by Donna Hatch
“Oh!” Dragging her attention from Tristan, she lifted her gaze to Richard. She blushed and her expression turned decidedly guilty.
Anxiety rippled over him like rings in a pond caused by thrown stones. Her guilt didn’t bode well for their future or his chance of being spared the same fate as his father. Richard purposely opened his free hand from the fist into which it had curled, and pressed it against the side of his leg, trying to calm his rising panic.
Elizabeth faced him. “I, er, yes, of course I’d like to meet the singer.”
Casting a withering glare Tristan’s way, who grinned with overt smugness, Richard placed a hand under Elizabeth’s elbow and guided her toward the host. Though he seldom used his rank to achieve his motives, tonight he made an exception.
Mr. Jenison’s face lit up at their approach. “Lord Averston, I’m so happy you could attend. Did you enjoy my new ingénue?”
Richard inclined his head. “Most assuredly. Lady Elizabeth and I would very much like to meet him.”
“Of course, Lord Averston. Always happy to assist a friend.” He led them to the front of the line waiting to meet the tenor. “May I present Alonzo Puccini. Signor Puccini, may I present Richard Barrett, the Earl of Averston, and his betrothed, Lady Elizabeth, daughter of the Duke of Pemberton.”
The tenor bowed. “A pleasure, I am sure. Are you musicians?” He cast an appreciative gaze over Elizabeth.
“Not I, but Lady Elizabeth plays the harp,” Richard said.
“Ah, the harp!” The tenor kissed his fingers. “How beautiful.”
Elizabeth shook her head apologetically. “I only play for my own enjoyment. I’m not good enough to perform.”
The tenor’s eyes shone. “Music for one’s own enjoyment is music in its purist form.”
The smile that overcame Elizabeth was pure joy. “I think so, too, but others seem to think the only reason one learns music is to impress others.”
Signor Puccini shook his head. “Not so. When I perform, I close my eyes and the audience disappears, leaving me alone with the passion of the music. I enjoy sharing it with others because it makes them happy, and”—he winked—“they pay me well. But I sing when I am alone, as well.”
“I do love to play. It soothes me.”
“Then you must never stop.”
“Thank you. I won’t.”
As she spoke to the tenor, Elizabeth became animated, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. Richard stared at the transformation. Signor Puccini clearly noticed, too, but she seemed completely unaware of the musician’s obvious admiration. Richard had been wrong about Elizabeth; she was innocent of the ways of men—including flattering rakes—and of her effect upon them.
He wanted to shield her from lechers and protect her from heartbreak, including that of his brother. From what source did that protectiveness spring? He wound her arm through his in a clear message of ownership. “Thank you for speaking with us, Signor. We should allow others the honor of meeting you as well.”
The Italian bowed. “Farewell, my friends.”
As they moved toward the center of the room, Richard kept a firm hold on Elizabeth’s arm, reluctant to let her go. “Do you sing as well as play the harp?”
Her enthusiasm dimmed and Richard felt as if he’d lost something valuable. What had he said?
“I can carry a tune, but I don’t have a truly fine voice.”
“Perhaps you will sing or play for me.”
“Oh, no, I… Perhaps.” Her brow puckered.
He placed a hand over hers. “Only if you feel comfortable doing so, Elizabeth.”
She looked up at him with a searching gaze, part hopeful, part fearful. He wanted to drop down on one knee and beg her to trust him, vowing to protect her from all those who would do her harm.
Tristan appeared next to him and raised a brow. “Rank certainly has its advantages.”
Richard ignored the barb. “Was the evening all you’d hoped?”
“Most diverting, indeed. In many ways.” He tugged at his cuff as he glanced at Elizabeth.
She quickly looked down at her hands but not before Richard caught the hope glimmering in her eyes.
Richard silently cursed Tristan and strengthened his own resolve to snatch her affection from his brother who didn’t deserve her. “Shall I escort you back to your sisters, Lady Elizabeth?”
“Thank you.” She kept her eyes fixed on a point in front of them.
As he walked with her, he cast about for other ways to reach that spark he’d seen in her. “Have you seen the new exhibits at the Royal Academy of Art?”
“Yes. There were some promising new artists this year, don’t you agree?”
“Indeed.” He hoped she wouldn’t ask him for specifics since he hadn’t actually been there in years.
He couldn’t help but consider how his relationship with Leticia had always been so effortless. There’d never been awkward moments where he’d tried to say something clever.
He halted that line of thought. Thinking of Leticia and what might have been would not serve his commitment to do his duty and to attempt a satisfactory marriage with Elizabeth.
They reached her sisters and they all bade each other a good evening. After the ducal daughters left, Tristan looked too happy for a man robbed of a conquest. No doubt, he viewed tonight as some sort of success, if only because Richard had failed to cause Elizabeth to fall into his arms. At the moment, all he wanted to do was wring Tristan’s neck.
He took a steadying breath. There was time. Richard would prove himself to Lady Elizabeth and purge his brother from her thoughts.
Chapter Eleven
Elizabeth ignored the impressive arrangement of hothouse flowers the maid carried to the marble table in the foyer. No doubt, they were for Joanna from one of her many admirers.
“For you, Lady Elizabeth,” the maid said.
“For me?”
Of course. Tristan. He’d been so attentive last night that hope had bloomed in her heart. He clearly had planned some way for them to be together despite her father’s decision.
Smiling, Elizabeth took the card and read the inscription.
To my betrothed.
Kindest Regards,
Richard
Richard? She tried to quell her disappointment that the flowers hadn’t come from Tristan. Then she chastised herself. Richard had been attentive and was clearly attempting to make the best of an uncomfortable situation. ‘Kindest regards’ wasn’t glowing with poetry or adoration but the gesture was both thoughtful and unexpected. He’d even signed it with his Christian name. Marriage to the handsome and kind Lord Averston wouldn’t be a prison sentence.
Yet how could she think about Richard when so much of her heart belonged to Tristan? To distract herself, she picked up her father’s cast off newspaper and curled up in an armchair. She found nothing about the railroad, but an article describing the work of reformers immediately drew her in. One reformer in particular, Mrs. Goodfellow, had made enormous strides in helping a number of unfortunates leave the street, receive training, and procure honest employment. The problem was, she needed individuals willing to hire those she’d helped reform.
“When I am the lady of my own house, I’ll hire, them,” Elizabeth said. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”
The next article that caught her eye was a follow up on the ongoing search for the “King of Crime,” Mr. Black. The article outlined a few arrests of criminals employed by him, but they could not, or would not, give information regarding their leader’s identity or whereabouts.
London would be much safer if and when the authorities caught the illusive criminal. He seemed to be behind a number of crimes including thefts of both houses and businesses, and even the horrific act of the spiriting away of orphans and selling them to brothels. She rubbed her arms and glanced nervously at the window. But that was silly. No one would come near her inside her own home, and father had hired guards with guns and dogs.
She tossed as
ide the paper and opened the newest issue of, La Belle Assemblé. Examining the newest fashion illustrations, she made notes of changes in adornments and styles and dreamed of having the freedom to wear the styles she liked. Duchess kept tight control over Elizabeth’s choice of clothing, but one day she’d be her own mistress and could dress as she pleased. She smiled at the thought.
Since today was not an ‘at home’ day for the ducal family, Duchess and Joanna had gone shopping. Elizabeth whiled away the day reading, playing her harp, and daydreaming.
After tea, a footman approached. “Are you at home to Lord Averston, Lady Elizabeth?”
She blinked. “Lord Averston? Of course. Show him in.”
She took a moment to smooth her hair before relocating to the front parlor to greet him.
“Lord Averston.” She allowed the surprise to show in her voice.
“Lady Elizabeth. How well you look.” His hand closed over hers and he actually touched his lips to the back of her ungloved hand. A current zinged through her at the skin-to-skin contact. A sensual glint appeared in his eyes that seemed at odds with his customary formal demeanor. It was rather unsettling, truth be told.
“Y-you look well, also,” she stammered.
“I hope you’ll forgive me for being somewhat spontaneous, but I’ve come to ask you if you’d do me the honor of driving with me in the park.”
She glanced at the clock. Half past five. Precisely the most fashionable time to join the promenade. No doubt, he tried to prove to the world they were well and truly betrothed, thus avoiding scandal. Very well. She’d play along with his charade and try to convince the gossipers she and Lord Averston were a couple in love.
She inclined her head. “Thank you, my lord. I’d be delighted to join you for a ride.” She looked down at her afternoon gown. “Shall I change into a carriage gown, first?”
“No need. You look lovely.”
She sent a servant to fetch her hat and favorite blue pelisse to protect her day gown from the dirt and soot of London. Richard helped her into the outer garment, his hand resting perhaps a bit longer than necessary on her shoulder.
Searching for clues to his motive, she looked up at him, but he only smiled faintly. Perplexed, she donned her straw hat with a wide blue ribbon and kid gloves. She rested her hand on his arm as he led her across the great hall.
Duchess and Joanna entered through the front door, followed by her usual retinue of servants, many carrying parcels from their shopping expedition. Elizabeth paused, her mouth drying, as Duchess’s critical gaze landed on her. Surely, she wouldn’t find fault with her today, not in front of a guest. In the presence of others, Duchess always behaved with serenity, unlike the rage she displayed in private whenever Elizabeth displeased her.
“Lovely day shopping,” Joanna sang out. “My, how I’m tired. I believe I shall rest until tea, Mother.”
“Of course, darling,” Duchess said.
Joanna sailed passed Elizabeth with only a brief smile at her, and a mysterious tightness around her eyes. She glided up the stairs like a swan taking flight.
With a flick of her eyelashes, Duchess dismissed Elizabeth and focused on Lord Averston. “My lord. What a pleasure.”
“Duchess.” He inclined his head. “I have come to ask Lady Elizabeth for the honor of her company while we ride at Hyde Park.”
“How kind.” Her gaze raked over Elizabeth and all but shouted ‘don’t disappoint me.’ “I presume she has accepted.”
Elizabeth rasped out, “Y-yes, Mother.”
Duchess nodded at Richard. “My lord.” She turned away in clear dismissal.
“Good day, Your Grace.” Lord Averston called after her, his voice belying a tension Elizabeth could not explain. He put his hand under her elbow and led her to his curricle waiting in the street.
A smartly liveried tiger, a lad wearing the telling orange-and-white-striped waistcoat and white knee breeches, tended the horses. The boy exchanged a word with Lord Averston, then sprang onto his place behind the seat.
Lord Averston held her steady while she climbed on and settled herself. He leaped like a dancer into the driver’s seat beside her. Then they were off. Richard guiding the team through the crowded streets in the direction of Hyde Park.
“Elizabeth, if I ask you a direct question, will you give me a direct answer?”
She hesitated. “If that is your wish.”
“You’re afraid of your mother, aren’t you?”
“N-no. No, of course not.” Fear coiled in her stomach and shame heated her neck and ears. How did he know?
“You’re a different person around her.” His gaze slid to hers.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She fidgeted with her hands and kept her gaze fixed on the horses’ ears.
He gentled his voice. “Lady Elizabeth, as your husband to be, I can be trusted with your secrets.”
She hurried to deny it. “I have no secrets.” She tried not to think of her illegitimacy, her Father’s lie to the world, the many forms of Duchess’s disapproval.
“Everyone has secrets.”
Oh, heaven help her, what had given her away? He couldn’t know, could he? She couldn’t bear it if he, or anyone, knew. She’d tried so hard to keep her secrets safe, even from Mary. She’d never survive the shame if anyone learned of them. She snuck a glance at him.
Lord Averston’s unreadable dark eyes nearly pierced her resistance. “The duchess told me at the ball that I should keep you in line using physical punishment.”
A tremor ran through her backbone but she held perfectly still, hoping it didn’t show. “I’m sure a great many husbands would agree.” The tremor in her voice betrayed her.
“I’m sure many would disagree,” he said vehemently.
Hoping he spoke in earnest, she searched his face. “Do you?”
He looked her straight in the eye. “I do most wholeheartedly disagree. No woman should ever have reason to fear her mother. Or husband.” He returned his gaze to the road. A moment passed before he added softly, but with conviction, “I will never strike you, Elizabeth.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. Looking at her lap, she refrained from speaking, lest the emotion in her voice give her away. Resisting the urge to curl up into a miserable ball that he had discovered the truth, and wanting to throw her arms around him for his sweet words, she sat ramrod straight, her hands folded in her lap as she’d been taught from her youth.
His voice brushed over her senses, soothing her. “I won’t press you for details; just know you can tell me what abuses you’ve suffered if you wish to unburden yourself.”
She held her breath, not daring to believe him. She’d never hoped to find such safety until she met Tristan. Perhaps she might find the same safe harbor with Richard. Then again, it could be a pretty lie to gain her confidence. He often leaped from cold and dictatorial to warm and soft, and then back again. Such a changeable man should not be trusted. But oh, how the warm side of him beckoned to her so enticingly.
As if suspecting her inner struggle, Richard changed the subject and they chatted of small matters while he drove. He turned into Rotten Row, the place to see and be seen, and fell in with the parade, obliged to keep to a pace set by the others.
Passers-by flirted and greeted friends. Some gazed at others in open envy, either for their beautiful driving clothes or equipage or mount. Gentlemen wearing the telltale ankle length drab coat and yellow striped blue waistcoat of the Four-in-Hand Club passed. Carriages bearing family crests of the ton decorated with liveried servants rolled by in immaculate splendor. Others passed in equal glory, the cavalcade a blaze of grandeur that could be found nowhere else. Riding next to the handsome and stylish Lord Averston, she sat a little taller, proud to be seen with him.
The elegant Duchess of Suttenberg, the mother of the incomparable Duke of Suttenberg, nodded to them both with all the condescension of the queen as she passed in her gilded landau. Next to her sat a dalmatian, freshly washed for the occasion and s
itting with as much dignity as his mistress. Her coachman was turned out in perfect style with an old-fashioned flaxen wig and a bunch of lace at his throat. Even his gloves were spotlessly white.
“Lord Averston,” greeted the Duchess of Suttenberg.
“Your Grace. May I present my betrothed, Lady Elizabeth.”
The duchess’s assessing gaze passed over Elizabeth. “Yes, yes, we’ve met. I like you, girl, you’re sweet. However, you need backbone.”
Elizabeth gave a little start at her unexpected words. “Your Grace?”
“Being reticent is all very well, but to be the wife of a lord, you must be equal to him, not his doormat.” Her face was stern but her eyes twinkled. “Not that I’m suggesting you’d treat your wife as a doormat, of course, Averston.”
Richard inclined his head and said dryly, “I appreciate your confidence in me, Duchess.”
Elizabeth warmed at his show of humor. She’d like to see that side of the serious Lord Averston more often. Cheekily, Elizabeth said, “I will endeavor to avoid becoming his doormat, Madam.”
The duchess laughed. “See that you do. Good day.” Her Grace offered a regal wave and nodded to her coachman to move on.
Smiling, Elizabeth glanced at Richard whose lips curved up at the corners. “Well, Lord Averston, there you have it. I’m under orders from Her Grace to be anything but a biddable wife.”
He took on an exaggeratedly mournful tone. “I predict I’m going to regret today’s encounter with the duchess.”
She tapped her lip with her finger, pretending to be deep in thought. “Yes, I shall be a woman who knows her own mind. I think I’ll begin by inviting all your tenants to our country home and throwing nitrous oxide parties.”
He choked. “Just don’t invite Lord Byron.”
“Then indeed I shall. Not being your doormat must include doing everything you beg me not to do.”
“In that case, I absolutely forbid you to meet my tenants, manage my staff, and charm all my neighbors.”
She laughed at his exaggeratedly stern tone.
