by Donna Hatch
Miss Wentworth made an attempt to smile but sorrow shone through. “No, of course I don’t despise you.”
“But you and Lord Averston…”
Miss Wentworth shrugged delicately and lowered her gaze. “It is all in the past.”
Her words only served to deepen Elizabeth’s guilt. “I cannot account for your calm.”
“I admit I was a bit overset. After all, I’d dreamed of marrying Richard all my life.” Miss Wentworth swallowed. “However, Tristan flirted with you outrageously at the house party. I doubt any lady alive could have withstood him.”
“It was more than flirtation. We found much common ground and grew to enjoy each other’s company.”
“Of course. He is very charming. I’m sure he found you equally fascinating.” Though she spoke her words with just the right amount of sincerity, something about them felt forced. At least she was trying to be amiable when she could easily have been a shrew.
Elizabeth fidgeted with her gloves. “If I’d known how things would turn out, how many people would be affected, I would have acted differently.” Been more careful not to get caught, for one thing.
“Retrospect gives one a clearer vision.” Miss Wentworth’s face clouded and for a moment, pain twisted her mouth, pain so profound that Elizabeth put her hand over her heart aching in response.
The maid finished repairing the lace. “There now, Miss. Good as new.”
Miss Wentworth paid the maid a vail to thank her for her help. With the aid of a mirror, she smoothed her hair. “I hope you will make him happy. A man like Richard does not give his heart lightly.” She shot a meaningful glance at Elizabeth and left.
Did she mean that as some kind of warning that if Elizabeth failed to make Richard happy that she would have to reckon with Leticia? Or did she mean Richard had already given his heart to Leticia, so Elizabeth had little chance of earning his love?
The maid put away her sewing supplies, reminding Elizabeth of her presence. She fixed a stern stare upon the maid.
“I can count on your silence, I hope?”
The maid looked hurt. “Of course, milady.”
“Thank you.” Elizabeth fished a coin out of her reticule and handed it to her.
The maid’s pout turned to a smile and she nodded once more. Reassured, Elizabeth went in search of lemonade. She spotted Lord Averston escorting Duchess off the dance floor at the close of a dance set, their heads close together in intent conversation.
As Duchess spoke, Lord Averston’s expression showed first puzzlement and then disapproval. With a nod, Duchess left his side. His eyes narrowed and his mouth pressed into a flat, angry line.
What could Duchess have said to anger him?
Unwilling to go near him while he was angry, she halted. Sipping her lemonade, Elizabeth rested a shoulder against a column.
The music stopped. Father, in his role of host, called everyone to attention. “Welcome, honored guests.”
“Smile,” came a low, nearby voice.
Elizabeth jumped. Lord Averston appeared at her side. All traces of anger had left his expression but something intensely focused entered his eyes and he looked her over as if searching for something. He held out a gloved hand. “Your father has decided to make our betrothal public.”
Elizabeth studied him, but his onyx eyes remained unreadable. No sign of anger or bitterness revealed itself in his enigmatic gaze, only that probing stare. She moistened her lips. “Isn’t our engagement already well known?”
“Only in gossip. Now it will be confirmed—with our own version of the story.”
Father raised his voice, “I’m very pleased to announce that my beloved daughter, Lady Elizabeth, has received and accepted a marriage proposal with my blessing.”
The crowd murmured, but Elizabeth was only aware of Lord Averston’s presence beside her. He rested a hand at the small of her back, an intimate and possessive gesture at odds with his unfathomable expression.
“The lucky gentleman who has turned her head is a man of integrity and honor. A gentleman I have grown to respect and admire in the years that I have known him as he shouldered the responsibility of his title at a young age.” He paused for dramatic effect. “I bring you Lady Elizabeth and her betrothed, Richard Barrett, the Earl of Averston.”
While applause broke out, Richard escorted her to Father’s side. He made a gesture indicating he expected a verbal response from the earl.
Lord Averston stood with regal bearing as he faced the crowd. “I appreciate the warm welcome I’ve received into this noble family.” When he looked at Elizabeth, his broad smile lit his face and made him even more handsome and approachable. Could it be possible he might come to care for her in time? “The first time I conversed with this lovely lady, I knew she would become my countess.”
Elizabeth noted his play on words as he spoke the truth couched in what appeared words of love.
“I hope to be worthy of her. I vow to bring as much happiness to her as I’m certain she will bring to me.” He emphasized the last few words in a way that made her wonder at his true meaning.
Elizabeth’s smile faltered before she forced it back into place. Was that a warning? A threat? Or did he speak the words he knew the listeners hoped to hear from a couple about to wed? Though she watched him carefully, nothing in his expression revealed his intentions, or his feelings, or the significance behind his words. He probably felt nothing for her but resentment for her role in placing a barrier between him and the gracious Miss Wentworth whom he loved. He’d been kind to Elizabeth during their dance, but clearly, it was all a ruse.
Lord Averston stood poised and handsome, every inch a gentleman. He lifted her hand to his lips while applause broke out. At least he played the part well. On the other hand, he could reveal a different side once they married. Would he treat her with indifference? Disdain? Hatred? Violence? His true character would reveal itself to her in private. He might be no different than Duchess. The idea left her with the urge to flee.
After all, people’s image often bore little likeness to their true characters. Duchess played the epitome of a poised and gracious lady in public, but transformed into something different in private.
Standing beside the stranger who would soon be her husband, unless Tristan came for her, Elizabeth turned to accept congratulations from well-wishers who exclaimed how delightful it was to see two people so obviously in love. She kept a happy façade in place as she spoke to the guests but fear twisted until her insides felt jagged and bleeding.
Chapter Ten
Richard stood next to Elizabeth, trying to look lighthearted when his fists itched to smash something. He hadn’t indulged in such a release of anger in years, not since he’d broken one of his mother’s figurines when he was a child, but the urge never quite left him. Usually such fierce passion drove him to run until he nearly collapsed. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that now.
He kept his focus either on his betrothed or on the well-wishers who congratulated them. He avoided looking at the duchess. Her words moments ago as they’d danced rang in his ears, confirming his fears for Elizabeth’s treatment at home.
“Many husbands find it necessary to be a bit heavy handed with their wives, Lord Averston,” the duchess had said. “Especially at first. Young girls can be so flighty until a strong parent—or husband—uses a firm hand. I’m sure she’ll be a satisfactory bride someday, but don’t hesitate to use physical punishment to ensure her obedience. She’s surprisingly willful unless I remind her of her place.”
Richard had choked and missed his step. Only after taking several breaths did he dare speak. “I assure you, Duchess, I will be the kind of husband she both needs and deserves, and physical punishment will have no place in our marriage.”
She’d only smiled smugly and admonished him to keep her words in mind. He’d wanted to carry Elizabeth off that very night just to protect her from her mother. However, the wedding must proceed on schedule to protect everyone’s reputation
.
He bade the ducal family good night, and offered Elizabeth a gentle smile after he kissed her hand in farewell.
Outrage still burned in his gut over the proof of the duchess’s abuse as the evening arrived for the Jenison’s musicale. Determined to try harder to win Elizabeth’s trust and to stop comparing her to Leticia, Richard entered the drawing room that had been converted to a theater. Rows of chairs faced a low platform to be used as a stage that evening for Lord Jenison’s new tenor he sponsored. Crystal chandeliers blazed with light. Laughter and conversation echoed in the soaring ballroom. Though Richard didn’t consider himself a music expert, he’d accepted the invitation out of a sense of duty, and because Elizabeth would be there.
After helping himself to some punch, Richard glanced about the room in search of a place to sit. Lord Einsburgh stood speaking with Mr. Drummell, a companionship that did nothing to improve his opinion of either man. Ever since Mr. Drummell had been accused of treason—though he’d been acquitted due to a lack of evidence—Richard still viewed him with suspicion. Whatever Drummell and Einsburgh had to say to one another, the subject couldn’t entirely be above the board. There were times when Richard suspected the man was as powerful in the world of crime as the notorious King of Crime, Mr. Black—not that Richard could do anything about it at the moment. He’d hired servants to act as guards and armed them, as much to protect his property as to protect his faithful staff from the thieves who sometimes brutalized servants. Hopefully, it would be enough.
Nearby, Tristan flirted with a lady whose face Richard couldn’t see—no doubt a widow who had already invited Tristan home. At times, Richard almost envied the way women threw themselves at Tristan. Clearly, Tristan hadn’t really loved Elizabeth, despite the risks with her reputation he’d taken, or he wouldn’t have moved on to other prey so quickly. Disappointing, really. Yet it simplified a few matters.
Tristan stepped to one side allowing the lady’s face to come into view. Richard nearly choked on his punch. The prey was his own betrothed.
Irritation sprang to life. Had Tristan no propriety? Richard set down his glass and stalked toward them, battling the conflicting admiration for Tristan’s tenacity and the urge to throttle him for his audaciousness.
Tristan greeted him with his usual jovial charm. “Good evening, o’ brother of mine.”
Richard wasn’t impressed. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“What, and miss the season’s brightest new star? You know how I adore the opera.” His eyes glittered with mischief, a look Richard knew all too well. The pup was up to no good again.
Richard glowered before turning to Elizabeth. How had he failed to notice how lovely she was? With a willowy figure ladies probably envied, and blessed with delicate features, she truly was a sight to behold. His chest swelled in pride that she would soon enter ballrooms on his arm.
“Lady Elizabeth. A pleasure to see you again.” He bent over her hand.
“My lord.” She lowered her eyes.
Did he imagine a sudden pallor in her cheeks? He touched her arm. “Are you well?”
“Yes, my lord. And you?”
“Very well.”
The awkward small talk came to a grinding halt and Richard became all too aware that she and Tristan had been comfortably conversing only a moment before. Irritation at Tristan for making him feel inadequate brought his blood to a simmer. Tristan looked at him as if wishing he’d go away. Richard gritted his teeth and refused to give them the privacy they clearly both wanted. It would be improper considering the hovering scandal. He crushed the thought that his irritation sprang from jealousy.
He cast about for a topic to address with Elizabeth. “Would you care to sit with me during the performance?”
“I…” She glanced first at Tristan and then over her shoulder. “My sisters are saving me a place.”
He followed her line of gaze and spotted her elder sister, Lady Brinton, sitting with the younger, Joanna. “Of course.”
“We’d be delighted if you’d join us,” she added. “Both of you.” Her gaze rested long enough on Tristan that her affection shone through.
Poor chit was still in raptures over his brother. She obviously didn’t want this marriage any more than he. Maybe Tristan would save the day and elope with her. That would solve everyone’s problems. However, Lord Pemberton would probably kill Tristan for bringing such scandal upon his daughter and his name, not to mention the smear upon the Averston family honor.
Underneath it all, annoyance flared at her obvious preference for Tristan. Women flocked to Tristan with little effort on his part. They always had. The dog.
Richard stifled a growl. If he made the attempt, he could win the hearts of the fair sex as easily as his gregarious brother. Richard had simply never bothered. He’d been too busy learning his future role as earl, and then when the title passed to him in his youth, he’d been too absorbed in all his duties. Besides, he’d always planned to marry Leticia, who’d made her affection clear, so there hadn’t been a need to perfect the art of courting.
Lady Mary motioned to Elizabeth who then turned to him, her gaze darting to Tristan. “Please excuse me; I believe my sister wants me. Will you join us?”
“We’ll be there shortly,” Richard said.
She offered him a tentative smile, but when she turned to Tristan, her expression took on the delight of a child presented with a gift. Richard ground his teeth as she moved to join her sisters.
“Methinks thou art peeved, o’ brother of mine,” Tristan quipped. “How can that be possible, with so many beauteous maidens afoot?”
Richard glared. “I can’t imagine. Oh, wait, perhaps it’s because you are playing for my intended.”
Tristan’s eyes glinted. “Afraid of a little friendly competition?”
“There’s no competition. She’s marrying me.”
“Against her will.”
Tristan’s words stung. They made him sound like a beast that ravished unwilling maidens. “Circumstances which you forced,” Richard shot back.
Tristan’s eyes narrowed. “The competition, brother dear, comes with wooing her. I doubt very much you are capable of winning her heart.”
“She’s a person, not a prize.”
“Ah, but her affection would be a prize, would it not?”
“One which you do not deserve.”
Tristan snorted. “And you do?”
“I will be her husband.”
“No one is disputing that fact. But can you win her heart?”
Richard faltered. Would Elizabeth think of his brother when Richard took her into his arms? His hands curled into fists as a dark and primal urge overcame him. “You go too far.”
“Then court her, you idiot, and try to make her happy.” Tristan turned on his heel and strode toward her.
Richard cast a longing look outside the drawing room doors leading to the garden and freedom outside, wishing to escape and run until his lungs burned. After taking several long breaths, he calmed his simmering anger, and focused his thoughts.
Perhaps spending extra time with Lady Elizabeth would serve the dual purpose of giving the ton the impression that they were well and truly in love, which would quell any lingering rumors about her being compromised by a known rake. It would also prevent Elizabeth and him from entering the marriage as total strangers who viewed each other with caution, or worse, resentment.
Very well, he’d court Lady Elizabeth. He squared his shoulders and formulated plans to woo his betrothed. After making a mental note to send her flowers in the morning, he stopped by the refreshment table and picked up two glasses of lemonade.
No doubt for the sake of propriety, she’d saved him a seat next to her in the rows of chairs facing the makeshift stage. He put on his most charming smile. “My lady.” He held out the glass of lemonade, only to realize, too late, she already had one.
She blinked but recovered and accepted the one he offered. “Thank you. Mine had grown warm.”
At least she was gracious. As a footman passed by, she hailed him and set her discarded glass on the tray. Richard sat next to her as the host welcomed the guests and introduced his protégé. Elizabeth’s fragrance tickled his senses. Richard admired the curve of her face, and his fingers itched to touch those little curls that skimmed her shoulders and brushed against her cheeks.
The host introduced the young tenor who all but preened. An Italian newly arrived in London, he no doubt considered himself worthy of his benefactor’s efforts. Richard had to agree when, as the music began, the tenor’s smooth voice swept him away into a world of beauty and tragedy.
Aware of the lady at his side and her feminine fragrance, Richard reached for her hand. She stiffened, but allowed him to hold it. She sat rigidly, her breathing making little catches. Richard peered into her face. Was that fear in her expression? He traced tiny circles with his thumb on the back of her hand, taken aback by how much he wished he could feel the texture of her skin rather than the fabric of her evening gloves. He willed her to relax. What was it about him that frightened her? Or did she cringe from him by virtue of the fact that he wasn’t Tristan, and she wanted no one but him? The thought stiffened Richard’s spine.
Regardless of the source of her stiffness, she eventually relaxed into his touch. He enfolded her hand into his, surprised by how much it mattered that he’d won this small victory.
The next musical piece began with the same passion and brilliance as the first. Most of the women, including Elizabeth, and a few of the men, were left in tears at the close of the stirring performance. As the audience leaped to their feet to show their appreciation, Richard caught Tristan casting glances Elizabeth’s way. With her head turned toward Tristan, Richard couldn’t see her expression but imagined her longing.
Richard took a calming breath. After all, if she were truly smitten, he could hardly expect her to disown all her affections for his brother overnight. Very well, he’d wrest them away from Tristan. “My lady, would you like to meet the singer?”
