Then Fitzsimmons was smiling down at her, Parks took her arm, and the two blond men led her out onto the terrace at the back of the house and from thence onto the lawn.
Chapter Eight
Elizabeth enjoyed the game of croquet on the lawn and the lavish male attention of her new-found companions, but she could not help but wonder why she didn't feel any of the spark she had in the cave with either of the two men.
Both Parks and Fitzsimmons were gallant, and they touched her on occasion, yet there was none of the surging of the blood she had felt that bright yet stormy day.
After a time they came in for refreshment. She could not help observe how radically Will's appearance altered when he was playing with the children. It was almost indecent to be able to see someone's raw emotions so openly displayed.
Her brother and his friends felt things deeply, but here was a man even more passionate in his likes and dislikes, a man who had visited Hell and still carried the scars.
Then he looked up, blinked, and his mask of impassivity slipped back securely into place, leaving Elizabeth more confused than ever.
Had she imagined the whole thing? Seen things which simply were not there? After all, she had only just met him. She hardly knew the man to be making such judgments about him.
They all settled around the tea table and Elizabeth poured. She sat closely beside Vevina and Mitchell. Bob and Monroe had taken the children away from the delectable-looking cakes, and now Will sat next to his sister and took the cup offered by Elizabeth. Their hands touched, and she nearly dropped it.
"Sorry. How clumsy of me," he said, trying to account for half the tea sloshing into the saucer.
"No, all my fault," she said, blushing profusely, as she felt herself go hot and cold all over in the most inexplicable way.
Then she turned her attention to Marcus Fitzsimmons as he held forth about all the attractions the area had to offer.
"We can take you shopping in Cork. There are also the races and point to points coming up. I feel sure you must have a magnificent seat," he said, practically ogling said part of her anatomy.
Elizabeth flushed to the roots of her hair.
"Indeed, she rides very well," her sister-in-law said with a sharp look.
"But all is not pleasure and enjoyment, sir, I have told you that. This is a well-run estate. There is also always so much to do to help the poor. Teaching them to read and write, for example. Our vicar's wife back home set up—"
"They go to school for that."
"Not all children can afford to go to school. There are fees in some cases, and the lost wages in others. I would like to see universal education for all children from five to sixteen. But I'm actually talking about teaching the adults to read, so they can help their children and lead fuller lives."
"Stuff and nonsense. They need to work," Fitzsimmons said dismissively.
"If they're willing to give up what little free time they have to come to the vicarage to learn, then why should we privileged few not teach them?"
Fitzsimmons snorted in derision. "Next you'll be telling me you want to have equal rights for Catholics."
"What would be wrong with that?" Parks asked with a seemingly ingenuous smile which was reminiscent of a cat that had licked the cream.
"Why, everything," he said dismissively. "They're little better than savages."
"They can never be better if they are not educated," Charlotte said mildly, seeking to forestall the bitter argument she could see about to break out.
Will, trying to stave off social disaster as well, asked Elizabeth as their hostess what she thought of the Catholic emancipation issue.
But the gloves were already off. Fitzsimmons argued for the status quo long and hard, while Thomas got more and more agitated. Elizabeth occasionally got a word of remonstrance in, and Will remained silent.
Finally Elizabeth asked Will his opinion.
He said quietly, "I think anything which oppresses people has to be eradicated. Slavery, the right of ascendancy, a system of taxation which favors the rich who can afford to pay, instead of the poor who can barely scrape by. All of it needs to come to an end if we are ever to have a just and fair society"
Elizabeth noted many of the company who had come over to engage in the debate looking daggers at Will. One of the Teague brothers now rose to his feet.
"We are of course delighted to make your acquaintance, Your Grace. But you will forgive us if we say that we would have thought you might be a bit more discerning about the company you keep," Timothy said.
Thomas gave a wolfish smile. "What better company can there be for a Radical politician such as myself than a fellow Radical?"
"Radicalism is one thing, sir. Treason is quite another."
Will and Vevina remained calm. It was not the first time they had met with such a response since their return to Ireland, nor would it be the last.
Thomas's eyes were as hard as emeralds. "A man has highly decorated as Will can hardly be accused of treason. Why Wellington himself—"
"Yes, of course, I expressed myself badly. Not treason, but not any point of view I would wish my family to be exposed to," Timothy Teague said hastily.
"Ideas cannot harm."
"No, but they can incite to harm, as I am sure you are well aware. Good day to you, Your Grace."
They rose and began to take their leave, Elizabeth staring after them.
Charlotte stood up and went to try to mend fences. The Lynch sisters and the Fitzsimmons girls retreated to the corners of the rooms with Monroe, Mitchell and Parks in tow. Eventually the Teague brothers returned, but they certainly looked grim.
At length Elizabeth said to her brother quietly, "I don't understand why is everyone acting so oddly. Anyone would think to hear them that you and the Rakehells, Stewart and Mr. Joyce, had done something wrong by going off to fight. How can they be so petty and ungrateful?"
Thomas shook his head. "They don't understand, and they don't wish to know. It's like Charlotte and Pamela. They would never have wanted to know about the more seamy side of the world if they had not had it thrust upon them. I'm only sorry that you have had it thrust upon you."
Will started guiltily at these words. "I beg your pardon, Lady Elizabeth, if any of the jibes which were directed at me have caused you offense. I should go before I risk driving any more of your guests away."
Fitzsimmons was delighted at the prospect of getting Elizabeth alone, but she said, "No, I was not distressed by you, but for you. Please, I would not wish you to leave, you or your sister," she added, as Vevina stood up to take his arm and lead him away from the circle.
"No, really, it's kind of you, but you have other guests who seem to share a similar opinion of us."
She placed one hand firmly on his shoulder. He could feel the contact sizzling along his spine and gasped aloud. He could hardly hear what she was saying as the blood pounded in his ears.
"Yes, except that as hostess I am duty bound to make everyone feel welcome. I'm sorry if I have been remiss. I'm accustomed to deferring to my brother. But if Ellesmere Manor is to be mine, I must set the tone. I would like you all to stay for supper, Mr. Joyce. Anyone who does not choose to sit down with my cousin and his wife and friends may leave."
Fitzsimmons plopped himself down on the sofa with a martyred air. "As a cousin I feel duty bound to remain, but if one more person mentions the war or politics I shall scream."
Elizabeth nodded. "Very well, then. Vanessa, would you do us the honor of sitting down at the pianoforte? Clifford, a duet if you please?"
The couple obeyed with alacrity, and all was calm in the large elegant blue and gold drawing room once more.
"Thank you for allowing me to stay," Will said quietly a short time later, when he could breathe again.
"Think nothing of it. I'm only sorry I did not intervene sooner."
"I would like to tell you—"
But Parks came up and took her arm, and was already leading her away to favor them
with a performance of her own.
Both Fitzsimmons and Will had to grit their teeth as the younger man took away the lithe young beauty for his own.
In some senses, however, Parks advanced both their causes, for Elizabeth became more and more certain that Parks could not have been the man in the cave. The very idea of him being in anything other than an elegant drawing room was laughable, though she knew that this was also a misleading impression. Parks was a highly decorated officer. He had not got those ribbons and medals by sitting at home or safely at a desk job at Horse Guards.
"So, sir, did you earn your commissions?" she asked as they moved toward the piano.
"After my ensigncy, yes. All of them. One thing about being under Stewart and Will, you don't get to hang about at the back. However much one might wish to."
He flashed her a warm smile and seated her on the bench. They sang a marvelous duet in Italian that had almost everyone in the room in raptures.
Marcus Fitzsimmons seethed. How he hated the young buck who was so determined to show off in every way.
Will sighed. How could any woman like Elizabeth ever fancy him in comparison with Parks, who was like a breath of spring air in any company? Unlike my wintry gusts, he thought to himself bleakly.
He did not begrudge Parks; he knew he was a naturally superior and outgoing young man, someone he was proud to consider as close as a brother during the past three years.
Nay, more than a brother. A bosom companion, even more so than Stewart in some senses, partly because of the age difference, and the fact that he and Parks had served so closely together ever since Cuidad Roderigo.
No, if Parks was his brother, then Stewart was his father now that his own had been so tragically lost. They had formed a new family in the Peninsula, one that he would fight and die for. And wanted only the best for. He could not blame Parks if he ran the course and seized the prize. For she was certainly a prize worth having.
After the duet was completed, Elizabeth asked if anyone else would like to join her for a song.
Fitzsimmons stood up next, then Mitchell and Monroe.
Will had to admit as he watched them that these three men were just as much rivals, though in different ways.
Fitzsimmons' eyes might be flat and dead to Elizabeth, but he could see what way the man's thoughts were tending. And why not? She was a breathtaking woman, and the daughter of a Duke no less.
Mitchell turned the head of every woman who laid eyes on him. If he could only convince himself they were not all taking pity on him over the loss of his arm, he could shake down happily one day.
Monroe had a heart of gold, was fiercely intelligent, and had proven a good friend to his sister time and time again.
But none of them could sparkle compared with Parks, even though the young man was so happy to play the fool that he actually seemed unconscious of his magnetism, and the wide-eyed attention of the Lynch and Fitzsimmons sisters.
"I say, Will, your turn next. You know you have the best voice of any of our lot."
Elizabeth smiled across at him encouragingly but he shook his head. "No, really, let someone else have a go."
"You're far too modest, old chap."
Elizabeth nodded at Parks and asked him to favor them with another to spare Will embarrassment.
Will felt a pang—his chance had been lost, and Parks now looked better than ever.
He did, but not in a romantic way. Elizabeth was pleased that they all seemed to be such good friends, and that Parks did not try to score points off anyone by teasing them. No, he actually brought the others in the group out of themselves more, and was only directing his attention at Will because he admired him and wanted him to show his true colors to the company.
Which was more than kind considering some of their companions in the room still seemed to look upon him as a devil with horns. Not to mention Parks' own view of him as a near rival—but no, they seemed as close as brothers.
She commented upon this to Stewart as he came up to warn Parks to let others have a chance to entertain the guests.
"Nay, closer, they're closer than brothers," Stewart said as he sat down beside her to turn her pages. "My own brother Samuel and I were always bitter rivals thanks to my father. Samuel tried to steal my estate. We even married the same woman. He's dead now, of course," he said quickly, seeing her look of consternation.
She stared. "How very odd."
"Oh, it was not by choice, I assure you. Vevina fled before he could actually force her to consummate the marriage. He was a dreadful fortune hunter. He took the Joyces' home and left she and Will destitute. But we have all recovered our fortunes since then, Will most of all. He had quite an impressive bank account now and is working on getting their holdings back in shape. He's a very hard-working young man, our Will.
"But this is far too gloomy a subject for such a fine night. How are you, Cousin?"
"Well, thank you."
"I was sorry to hear about Jane."
She held back a sob. "I know. Thank you."
"And you?" he asked with a warm smile. "Any happiness on your horizon?"
Elizabeth smiled tightly and shook her head. "I intend to remain single for quite some time to come."
"Ah, spoken like a woman who has never been exposed to the temptations of a pair of handsome blue eyes."
"Nonsense," Parks said, returning to the instrument once more. "She has seen mine, has she not? Or Will's?"
She stared at his sparkling eyes, and then at Will's across the room. Gazing at their rich aquamarine, she could almost sense the sea, hear the surf, smell the salt tang…
"Yes, indeed. Blue is a lovely color. But so is green, eh, Brother?" she said, causing Thomas's emerald eyes to sparkle as he came up with Charlotte to take their turn to entertain the guests with a duet.
"I don't know. You would need to ask my wife."
He got a lingering kiss by way of reply.
Elizabeth blushed, thinking of her own recent kisses. One of the spectacular men in this room simply had to be the one. The question was, which?
And even more important, when could she share such delicious kisses with him again?
Chapter Nine
The afternoon flew by quickly, and Elizabeth soon rose to see about supper. She consulted with Charlotte, and they laid out a buffet on the long dining room table for everyone to help themselves.
Then, at her request, the servants lit the candelabra in the ballroom. They all stood up for some dancing, with the guests taking turns to play at the pianoforte.
Parks was in a buoyant mood, and insisted on getting some paper and some of the children's colored pencils to make dance cards for the women. He asserted that everyone should have one turn dancing with each other.
"It saves the trouble of being shy," he said with a grin, "and also stops anyone from monopolising anyone else, even if they do happen to be your spouse, Stewart!" he said, with a not-so-subtle attempt at a hint to the couple who had retreated to one corner for a kiss.
Elizabeth joined in the spirit. "Thomas, Charlotte out of there now."
They came out of the alcove looking sheepish.
Vanessa and Clifford raised their hands in mock surrender. With a last fond kiss they went off to accept their dance cards graciously.
"The only trouble is the women will not get to sit any out. But then they do love to dance so much more than we do."
"Speak for yourself," Fitzsimmons said, "I adore dancing. Nothing better than standing up with a high-stepper." He looked straight at Elizabeth.
She coloured profusely and attempted to withdraw from the embarrassing perusal of her person by several of the local men.
Several of the other male eyes swivelled toward Marcus Fitzsimmons coldly.
"Yes, a good energetic partner is much better than a log of wood," Monroe said quickly, trying to gloss over the rather rude thing which had just been said.
Thomas smiled at him, grateful for his help in defusing the volatile situatio
n He went to claim his partner for the first dance, Mary Fitzsimmons, who beamed at him and tittered like a two-year old.
"We shall of course have a proper ball in evening garb in a few days' time," he told the giggling girl, "but for now, this will serve."
Elizabeth looked at her card as she tried to regain her composure. She was relieved to see that Parks had put Fitzsimmons toward the end of her list. It would take some time for her to be able to speak to him again after his suggestive remarks.
Then she looked again. Parks had unaccountably given the first dance to Wilfred Joyce. And the last as well, she noted in with even more astonishment.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 40
