by Donna Hatch
Their banter was cut short when Lord and Lady Einsburgh passed by, slowing to greet them. “Lord Averston. Lady Elizabeth. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.” Lord Einsburgh’s eyes made a thoughtful perusal of Richard’s carriage and horses, as if calculating their worth.
Elizabeth inclined her head. “My lord. My lady.”
Richard said, “Lord Einsburgh. That was a stirring speech you made in the House today.”
“Thank you, my boy.”
Tension touched Richard’s posture. Whether he disliked the condescending tone or the misplaced use of the term of endearment instead of using the appropriate honorific, she could not say.
“No doubt you won a number of people to your side of the issue,” Richard added.
“I certainly hope so. Although I am persuaded that you are not yet one of them.” He studied Richard through narrowed eyes.
“We shall see.”
“Indeed we shall.”
No one would have missed that look of challenge. Richard stared him down and the tension between the two men mounted to proportions approaching a thunderclap.
Richard broke the spell. “Good day, Lord Einsburgh. Lady Einsburgh.”
The lady inclined her head with barely a glance while she petted a fluffy dog that reminded Elizabeth of something the maids sweep out from underneath a settee.
Next to her, Richard sat rigidly and let out a sound of annoyance.
She studied his strong profile. “Not your dearest friends, I gather?”
He chose his words carefully. “We are often on opposing sides of issues.”
“That’s not why you dislike him.”
He let out his breath, then glanced at her with a sardonic smile she found charming. “It’s not that I dislike him, but his scruples seem to be lacking.”
“In what way?”
He paused, his expression turning thoughtful. “According to rumor, he’s often on the edge of what most consider outside the pale. Not exactly illegal activity, but certainly not things a lord should endorse, in my opinion.” He paused. “I can’t put my finger on it but something about him feels…shady. I simply cannot trust the man.”
“Then why were you at the house party of a man you mistrust?”
He smiled ruefully. “He is one of the few people who offer a fine hunt that time of year. Not to have accepted would have been something of a snub, and I don’t need to make an enemy of him over nothing.” He glanced at her. “’Tis nothing with which you ought to worry.”
If he’d patted her hand and told her not to worry her pretty little head about it, she wouldn’t have been more disappointed. Why did most men think they couldn’t have an intelligent conversation with a lady?
Emboldened by the new side he was revealing to her, she tossed her head and said saucily, “Her Grace the Duchess of Suttenberg surely would not approve of such a statement, Lord Averston. As the woman who is not your doormat, I must remind you that I have a brain underneath this bonnet.”
He grinned, an unexpected response. “Touché. In fact, I made some inquiries regarding your railroad. I know some gentlemen who have found a competent team of engineers and planners. I am persuaded they are honest and diligent. I’ve agreed to help finance their enterprise.”
“You have?” she asked in surprise.
His eyes sparkled. “I am not above a gentle nudge now and again.”
“How glad I am to hear that.”
His mouth twisted to one side. “I suppose now you will be reminding me of it.”
She almost laughed. “Only when I see the need.”
Again that rare smile appeared. “Did I understand that you’re in support of the reformers?”
“You remembered.” Again, she looked at him in amazement.
“I remember everything you tell me.”
She pressed her lips into a bow. “Then I shall have to watch what I say.”
He chuckled and Elizabeth could not resist smiling at the surprisingly personable and likeable person she discovered in Richard Barrett, the Earl of Averston.
Glancing at him from underneath her lashes, she admired his features softened by humor. “Pray, why do you ask about the reformers?”
“I want to know what you think about their efforts.”
“I applaud them. I hope to be a notable supporter.”
“A worthy goal, to be sure.” He nodded.
“Do you approve, then?”
“Anything we can do to help the poor who wish to better themselves and find honest work will benefit us all.”
Delighted with his attitude, she beamed. “You’re very liberal for a peer, you know.”
He shrugged. “There are worse things.”
“Mrs. Goodfellow has founded a house where she brings people to rehabilitate and train for employment. I believe it lies somewhere between London and your estate. Are you acquainted with her?”
“No, but if you wish to help her, then you should. As my future wife, you’ll have the freedom to take such actions.”
She gaped at him. “Truly?”
“Yes, indeed.”
She touched his sleeve, touched by the rare gift he’d just handed her. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”
As the wife of a peer, she’d have the power to make real change, to help people in a profound way. He wouldn’t keep her under his thumb, and his vow that he’d never hit her seemed more and more believable. Marriage to Richard began to sound truly appealing.
In the distance, a group of young gentlemen raced their horses, calling to one another. One pulled out into the lead. His fine form seemed at one with his mount, both moving as if defying gravity. Her heart quickened. It was Tristan.
Then, as a group, they were gone. He never saw her. Never even glanced her way.
“…poetry?”
She realized Richard had been speaking. “I beg your pardon?”
“I understand you have a fondness for poetry?” he repeated.
“I…yes.” Discussing poetry with anyone other than Tristan seemed unfaithful somehow. A moment ago, she’d been contemplating how pleasant marriage to Richard would be, and now here she was, all aflutter over Tristan again…who apparently didn’t want her or he would have made his intentions known by now.
Richard’s voice scattered her thoughts. “I presume I shall see you at the poetry reading at the Smythe’s tomorrow evening?”
She turned away from the sorrow of Tristan’s rejection. “I wasn’t aware of it. Duchess decides which functions we are to attend.”
He paused. “I see. Then may I offer myself as an escort to you if she has decided not to accept?”
She hesitated. “I do not know.”
“Appropriately chaperoned, of course,” he added.
“I didn’t mean that. I mean, of course I assumed that’s what you intended, but I’m not certain if Duch—er, my mother will allow it.” With a little luck, he wouldn’t notice she’d referred to the woman she called Mother in public by her title.
He raised a brow in what was becoming a very familiar motion. “She won’t allow you to attend a social function with your betrothed?”
“I…” Truth be told, she seldom could predict Duchess’s reaction. “I suppose I could ask permission.” The idea of approaching Duchess with any request, and risk bringing down her displeasure, made Elizabeth’s stomach turn over. Ever since the debacle with Tristan, Duchess’s temper had become more easily roused and Elizabeth had earned a number of unprovoked displays. Elizabeth had begun avoiding Duchess as much as possible.
“Allow me to ask her permission,” Richard said. “I’ll come tomorrow during your ‘at home’ hours and present my case.”
She studied his face. That was kindness she saw in his expression, right? Or was he merely another person who thought to dictate her every move? No, his earlier vow to allow her freedom to follow her own interests disproved that fear. And he had vowed never to strike her, a vow she believed he would keep if they did, in fact, marry.
>
When her answer was not forthcoming, he tilted his head. “You hesitate. Do you not wish to attend?”
She paused. Though poetry without Tristan held little appeal, she ought to be polite to her betrothed. He was trying so hard to court her, even though they both wished to be with another.
She wanted to throw up her hands in frustration. Why, oh why had Tristan not come to her? His affections had seemed clear at the recital, but she had heard nothing from him since. Disappointment greeted her every night when he failed to contact her. Surely, she hadn’t misread his intentions at their last meeting. Yet, each day he failed her gave her less hope that he wanted her. Perhaps he’d changed his mind…or never really cared.
Aware that Lord Averston waited, she looked away. “Of course I’ll attend if it would please you, my lord.”
The carriage in front of them halted, and he was obligated to pull the team to a stop. He released the reins and slowly enveloped her hand in both of his.
“Elizabeth.” His voice, low and husky, had an odd effect on her heart rate.
She found herself unable to resist meeting his gaze. “My lord?”
His mouth curved. “Didn’t we agree to call each other by our Christian names in private?”
“Of course…Richard.” Speaking his name aloud seemed uncomfortably intimate.
His eyes lowered to her mouth. Her lips tingled under his focused stare while her heart tripped and her cheeks heated.
“Elizabeth, please be forthcoming with your thoughts, and I will do what I can to give you everything you desire.”
Oh my. It wasn’t poetic, but the sentiment moved her in a way no line of poetry ever had.
The line of carriages began moving again, drawing Richard’s attention away from her. He picked up the reins and they made unremarkable small talk as they completed the promenade. Upon reaching the end of the row, he turned the carriage toward her home.
As they left the park and wound through traffic on the busy London streets, a cry of alarm arose. Amid the clattering of carriages, carts, and hoof steps, someone wailed. “Ye’ve ruined me purty flow’rs ye ’ave.” A ragged flower girl stooped to hug a few crushed blossoms to her chest, her basket in ruins beside her.
Three young men galloped by oblivious to the flower girl. The rider in the rear glanced back, and laughed at the girl’s distress before joining his friends pounding through the streets at break-neck speed. Elizabeth stared, recognizing them as the young men in Tristan’s company only moments ago. Of Tristan she saw no sign.
Richard stared after them through narrowed eyes. He pulled the carriage to a stop, leaped out and dashed to the distressed girl, kneeling at her side. “Here now. Allow me. They didn’t mean any harm, miss.” He gently scooped up the rest of the crushed blossoms.
The ragged girl gaped at such a well-heeled gentleman speaking to her. “Milor’…” She spoke as if uttering a prayer.
Richard took a deep breath of the flowers he held in his hand like a small bouquet. “Ah. Posies. I have a friend who likes to make scented pillows out of crushed blossoms. This will make a fine pillow. How much for the lot?”
“Eh?”
“All the flowers. How much?”
“Bu’ they’re all broke, milor’.”
“That makes no difference when one desires crushed blooms. How much?”
“Tuppence, milor’?” She said it in a question as if fearing her price impertinent.
He reached into his pocket. “I’m afraid I only have half a crown, but buy yourself a new basket and blooms, and maybe something sweet?”
She let out a squeak. “Thank ye, milor’.”
He nodded to her, gathered his flowers as if they were precious and returned to Elizabeth’s side. “I apologize for leaving you in the streets.”
“’Tis of no consequence. That was a very thoughtful gesture you made to that flower girl.”
A slow grin overcame him and Elizabeth blinked again at the resemblance to Tristan that appeared whenever he smiled…which, truly, was too infrequent, for it profoundly changed his countenance.
His smile turned self-deprecating. “I’m delighted to have met with your approval in something at last.”
Elizabeth winced at the unintentional words of censure. “Forgive me if I’ve been ungracious. You have, of course, a great deal to recommend you and I apologize if I’ve failed to be more receptive.”
His dark gaze held her as if by tangible threads. “Admittedly, ours are awkward circumstances under which a marriage is made. Notwithstanding, I hope we can reach common ground and have a union that is not unpleasant to us both.”
Not exactly a declaration of love, but it was an honorable attempt from a kind and honorable man.
Still cradling the blooms in his hands, he held out the flowers. “Perhaps you’d like these…for making those little pillows ladies like to put in drawers? My sister liked to do that.”
She accepted them, still almost speechless at his kindness to the flower girl. “Thank you.”
He retrieved the reins and they left behind the more congested part of town, traffic thinned, allowing them to travel with more ease. In front of the Ducal family estate, he pulled his team to a halt. After throwing his reins to his tiger, he helped her down, his hands strong and steady. As her feet touched the sidewalk, he offered his arm and escorted her to the front door.
He pressed his lips to her gloved hand. “Tomorrow, sweet Elizabeth.”
Sweet Elizabeth. A thrill went through her at the endearment and at his touch. The words were pretty, and his touch gentle.
Hoarsely, she said, “Thank you for the ride.”
With a sheepish smile, he bowed. “It was a pleasure in many ways.”
They bade a farewell, and Elizabeth went into her room to press the flowers between the pages of a book. A piece of her heart wished the flowers had been from Tristan.
Tristan would have stopped his horse if he’d been with his friends when they’d caused trouble for the flower girl. He would never be so thoughtless; he’d always been kind and attentive.
Richard, too, had been a gallant, thoughtful gentleman. Any girl should consider herself fortunate to marry him. Richard had been charming today, and his wit had endeared him to her, as did his concern over her welfare and his vow never to hurt her. He’d rescued even a flower girl, someone most men of his station ignored. He was a true gentleman to everyone with whom he came in contact.
While Tristan still invaded her thoughts on a regular basis, a burgeoning sense of obligation, and yes, attraction—even genuine admiration—grew a little more each day for Richard.
Did that mean she had an inconstant heart?
She pressed her hand to her head in an attempt to ward off the rising confusion concerning the Barrett brothers, and to whom she owed her loyalty.
Chapter Twelve
With unexpected anticipation at the pleasure of seeing Elizabeth, Richard arrived the moment the Duchess of Pemberton began her ‘at home’ hours when she opened her drawing room to visitors, of which Richard was one of dozens that day. The moment he stepped foot into the drawing room, a vague unease stifled his expectancy. Perhaps it was due to the fact that Elizabeth had been so nervous and hesitant about attending the poetry reading with him. Either Elizabeth was reluctant to spend time in his company or her mother so brutal that her daughters feared asking any favors of her. Richard’s stomach tightened each time he considered that the duchess kept her daughters in line using force. The thought of forcing her to spend time with him offended his honor, not to mention his pride. If only he could prove his intent to be a good husband, that she was safe with him.
Earning her trust would be the key to getting her to enjoy his company, perhaps even in wresting her loyalty from Tristan. As an innocent, she might still be prey to Tristan’s flirtations, but at least the fears that she’d betray Richard had faded. Hopefully in time, they’d evaporate.
He had not yet successfully prevented his thoughts from occas
ionally returning to Leticia and what might have been, nor stopped imagining the torture she must be enduring not only at the hands of gossips, but of her wounded heart. However, surely in time he and Elizabeth would turn their thoughts and attention toward one another.
Shoring up his resolution to earn Elizabeth’s trust, as well as her affection, Richard threaded through a mixture of ladies who wished to visit the influential duchess, and young bucks hoping to catch a glimpse of Lady Joanna. Lady Einsburgh caught his eye, conjuring up a sour taste in his mouth by virtue of her marriage to Lord Einsburgh. Focusing his thoughts, Richard continued his search for his intended. He found Elizabeth sitting by herself on a divan, her hands clasped together, her head lowered, tense and alone. His heart gave a tiny leap at the sight of her and he had to slow his pace lest he give into the mad urge to dash to her side.
“Good day, Lady Elizabeth.”
She gave a tiny start, her gaze darting up to his face. “Good day, my lord.”
Tender protectiveness overcame him as he bowed. He lowered himself onto the divan next to her and took her hand. Her breath caught. She lowered her eyes and withdrew her hand.
He swallowed his wounded sensibilities. Elizabeth was proving more complex than he’d first supposed. He would do well to tread softly with her. Keeping his voice gentle, he asked, “Shall I speak with the duchess regarding the plans this evening?”
“I already asked her at breakfast. She has a previous engagement but Joanna will attend the poetry reading with my sister Mary—you know her as Lady Brinton.”
“And you?”
She hesitated. “I’ve decided to attend as well.”
He couldn’t account for the edge to her voice so he chose to ignore it for now. “Splendid. Shall I come for you in my carriage tonight?”
Her gaze flickered. “That’s not necessary. I’ll go with my sisters.”
Another blow to his pride. Carefully keeping his disappointment out of his expression, he lifted her hand to his lips. “Until tonight, then, my dear.”
“My lord.” She removed her hand from his perhaps more quickly than necessary.
Richard remained a few minutes longer, trying to draw a smile out of her, but with Duchess occasionally throwing hawkish glances her way, he could hardly coax a word out of her. The sooner they married the better.
