She smiled at him warmly, and she found her ungloved hand grasping his own bare one for a brief moment.
Her eyes widened, her head swam, and the next thing she knew, she was on a sofa in the drawing room with Charlotte and Vanessa patting her face, a bottle of sal volatile under her nose.
She choked and sputtered, while Thomas and Clifford hovered nearby solicitously.
She could hear a murmur of voices outside the door and someone speaking in sharp strident tones on the terrace.
"I don't know. I don't understand any of this. It's like, I don't know, some sort of witchcraft—" she heard a male voice exclaim.
She heard a female voice speaking in a soothing tone.
Elizabeth sat up and looked around.
"What happened?"
"You fainted," Charlotte said gently.
"Fainted? But I never—"
"Too much wine and sunshine, eh, Sister? You're done in. Let's get you to bed."
Thomas and Clifford put an arm each around her waist to help her up.
Word spread quickly that she was feeling better, and everyone gathered in the hall.
"We'll just say a quick goodnight to your guests, if you're up to it?"
She nodded, dazed. "Yes of course, Thomas."
She went out into the hall and said, "I'm so sorry to have ruined the evening giving you such a shock."
"You're sure you're all right now?" Vevina asked with evident concern.
"I think so. Too much sun and wine, I fear. I shall be fine tomorrow in time for the ball."
"Are you sure?" Parks asked, bowing over her hand with his usual sharp military style.
"Yes, I am."
"I'm so glad to see you're feeling better." Will bent over her hand, and pressed her dusty gloves into it.
Seeing his shining blond head, she was tempted to touch his locks to feel if they were as silky soft as they appeared.
She fisted her hand to her side, and told herself to get a grip on her emotions. She was overwrought, that had to be it. The tumble that day and fall in Will's arms must have take its toll more than she realised.
"Good night. I shall see you tomorrow evening at nine."
Thomas swung her up into his arms, and brought her to her room. "You are to stay in bed tomorrow and rest, or I shall cancel the ball for sure."
"Yes, Brother," she said meekly.
Charlotte and Vanessa came in to check on her and help her undress. She could hardly wait for them to leave her.
At last she was in bed alone in the dark with her terrified thoughts. What on earth had happened to her? Had she fainted because she was ill? With child? Under some sort of spell?
She tried to calm her fears. No, there was no such thing as witchcraft. There couldn't be. She was a sensible, devout Christian woman.
Ill? She was rarely if ever sick. Never had the vapors.
With child? Was it possible? She had lost her senses in her mystery lover's arms. Was it possible he had…
He had said he would not hurt her, damage her. She knew the mechanics of lovemaking—she would have thought she could tell if she had…
She had checked for any sign of injury or blood. Not all women bled their first time, of course, but she would have thought an invasion of her body such as that would have left some sign or lingering sensation.
No. She had to be ill. She had to trust the word of her mystery beau that he had not harmed her. And she had to try to be more vigilant, look for warning signs that she was going to pass out as she had done twice before. Both times she had been with a man…
Not Will Joyce, surely. He acted as though he were completely oblivious to her charms. Was she a lewd woman, so lost to decency that the merest touch of a man's bare hand could set her off into some sort of licentious frenzy?
Lord, had she done anything dreadful when she had touched Mr. Joyce? Clung to him importunately? Tried to kiss him?
No, she had just smiled at him. She recalled holding out her hand, but that was it. She shivered with heat and cold, her skin throbbing, the full moon lighting her room as brightly as if it were day.
She got up out of bed to open the window, noting a strange flickering light outside and to the right. An odd time of night to be out. Lost livestock? But there were no sheep so close to… On the beach. Or rather the cliffs. The cave….
She shivered again. She would go down to the beach again tomorrow, slip out unseen and try to find it. Of course the man might not be there, anywhere near there. But she needed to find him, needed to feel again the incredible wonder of being in his arms, or else she would surely lose her mind….
Chapter Fifteen
Elizabeth eventually fell into an exhausted slumber and dreamed. Of the storm, the cave, the man, and far more. Of a shadowy presence nearby, watching like a spider weaving its web, observing her every move, waiting to pounce.
Of the cave, warm and welcoming, with a fire. Of a couple, he tall and dark, she petite and red haired, very much in love. With a baby. Then her own features appeared where the woman's had been. She saw a pair of lovely bracelets on her which seemed to glow with an inner fire.
And the other man? He was huge but still indistinct. All she knew was that she belonged with him. That they were meant to stand side by side, battling the encroaching darkness.
She felt a rumbling, and the fire in the cave winked out. Then all was black, choking, crushing her, apart from one streak of brightness. A lightning bolt? And then a crescent, as thin as a slivered moon in the indigo sky. Except that it was gold.
Elizabeth sat up with a sharp cry, and fell back onto the pillows in relief when she saw it was day. She rose, trembling, and poured herself some water, then stripped off her sodden nightdress. She wondered again if she had the sweating sickness, or fever. Or some sort of moonstruck madness, she thought with a wry smile.
She knew the ancient people of Ireland had had all sorts of mysterious festivals and celebrated the moon and sun as gods. Witchcraft… Who had said the word last night?
She pushed her heavy hair from her face and padded into the bathroom to have a nice long hot soak. She scrubbed herself from head to toe, trying to free herself of the miasma of the cave, or whatever it was that had infected her.
Eventually she heard the clock strike. Good Lord. It couldn't be noon already, could it? The ball tonight! She had not lifted a finger….
But Thomas and Vanessa smiled warmly at Elizabeth when she entered the small parlor some time later.
"Nothing to worry about. Parks has agreed to get every robed and masked appropriately, and send them into the ballroom. There is nothing for you to do except enjoy yourself."
Thomas hugged her. "I hope you're feeling better."
"Er, I didn't do or say anything odd or embarrassing last night, did I?"
They shook their heads. "No, nothing. We looked up and you had fainted into Will's arms. He couldn't carry you with his bad shoulder, so I grabbed you. He didn't say you had said a word. I would just forget about it. You're not to go to the beach again until it cools down. I've never known it to be so warm in September before."
"I had thought to go down to the beach-"
"The only place you're allowed to go is to Will's to see his wine cellar with Clifford and I," Thomas said firmly.
"Very well. I shall."
"I shall fetch the carriage round then."
"Oh, but we can walk."
"Not after last night you can't. Not in this heat."
"Oh, very well."
Their excursion was longer than she imagined, for Clifford enthused over every bottle, until she wandered off into one of the murky corners, hoping to find a rare bottle he had not yet spotted.
"Lady Elizabeth, what are you doing?" Will asked quietly as he found her staring at a rack on the far side of the room.
"Nothing. Just looking for hidden treasures, unique vintages, you know," she said as she watched his face undergo an alarming transformation for a brief second.
"Come.
I would not wish you to have another fainting spell in this damp place. Plus the floors are so uneven. It would be dreadful for you to turn an ankle and miss the ball. I understand that Parks has engaged you for the first waltz, but I should like the second, if you would do me the honor."
"No, Parks never asked me. He may have intended to, but-"
"He will be too busy in the parlor getting everyone ready. Consider the first waltz yours," Thomas said.
"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly. The identities must be kept secret."
"Nonsense. Elizabeth will not be competing for prizes at her own ball. Have the dance with her, lad."
"Yes, I should be delighted, Mr. Joyce," she said sincerely.
"Very well, then, if you're sure."
"I am." She smiled up at him.
He shivered with desire, and tried to catch his breath. "In that case, I would be greatly honoured." His gloves on securely, he took her elbow and led her up to his drawing room, a typical eighteenth-century floral drawing room with pale blue flock wallpaper and matching silk and gilt-edge furniture.
"Why, this house is not nearly as bad as you would have people believe," she said.
"At the risk of offending you, I have to point out that in all fairness you have not seen the sleeping chambers above, nor the roof."
She blushed.
They had a lavish tea which had been sent from Clancar Castle, Will having not troubled to hire any servants yet for the old ramshackle place.
After they had eaten and drunk their fill, Thomas told Elizabeth it was high time they were heading back.
"Elizabeth needs to rest, and I need to make some arrangements for our traveling back home to Somerset soon."
"You will be departing shortly?" Will asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
Thomas nodded. "Elizabeth seems happily settled. I shall stay a few more days to make sure she is truly well. Then we shall go home before the autumn storms grip the Irish Sea."
"So you really plan to stay, Lady Elizabeth?" Will asked, his heart soaring.
She nodded. "I adore my family and Brimley, but Ardmore feels like home now, though I have only been here a short while."
He smiled down at her. It was only a small crack in his usual sombre demeanor, but it was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. She gaped at his magnificence like a dumb-struck child.
"I shall see you later, Lady Elizabeth."
"Yes, later, Mr. Joyce," she said breathlessly.
She went home and threw herself on the bed, suddenly exhausted once more. But no, it had to just be coincidence. If it were Will Joyce, why had he never given her a single indication? Why let Parks and Fitzsimmons and Monroe…
Fitzsimmons. He had said things which had indicated he was the man in the cave. Unless it had all been her imagination, reading things into his conversation…
Or another man entirely. Parks, for instance. The roll in the sand the other day…
Drat. She got up and went into the bathroom for a quick wash. She began to strip off all of her clothes, noting the blush of her skin. As though she had been with her lover again…
She shook her head. She had been in a dank, sand- and dust-filled cellar with a trio of wine aficionados. No lover there.
She went over to her dresser and donned clean linen, silk stockings and garters, lacy underdrawers, and a fine lawn chemise. She had already selected her gown, white with a deep V-neckline and tiny split sleeves trimmed with Brussels lace. All was trimmed with silver embroidery, and the train extended out from behind her by at least a foot. There was a braided silver loop for her to place over her wrist when she was dancing, and she had managed to get some matching trim with which to decorate her white silk and spangled reticule and to turn into garters for her long gloves and as a sash. She had added some heavy jet beads to the end of the braid to make some tassels for the gown, and Charlotte exclaimed over how lovely she looked as she tapped on the door and entered.
"Now all we need to do is fix your hair."
It was soon wrapped in complicated crown atop her head and fix with a silver coronet. "There. Wonderful. Except that no one will be able to see the gown or your coiffure with your domino over it."
"We unmask at midnight, and I for one plan to dance until three at least," she said, fastening her jet collar, bracelets and ear bobs.
"Glad to see you're so much better. You gave us quite a scare last evening."
"I'm fine. Really," she reassured her sister-in-law in a firm tone.
"Good. Find your fan and let us go. I can already hear people arriving."
"Our cloaks and masks?" Elizabeth asked.
"All downstairs in the ballroom. We shall go down the back stairs so no one will be any the wiser."
Elizabeth admired her sister-in-law's gown as they went. It was a rich bronze color with cream lace at the bosom, and she took note of it and determined to make sure her dresses were all as modest as Charlotte's. It was a scandal to see so much bosom showing at balls these days. Some things were better off being kept private. She should not have allowed her modiste to talk her into such a daring design.
But when she said as much to Charlotte, she laughed. "My dear, you can't look like a little Quakeress all the time. There is nothing improper about that gown. Even if there were, the cloak would hide it. Now quick, put it on and let me tie your mask."
"You look lovely," Thomas said when she asked his opinion in a worried tone. "I'm so proud of you. You have never given me an ounce of unease or concern over your good judgment in your person or tastes. The dress is perfect. Enjoy yourself."
Soon the room began to fill. The women were clad all in white, but their gowns peeping from underneath and their heights were easy enough to distinguish.
She started guessing the men's identities as they entered. Monroe and Mitchell were easy, but the four blond men were all in solid black with black dominoes. Clifford soon detached himself from the group to seek out his wife for the first dance. Will made a beeline toward Elizabeth to claim her for the first waltz.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked breathlessly.
His face was as inscrutable as ever, especially with the black silk mask. "Your raven curls, of course, and that gown. I can't wait to see what the rest of it looks like at midnight. You're like a goddess. Your perfume, your walk, the way you hold your head. The curve of your neck. The lilt of you voice. Your dainty hands and feet. The way you fit to me when we are dancing. Your remarkable blue eyes. Do you need me to go on?"
She felt herself blushing as he led her on the floor. "No indeed. Thank you. You've never said-"
"Words often fail me. I have not Parks' gift for flattery. Or rather, not flattery, but facility with words."
"Yet Stewart says you know much poetry by heart."
"Very well, I shall give you a love poem, shall I?" he asked with a teasing smile which showed whitely against his black velvet mask.
"Certainly," she said, feeling a heated flush of pleasure tinge her cheeks.
"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
Coral is far more red than her lips' red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground."
"Oh, very pretty indeed," she said, slightly piqued.
"No, not quite, apart from your hair, of course, which is dark. But don't forget the concluding couplet.
"And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare."
"That's true. I'm no
t hurt and offended any more," she said with a laugh. "Very witty."
"It was never my intention to wound you, my dear. I shall give you another, then, more in keeping with your own personality. I know just the one.
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 46
