by Julia Donner
Elizabeth frowned at the card in her hand and set it aside. She removed the spectacles from her nose and rubbed at the indentations before standing. “I will see Lord Asterly now. Only to please you. But, Crimm, for going beyond the call of duty, I shall expect something tastier than gruel for luncheon.”
“But of course, Mrs. Shelton. Cook is slicing Westphalian ham. I believe there is an asparagus sauce to go with it. A gateau chocolat with strawberries and cream for a sweet. Pear compote, cheese and almonds to follow. Nothing out of the ordinary but not gruel.”
Wrestling down a grin, she pouted. “No bread and butter, Crimm?”
“If you wish, ma’am.”
She rewarded him with a prim smile she knew would be ruined by the mischief in her eyes she could never conceal. “Thank you, Crimm. Lead the way.”
Before exiting, Elizabeth paused to check her appearance in a long mirror and judged her gown adequate for receiving callers. She inspected her cuffs for telltale smudges from the quill she’d used as a marker to run down the columns on the ledger’s thick vellum pages.
She paused when she caught herself searching for ink stains on her fingers, a habit that never failed to rekindle painful memories. At seminary, the cruel barbs were a constant source of embarrassment. One classmate, Lady Gertrude Warrick, took especial pleasure in spiteful reminders of Elizabeth inferior origins.
Pinching her lips together, she vowed to one day conquer past pain and free herself of what amounted to little more than childish taunts. But to a lonely child, the roots of those wounds delved deep and scarred deeper.
Elizabeth averted her face from the mirror and banished memories that profited nothing. She nodded for Crimm to open the book-room door. He followed her up the wide staircase to the second floor.
Crimm dismissed the footman with an almost indiscernible flick of his fingers and glided in front of Elizabeth to reach for the saloon door. His particular care of her always made her smile inside, but this time, a curious anxiety annulled her sense of humor. She had the oddest impression that something important waited on the other side of the door, something life-changing and monumental.
Her caller stood at the window overlooking the street, presenting Elizabeth with a view of his military straight, wide-shouldered back. A morning coat of bottle-green hadn’t been so tightly constructed as to designate her visitor a slave to fashion—a relaxed cut meant for comfort, not style. Snug buckskins revealed the athletic limbs of a physically active man. His sand-colored hair, wavy and dry on top, was damp and darkened near his collar, showing where his hat protected him from the cold morning rain now letting up outside. Even before she saw his face, she felt she knew him—sensed a yearning pull, as if they shared an invisible connection.
Lord Asterly’s movements were fluid and controlled when he pivoted to greet her. A prickling sensation of physical awareness skittered across her skin. She’d never felt anything like it but knew exactly what it was—attraction, mesmerizing, almost uncomfortably intense
The baron’s tanned, lean face looked worn and harshly handsome but impatiently remote, as if plagued by constant introspection. His jaw line suggested a character not easily swayed.
Elizabeth watched her caller make a swift, impersonal assessment of her character and person. She knew herself to have been thoroughly studied in that brief moment of inspection. His stark, calculating expression softened, and even showed a trace of wonder, when she acknowledged him with a welcoming smile.
She imagined herself through her guest’s eyes—a modishly gowned young matron who favored understatement in her clothes. The mauve frock had been designed on severe lines with no frills—the half-mourning she preferred to wear even though she could have put her mourning colors away a year ago. Devon would have scolded her for not moving on with her life.
Elizabeth swallowed a nervous chuckle at the sudden recollection of the silly tricks Devon did to calm her insecurities, especially before meeting someone new. She almost let slip a peep of humor as she speculated what her austere and dignified caller would think if she suddenly burst out with a nervous laugh. Something about him turned her brain to mush. His direct, keen stare made every nerve stand on end. She really had to get hold of her flying emotions.
Thankfully, Crimm rescued her by announcing, “Major Lord Asterly.”
M.L.Rigdon (writing as Julia Donner) grew up in historic Galena, IL and spent most of her time in the museum of her aunt, who encouraged her interest in history and understood the need to cherish a dream. She started writing in her teens and never stopped, merging it with her mother’s encouragement to study theatre and music, which led to performing in the Midwest, California and as far away as Austria. Her favorite genre is fantasy, but since she loves reading everything, Rigdon also writes contemporary, romance, and YA.
Photo by: Dean Musser Jr. / The Journal Gazette, FT. Wayne, IN
