by Rizzo Rosko
He shrugged. “Perhaps.” He would make her no promises when he did not know the extent to her stay.
She did not cease her smiling. That smile revealed dimples under her eyes, lovely teeth, and she positively glowed. Like the horizon as the sun prepared to rise.
“I would like that very much, but I must be going back now. I have been away from Lady Gray for too long.”
He nodded while she curtsied, spun, then retreated. His eyes remained on the small of her back until she disappeared inside the castle.
He slapped the gloves into his open palm. Annoyance gripped him now that she was no longer standing before him. How was he expected to tell her such a horrendous thing about Ferdinand without harming her feelings?
Why did he have to feel guilty over it?
Chapter Six
"Lady Elizabeth, please, I canno' do this. If Lord Gray sees—"
"He shall not see." Elizabeth insisted while braiding Olma's thin, blonde hair in the same manner the little servant girl had done for her when she first arrived at the castle. Elizabeth did not know which Lord Gray Olma referred to, but she suspected that Olma did not care since either could have her punished for this.
"'Tis one dance. Ye shall be in and out of that room before anyone sees ye, and should anyone recognise ye, which they will not, I will take full responsibility."
The day of Marianne's celebration had finally arrived. Olma became more and more fearful when it became obvious to the serving girl that Elizabeth intended to go through with their plan. The poor girl nearly feinted when Elizabeth showed her the gown she would wear.
‘Twas a lovely cream colour that would brighten her hair without drawing too much attention to her during the dance.
Olma’s fright seemed to latch onto Elizabeth, yet dressing the servant girl gave Elizabeth something to keep her mind on other than the challenges she would face.
Tonight was perhaps her one chance to catch a husband, and her nerves nearly matched those of Olma's as the moment to be introduced to Blaise's friends, cousins, and whatnot, drew near.
She was six and twenty. Fortune would have to be smiling at her, kissing her hand, and shoving men in her direction for at least one potential husband to look at her without seeing a desperate old maid.
Olma groaned, thrusting Elizabeth out of her depressed musings.
She forced cheer into her voice. As long as she was focussing on Olma’s troubles then Elizabeth’s own worries seemed small. "Come now! Ye behave as though ye were not becoming the most beautiful lady before my eyes."
‘Twas true. Anyone who looked at Olma would never guess what her true station was.
"I am no lady. The gown itches." Olma complained, scratching her arms.
Elizabeth smiled brightly. If they were becoming comfortable enough around each other that Olma felt she could complain then at least there was hope. "The itching shall pass, and ye are correct, ye are no lady, but tonight, for a quarter hour, ye shall be one!"
Elizabeth stepped back to admire her work.
The gown she chose truly was a lovely one. Lord Gray had been good to his word and provided Elizabeth with no less than twenty gowns, each a variety of colors that made Elizabeth's head swim as she fantasized about wearing each of them.
"'Tis only a little something to show my appreciation for what ye have done for Blaise." Lord Gray had said as the servants held out the gowns for her inspection.
Hot guilt flooded her face, and she looked upon the gowns with a new dread when the words left his mouth. If only he knew the truth, he would have her lashed and thrown into the cold to provide for herself once more. "Milord, 'tis too much for me to accept."
He waved his hand as though batting a fly. "Nonsense. Ye shall be lovely in these, and besides, not all of these are new. Marianne is so round now that she cannot fit into her own gowns. She offered some of her own as gifts."
New gowns as well as gifts from the lady of the castle. Elizabeth would burn in hell for her crime.
She forced a smile and thanked Lord Gray for the gifts. She also asked him to thank Lady Gray since she was not there to witness Elizabeth's joy at having received such fine garments.
Elizabeth knew the only way to counteract her evil deed of accepting so much after deceiving the entire castle was to do as much good as possible. She would aid Olma in taking her happiness, whether the servant girl liked it or not.
If she did not win Sir James's heart then the man was a fool who did not deserve her. The cream coloured gown she wore did make her look like nobility rather than a simple serving maid.
Though Elizabeth had no jewels to place on the girl's neck or ears, she knew Olma would rather die than wear them, and so made no comment. Perhaps the lack of such things would ensure that no added attention was brought onto the poor girl.
The tight sleeves and tied corset showed off a lovely figure, and while Elizabeth had worked hard to braid Olma's hair properly, she knew that 'twas not as well done as it should be. A few strands of hair came undone and trickled down the side of her face, tickling her cheeks.
Elizabeth leaned closer to examine her mistake. How queer, it seemed to highlight her high cheekbones and make her appear prettier. Olma's embarrassment brought a rose color to her flesh, which made her look lovelier than what should be possible.
"I am thinking I should pick an uglier gown since ye will likely draw the attention of every knight in the castle looking as ye do."
Olma's cheeks reddened further. Good. Elizabeth wanted her to keep that color.
"I feel naked." Olma whispered.
With any luck she would be before the night ended. As long as she became naked for James, of course.
"Do not be foolish. Ye are a vision. I am concerned that all the attention shall be stolen away from me when ye enter the Great Hall."
Olma's shoulders stiffened. "I thought I would not be making an entrance?"
Elizabeth picked imaginary hairs from the gown, giving an image of calm indifference before clasping Olma's shaking hands. "I was merely jesting. Remember what I told ye?"
Olma nodded. "I shall ‘ide outside of the Great Hall until everyone is present, then enter. Once I see James away from anyone else, I shall approach him."
"Very good. And remember that should ye to speak to him, do so quietly so that no other lord or lady hears that accent ye have."
"Aye, Lady Elizabeth." Olma said, then sighed. "I am still in a shake all over that ye 'ave convinced me to do this. I almost pray that I do not see 'im alone."
"What a thing to say! Do ye want the man to love ye or not?"
She bowed her head. "I do, but—"
"Then, 'tis settled. Stop being a mouse and take what yer heart wants. Dance one dance, and escape before anyone sees that ye do not belong. After seeing what an angel ye are he'll surely be mad to turn ye away."
Olma smiled. Elizabeth gripped her hands firmer before leading her out the door of her chamber. "I shall go to see Lady Gray and accompany her to the Great Hall, ye must run downstairs and keep well hidden until all the guests have arrived.
"I will."
***
Blaise kept his eyes trained on the road through the small window in his room. The guests, friends and relatives of the family, travelled on the road leading straight to Graystone. Many more had already arrived early, and more still were expected to come. Still, the sight of the scraggly line of moving dots eased his spirits.
James lounged behind him. "Ye must be lookin' forward to dancing with yer betrothed. She certainly must be, as all women seem to enjoy their dances."
Blaise clenched his fist against the stone wall. "For the last time, Eliza is not my betrothed. 'Twas simply a jest she spoke of."
A jest that Blaise now desired to be reality, it seemed, but as it was not, he could not claim it to be the truth.
He clenched his teeth. Ridiculous that he could even contemplate such a thing. He was merely going to speak with the woman. Distract her so that she could not trap some poor soul into
an unwanted marriage.
An image of her dancing and laughing with another man, laughing and smiling that same smile she gave to Blaise when he danced with her, brought a rush of anger into his veins.
How dare she—
"'Tis a lucky woman who can make such a jest and not suffer the consequences of a false story," James said, interrupting his thoughts.
Blaise turned as the words lifted him from the building fury. James eyed him as though he still didn't quite believe Blaise’s earlier statement.
"'Tis not her fault ye fools all believed it when clearly 'twas a jest." Blaise snapped.
James lowered his head, his mouth twisting as though biting back a reply.
Blaise turned back to the window. As the guests arrived and the castle filled with people expecting good food, ale, and music, Blaise's spirits became more and more anxious.
It had already been explained to the servants that Elizabeth indeed found him and rescued him, but not that she had rescued him from a rain puddle. As far as the inhabitants of the castle knew, she discovered him wounded and unconscious, and nursed him back to health.
'Twas the same story he planned to tell any guest who asked. He did not want to be degraded by the other knights by having the truth spoken of behind his back in barely concealed sniggers. ‘Twould be one more thing on top of his not so secret parentage to add to the whispering that concerned him.
‘Twas not all he was anxious of. Was Eliza already inside the Great Hall? Perhaps dancing in a group or in another man’s arms?
The thought made him wish to rush inside like a man running from the devil. His fists became clenched boulders once again. He would not allow it! She would only dance with him!
Blaise pushed himself away from the window. "Shall we enter?"
James's spirits perked as he stood a full inch taller, apparently at the thought of finally presenting himself so that he might attract a wealthy bride.
Blaise sincerely hoped the man succeeded this time, Lord knew he deserved it.
"Aye, milord."
When they arrived the wooden doors were already open so that any guest could simply walk inside. Music and gossip floated through the air like a thick cloud above the hall.
Two groups of no less than ten danced in a wide circle, coming together before spreading out again like a ripple in a pond between the tables.
Men and women laughed noisily, spoke with full mouths, and drank entire goblets of ale in one go. Some guests were already drunk and stumbling over their benches as they reached for the pitcher.
A woman with golden hair and a sharp chin, wearing a blue, jewel incrusted gown that matched her eyes bumped into him. Blaise took her by her skinny arms and pulled her off of him. She righted her hair and he recognised Lady Claire, daughter of his cousins, Lord and Lady Seacliffe.
Her eyes flew to his hair. Though they were glazed from over indulgence, recognition dawned and she made a quick and clumsy curtsy as he held her. “Lord Blaise! I had wondered when ye would grace us. Would ye care to dance?”
“Nay, I apologize but I have pressing matters to attend to.” Blaise shoved her off onto the nearest group of dancers before she could protest. Like a hawk weaving through trees in a forest, Blaise avoided anymore confrontations with women eager for a husband.
He stopped for a moment to gathering his bearings and sought out the face he wished to see most. He stood still for too long as drunk and overly happy guests quickly surrounded him on all sides, limiting his view of the room.
“Milord! ‘Ave an ale wi’ me! It ‘as been too long since we spoke as friends!”
Blaise never saw the man before in his life.
He tried to turn away but an over eager woman pushed her daughter, who could be no older than thirteen, at him. “Lord Blaise! May I introduce my daughter—?”
“Ye may not.” Blaise weaved around her.
Damn! His hair stood out like a beacon. It made him too easy of a target. He should have worn a helmet, or dyed it, anything to have kept him away from the questions he did not wish to answer now that he allowed himself to be trapped.
"Quite the woman ye've found. Though are ye sure 'tis wise to marry 'er? She may 'ave saved yer life an' all, but she's still a peasant." Said one older man, Blaise couldn't remember his name.
"We are not to be wed." Blaise said, inwardly cursing that the rumour had spread so quickly. A painful twinge entered his chest at the reminder that ‘twas merely a jest, and he cursed again.
A shocked feminine voice to his right stole his attention. "I had hoped the rumour of a woman finally melting yer heart was the truth. Pity ‘tis not. She is such a stunning creature."
‘Twas his cousin who spoke, Lady Anne Seacliffe. She was an older version of her sixteen year old daughter, though she had the grace to keep from overindulging in wine. Her expression was that of a crestfallen woman who had been denied her chance at romantic gossip.
Her sentence finally struck him. Blaise's body tightened, ready to search out the woman who made jealousy stir so easily within him once again. "Ye've seen her? Where is she?"
Lady Seacliffe's stricken expression transformed to confusion at his eager question. She looked to where a new dance took place among partners of two only. "I believe she is dancing with Sir Steele. Marianne already introduced me to her. She is quite ladylike despite her upbringing."
Blaise ignored her and pushed through the crowds, avoiding anyone he knew who might want to ask him questions about his rescue and false betrothal.
His eyes found her like one of his falcons that found a field mouse. Her gown was a rose red color that was so rich it seemed to accent her shimmering brown hair. Pink stitching laced the gown and bodice that lifted her breasts. She drew the attention of every lord and knight around her, looking as beautiful as she did with her wide smile.
Blaise stared at her and melted, then glared at her partner who spun her around and stood too close. Indeed, she danced with Sir Ian Steele, and Blaise’s teeth clamped together.
Ian had been one of the few his father bothered with fostering while letting his castle fall into ruin. While they had been close at first, eventual rivalry to see who could be the better paige, better squire, and later who would be knighted first turned their once thriving friendship sour.
Blaise’s eyes narrowed to arrow slits. The bastard had likely heard the rumour of their engagement and was choosing to dance with her solely to be spiteful.
How dare he dance with Blaise’s betrothed!
Ian's hands found Elizabeth's waist, and she gripped his arms in preparation for when he lifted her into the air. He then twirled her with a finer grace than what Blaise had used to cause that delightful laugh to escape her lips.
Blaise’s face heated as their hands connected. Their eyes never left each other’s as they turned in accordance with the dance
Blaise's feet worked before his mind could catch up, and he marched over to put an end to their growing infatuation. Or at least, to Elizabeth's growing infatuation as she openly stared at Ian with nothing less than godly admiration. She did not seem to notice that the man was nearly drunk off his feet, nor the apparent lust in his eyes.
Was the girl mad? Considering the profession of her mother Blaise would have thought that 'twould be obvious why the man stared at her in such a fashion. If she was not careful this night she would be bedded, and not necessarily by her choice, before being tossed aside.
Blaise stopped his angry march.
Unless allowing herself to be seduced was her goal all along. If Eliza truly did seek a husband, then perhaps she wished to be taken in the hopes that the man who did it would wed her. How many times had she gone through with such a plan? If at all?
Blaise shook himself. 'Twas only a few days ago when he decided that her heart was too pure to not trust, and now he brought up these foolish fantasies.
His father was right. Blaise would never find love and marriage if he did not learn to let go of what his mother and Robert ha
d done.
Ian leaned down to whisper something into her ear. Eliza giggled and held his hands tightly into hers. Blaise used it as the fuel he needed to claw his hand about her shoulder and spin her so that she might face his angered visage.
"We shall dance." He ordered, stealing her hand and pulling her away from Ian, who stood silently as though unaware his partner had been stolen from him.
Eliza herself seemed to be in a daze since her struggles did not begin until 'twas almost too late. She attempted to pry his hand from hers with her fingernails but he refused to be moved despite the sting. He yanked her roughly so that she stood with her body against to his, both awaiting the lutes and drums to start again.
Elizabeth seethed into his ear. "Are ye mad? What is the meaning of this?"
He refused to look her in the eyes. He kept his gaze trained over her head, watching in case Ian attempted to steal her back. He would not tell her the true reason he stole her away, but he still needed a likely excuse.
"Nearly everyone in the castle believes that we are to be wed, entirely because of ye. Because of the gossip half the guests seem to believe 'tis true as well. Until that rumour has dissolved, I shall not see ye acting like a..." He nearly said a word she would likely never forgive him for. "Acting so impulsively with Sir Steele."
Her face turned to a shade of crimson that matched her gown, she pressed her cheek to his shoulder to hide the burst of color. She believed him.
Even though she believed his half-truth, he could not bring himself to feel any relief for it. The warm heat of her cheek against the spot so close to his neck brought the strange sense that she fit there perfectly. Her dark hair sat right under his nose where it picked up the clean scent.
Blaise couldn’t resist inhaling it like he’d done at the mews.
Seemingly unaware of his behaviour, Eliza muttered. "'Tis not my fault those fools believed me."
He nearly laughed out loud. "'Tis exactly what I said."
The music started again, and Blaise stepped into the dance with her as casually as though he danced every day. Eliza followed his steps with the same ease.
