Because first impressions, especially ones in a pitch-black cave when she was being kissed and fondled to a fevered frenzy, were not the most reliable, she admitted to herself with a sigh.
Even Jane had been deceived, in broad daylight. And Charlotte. Vanessa. Were all men deceivers? All men apart from the Rakehells? And even they had fibbed to their wives in order to protect them….
That sobering chain of thought followed her throughout dinner. She managed a couple of glances at Will down at the far end of the table, cutting up Mitchell's dinner and patiently helping him mop up a spill. He chatted with Parks and Monroe amiably about their plans for the morrow. Surely not all men, she amended.
Eventually even the thick-skinned Fitzsimmons noticed she was more and more noncommunicative.
"My dear, are you unwell?"
"No, not at all. I'm just going over all my lines in my head for the play later," she said as she straightened her shoulders, trying to dispel the blue devils she had allowed to take over her normally tranquil mind.
"Ah, yes, of course. Looking forward to it."
"Indeed, if everyone is ready, we might adjourn to the drawing room for coffee, and get started," Thomas said with a measuring look at his sister.
He knew her well enough to know that something had come over her in the past few days. Was it possible she was in love?
With which one? He looked at the sea of new faces around the room. He hoped that if that was indeed what ailed her, it would be Wilfred Joyce.
He sighed. He could not make the choice for her. In any case, there was no accounting for a lady's heart and mind. Anyone could see the sober young chap was completely head over heels, but so modest he seemed to be retiring from the field without even trying to engage in battle.
Thomas smiled. He disapproved of matchmaking, but there was no harm in trying to help the poor fellow's cause along, now was there? That would mean getting Fitzsimmons out of the way.
He looked over at that man now, and frowned. There was just something so… reptilian about him. Cold. Impassive. No, not reptilian. Chameleon-like. As if he could change his colours depending upon what company he kept.
"I say, Fitzsimmons, there's a horse fair on tomorrow in Cork. I should be most grateful if you would condescend to spend the day with me looking over what's on offer."
"I'm at your service, sir," he said with a barely contained smirk. "I was actually going to look for a few mounts for myself and my sisters."
"Good, then. I shall have the carriage come pick you up at eight. I am told if we are not there early we will miss out badly."
"Very true."
"I understand you plan to ride tomorrow, Elizabeth. I hope you don't mind if we join your party. Would you care to join us in turn for a luncheon on the beach if the weather is fine?" Stewart asked.
"Delighted, thank you."
"And we have arranged a wine tasting for you all for tomorrow evening," Clifford added to Stewart and Will in a low enough tone for it to be understood that Fitzsimmons was not to be included.
"Thank you, we would find that most pleasant," Stewart accepted for them both.
The Fitzsimmons sisters could not invite themselves to such an occasion without looking immoderate, and so they lapsed into silence and scowled.
"And of course there is to be the ball at the end of the week," Charlotte pointed out to put them back into good humor. "We shall have much to do to make all the arrangements."
"Whatever help you need, you have only to say," Will said sincerely.
Charlotte and Vanessa both smiled at him with approval. "Thank you. Your interest would be most welcome."
They too did not approve of matchmaking, but they did not see any harm in bringing the retiring young man out of his shell.
After all, so many men had been affected by the war. It was over now. He ought to try to come back into the normal way of things, not dress as though in deep mourning all the time. It was such a waste for so attractive a man with such a sterling character.
They rose from the table and went into the drawing room, where they had gathered copies of the play and moved the furniture from one end of the room to create a makeshift stage. The French window and curtains served as stage right. Now all that had to be decided upon were the parts.
Fitzsimmons of course insisted upon being the hero, the Duke and Duchess the Hardcastles. Parks seemed perfect for Tony Lumpkin, and Clifford reprised his role as Hastings. Will suddenly found himself being volunteered for the role of the Landlord.
"Oh, no, really, Stewart or Monroe…"
"Nonsense, my dear fellow," Stewart said. "You know I'm not bookish. It's one of your favorite plays. As for poetry, Will can recite hundreds of things from memory. He was the most popular man in the officer's mess. He helped pass a great number of very long, tedious and cold hours in Spain and France, I can tell you."
"Then you must be the Landlord," Elizabeth said. "I insist."
"No, really—"
She smiled mischievously, seeing Amelia ogling him, and wondering why the silly girl bothered her so. "It will work out well. After all, you are four tall, blond, handsome men. You will look well together, and the women can all admire you."
"Thank you for my share," Clifford said, "but all I want is Vanessa's warm regard."
"Do you mean you shall not admire us?" Parks teased.
"Of course I shall, if you read your lines well," she said with a wink.
True to her words, Elizabeth was most impressed with Parks and Will's performances. Their comic timing could not have been better, and paired as Tony and the Landlord, they did extremely well.
The only weak link was Fitzsimmons. It was a pity he had such an exaggerated opinion of his own very limited abilities, she thought with a sigh.
She laughed as hard as anyone in the audience when Will exclaimed in a broad West Country accent, "Master Hardcastle's! Lack-a-daisy, my masters, you're come a deadly deal wrong! When you came to the bottom of the hill, you should have crossed down Squash Lane. Then you were to keep straight forward, till you came to four roads."
"Come to where four roads meet?" Marcus Fitzsimmons said woodenly.
"Aye," Parks said, "but you must be sure to take only one of them.
"Then keeping to the right, you are to go sideways till you come upon Crackskull Common: there you must look sharp for the track of the wheel, and go forward till you come to farmer Murrain's barn. Coming to the farmer's barn, you are to turn to the right, and then to the left, and then to the right about again, till you find out the old mill—"
Having missed a couple of his other lines, Marcus Fitzsimmons burst out, "‘Zounds, man! We could as soon find out the longitude!" but he was too loud and did not manage to get a laugh.
Will's performance was word-perfect without so much as a glance at the book.
He said in a stage whisper, "Sure, you been't sending them to your father's as an inn, be you?"
"Mum, you fool you. Let them find that out."
Parks then bestowed a huge smile on his fellow actors and victims in the play and said, "You have only to keep on straight forward, till you come to a large old house by the road side. You'll see a pair of large horns over the door. That's the sign. Drive up the yard, and call stoutly about you. I'll just step myself, and show you a piece of the way."
Will, left alone on stage to deliver the final line of the act, muttered under his breath, "Ah, bless your heart, for a sweet, pleasant, mischievous brat."
Then there was rapturous applause, and they took their bows.
Fitzsimmons looked at the book and remarked with a sly smile, "Not quite what it says here, eh, old boy?"
Will stared at him coldly. "There is no need to use such language in front of the ladies."
"All a bit of fun."
"If you speak like that in your own home sir, that is your affair. I do not in mine, and most certainly would not in any one else's."
Elizabeth silently applauded his principles, but M
arcus Fitzsimmons opened his mouth to retort.
Parks calmed the scene by congratulating everyone on how well they had done, and suggesting they could all do with a spot of refreshment.
"Honestly, I don't know what I would do without you," she said, giving Parks a warm smile. "You certainly know how to be the ultimate host."
"Only too pleased to help, my dear. Not every person is blessed with my gift of uncomplicated and brazen love of ostentation."
Everyone within hearing distance laughed at him, and Elizabeth took his arm.
As they drank coffee a few moments later in the dining room, they discussed plans for the ball in two nights' time.
"What about a masked ball?" Parks suggested. "Now is the best time to have it, before we all get to know each other's clothes and gowns so well that we will be able to tell each other easily. There can be little prizes for the person who guesses the most out of all the people. We will make hooded cloaks, black for the men, white for the ladies, and we can pin little numbers on each other."
"Ah, but you are forgetting there will not be enough ladies," Elizabeth said.
"We can invite all the Lynches," Thomas suggested. "I'm sure since it's not a public assembly, there will be no harm in the younger ones coming as well."
"But they're Catholic," Fitzsimmons said with a note of horror in his tone.
"So? They're still ladies, and we all still like to dance. You had no objection to Sean Lynch and his two sisters last night, did you?"
"Er, no," he said, seeing himself cornered and not wishing to appear more rude.
"Good," Elizabeth said coolly. "I shall send out the invitations first thing in the morning."
"I shall help with the numbers and the list," Parks offered before Fitzsimmons could put himself forward. "Only you and I shall know who is really who."
Elizabeth looked up and met Will's eye.
He gazed at her for a moment. "Can I help?"
"Yes, indeed. I am also told you play and sing very well indeed. Please, if you would be so kind?"
They returned to the drawing room arm, and arm, but she was sorry to see him trapped in the corner so far away from her as he went to do her bidding, and was followed by Miss Amelia, who had a voice like a corncrake.
But his performance at the pianoforte was a revelation, with his skill and magnificent baritone voice.
Stewart and Parks flashed her a smile as if to say, "I told you so."
As soon as she finished with the list and the numbers she had been working on with Parks for the ball, she rose to join him.
Will immediately got up from the stool before she could sit down next to him, and almost climbed over the instrument in his haste to get away.
She blinked in surprise. "But I thought we might-"
"I have prevailed upon your guests long enough with my toneless croaking," Will said.
She grinned, until she realized he was in earnest. "No, no! Not at all!" she protested sincerely.
"It is kind of you. But if we're to be up early for riding, I'd better be going."
"Yes, there will be much to organize for the picnic too," Stewart said, taking his wife's arm.
She smiled at her husband and came over to say goodnight to Elizabeth.
"And you have your invitations to send out. Thank you so much for another lovely evening." She gave a surprised Elizabeth a quick embrace.
Stewart kissed her hand and gave her a warm, almost fatherly smile.
It would have looked odd if Will had not taken a more gracious leave of her, so he came out from the opposite side of the piano, and bowed over her gloved hand.
Their gazes mingled for a moment. She saw something spark and ignite for a brief second in his rare blue eyes, before he blinked and it was gone.
"Good night, Lady Elizabeth. Until tomorrow."
"Good night, Mr. Joyce. A bien tot."
Parks came up to kiss her hand effusively, and vanished with Will, leaving only Mitchell and Monroe. They asked to escort the Fitzsimmons sisters home.
Since Fitzsimmons lingering would have looked excessively odd, he was forced to say goodbye as well, and had to content himself with one warm pressure of the hand, and no especial words of regard, since Thomas and Charlotte were flanking Elizabeth on either side like library lions.
"I shall see you in the morning, Fitzsimmons."
"Yes, Your Grace. Thank you. Good night."
After they had left, Elizabeth hurriedly wrote out the invitations with Charlotte's help.
A short time later, she said good night and was alone in her room once more. She undressed and got into bed. But sleep was a long time in coming as she replayed the few precious minutes in the cave over and over again in her mind.
It had been real. She was sure of it. Why then had those heated feelings been so elusive, despite all of the good-looking men she had been surrounded by?
Perhaps he was none of them? Or it really was Fitzsimmons? Why then did he now leave her so cold?
Whoever it was, he had to be out there…
Will tossed and turned, dreaming of Elizabeth over and over again. Damn him for a fool. She had desired him so much, he should have just given in to his raw need and suffered the consequences and questions after the fact.
But that would have been unfair to her. He simply couldn't have ravished her in a cave. He wanted every blessed inch of her. Body, soul, and her whole heart. He needed her to be sure of him. He wanted nothing to mar their happiness together, not as it had with his former wife.
Then he sighed. He had had too much honesty with her. With Elizabeth he could never have enough…
No, he was a fool to think she could ever give more than a passing though to, let alone fall in love with, a shadowy man she had met in a cave. A man forced to live in the shadows for as long as he had to follow his orders, or pay the price. He thumped the pillows, and sighed.
Then he rose, and headed for the cave once more to do his duty, always his duty…
Chapter Fourteen
The next day dawned bright and clear. Elizabeth got out of bed feeling much more optimistic than she had done the night before. She would love to know who the man in the cavern had been, but that was not all there was to her life. It was most distracting.
At the same time, she couldn't allow it to ruin her peace of mind. She missed all of the Rakehells and Brimley. But with the Fitzgeralds and their friends, and the other neighbors at Ardmore, she had all the makings of a new set of very close companions.
Elizabeth groaned as she recalled she had been so busy the day before she had neglected to invite the vicar and verger and his sister to tea.
She dashed off a couple of notes to them and was just finishing her cup of coffee in the breakfast room when Will came striding in.
Really, it was almost as though black were made for him, she thought to herself as she gazed up at his handsome visage, his strikingly athletic figure.
He drew himself up short when he saw she was all alone. "They told me to pop my head in to see if you were ready."
"Yes, indeed," she said, putting down the cup.
"Please don't let me hurry you."
"Not at all. I have had sufficient."
When she got outside, Vevina was there with her husband and Parks, and she noted that Vevina did not use a sidesaddle either. Well, that was a relief.
Will helped her with a leg up, trying to make the contact as impersonal as possible, but appreciating the warmth of her lithe form so much he was glad of the cold bath he had subjected himself to that morning in an effort to get the grime of the cave off him, and all the torrid associations with it which filled him with the most agonizing desire.
She felt so perfect in his arms, under his hands, it was all he could do not to press her to him for a kiss.
Elizabeth got up into the saddle without incident, and looked down to thank Will. Once again she saw that elusive spark in his eyes, and felt a slight flush to her cheeks, a tremble to her hand as she gathered the rein
s.
Then he was swinging his long leg over his saddle, and she gazed after him almost with longing as he took the lead up the tree-lined avenue toward the beach.
Once there, they galloped along the sandy strand for a time. Elizabeth was glad she was wearing a sunbonnet instead of her usual dapper little riding hat, for the sun was beating down as if it were the height of summer. Even Parks' pale complexion took on a golden tinge.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 44
