by Joyce Alec
Lord Hartley was a reformed man.
“You are rather quiet,” he said after a few minutes. “Perhaps I should return you to Lady Charlotte. I do not want you to grow bored of my company.”
“No, indeed,” Ellen replied quickly. “I am not bored. Simply considering some of my shortcomings.”
He looked surprised. “Surely you have none, my dear lady!” he exclaimed with one hand pressed against his heart. “I would not have thought you could have had any fault within you.”
She paused and looked at him, no smile on her face. Apart from her maid, there was no one else around them. He was looking at her with a slightly puzzled expression, although a slight smile lingered around his mouth.
“Lord Hartley,” she began, struggling to find the words within her. “I must confess to you that I have thought badly of you for some time. I have refused to believe that there is any good in you, and I believed that this transformation into a reformed gentleman was nothing other than ruse in order to try and entrap someone for some reason.”
Lord Hartley looked away, his expression hidden from her.
“I confess this to you now because it has been a wrong attitude that I must ask your forgiveness for,” she finished, her cheeks going crimson with embarrassment. “I will say that I am glad at your change of character, for I find you much more agreeable.”
“I am glad to hear it,” he said, still looking at the ground. “You are much too good, Lady Ellen.”
A short, harsh laugh escaped her. “I think this proves that I am not,” she said humbly. “Might I ask you to forgive me, Lord Hartley?”
His gaze, when it landed on her, was almost tortured. There was something in his eyes that she could not make out, as though she was killing him slowly by asking for his forgiveness.
“You do me a great honor, Lady Ellen,” he said eventually. “And, of course, there is no need for me to grant you my forgiveness, although it is given. I did you a great wrong, and you have shown nothing but kindness to me thereafter.”
Feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her mind, Ellen smiled happily and drew in a long breath, although aware that Lord Hartley himself did not smile.
“I am glad to have spoken of it to you,” she said truthfully. “Indeed, I feel a great deal better than before—now that I am no longer confused.”
Lord Hartley did not smile. “I am glad, Lady Ellen. Now, I had best return you to your companions, I think, and then, I shall take my leave of you.”
“I have not upset you, I hope?” Ellen asked, frowning just a little as she saw the pained expression on his face. “I did not think that—”
“No, you have not upset me in the least, I assure you,” Lord Hartley replied at once, offering her his arm. “Come now, Lady Ellen. Let me return you to your friend.”
9
“Ah, Lord Hartley!”
It was Lord Morton’s ball, and much to George’s frustration, his friend now fully expected his seduction of Lady Ellen to be completed by the evening’s end. He, however, was struggling with an inner turmoil, one that had not left him since two weeks prior when Lady Ellen had, so beautifully and so calmly, apologized to him.
The guilt that ran through him had not yet dissipated.
“Yes, Morton?” he asked with a small sniff. “What can I do for you?”
“I am surprised to see you up here,” Lord Morton exclaimed, with a look of feigned surprise. “The balcony is not your usual haunt – unless, of course, you are looking for your quarry. She is here, you know.”
His jaw clenched.
“Ripe for the plucking, I would say,” Lord Morton continued, with a lift of his brow. “Why not this evening, Lord Hartley? Never say that you have had a change of heart!”
“No, of course not!” George exclaimed at once, his fingers gripping the handrail tightly. “She is just still not quite sure of me, that is all.”
Lord Morton scoffed at this, shaking his head firmly. “Now, do not toy with me, Lord Hartley. Everyone knows just how much time you have been spending with her these last few weeks, and I know she would not do such a thing if she did not truly believe your transformation to be a genuine one.”
That was the problem, however. As far as George was concerned, this transformation of his character had begun to feel a permanent fixture. He did not care so much for gambling or women, nor even about maintaining his reputation – but yet he could not say as much to Lord Morton. That would mean a climb down from the bet, a willingness to lose to his friend. The ridicule that would follow was too much for him to bear.
And so, he still maintained that he would win the bet and kiss Lady Ellen. The thought of what that would do to the friendship that was slowly being built between them did not bear thinking about. Despite that, however, it was his pride that won out. He would do as he had promised, he would win the bet and maintain his standing. What happened with Lady Ellen thereafter would be something he would just have to endure.
His heart tore, but he did not allow it to show in his expression. Lord Morton’s mocking voice continued in his ear, but George tried not to listen. Suddenly, he despised Lord Morton and all that he stood for, despised even himself for the man he had been – and the man he still was.
Hanging his head, George let out a long, slow breath, as Lord Morton declared to him, yet again, that he expected the deed to be done by the end of the evening, reminding George to fetch him before he took Lady Ellen outdoors, as he expected him to do.
George said nothing, and in a few moments, he was left entirely on his own.
The solitude did not help him. In fact, it did nothing to assuage the guilt that was being heaped on his shoulders, the guilt that had placed itself there the day that Lady Ellen had apologized to him for her lack of belief in his change of character. She had been so sincere, so genuine and vulnerable that he had wanted to fall at her feet and confess the whole charade.
But he had not done so. Instead, he had accepted what she had said, muttered something about forgiving her, and then returned her to her friend. Whenever they met over the next few weeks, she had been much more open toward him, with a ready smile on her face whenever he so much as looked in her direction.
It was an appreciation and an association he did not deserve. He was going to ruin it all tonight; he was going to ruin everything between them. And all to save his own skin.
Why could he not admit that Morton was right, he was not the gentleman who could turn any lady’s head he wished? Why was that so difficult to say? He shook his head and blew out a long breath, looking down at the lady in question as she laughed and smiled with a few of her acquaintances. She was so breathtakingly beautiful, of both character and of face. He felt as if he were a hunter, about to take the life away from a majestic creature, simply for his own pleasures.
Gritting his teeth, he stepped away from the balcony and hurried down the stairs. Could he do this? Really?
Making his way through the crowd toward Lady Ellen, he saw her gaze land on him, and for a moment, the rest of the crowd faded away. There was no music, no laughter, no conversation. There was just Lady Ellen.
And then she looked away, continuing the conversation with another, and it all came rushing back at once. In that moment, George knew that he could not bring himself to do what he had intended. He would lose the bet. He would make it all come to light. He would tell all to Lady Ellen and beg her to forgive him, just as she had. He would explain to her that the change she had affected was now a permanent one, not one that would simply fade away after a short time so that he might return to his old ways. They did not have a hold over him any longer; they did not call to him in the way they had once done. That part of his life was over for good.
“Lady Ellen?”
His voice was hoarse and rasping as he reached for her hand, bowing over it in a sudden flurry of desperation. He had to tell her everything now, before the desire to do so left him. It was most untoward to be grasping a young lady’s hand, bu
t he hoped she might see the urgency in his eyes and the grief in his soul over what he must do.
“I must speak to you,” he said, ignoring the murmurs going on around him. “This very moment, if you please.”
She looked at him in astonishment, her brows lifting.
“It is important, Lady Ellen,” he continued, as quietly as he could. “It will only take a few minutes.”
Nodding, she excused herself and came toward him. George let out a breath of relief, closing his eyes for a moment. “Might we go somewhere quiet to speak, Lady Ellen?”
“My goodness, Lord Hartley, is everything all right?” she asked, looking more and more concerned. “You are not ill, I hope?”
He shook his head. “No, I am not ill. But what I have to say cannot be kept hidden any longer. It must come out, else it will rob me of my very soul.” His words were tortured, the pain in his heart excruciating. She kept her eyes on him, as they walked to the quiet part of the ballroom, near the French doors.
“Might we walk outside?” she asked, with a small smile. “I know there will be many others outdoors, and I have been told it is well lit.”
He shook his head, recalling that Lord Morton would most likely be waiting to see him leave with her. “I do not think that is a good idea. Someone might overhear us.”
She gave a quiet laugh. “My dear Lord Hartley, they are more likely to hear us in here! Come now, I insist. A short walk will be just the thing, and I can have one of my acquaintances walk a little behind us if you wish – not that anyone will notice, I am quite sure.”
The reluctance in him was a strong warning. “I do not think your mother would approve.”
“You mean my mother, or my father,” Lady Ellen chuckled. “My father has come out this evening with us, although I think he disappeared almost at once into the card room.”
“A wise man,” George muttered. “Then I must insist that we remain inside.”
“Oh, but they both trust me implicitly,” Lady Ellen replied calmly. “And since I now trust you, Lord Hartley, there can be nothing to fear, can there? You are not about to drag me to some darkened spot, are you?” She lifted one eyebrow, her lips curving into a smile, and George sighed heavily.
“No, of course not,” he said firmly. “But I insist we stick to the path and remain in sight of the others at all times.”
She smiled. “But of course.”
They stepped outside and walked down the stone steps toward the path. It was, as Lady Ellen had said, very well-lit, and for that, George was grateful. There would be no missteps here. He only had to hope that Lord Morton had not followed them, at least not before he had a chance to speak to Lady Ellen.
“Well?” she asked, as they began to walk along the path together. “What was it you wished to say?”
Now that it came to it, George found himself struggling for words, not quite sure how to reveal the truth to her.
“Lady Ellen,” he began, in a voice filled with tension and strain. “When I first met you, I was, in fact, more than a little rude.”
“You need not apologize again,” Lady Ellen said at once, taking his arm. “I have already told you thrice that your apology has been accepted.”
George cleared his throat, his words sticking to the roof of his mouth. “No, indeed. I quite understand. What I am trying to say is that I was angry with your rejection of me. I was upset that you did not look at me as other ladies did.”
“And so, I have become the object of your thoughts?” she asked, with a lilt to her voice. “You have become determined to capture my affections and so have tried to turn into the kind of gentleman I would begin to care for?”
The laughter in her voice made him pause, as he tried to find the words to tell her that, yes, this was exactly what he was doing. Only then did George realize that they had wandered further than he had intended, the lights from the lanterns already beginning to fade.
“We should turn back,” he muttered, passing one hand over his eyes as he made to turn around.
“Lord Hartley?”
He stopped and looked at her, seeing the way her eyes caught the moonlight. She was so beautiful that his heart began to ache with longing, forcing him to step closer—even though he knew he should be doing exactly the opposite.
“I must tell you now that I feel very confused over you, Lord Hartley,” she whispered, her breath fluttering across his cheek. “You have turned into the kind of gentleman I might consider. Indeed, I have struggled to get you from my mind these last weeks.”
“You are very bold to say so,” George replied haltingly, as she placed one delicate hand against his chest. “I would be lying if I did not say that I felt in much a similar way—although I know it can never be.”
“Why not?” she asked softly, still looking into his eyes. “Will you not consider courting me? If there is something between us, something that neither of us cannot deny, then I would not like to continue to ignore it. I have already moved away from the belief that you are not the gentleman you said you were, and in doing so, I believe my heart has opened to you all the more.”
George groaned, throwing his head back and closing his eyes tightly. The urge to lean down and kiss her was overwhelming his senses, making him want to scream in both frustration and longing.
“I cannot,” he whispered, looking back at her. “If you would just let me explain, I—”
His words were cut short, as a pair of soft lips gently touched his own.
It was all the encouragement George needed. Without thinking of what he was doing, he held Lady Ellen tightly and dropped his head, kissing her with all the passion he felt. The fact that he had not managed to tell her the truth was pushed from his mind, refusing to allow it to linger there. He wanted this moment to linger and to remember what it felt like to have her in his arms.
Only for another voice to rend the air. A voice he knew all too well.
Lord Morton.
10
Ellen froze in Lord Hartley’s arms, only to stumble back as he loosened this grip. She stared at Lord Hartley, horrified with what she had done. It had been a foolish moment of weakness, a moment when she had been overcome by all that she felt as he had stumbled over his words, revealing himself to be more vulnerable than she had ever seen him.
He had been trying to tell her something, and all she could think of was what it would be like to be kissed. She had never done anything like that before, her feelings for Lord Hartley suddenly bursting into fire and coursing through her veins. How foolish she had been to press her affections onto him!
“Well, well, well, Lord Hartley,” came the voice. “You have done what you promised. You have won the bet. I concede entirely.”
“The bet?” Ellen asked weakly, looking from the gentleman in front of her to Lord Hartley, who was, by this point, hanging his head.
“What is going on here?”
She froze, her stomach tightening, as ice swam through her veins. Heaven help her – someone else had heard what was going on.
“Nothing,” Lord Hartley said firmly, stepping in front of her as though to shield her from view. “Lord Morton is, unfortunately, in his cups.”
“He has got Lady Ellen there,” Lord Morton replied, with an almost delighted smile. “Can you guess what they might have been doing?”
A small crowd had gathered by this point, and Ellen felt herself sinking into the ground, shame swallowing her up.
“Very well, very well,” Lord Hartley said, with a voice that rang with exasperation. “For heaven’s sake, Lord Morton, you are meant to be able to keep secrets!”
Wishing she could cover her face and run into the gardens, Ellen tried her best to stand tall, as Lord Hartley moved away from her.
“As Lord Morton is well aware,” Lord Hartley continued calmly. “I was to propose to Lady Ellen this evening. I am delighted to say that she has accepted – although I am yet to speak to her father, so nothing is, of course, official as yet.”
The
murmurs slowly rose around her.
“Lord Morton has been my long-time friend, and I had asked him to join me out here in the gardens so that everything might be done properly, so that Lady Ellen would not be compromised in any way,” he said, in a voice that rang with conviction. “Unfortunately,” he growled, shooting a harsh look in Lord Morton’s direction. “The man is in his cups and did not do his duty as he was asked. I am afraid that I will not be able to let this go, Morton. There will be retribution if there is any slant on Lady Ellen’s stellar reputation.”
Lord Morton swallowed, the smile dropping from his features.
Aware that, were she to save her reputation she would have to play along, Ellen let out a long sigh and shook her head, gazing mournfully in Lord Morton’s direction all the while feeling as though she might be either violently sick or fall into a dreadful faint.
“Lord Morton,” she sighed, wishing that she had someone or something to cling onto for support. “How could you be so disingenuous at such a wonderful moment as this? Lord Hartley put his trust in you, and you have let him down – you have let us both down. I can only hope that my father, the Earl of Fancot, does not hear of your behavior—otherwise I can assure you that he will be less than pleased. You have quite ruined what Lord Hartley meant to be an unforgettable moment.” She sighed again, finding that tears were spilling from her eyes, and since they added to the effect, she allowed them to fall.
There was a short, strained silence.
“There, there, my dear,” said another lady suddenly hurrying toward Lady Ellen. “You need not cry. Lord Hartley did everything right in bringing Lord Morton with him, so as not to damage your reputation. None here will speak ill of you, have no fear.” She handed her a handkerchief, and Ellen accepted it at once with trembling fingers, suddenly wanting to lean into the lady and let her tears spill out without holding them back. The lady was quite short with a slightly rotund figure that came with age, her hair piled up on her head. Ellen guessed her to be a little older, around the same age as her mother. She had the same air of maturity that her mother carried with her. Perhaps that was why the small crowd of ladies and gentlemen began to disperse almost at once, with only a few murmurs reaching Ellen’s ears.
