Mercy's Embrace_Elizabeth Elliot's Story [Book 3]

by Laura Hile

  Elizabeth drew back. Mr. Elliot was not an unattractive man, but his smile had somehow lost its appeal—even the footman’s was warmer! His eyes held no sparkle. They were greedy, she realized. Mr. Rushworth too had had greedy eyes. So also had Sir Henry.

  Then she heard the click of the door latch. Mr. Elliot was opening the door!

  “Might I join you?” he said.

  10 En Garde!

  McGillvary shifted in his seat, the better to cover his white breeches with the long driving coat. “What sort of muttonhead,” he grumbled to his driver, “builds a house with such a narrow drive? The circumference of the sweep is unnavigable.”

  “Aye, sir.” Henry glanced at the sky. “Weather’s faring up for a bit.”

  “Rather spoils your sport, doesn’t it?” McGillvary indicated the gowned and coiffed ladies and gentlemen who waited to enter the house. “A downpour would liven things up.”

  He propped his feet and tipped his cap to cover his eyes. “Ah well, it’s all the same to me. I’m in no hurry.”

  “Beg pardon,” Henry broke in, “but that gent there,”—he indicated a gentlemen in evening attire—“means to have a word with the lady, sir, or I’m much mistook.”

  McGillvary removed his feet from the box and looked down to see William Elliot make his practiced bow and pull open the door. “You are not mistook.” Aside, he muttered, “Blast him.”

  Henry coughed. “He means to come aboard, sir.”

  McGillvary swung round. “Here, Henry, pull out! To the front of the line!”

  “But sir!” sputtered Henry. “It ain’t done! Proper turned up, we’ll be!”

  ~ ~ ~

  William Elliot slid into the seat beside Elizabeth. “Dear Cousin,” he said, “you become prettier with each passing day. Truly you are without compare.”

  Elizabeth pursed up her lips. Mr. Elliot was the most complimentary when he wanted something. She took a swift look out the window. “We’ve not much time,” she said. “What is it you wished to say to me?”

  “How unromantic you are,” he complained. “We’ve all the time in the world, my dear.”

  She gave a sigh of exasperation, which caused him to say, “Very well, it shall be as you wish.” His expression softened somewhat. “I’ve made no secret of the fact that I believe we are meant for one another.” His gloved fingers reached to touch hers.

  Elizabeth recoiled. For one heart-stopping moment she saw not her cousin but Mr. Rushworth, and she again felt his groping hands and greedy kiss. But she did not remove her hand from beneath Mr. Elliot’s—not yet.

  “Meant for one another,” she echoed. “Is this the sort of thing you said to Anne?” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

  Mr. Elliot’s expression hardened, but only for a moment. “You never hesitate to put me in the wrong,” he said lightly. “I admit, I found your sister’s gentle ways charming. But upon reflection, I have come to see that what I desire most in a woman is spirit.”

  “Have you?” said Elizabeth. “It seems to me that Penelope Clay is the very oppos—”

  “—whom we shall leave out of this discussion,” he flashed.

  “There have been rumours concerning the two of you,” she said. “Surely you know that.”

  Mr. Elliot clicked his tongue. “Ho now,” he said. “If you have a tail of straw, you’d best stand clear of the fire! Might I remind you that the gossips are having a heyday with the Elliot name?

  “No thanks to you,” Elizabeth cried. “You placed that wretched announcement in the Gazette!”

  “In obedience to your father’s instructions,” he replied smoothly. “But we are wrangling over trivialities. Let us get down to business, shall we?”

  “Business?” she repeated. “I thought you were speaking of romantic notions.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “That’s an order, blast it!” said McGillvary. “To the front of this curst line, on the double!”

  Henry was aghast. “But sir!” he protested.

  “But nothing! You are relieved of your post!”

  McGillvary snatched the reins from Henry’s hands. He fished the whip from its holster and flicked the horses’ flanks; they lunged sharply to the side. With a jerk, the carriage moved out of position.

  ~ ~ ~

  William Elliot drew a folded paper from his pocket. “No doubt you have seen this, or one very like it. She wrote to the three of you, I believe. Your father wrote directly to me.”

  Elizabeth removed her hand from his. Whom did he mean by she? “Good news, I take it?” she said lightly.

  “Very good news.”

  Elizabeth could feel his eyes studying her face. “Perhaps you have not heard. Your father has offered Kellynch Hall to me.”

  This did not sound like her father at all! She said, “When last we spoke, he was planning to take up residence himself.”

  Mr. Elliot gave a bark of laughter. “His trip abroad changed all that.”

  “His trip … abroad?”

  “Really, Elizabeth,” he chided. “You must pay better attention to your correspondence. Have you not read the letter from your godmother?”

  The carriage made a sudden lunge to the side. Elizabeth grasped the armrest. “A letter from Lady Russell?”

  “Oho, not anymore,” he crowed. “It’s Lady Elliot now.”

  The carriage gave another jolt, and Elizabeth’s heart went with it. “You must be jesting. Why would she be called Lady Elliot?”

  His grin became a smirk. “So you do not know! As we speak, dear Cousin, your precious godmother and your father are married, bound for Venice, where they will reside for at least the next year. Longer, if legal matters drag on. I shall take possession of Kellynch Hall by summer’s end. Sooner, if I can persuade the Crofts to vacate.”

  Was this why Mary screamed? Elizabeth felt like screaming herself!

  The carriage swerved again. Outside men were shouting.

  Mr. Elliot took hold of her hands once more. “Come, Elizabeth, enough of this. Coyness does not become you. You know perfectly well what I wish to say. I am in need of a wife. And you are in need of deliverance.”

  He seemed amused at her discomposure. “To put it simply,” he said, I am come to be your rescuer. You will be mistress of Kellynch Hall, and as Lady Elliot you will become a useful political hostess. For I have ambitions, my dear.”

  Elizabeth tried to think—she couldn’t! “I thought you said Lady Russell had become Lady Elliot.”

  “She will not live forever, and at her age there will be no heir. Think of it,” he said eagerly. “All of your troubles, vanished, just like that.” Mr. Elliot snapped his gloved fingers. “The ugly gossip, your damaged reputation—gone!”

  “All of my troubles? What do you know of my troubles?”

  He gave her a look. “I am a forgiving man, Elizabeth. I hold nothing against you.” The carriage jerked again.

  “You wish to marry me,” she said. “You are proposing.”

  “I am.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes. Here was exactly what she was hoping for—a miracle! And more, for William Elliot was rich! She blinked her eyes open.

  “Why?” she demanded. “Why do you wish to marry me?”

  “My dear, how hard you are! Isn’t it obvious? You will manage Kellynch to perfection, as you have always done. My late wife was a bundle of nerves—so awkward! So ill-bred! But you will be a wife—a beautiful wife—of whom I can be proud.”

  Again she studied his face, this time a little fearfully. He was so calm, so collected! “Do you—love me, Cousin?” she said.

  Mr. Elliot smiled more broadly. “But of course.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “A proper melting is what we’ll get and no mistake. Have a care for the paint, sir. It’s newly done!”

  McGillvary paid his coachman no mind. After another failed attempt he uttered a final “Blast!” and reined in. He slapped the reins onto the seat and jumped from the box to the drive. Without ceremony
he wrenched open the door.

  “Beg pardon, Miss,” he said through clenched teeth. “We have arrived at our destination.”

  He bent to look directly into the interior of his carriage. Two pairs of startled eyes met his. McGillvary jerked his thumb at William Elliot. “Time to go, sirrah,” he ordered. “Out!”

  ~ ~ ~

  Mr. Elliot emerged from the carriage and froze to instant hauteur. “Come, Miss Elliot,” he demanded.

  Elizabeth obeyed as gracefully as she could, while Mr. Elliot stood on the pavement like a statue. She must hold in place her evening wrap and manage the fan and the invitation, all without treading on her hem or disarranging her hair. It was the footman, not Mr. Elliot, who helped her descend. He retrieved for her the fallen fan and helped arrange the folds of her evening wrap.

  William Elliot grew red in the face. “Unhand her at once!” His voice was shrill with anger.

  Elizabeth could feel the interest of the other guests. Her reputation was soured enough without her cousin making things worse! “Mr. Elliot,” she whispered. “Please.”

  “I do not care for that fellow’s attitude,” he said explosively.

  And I do not care for yours. Aloud Elizabeth whispered, “The manners of inferior persons cannot be said to count. Besides,” she added, “these men will be driving me home after the ball, so it is best not to offend. The carriage is particularly nice.”

  She heard the door slam; the driver clucked to the horses.

  “Good lord,” said Mr. Elliot, “did you hire it? I thought it belonged to Wentworth. I—” He slewed round to stare at the carriage as it drove away.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” said Elizabeth. “I did not confirm the time with the driver!”

  “Then I shall see you home myself.”

  “Not in a job carriage, you won’t. They’ve all been hired for the evening. I should know.” She looked him over scornfully. “You walked, did you not? That will never do for me. The streets are unsafe.”

  “You will be fine. You wear no jewels.”

  Of its own accord Elizabeth’s hand moved to her bare neck.

  “But just the same,” he added, “you look charmingly. What is more—”

  “Shall we go in?” she interrupted. “I cannot see why we are standing about in this stupid way.”

  A queue had formed. Elizabeth took her place at the end of it.

  “Ah, your invitation,” William Elliot remarked. “How quaint.” He lowered his voice. “You do realize it is unnecessary to present such a thing. The major-domo will know who you are.”

  “I rather doubt that, as I have never met Lady Buxted-Heighton. She is acquainted with Lady Ru—with my godmother. And let me tell you, it is mortifying when a footman stumbled over one’s name and must check the list.”

  He smiled. “What a very good guest you are, Elizabeth.”

  “Nonsense. I have been the hostess of too many large parties, that is all.”

  “I am all admiration.”

  Elizabeth made a slight adjustment to the folds of her gown. “While it is lovely to host such a party, it can be extremely tedious.”

  “The perfect Lady Elliot,” he agreed. “Shall we be married tomorrow, my sweet?”

  Elizabeth looked the other way. God forbid that he should be overheard! “As always, you must have your little joke,” she said lightly.

  “It is no jest, Elizabeth.” He took hold of her hand. “Having declared myself, I am not of a mind to wait.”

  She pulled her hand free. “Do be serious. Where is your card of invitation? Did you lose it?”

  Mr. Elliot coughed a little. Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed in instant suspicion. She recognized that sly look—her own father looked the same often enough! She pulled him out of the queue.

  “Mr. Elliot,” she whispered urgently, “did you receive an invitation?”

  His smile never wavered. “Let us say, rather,” he interposed smoothly, “that I am presenting an opportunity for you to demonstrate your considerable skill. Present me.”

  “Introduce you to a woman whom I have never met? You cannot be serious.”

  “But of course.”

  She looked him over. “Of all the nerve! To come here, dressed in ball clothes, without an invitation—!”

  “Will you ring a peal over me?” He sounded amused. “I find old ladies are delightfully adaptable when it comes to me.”

  “You do not understand. I am here by the skin of my teeth.” She indicated the crowd with a furtive gesture. “Even now, my presence is remarked.”

  He shrugged. “Very well, let’s be off. There is no reason to stay.”

  Her fingers dug into his sleeve. “Not on your life. I won’t be seen slipping away from the largest ball of the season. It smacks of cowardice.”

  Mr. Elliot was all admiration. “What spirit!” he whispered. “What aplomb! The perfect Lady Elliot.”

  She eyed him with hostility, but he did not seem to notice. “Well then,” he remarked pleasantly, “if you will not leave and I cannot stay, what is to be done?”

  Elizabeth looked the other way. “Do go away, Mr. Elliot. We will speak of this another time.”

  Again he took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “Tomorrow,” he insisted. “We shall speak of this tomorrow.”

  Why must he be so provoking? “Is it so important?”

  “Time is of the essence, as we lawyers say.” He leaned nearer. “In fact, I’ve just decided. Tomorrow will be our wedding day.”

  It was too much work to keep pace with him. “Indeed, Mr. Elliot, I think you must be mad.”

  “Of course I am—about you! Tomorrow evening,” he said, giving her hand another squeeze. “At eight. Meet me in the narthex of the Abbey.”

  “Do you think me a simpleton?” she whispered. “There are laws governing weddings. You, of all people, should know that.”

  “Ah,” he said, smiling, “but I have acquired a special license.”

  “How you can lie! You are not yet a baronet. Common gentlemen are excluded. Or didn’t you know?”

  His face flushed. “I have friends who owe me favours, friends in high places.”

  “The Archbishop of Canterbury owes you a favor?”

  “I have my little ways.”

  “Indeed you do. What I shall find tomorrow, if I come, is a coach bound for Gretna! And let me tell you, Cousin, I’d rather die than be married out-of-hand! For that is what Anne did, and it won’t answer!”

  William Elliot’s face convulsed. “What did you say?”

  “Didn’t you know? Anne and Captain Wentworth were married in Scotland. They said he was called back to duty or some such thing, but I don’t believe it. He was not in London very long. I think he wished to force her hand—out of passion!”

  Mr. Elliot turned away, muttering something she did not hear.

  “But I have no use for passion,” she went on. “It is extremely inconvenient.”

  He slewed round. “I quite agree,” he said sternly. “All the more reason to be married at once.”

  Elizabeth looked him full in the eyes. “If I do decide to come, it cannot be at eight. Anne is giving an important dinner—her first of the season—and I will not desert her.”

  “Anne,” he spat, “may go to he—”

  She raised her brows in hauteur.

  Abruptly he got hold of himself. “Very well,” he said. “Half past nine. No later.”

  “If—” she repeated, with a significant look.

  William Elliot’s eyes were cold. “Do not fail me, Elizabeth,” he said sharply. “Circumstances are such that if you do, I shall be forced to choose elsewhere.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He laughed unpleasantly. “I think you know very well what—or whom—I mean.” He tipped his hat and departed.

  11 At the End of Resources

  William Elliot was right—Elizabeth did know. And he also knew that she would rather die than see Caroline Bingley take her mother’s
place as Lady Elliot. And wouldn’t Caroline jump at the chance. But would she dare to elope, Elizabeth wondered. Certainly she would! It would be the height of romance and passion!

  Elizabeth drew her evening wrap more closely about her shoulders. Passion? She felt nothing of the kind for William Elliot, unless hatred counted.

  Images of Patrick came crowding forward, but Elizabeth pushed these aside. Patrick McGillvary, she told herself firmly, had been unfaithful to his wife—he admitted it! William Elliot would surely be the same—but at least he would have no power to wound her.

  Elizabeth marshalled her courage and rejoined the queue. It moved forward in fits and starts, and she edged more closely to the women who were ahead. Would they notice if she joined their party? The rest of the receiving line she could manage. She would smile beautifully at the hostess and her daughters and murmur a polite greeting. She had done this sort of thing countless times before … but never alone.

  Beside the open doors a liveried footman stood at attention. Elizabeth showed her invitation. “Very good, Miss,” he said.

  The queue moved forward, propelling her across the threshold and into the entrance hall. It was high and spacious; voices boomed and echoed. Above the heads of the guests she could see clerestory windows and a grand, winding staircase that ascended to the gallery. From time to time she adjusted her position, for the gentleman behind her was a bit too close.

  Presently she was able to catch a glimpse of her hostess. Lady Buxted-Heighton’s splendidly curled hair was an improbable chestnut, but her headdress—an arrangement of curled plumes—was quite pretty. Standing with her was a gentleman whose face Elizabeth could not see and a much younger woman. This, she guessed, was probably a daughter.

  Her ladyship was smiling now, which markedly softened her features. Several of the women in the queue must have been particular friends. “My dear!” said Lady Buxted-Heighton again and again, as she clasped the gloved hands they offered. Her ladyship’s wrists were adorned with heavy diamond bracelets.

  Then she turned, allowing Elizabeth a look at her face. High, plucked brows and small eyes were what she noticed first. Lady Buxted-Heighton used paint, Elizabeth noted, but skillfully. The woman continued to exchange greetings, and the queue advanced several steps. Soon enough she and Elizabeth would be face-to-face.