After some minutes, he turned the conversation to mutual reading interests.
Throughout their conversation, he remained conflicted. He had been so sure of his intentions that morning but hearing anew her distaste for marriage reminded him of the reasons he hadn’t pursued her from the beginning.
Trepidation almost blighted his best intentions. He wouldn’t consign them to an unhappy marriage or an awkward friendship shadowed by unrequited love, but how would he live with himself if he walked away without at least trying, without bluntly, boldly expressing his desires? If she rejected him, so be it. He would know without the shadow of doubt she didn’t want him, and it would be over. He could walk away without a backward glance. But at least he would have tried.
God, he wanted her. He wanted everything about her. He wasn’t worthy of her and doubted he could make her happy, but selfishly he wanted her more than anything else in life. The light she shone into his life, the physical and mental stimulation she stirred, the hope, all spurred him to continue with his original plan. His fears couldn’t hold a candle to his desire for her. If he needed longer than a week, so be it, but he would try his damndest to turn friendship into love, to make his intentions known.
Chapter 19
“At least I have more mobility with the shorter sleeves.” Lizbeth raised and lowered her arms as Bettye braided her hair into an up-do.
The past two mornings involved posing in the Red Drawing Room while Charlotte entertained callers. Her nicest dresses constricted her movements as well as her spirit as she sat silently, affecting poise for one visitor after another. She wanted nothing more than to wear her favorite cotton and walk the landscape. Alas, silks and drawing rooms had been her plight.
Charlotte lived by a strict time schedule. Liz had lost count of the number of times she changed her attire per day to follow proper decorum. Morning dresses, walking dresses, tea dresses, riding habits, dinner gowns, and what felt like a few dozen more in between. Liz missed the freedom to dress comfortably and run barefoot on the beach.
The dressing room door opened. Charlotte peeked around the corner.
“Ooh, you have a coffee tray. I finished mine ages ago. May I have yours?” She plopped on a pink couch next to the bureau, cozying herself against the cushion as though she hadn’t spent the previous couple of days personifying sophistication.
“Help yourself.” Liz fiddled with the fichu tucked into her bodice, modestly covering her chest.
Bettye added the finishing touches to Liz’s hair.
“I’m delighted for our shopping and picnic plans today,” Charlotte exclaimed. “What fun we shall have! It’s a pity we must spend the day with that boor. It’s bad enough he and Drake spend so much time together, but I’m at least spared from socializing with him except the occasional dinner. I could hardly believe my eyes when he walked in on your second day. I thought to myself, ‘Oh, no, he’ll ruin Liz’s visit!’” Charlotte sipped Liz’s coffee, eyeing critically the watercolor painting on the wall above Liz’s head.
Lizbeth sighed. She had never spoken with Charlotte of her attraction to Sebastian. Aunt Hazel knew and even liked Sebastian, but Charlotte was less inclined to empathize, especially when she identified Liz as being irrevocably on the shelf.
Charlotte continued her bubbling spring of dialogue. “I’m distressed Drake teases you about him. He teases everyone, so don’t take it personally, but I’m horrorstruck every time he says something about you and his cousin.” She tutted. “As if either of you would ever be interested in each other.”
Liz remained silent, ignoring her sister’s prodding. Not that she’d admit aloud, but her sister might have a point. Was he as interested in her as she in him? During their first conversation after her arrival, she had emphasized their friendship, angling to see if he’d take the bait and express wanting more. He never did.
After their failed attempts at delving deeper than friendship, she hesitated to press her attentions where they might not be welcome. Over the course of the month, she would proceed under the pretense of friendship, but not without more baiting. Short of throwing herself at him as she had done at the museum in London, she wasn’t altogether positive how to show her desire for more without scaring him off or humiliating herself. Today, subtlety was key.
The lady’s maid clasped a chain around Liz’s neck, the miniature Sebastian had given her resting sublimely against the white fabric of the fichu.
“Is that your walking dress?” Charlotte nodded over her coffee mug to a gown lying over a rack, slightly soiled with mud at the hem. “When did you go walking? We’ve only just risen.”
“On the contrary. I woke early for a walk around the gardens. You’ve only just risen.” Liz wondered at her reflection, worried she looked too modest, too schoolmarmish. Maybe she should forego the fichu. “I stumbled on your mother-in-law in the park. Frosty around the edges, but a skilled conversationalist. We shared a lovely chat about the wilderness walk and whinged about the weather.”
“Hmm. All she does is complain about me when we talk. She hated all of my seating charts for the dinner party. ‘No, no, no, no, no, no. You can’t put Lord Fiddlesticks next to Lady Sheepbrain, and you can’t put Lord Horsehead next to Lady Bigbosom.’ As if I know any of these people other than from the list of titles she gives me. She says it’s my duty to learn all local gentry before I make a disaster of a dinner party.”
“I doubt you’ll make a disaster of anything, Charlotte. You’ve always had a gift for entertaining. I’m pleased, honestly, to hear you’re doing what you enjoy.” Bettye slipped the pelisse over Liz’s gown and tied the bonnet. “Well? Are you ready for a grand adventure into the wilds of Northumberland?”
“Drake hasn’t taken me for a ride anywhere.” Charlotte pouted. “I’m only sorry we’re going to Roddam Village instead of one that belongs to me.”
“I’m sure we can manage a way to visit some of your own property during my stay. It’ll be an excuse for you to do more shopping.” Liz clasped her sister’s hand after the empty coffee cup had been returned to the tray. “Shall we check on Mary and Aunt Hazel?”
Sebastian had invited them on a picnic, including a visit to his principal seat, only a few miles from the border of Scotland. Drake and the dowager duchess both declined to join. Liz wasn’t the least disappointed.
Before long, the merry group was tucked inside Charlotte’s state coach, the ducal arms emblazoned on the doors. Sebastian had recommended they ride in the sociable with its folding hood to better see the countryside, but Charlotte had insisted on taking the duke’s carriage in all its finery to avoid the sun during long stretches and, true to Charlotte’s disposition, to be seen.
The farther north they traveled, the hillier and more forested became the terrain to the west with expanses of rocky patches between wide open meadows and farmlands to the east. Lizbeth admired the views, as well as Sebastian’s visage. There was a mischievous glinting in his eyes and a reserved smile on his lips. He was up to something.
He watched her unabashedly for most of the drive north, only looking out the window long enough to point out the border between the Annick duchy and the Roddam earldom and to explain the cultivation of the farmlands. More than once, his foot stretched across the coach to bump hers.
When they reached Roddam Village, Mary and Charlotte set out together, arms linked. Hazel accepted Sebastian’s arm and walked beside him as the group toured the village. Liz trailed behind everyone.
To his credit, Sebastian behaved a good sport throughout Mary and Charlotte’s prattling and Hazel’s whinging. The stolid demeanor he usually donned in social settings transformed into an engaged and interested affect. For an accused boor, he epitomized gentility.
He doted attention on Hazel, all the while casting Lizbeth those mischievous grins. He showed to the ladies a side of himself only Liz had seen, the relaxed and witty flirt.
The few people they encountered greeted Sebastian as a friend rather than an employer. No one cowed in his presence, averted their eyes, or tugged at their forelock. No one ogled him or waited to be acknowledged before speaking. The men in the village shook his hand, while the women regaled him with tales about their little ones.
She felt proud of him, proud to walk with him, and more than a bit smitten. Liz loved seeing this side of him, seeing him in his element away from the London snots. Not once did he act elitist. The same couldn’t be said about her sister, who bore the ennui of nobility.
All about them, people took note of him and those with him, especially her, although she couldn’t say why unless they witnessed the attention he danced upon her from time to time, but he was just as attentive, if not more so, to Aunt Hazel.
The group finally made their way to the millinery. Draped caps, mob caps, lace caps, headdresses of straw, crape, velvet, and a veritable cornucopia of other materials, ribbons, veils, feathers, and beads, filled the room, an overwhelming assortment of womanly delights. Charlotte and Mary flitted about the shop, trying on one pre-made hat after another. While Hazel spoke with the shopkeeper and milliner, Sebastian snuck behind Lizbeth.
His hand on the small of her back was her first awareness of his presence. His lips whispering in her ear was the second.
“I’ve instructed Mrs. Mabry to charge anything your heart desires to me. I recommend anything green.”
And with those words, he dashed off to recommend a new hat that flattered Hazel’s eyes before the pair, thick as thieves, snuck out of the hat shop together, leaving Charlotte, Mary, and Lizbeth to finish their exploration of bonnets and turbans. The warmth of his hand lingered, and the tickle of his breath on her cheek sent shivers down her spine. That had not been an action between friends.
Her pulse racing, her stare fixed on the door where it had followed his retreating back only moments before, she jumped to find the shopkeeper standing silently beside her.
“Ye ken His Lordship, miss?” the woman asked, assessing Lizbeth.
Liz replied cordially, “Yes, I know him. My sister married his cousin, the Duke of Annick.”
“Oh, aye, we heard His Grace brough’ home a new lass.” The woman glanced at Charlotte and Mary who were speaking with the milliner.
Waving Liz to a corner of the shop, she offered to show a design that would complement the dress and be customized to Lizbeth’s liking with matching lace and ribbons.
While dressing Liz’s hair with a becoming bonnet, the shopkeeper chattered.
“Yer fortunate tae ken the master. He’s as guid a mon as ever ye’ll find. Ah were only able tae open me shop after he inherited. Built new shops, he did. This shop be me pride ‘n joy, i’tis.”
“Your shop is lovely. May I see this with a bow?” Liz asked politely, admiring the woman’s handiwork in a mirror.
“Ah have ribbons o’ shades that be mos’ fetchin’ tae ye coloring, they would.” The shopkeeper, a stout woman with a mop of gray hair under a lace cap, waddled over to the collection of ribbons.
After they warbled about colors, Liz selected three she favored, as well as an ivory brooch her aunt might wear to match the ivory handled fan she favored.
“Ye have a fine day with His Lordship. He’s a guid mon, unlike his sire.”
Lizbeth paused while collecting her goods. She hesitated to ask for clarification, as it wouldn’t be polite, but the woman obviously baited her.
“May I inquire of the previous earl?” she asked tentatively.
“Le’s look at a special bonnet tae add tae yer purchases? Comes from Milan, it dae.” She bustled to the other side of the shop to retrieve the bonnet, assuming Liz would follow her.
The woman whispered conspiratorially, bonnet in hand, “He beat me Robert in the street fur all tae see, Lord Roddam did. Gave my wee bairn a skelping with a horsewhip.”
“His Lordship, the current Lord Roddam?” Liz gasped, her hand covering her mouth in shock.
“Nay, don’ be daft. His sire. He bea’ me boy. I’m a Christian woman, so I shouldna say, but I thanked the Lord when tha mon died. He bea’ me Robert fur pickpocketing. Me bairn werena pickpocket. He were only six years auld ‘n a guid boy.”
“That’s terrible! The current Earl of Roddam hasn’t done anything like that, has he?”
“Nay, he’s a guid mon, ye ken.” Realizing she had an attentive audience, the woman rattled on about several other incidences of violence, including the public whipping of laborers rumored to have complained about wages.
Lizbeth was too stunned to hear all of what was said or to pay attention to the woman’s sly request that Liz compliment the shop to His Lordship and recommend it might need a larger space for wares.
She was shocked at the shopkeeper’s verbosity, but more so about the stories shared and those left untold. He must have felt such shame that his father would behave that way, even if such treatment was considered acceptable by lords to their tenants. She wondered if Sebastian’s running away had anything to do with his father’s treatment of the villagers.
After purchasing the bonnet, along with more ribbons than she wanted, she joined Charlotte and Mary. They found Aunt Hazel and Sebastian two shops down at a confectionery. Sebastian treated them to Turkish Delight, a sweet recently brought over from Istanbul, if the confectioner were to be believed.
Once Aunt Hazel ordered a side table from the furniture maker, which she murmured to the girls would look rustically charming next to her Chippendale, and Mary purchased silk for her needlework, the quintet piled into the state coach, bound for the location Sebastian had chosen for the picnic.
The coachman followed the border of Scotland west before turning south into a valley, stopping next to a narrow river nestled under a clump of trees. The groomsmen secured a sheet beneath the trees and prepared the food and cutlery, Sebastian lending a hand throughout the process.
Mary exclaimed over the red squirrels, while Charlotte wrinkled her nose at the scene. “Why didn’t we order the servants to meet us here? They could have brought a table and chairs.”
Liz rolled her eyes. “Sit down, Charlotte. Only a few months ago you were picnicking in Hyde Park without a table and chairs. Don’t tell me your new title has gone to your head already.”
“Well, no, but I don’t want to rumple my dress.” Charlotte pouted.
“Then stand,” Liz said, crawling onto the sheet.
Once the food had been laid out, they ate contentedly, even the duchess.
The sounds of bubbling water, the rustling of leaves against the breeze, and the songs of the birds filled the air. Their canopy hued a vibrant shade of autumn, colors ranging from radiant reds to drab yellows.
“I’ve decided,” proclaimed Charlotte, “to turn part of the conservatory into an aviary for Captain Henry. He’ll live in the Gray Parlor, of course, where he is now, except when I’m in the conservatory. Just imagine his surprise when he’ll really be able to fly. Isn’t it a grand idea, Lizbeth?”
“Yes, lovely,” Liz replied absently, running her hands through the greenery so it tickled her palm. “This grass is as soft as silk. I’ve never felt anything like it.” She wasn’t thinking of the grass. She was thinking of Sebastian’s hand on the small of her back.
“Honestly, Lizzie, I don’t go around feeling grass.” Charlotte scoffed. “The very idea.”
Sebastian stretched out on his side, propping himself on one arm, ankles crossed. “I’ve been thinking, Charlotte. You should ask Drake to take you to see the Drake Stone. The Cheviot Valley and lake would make a fine outing for two lovebirds. Tell him I told you he was named after the rock.”
Charlotte eyed him curiously. “And why would I want to see a stone?”
“The point isn’t to see the stone. Tell Drake you want a lover’s tryst. He’ll go, and you’ll both enjoy every minute
of the outing. I promise.” Sebastian’s smile was downright wicked.
“What a vulgar thing to say.” Charlotte huffed. “You’re so uncouth. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you.”
Sebastian shrugged, tugging at the grass until he pulled out a few blades. “As you wish. But I’ve known my cousin long enough to understand how he thinks. You’d thank me if you took my suggestion.”
Ignoring him, Charlotte grabbed Mary’s and Hazel’s hands and tugged them to stand for a game of blind man’s bluff, which couldn’t be much of a challenge with only three people. Before long, Charlotte and Mary were screeching and squealing like children.
Alone at last, Lizbeth boldly moved closer to Sebastian. Kneeling a few inches from him, she tucked her legs beneath her and fiddled with her dress, unexpectedly nervous.
Sebastian watched her.
“I’ve written to your father,” he said, interrupting the stretch of silence.
Startled, Liz echoed, “Written to my father.” Her heart skipped a beat. There could only be one reason he would write to her father.
Was she ready for this? Was this what she wanted? Should she leap feet first and say yes or play coy and tell him she’d think about it? Was this really what she wanted? No doubts or second thoughts? Oh, she had so many doubts, but…
“About the slavery abolition bill,” he added.
Oh.
“The one you mentioned he’s working on with Wilberforce.” He twisted a blade of grass around his thumb. “I offered insight into the Lords’ perspective, for what it’s worth. I stand by my belief that it won’t pass the House of Lords, but I support your father’s efforts and hope my suggestions helped.”
Her heart sank. That hadn’t been at all what she expected him to say.
Hoping not to sound too dejected, she replied, “Yes, I remember, but I didn’t think you really would.”
“You don’t find me a man of my word?” His eyes widened, and he placed a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt you don’t trust me.” The twitch of a smile revealed he wasn’t truly offended.
The Earl and The Enchantress (An Enchantress Novel Book 1) Page 17
