by Edith Layton
Miss Winchester had never expected more of him. He’d seen Lisabeth’s expression when he’d mentioned it, and knew she would.
There were a great many things to sort out. As much as he longed for Lisabeth, he also needed time to see his way clear again. She’d enchanted him. But the increasing miles and living in London town again had woken him from that enchantment. What he’d done with her had been glorious, but the intensity of his reaction to her had shocked him. It had perhaps even alarmed him. He didn’t know the man who had made such passionate love. Or did he?
He was, indeed, a new man. He had to learn how to live as one. And so he needed his wits together now. One foolish commitment to a life with a stranger had been ended. He needed some repose in order to plan before he took up life with another. But how much of what he’d felt for Lisabeth was raging lust and how much was love? Or were they the same? He’d never really experienced either.
Whatever his real feelings, there were two things he knew. He knew he had to marry Lisabeth. And he knew he wanted to make love to her again. He just didn’t know if their marrying was wise, sane, or sensible, for him or for her. And he’d always been sane and sensible.
“I long to see her,” Constantine said honestly. “But I want things to go easily for her and for me when I do.”
Kendall exchanged a look with Blaise.
“Bloom off the rose?” Kendall asked.
“Does distance lend disenchantment?” Blaise queried.
“Fools,” Constantine said amiably, as he closed his eyes and laid his head back on the back of his chair. “A thing this important needs time and careful consideration. I have time for both now.”
“Another letter from Lord Wylde?” Miss Lovelace asked.
“Yes,” Lisabeth said.
“Lord, the man uses up paper. So, when are we leaving to meet him?”
“As soon as we choose,” Lisabeth said, folding her letter again, and again.
Miss Lovelace clapped her hands together. “It’s about time! It’s been weeks. Why hasn’t he sent for us before this? It’s not just me prying. Your grandfather’s started to boil about it. You know what that means.”
“I do,” Lisabeth said. “Constantine just wanted to be sure I’d be safe from spite and gossip. He hasn’t changed his mind.”
“No, dearie, that’s true. But he ought to have been clamoring for you to join him. Three weeks, it’s been.” Miss Lovelace looked around the small salon, making sure no one was dusting, sweeping, or lingering nearby. “Have you told him yet?”
“It’s not a thing to put in a letter, so no,” Lisabeth said.
“Has he asked?”
“Constantine is very proper. He wouldn’t,” Lisabeth said in sadder tones.
“He should be dying to know. I dislike this, luv, I really, truly do.”
“No need,” Lisabeth said. “He’s sent for me. He hasn’t forgotten.”
“He’d better not,” Miss Lovelace muttered. “Or nobleman or not, your grandfather would have his bollocks hanging on his belt.”
“Lovey! That’s a terrible thing to say!” Lisabeth ruined her expression of disapproval with a giggle. “But Grandy would, wouldn’t he?”
“Aye. It’s pride and worry about you that would have him haring off to London armed to the teeth if your grand lord ever left you here to face things alone.”
“There’s nothing to face, and I’m never alone. Lovey?” Lisabeth asked softly, “what shall I do when I do go to see him?”
“What do you mean?” Miss Lovelace said, frowning.
“Well, the thing of it is—I’m no longer sure I should marry him.”
Miss Lovelace stood dumbstruck.
“What?” roared the captain as he strode into the room. “What’s this you say? Not marry him? Have you run mad?”
“You’ve been eavesdropping,” Lisabeth said.
“Of course! How else will I learn anything round here, what with everyone being so ladylike and fancy all of a sudden. What’s this you say? Not marry him?”
“I’ve been thinking,” Lisabeth said. “Hard. You said I didn’t have to marry if I didn’t want to, but when you said that, I was sure I wanted to. Now? I don’t know. Constantine was everything I ever dreamed about.” She sighed thinking of him. But now, though she could never forget how they’d made love in the sunshine, that glorious incident was fading from her memory, becoming indistinct, like some wonderful erotic dream she’d had about his ancestors in the deep of the night. None of it seemed real to her anymore.
“He was smart and worldly, clever and kind,” she said. “And yes, very like Captain Cunning in his looks, and like his bold father too. But he was prim and proper, and that was amazing to me since I’d never met anyone like him before.”
“He warmed up fast enough,” the captain growled.
“So he did,” Lisabeth said. “But see, I don’t know now which man was the real Lord Wylde and which the one I wanted him to be. There’s a big difference. I’m not cut out to be a Society lady, Grandy.”
Her grandfather and her old governess looked at her, standing in the sunlight that was coming through the windows. She wore a bright peach-colored gown, and she glowed, from head to toe. It was only her expression that was sad.
“I’ve read about the ton in the newspapers and periodicals. Miss Lovelace told me about them too. The gentlemen are charming. Look at Lord Blaise, and Lord Kendall. They’re different in many ways from each other and from Constantine, but there are similarities.”
“Aye! The very thing,” Miss Lovelace cried. “They both were smitten by you, and I think you could have either of them if you wanted.”
“I don’t, Lovey,” Lisabeth said. “If I wanted any gentleman, it would be Constantine. The point is that their expectations of a wife are the same, I think. But I don’t want to go to parties and balls every night. I don’t want a husband who needs a separate bedchamber, or who goes out every night never saying when he’ll return; one who expects to live a separate life from his wife. I’d kill a husband who took a mistress, and I hear it’s all the thing in circles of the ton. In short, I’ll never marry where my heart doesn’t lead me.”
“It led you into enough already,” her grandfather muttered. “Time to let your brain do some work.”
“It has, it is, that’s why I’m no longer sure.” She looked at him imploringly. “How can I be sure?”
He scowled.
Miss Lovelace frowned.
“Can never be sure,” her grandfather grumbled. “Can be married twenty years and still sometimes wonder if you acted too fast, and if you acted aright. I loved your grandmother, God alone knows, even though we bellowed at each other most of the time. She was the one for me. But still, I’ll tell you, when the wind blew in from the east sometimes, all perfumy, I remembered … Never mind what. What I’m saying is that you can never be sure. You just go where your heart tells you, I suppose.”
“Well,” Miss Lovelace said, “there are ways, little tests. Not that I’m qualified for giving such advice, for I never loved again, not after … well, that makes no matter. What I would do, love, is bring up the subject your grand lord is too prim to write about, and you’re too afraid to put in a letter. Then watch his face carefully. If he’s relieved, then you know there might be something wrong. If he looks sad, then you know he loves you truer than you do him. After, it’s up to you to decide what to do.”
“And if you don’t want Lord Wylde,” Miss Lovelace said, “you’ll be in the perfect place not to want him. We’ll stay in a fine hotel, you’ll have new stylish gowns, and you can finally wear all your jewels and meet fascinating new men.”
“Aye,” her grandfather interrupted, “you have a fortune of jewels to wear in your hair, on your neck, round your waist. They’ve been sitting in trunks too long. Some of them are from princesses and queens, that’s sure. And don’t worry, no one’s going to ask for them back, because they’ve been in the family for generations.”
“So if you decide Lord Wylde’s not for you,” Miss Lovelace said, “you can pick and choose from all the gents in London town.”
“And if I don’t want any of them?” Lisabeth asked sadly.
“Then any lad from hereabouts,” her grandfather said. “It’s time, don’t you think, my girl?”
“I do,” she said, sighing.
“And don’t worry,” her grandfather said, “I’d never push you to anything. Fact is, I don’t know what I’d do without you here.”
“I see,” Lisabeth said, her hands on her hips. “Then why did you go get Lord Wylde to come here in the first place?”
The captain’s face turned ruddy. “Never said I’d be averse to grandchildren,” he said.
She laughed, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. “Whatever else I do,” she said, smiling, “I’ll try to give you those.”
“Aye, grandchildren,” he repeated, “whose mother’s got a wedding ring on her finger, mind.”
Chapter Seventeen
The gentlemen were eyeing her. They were two exquisites, paragons of fashion and credits to their valets and tailors. One actually held up his quizzing glass to study her, the other simply goggled. Lisabeth looked straight ahead.
“If they don’t stop that, I’ll go over with a few choice words,” Miss Lovelace told her. “It’s a pity your grandfather isn’t here.”
They were sitting in the lobby of a fine hotel in the center of London, waiting for Lord Wylde. Lisabeth was dressed in the most elegant clothes she’d ever worn. Her village might not be a patch on London; in fact, she realized her entire village, ancient church included, would probably fit snugly on two, maybe three, if you included the village green, of London’s long streets. But the seamstress at home was a French émigrée, and Lisabeth believed there was no finer dressmaker in the world.
She wore a dashing new dark crimson walking dress, with a tiny fetching little mockery of a hat tilted on her high dressed hair, a gold shawl over her shoulders, new half boots, and an antique gold chain and locket at her throat. She was ready for London.
London seemed to think so too.
Lisabeth spoke through tightened lips as she avoided the eyes of the impertinent gentlemen. “Do they think I’m a tart?”
“With a chaperone sitting next to you who looks as tough and tight as an overcooked duck?” Miss Lovelace asked, fingering the white starched lace collar of her simple black walking dress. “I didn’t want to look like a madam, that’s why I put on this terrible thing. But maybe that’s the style now for a Covent Garden abbess. What do I know? I’ve been away from the trade a long time. In my day, procurers overdressed to get attention. Maybe now they underplay it. Any rate, I’ll wager they’re ogling you because you’re beautiful, you’re new, they don’t know me, or you, and so they don’t worry about who your father or your husband or your protector is. If they did, they’d slink away. Shall I tell them?”
“No, pay them no attention,” Lisabeth said. “When Lord Wylde gets here, he’ll deal with them.”
But Constantine didn’t. He came through the door of the hotel, glanced around, saw Lisabeth and came straight to her. The two gentlemen saw that, and left, promptly.
Lisabeth had eyes only for Constantine as she rose to her feet. If possible, he looked even more elegant than she’d remembered. His dark hair was brushed back; he wore a dark blue jacket, dun breeches, his linen was dazzling, his boots shone, his only ornament was the gold fob at his ruby-colored waistcoat. And his smile outshone all else.
The gentlemen she’d seen coming and going in the hotel this morning all seemed overly pomaded and overdressed by comparison. Lisabeth was delighted, proud, and a little frightened of Constantine. Again, she wondered if she knew this man, even considering all she’d shared with him.
He took her hand in his gloved one. “Lisabeth,” he said, “welcome.”
She looked into his eyes. He seemed sincere.
“This is no place to talk,” he said, looking around. “And it would cause talk if I went to your room. Certainly even more if you came to my house right now.”
Lisabeth’s spirits fell. If they were soon to be officially engaged, what did it matter? It only would matter if he had something to say that he couldn’t put in a letter. He’d asked her to London, and never said more. Had she misjudged him? Might she have gotten it the wrong way round? Could it be that he was too much the gentleman to end their relationship from a long distance?
“Good afternoon, Miss Lovelace,” he said, when he finally noticed the aged governess beaming at him. “Forgive me for not greeting you at once. Would you mind if we took a walk before luncheon? There’s a lovely park nearby, just down the street. The weather is clear, for now, and that way Lisabeth and I can have some privacy.”
“Aye, nothing is too far for young bones,” Miss Lovelace said sadly, putting a hand to her back. “But I’m not as young as I used to be.”
“I’d send for my own carriage but there’s a line of hacks for hire out front. That’s faster,” he said. “We’ll take an open carriage, and when we get to the park we can find you a bench in the sun. Does that suit you?”
Miss Lovelace smiled. Lisabeth hid her own smile, as well as her exasperation. Lovey could walk the legs off a woman half her age if there was gossip waiting at the end of the road. She just wanted to be able to hear everything that was said.
They began to walk out of the hotel, but were stopped by the sight of a gentleman coming in through the door. He was an older man, with a wrinkled face and bright blue eyes, and he was correctly, if soberly, dressed in black. He carried a fine ebony silver-headed walking stick, and swung it as he walked jauntily toward them.
“No!” Lisabeth gasped. “Grandy! You look … well, grand!”
“Had better,” her grandfather said, stroking his smooth chin. “Had me a shave from the best London barber this morning. And a haircut, by God. Though there was more to take off on my chin. Got myself dressed to the nines too. I decided to surprise you. Well, now that I don’t have to threaten anyone anymore, I can play at being one of the nobs.”
Lisabeth blushed. Her grandfather seemed oblivious to his implied insult to her and to Constantine.
So did Constantine. “You look very much the thing, sir,” he said. “You wouldn’t frighten anyone. Not that you ever had to, or did,” he added, smiling. “Now, what we can do is go to luncheon. The hotel sets a fine table. Would you care to join us?”
As the captain and Miss Lovelace eagerly agreed, Constantine bent his head and whispered to Lisabeth, “We can talk later,” he said. “We must.”
They had a superior luncheon. At least, Lisabeth thought so. The food was delicious, though she hardly tasted it. She feasted her eyes, instead, on Constantine, and she was filled with happiness.
They were eyed by other diners, but never stared at. Constantine nodded to a few acquaintances. He and his guests laughed and spoke of many things, but nothing remotely to do with an upcoming wedding, a canceled engagement, or plans beyond the next day.
“I thought to take Lisabeth to the theater tomorrow night,” Constantine said at the end of the meal. “Should you like that, Lisabeth?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
He looked at the other two at the table. “Should you care to come with us?”
“I have to,” Miss Lovelace said repressively.
“I would,” the captain said. “Haven’t seen a good knockabout farce in a long time.”
“It’s a production of Hamlet,” Constantine said.
“Good, I can get some sleep,” the captain said. “But there’s always a farce before or after, am I right?”
“You are,” Constantine agreed. He took a deep breath, and then leaned forward, and spoke, low. “But before that, Captain, what I’d really like is a chance to speak with your granddaughter, alone. How can we do that? It’s a mild afternoon; the sun’s still bright. I was thinking that if we all went to the park, you and Miss Lovelace could keep us in
sight, but Lisabeth and I might be able to speak freely for the first time in a long while.”
“Well and good,” the captain said, putting both hands on the table, so he could rise.
They were getting up when a bright-eyed gentleman with lacquered hair and a curling smile, dressed in the height of fashion, or maybe a bit above it, stopped by their table.
“Lord Wylde,” he said with a bow. “Well met. How are you this fine day? And please,” he said with a hand to his heart. “Can you introduce me to these two devastatingly attractive ladies, before I positively expire? Everyone at my table,” he added, shrugging one padded shoulder over to a table of gaping gentlemen, “keeps asking who they are. Could you, would you, please enlighten me?”
“Sir Carroll,” Constantine said smoothly, “allow me to introduce an old friend of the family: Captain Bigod; his lovely granddaughter, Lisabeth; and her charming companion, Miss Lovelace. They’re here visiting London, and I’m showing them the sights. Captain, Lisabeth, Miss Lovelace, allow me to present Sir Carroll, who will perish if he doesn’t know everything that’s going on in town.”
Everyone murmured greetings, Lisabeth dipped her head in a sketch of a bow. But her heart was troubled. She was being introduced only as an old friend visiting the city? She didn’t look at her grandfather; she didn’t want to see what expression he wore. She could swear she felt the vibrations of his growl.
In a few minutes, the foppish Sir Carroll bowed himself away and went back to his table to enlighten the men waiting for him.
“He’s the biggest gossip in England,” Constantine explained as they walked to the door. “I didn’t want him announcing our engagement before we do.”
“Oh, well then, aye,” the captain said, sounding mollified.
Lisabeth said nothing. She really did have to talk to Constantine, and alone, whether it was here or in the park, or in a closet, and before much more time went by.
They took a hack to the park, and true to his word, Constantine parked the captain and Miss Lovelace on a bench, took Lisabeth’s arm, and strolled away with her. They walked round and round an ornamental fountain, always in plain sight of their chaperones. It was a mild late summer’s day, and the park was crowded. The only privacy they had was when they made the turn around the fountain until they were exactly opposite her grandfather and Miss Lovelace. Then the water spouting from the stone dolphins playing around a marble Neptune provided a curtain of mist and spray, and hid them from sight. But even then, they weren’t completely alone. There were children frolicking around the fountain, trying to sail boats, or dip their fingers into the water, their busy nurses and nannies running after them.
