me, will certainly not dance with me, and refuse to have anything whatsoever to do with me?”
“As few dealings with you as possible would suit me very well,” Ellen replied stoutly, aware that her breath was catching in her chest as he drew closer to her. She did not want to be affected by his presence, and she was confused as to whether what she felt was fear or something altogether different.
“I think I will be able to change your mind,” Lord Hartley whispered, looking down at her with eyes that blazed with a sudden, furious fire. “I will have you in my arms before the Season is out.”
“No, Lord Hartley, you will not,” Ellen replied firmly, refusing to shirk away from his intense gaze, aware of what he was trying to do. “Of that, I can give you my word.”
He did not reply but continued to hold her gaze steadily. As he did so, Ellen saw him frown slightly, a dusting of color on his cheeks. She did not know what it was that he felt, nor what was going on within his mind, but regardless, she remained exactly as she was. He would not be the victor here. He would not push her into agreeing to his demands, no matter how strong his intention.
The front door of the shop opened and closed, and within a few seconds, the sound of Charlotte’s voice floated up the stairs toward Ellen, inquiring of the shopkeeper where her friend might be.
Lord Hartley said nothing, his eyes narrowing a little before he turned and strode away from her, clattering down the stairs and then out of the shop altogether. Letting out a long breath, Ellen leaned back against the bookcase and felt herself sag with relief. Her ordeal was over.
4
The tailor cleared his throat and looked at George with a critical eye. “I think that does you very well, my lord.”
George looked at his reflection, turning this way and that as he took in his new shirt, cravat, and jacket. “Yes, it does look rather fitting,” he murmured, thinking that the tailor had done just as he had asked him to.
“You look every bit the respectable gentleman,” the tailor continued, repeating back George’s very words to him. “Not that you did not appear so when you first came in, if I might be so bold as to say.”
George chuckled, carefully shrugging out of the jacket. “Good of you to say so. But yes, I require an entirely new wardrobe, I think, with none of the usual colorful cravats or the like. From now on, I must appear to be entirely sensible in every way. And that starts with what I wear.” George had always been fond of a colorful cravat to set him apart from the crowd – and to catch the eye of any particularly interested young lady who might look his way. Now, however, a week after his encounter with Lady Ellen, he had decided to take a different approach in order to get to know the lady. She was determined to rebuff his every attempt to engage her even in simply conversation, and he was determined to find a way to crack her determined spirit.
Having paid the tailor and made sure that his order would be with him by the beginning of the following week, George continued his way along the street, looking in various shop fronts and wondering whether or not today he might stumble across the elusive Lady Ellen.
Of course, it would have been remarkably easy to find her had he chosen to go to one of the many balls and recitals he had been invited to, but that would have been too easy. If he was to have her believe his change in character, then he had to play the part. A week out of society had been almost torturous, but George was convinced that it would be worth it.
Lord Morton had mocked him mercilessly when he had discovered George’s intentions, telling him that his pride was the only reason he was going to such lengths – and George had been unable to disagree. His pride would not be knocked; his resolve would not be shaken. He would claim his prize of Lady Ellen’s lips pressed against his, even if it were only for a second. In that moment, he would have found his triumph, his victory, his success.
George paused as he came near to the bookshop, his memory filled with how he had accosted Lady Ellen within the very same shop only last week. Shame filled him, as he recalled how aggressively he had pursued her, thinking that it might be the thing to have her fall into his arms, but instead, she had presented just as strong a front – and George had been unable to do anything but step away. Now that a week had passed since the encounter, George had been able to look at his behavior and realize just how forceful he had been, and how wrong he had been in doing so. Whilst he had every intention of apologizing to the lady – even though it was done more to soften her toward him – it did not mean that he was not a little ashamed of what he had done. He should not have been so aggressive, so threatening in his demands for her to open herself up to him. Were he honest with himself, he would say that he had lost his temper somewhat, angry with how dismissive she was of him. That was pride, just as Lord Morton had pointed out, but George did not consider it an altogether bad thing. It was, in fact, simply how he was. It was part of his character, and he had no intention of changing.
Clearing his throat, George opened the door of the bookshop and stepped inside, hoping he might find Lady Ellen within and offer her the flowery apology he had been rehearsing for some days now. The bookshop owner looked up and nodded, lifting one eyebrow inquiringly, but George shook his head.
“I am just going to look around, thank you,” he murmured, his eyes already roving around the room. “I have a few ideas of what it is I am looking for, but I am sure I will be able to find it without your assistance.”
The bookshop keeper smiled and returned his attention to the book he had on the desk in front of him, bending to write something carefully within it. George continued on his way, walking up the staircase and then back toward the end of the shop, feeling almost a little claustrophobic as he did so. He had never
been particularly interested in books, for they held no meaning for him. The stories were too dull, the heroes much too romantic. The only reason he was here was to find Lady Ellen.
Sighing to himself, George wandered up and down the shop, glancing disinterestedly at the books. He would give it, maybe half an hour or so, and then he would return home, ready to try tomorrow. If he was to win his bet, then he was going to have to put in as much effort as he could – and that meant coming back to the bookshop again and again until he found her.
The minutes ticked by. George paced up and down, his frustration growing by the second. Lady Ellen was proving to be more elusive than he had anticipated.
He was just about to give up and return home when the door to the bookshop opened and a lady’s voice floated up toward him. George held his breath, a broad smile settling on his face, as he realized it was none other than his quarry, the lady he had been waiting for.
She did not come upstairs, however, but made her way to the other end of the shop, looking through the books with great care. As he slowly began to descend the stairs, he saw her maid waiting outside, her hands clasped in front of her and head bowed. Lady Ellen was almost entirely alone then, except for the bookshop owner and the other two ladies who were, at this point, now making their way to purchase the books in their hands.
He took the opportunity to slip down the stairs unnoticed, maneuvering himself quickly behind the two ladies and down to the other end of the bookshop, catching sight of Lady Ellen with her nose in a book. She had a light smile on her face, clearly lost in the story already.
“Do you intend to purchase that book?”
She jerked in surprise, her head shooting up to look at him – only for an expression of horror to cross her face as she stepped back.
“Please,” he continued, putting on as apologetic an air as possible. “Please do not run from me, Lady Ellen. I must apologize to you. I have been coming here every day in the hope of seeing you.”
She did not say anything, but to his relief, she did not turn and run from him.
“I have thought about what you said, and I have concluded that you were quite right to speak to me as you did,” he continued with a sorrowful look. “I ought not to have pressed my attentions on you.”
“No,” she said, standing a little straighter as she regained her composure. “You certainly should not have treated me in such a way, Lord Hartley. I find your manner utterly disgraceful.”
The flash of anger that burned in his soul was dampened immediately by nothing more than sheer force of will. “You are quite right, of course,” he said, with a short bow. “I have wanted to apologize for some time, Lady Ellen, but I expected that you would not allow me into your home to call on you, nor would you read any note from me. I would have spoken to you before now, but I have chosen to spend some time out of society, to give me adequate time to reflect.”
Lady Ellen eyed him suspiciously, her color heightened. “I have not seen you this last week,” she murmured, her gaze fixed. “I thought it was simply because you were busy taking your pleasures elsewhere. Bath, I presumed, given that most of London has been tainted by your presence.”
The bluntness of her words hit him like a slap in the face, and with a spiraling disappointment, George realized that Lady Ellen was not going to be as easily convinced as he had thought.
“Nonetheless, I find that I have little choice but to accept your apology,” Lady Ellen continued, with a brief, tight smile. “Along with the expectation that you will not treat me so again.”
He bowed again, hiding his frustration and anger in one sweeping bow that hid his face. “Of course, Lady Ellen,” he said calmly, raising his head. “Nothing more than respect and admiration, I assure you.”
“Very good,” she replied with a small, disdainful sniff. “As I said previously, Lord Hartley, I do not see any reason for us to continue with our acquaintance. Whilst I accept your apology, I am not interested in conversing with you, dancing with you, or any of the like.”
Frowning, George tried to appear upset and confused. “You will not allow me even a single dance, my lady? Not when I am trying my utmost to change my ways, to be the gentleman I ought to have always been?”
He saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes, and something in him began to rise in triumph. He was getting to her.
“I do not think it would be wise,” she replied eventually.
Not wanting to press the matter, George inclined his head, hoping that his expression remained sorrowful. “But of course. Regardless, I do not think I shall be entering society for another week or so. I have a great deal of thinking to do, and I cannot do it well when I am swept up in balls and the like.”
Lady Ellen tried to appear disinterested although her eyes flickered with interest.
“Might I purchase your book for you?” George asked, holding out his hand for it. “It would be my pleasure to do so. An addition to my apology of mere words.”
She hesitated for a moment, looking from his hand to his face and back again before, eventually, surrendering the book to him.
A small sigh of relief escaped him, but he covered it by looking down at the book with interest. “Poetry,” he murmured, glancing back up at her. “You enjoy such things?”
Lady Ellen nodded before turning to walk toward the front of the shop. “Yes, I do. Thank you, Lord Hartley.”
Feeling as though he had won some great victory, George followed after her, and with a smile, he placed the book on the counter and proceeded to pay for it.
“Thank you, Lady Ellen. I am grateful to you for accepting my apology,” he said, handing her the book. “You have done me a great honor.”
She took it from him, making sure not to touch his hand with her gloved one. “Thank you, Lord Hartley,” she said crisply. “Good day to you.”
“Good day,” he repeated with a slight bow as she left the shop, her skirts billowing about her. Their meeting was at an end, the apology given and accepted. All he had to do now was wait.
5
Ellen laughed aloud as Charlotte came toward her, her eyes shining. She and her mother had only just entered Lord Matthews’ home, and Charlotte, evidently, had been waiting to see her.
“Goodness!” she exclaimed, as Charlotte embraced her. “We have only been apart for two days, and yet it seems as though you have found the separation much worse than I.”
Charlotte laughed and shook her head. “It is only that I have the most wonderful news.”
“Oh?”
Charlotte smiled, her cheeks a little red. “Lord Withington came to speak to Papa only yesterday,” she said in a quieter tone. “He asked Papa if he might be allowed to court me!”
Ellen gasped, her hands at her mouth as she stared at her friend.
“I know, I am quite overcome,” Charlotte declared, her expression one of sheer joy. “Of course, Papa accepted.”
“Lord Withington?” Ellen repeated, wondering if she had heard his name correctly. “But you have only met him once.”
“Nay, not once,” Charlotte replied, with a slight frown as though Ellen’s happiness ought to match her own. “I have danced with him twice on two separate occasions, and he has called upon me once. He is a very amiable and handsome gentleman, and I am delighted to have his suit.”
Ellen, feeling as though she had said quite the wrong thing, gave her friend a warm smile. “I am very glad for you, Charlotte. I do hope he will come up to snuff for you.”
Charlotte’s beaming smile reappeared almost at once, her countenance ecstatic once again. “I am quite sure he will. Who would have thought I would have such a gentleman by my side so soon into the Season?”
“Indeed,” Ellen murmured, as she caught sight of Lord Hartley walking toward them. “That is truly wonderful news, Charlotte,” she continued, a little more firmly, as she dragged her eyes away from the man. “You must come and tell Mama.”
“Oh, of course!” Charlotte exclaimed, catching Ellen’s arm. �
��Where is she?”
The musical evening had not yet begun, although Ellen knew it would not be long before they were asked to take their seats. She did not, however, want to be caught up with Lord Hartley, although she had to admit that she had noticed his prolonged absence from society. He had been true to his word. He had told her in the bookshop that he intended to be out of society for a time, and thus far, he had been. Now, apparently, he was ready to return to it.
As Charlotte began to tell Ellen’s mother all about her delightful Lord Withington, Ellen could not help but wonder where Lord Hartley might be. She did not want to sit anywhere near him and certainly did not did not want to converse with him, even though he had been very apologetic for his previous behavior toward her. Whilst she had appreciated his apology and his purchase of her book, Ellen found that she was still entirely unsure of him. She could not even guess as to whether his apology had been a serious one, or whether his change in character was truly genuine. A rake was a gentleman well known for his nefarious character, his questionable methods in ensuring that any lady’s affections were soon directed toward him – and Ellen could not be sure that this was not simply another attempt to capture hers. She did not want to think highly of herself, however, not quite sure as to why he would do such a thing, but yet she was reminded of the anger in his expression when she had turned him down yet again.
But then again, she had to admit that his absence from society had been commented on by a great many people. She had, simply by listening to gossip, learned that he simply spent time out walking or in the great London library, as though by reading, he would better himself. She was not quite sure what to believe and was frustrated with her own inability to remove her thoughts from him entirely.
