Marry Christmas (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Jane Goodger

  “Have you received upsetting news?”

  Rand stood in the doorway, his eyes hard, taking in her tears as if they were highly offensive.

  “I was just reading a letter from Maggie,” she said, her voice thick with tears.

  He walked casually into the room. “May I?” he asked, holding out his hand for the letter.

  “It’s private,” she said, clutching the letter tighter. If he read the letter, he would surely think she was crying because Henry had married, and that was not at all what her tears were about.

  “It’s of no consequence,” he said blandly. “I believe I already know what news it contains. Your father wrote me, you see. I like your father. He’s an honest man.”

  Elizabeth looked at him and knew exactly what her father had written. She lowered her eyes, so filled with shame and remorse, she could not look at him.

  He tilted his head, a mocking gesture of commiseration. “You’ll get over him.”

  She swallowed and shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

  She watched his fists clench, and then, as if realizing what he was doing, he slowly unfurled them. “Are you saying, my dear, that I don’t understand what it is like to be betrayed?” His voice was so calm, but Elizabeth could hear the fury beneath it.

  She shook her head and looked up at him. “You don’t understand why I am crying. I’m so s-s-sorry,” she said.

  He looked sharply away and let out a short, humorless laugh. “Finally, something we have in common. I’ll not be bothering you tonight. I’m sure you don’t mind.”

  “No. I don’t mind,” she whispered, looking dully at the carpet and waiting for him to leave.

  Chapter 24

  Rand was away in London when Elizabeth began to suspect she was pregnant. Her monthlies had always been exceedingly regular, even on that terrible Atlantic crossing. And now she was a week late, her breasts felt decidedly odd, and she was more afraid than she ever had been in her life.

  She did not want to be pregnant. She wanted her husband back.

  Unfortunately, he disappeared to London the night he’d received her father’s letter, the night he discovered her crying in her room. She never got the chance to explain to him why she’d been crying, how terrible she felt about what she’d done. And part of her knew he would not have believed her anyway. He’d caught her in a lie; if there was one lesson she’d remembered from childhood it was that no one believed a liar.

  She’d been five years old and had broken a priceless vase. Horrified, she hid the pieces in a cabinet only to have them discovered by a maid. When her mother asked if she knew who broke the vase, she’d made a very convincing wide-eyed denial. “What vase?” she’d asked.

  Everyone in the house was interviewed; her mother had been in a rage. Someone broke the vase, someone was lying about it. Elizabeth could still remember huddling on the stairs peering through the banister at the poor servants being chastised, at the fear on their faces that they would get dismissed, for that is exactly what her mother threatened. That night, with the threat of dismissal hanging over everyone’s heads, Elizabeth had not been able to sleep. She knew what she had to do. Feeling slightly ill, and more afraid than she’d ever been, she’d padded barefoot to her mother’s room and confessed. And her mother had said, “You lied to me, Elizabeth. I will never believe you again. No one believes a liar.”

  And now, Rand had caught her in a lie, a terribly damning one, and she knew he would never believe her. She’d told him she had not seen Henry when she had, when she’d taken his gift and worn it around her neck. He had not believed her when she’d told him she’d forgotten about the necklace, and he certainly would not believe her when she tried to explain her tears over the letter. Frankly, she could not blame him for his skepticism.

  For two excruciatingly long weeks, Rand had been absent from Bellewood without a single word as to where he was. He could have sailed back to America for all she knew.

  Swallowing her pride, she turned to Mrs. Stevens, who seemed to know everything that went on in the house. The thought of going to a servant to find the whereabouts of her own husband was beyond humiliating, but she didn’t care. She wanted him back and she was going to get him.

  “Why he’s with Lord Hollings, of course. At his house in Hanover Square.”

  “Oh, of course,” Elizabeth said, laughing lightly. “He mentioned that but I quite forgot. Would you happen to know the precise address? I need to go to London to order some draperies for the library.”

  Mrs. Stevens looked a bit confused. “But they just put them up two days ago. Lovely forest green ones.”

  “I don’t like them,” Elizabeth said, trying to sound like her mother. “Now that they’re up, I do believe a deep burgundy would look so much better. But I’m not certain of the precise shade. I have to select them personally. I cannot depend on His Grace to pick the proper color.”

  “Of course not. Mr. Tisbury should have that information, Your Grace,” she said.

  “Good. I shall leave today, in fact. Sally has my bags packed already. If you could tell Mr. Tisbury I need a porter to bring them out to the carriage.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  Elizabeth smiled serenely, even though her insides were roiling with nervousness. What on earth was she doing? she thought in a panic. Surely Rand would not be pleased to see her, especially when he was visiting a friend. But she didn’t know what else to do. What could be keeping him away from home for so long? Other than the fact he loathed his wife, she thought sardonically.

  Elizabeth arrived in London that evening, having the driver bring her directly to Lord Hollings’s lovely home on Hanover Square. It was well lit and surrounded by traffic, fine carriages, well-dressed men and women, almost as if…

  Her carriage got in a queue with the other carriages and Elizabeth peeked out to see a woman disembarking from a carriage wearing a formal gown of red silk.

  “Looks like a bit of a fete,” the driver called down.

  “Yes, it does,” she said loud enough for him to hear over the din of traffic. She drew her head in, using curses she’d only heard from the workmen when they’d errantly beat their thumb with a hammer. There was nothing for her to do but join the party, she realized. It was far too late to return to Bellewood. The horses, not to mention the driver and footman, were likely exhausted. She was feeling especially weary herself. She didn’t know where to go, a woman alone in London, a city she’d visited only with her mother briefly and with Rand when she’d met his mother. They’d stayed at a fine hotel, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember its name or where it was. Sitting in her carriage in the queue for a ball, Elizabeth felt the sting of unshed tears.

  “No,” she said to herself. “I am not a child any longer and I refuse to act like one.” She took a fortifying breath and resolved to enter the building alone with some excuse she’d likely come up with as soon as someone asked who she was. Oh, Lord.

  Elizabeth looked down at her wrinkled dress and grimaced. She’d known she was traveling all day and hadn’t worn her best day gown, but her most comfortable—a simple navy blue gown with lace embellishment at the sleeves and modest neckline. She looked more like a well-dressed governess than the new Duchess of Bellingham. There was nothing to do now but lift her chin and act like the duchess she was. Perhaps the London elite would forgive her; after all, she was an American.

  When the carriage reached the head of the queue, her footman leaped down, lowered the steps, and swung open the door. He seemed to know this was an unexpected development, for he gave her a shy smile of commiseration as he helped her from the carriage. Taking a deep bracing breath, Elizabeth stepped into a short line of well-dressed, well-heeled men and women and pretended she belonged among them. When it was her turn to cross the threshold, the footman took a step toward her. It was not quite menacing, but rather a polite, “Who the hell do you think you are?” sort of movement. She just adored English servants.

  “P
lease inform Lord Hollings that the Duchess of Bellingham is here,” she said, softly enough so no one would hear. Then she added unnecessarily, “He is not expecting me.”

  To his credit, the footman didn’t bat an eye, but escorted her to a small private room not far from the large foyer, no doubt hoping he’d done the right thing and she was, indeed, the Duchess of Bellingham. Minutes later, Elizabeth almost collapsed with relief when she saw Lord Hollings’s smiling face.

  “My goodness, Your Grace. How unexpected.”

  Elizabeth gave him a sick smile. “I didn’t know you were having a ball. I didn’t write ahead because, because…”

  “You didn’t want to give Rand the chance to escape?” he guessed with pinpoint precision.

  “Is he here?”

  Edward scowled. “Unfortunately, yes. And if you’ve come to take him home, I’ll go find him now, truss him up and deliver him to your carriage.”

  Elizabeth found herself laughing for the first time in days. “That’s not necessary. The truth is, I don’t know London very well and I wasn’t certain of my reception here. But I made no other accommodations.”

  Edward took pity on her. “Not to worry, Madam. I’ll find Rand directly and the two of you can hash out what happens next. In the meantime, can I get something for you to eat? Or drink? A sherry perhaps?”

  Elizabeth hadn’t realized how hungry she was until just that moment. She’d taken a bit of food with her on the carriage, but hadn’t eaten for hours. “That would be wonderful.”

  “I shall return shortly to escort you to my private study where you might eat something while I find Rand.”

  Given that the house was not overly large, Elizabeth couldn’t imagine that finding Rand would take that much effort, but she said nothing as Lord Hollings disappeared. As she sat, she could hear an orchestra playing and the general mumbling of a large crowd of people. Rising, she peeked out into the foyer, and finding it empty, thought she’d take a quick look into the ballroom. Double doors were flung open wide and from the hall she saw a few couples dance past, women’s skirts twirling and men’s tails flying out during the lively polka. How she missed balls and dancing and wearing her finest ball gowns. She hadn’t thought she would miss such frivolities, but she did. The music and gaiety drew her closer and to her lonely eyes it looked like everyone was having a grand time. She knew better, of course, and couldn’t count the number of times she wished to be removed from just such a ball. But at this moment, it seemed like this was the most wonderful fete.

  And then she saw Rand and stiffened. Everyone, it seemed, was having a grand time. Particularly Rand.

  He was dancing with a beautiful blond girl, laughing at something witty she’d no doubt just uttered. He was dancing and having a good old time while she’d been pining away in his cold mansion in the middle of nowhere being miserable and downright lonely. And pregnant. Don’t forget she was carrying his child, which he’d deposited in her with about as much emotion as a man delivering milk to her door. The music stopped and the floozy curtsied, dimpling up at him, while he bowed then held out his arm to escort her off the floor. They stopped to chat with another couple, all smiling, all without a worry in the world while Elizabeth watched, hungry, wearing a downright ugly and wrinkled dress, with her hair all frizzy from the damp weather and her stomach so empty she thought she might faint. She actually thought about it, how awful he would feel if she fainted right at that moment. Everyone would turn and gasp and run to her and he would exclaim that she was his wife and they would look at him as if he was the ogre he truly was. He would be found out finally. No Saint Rand, but a mean and cruel husband who would leave his poor pregnant wife in her ugly dress to go out dancing.

  But no. Even pregnant and hungry, she wouldn’t faint. She would, however, leave. Imagine, her coming to London to find him, to throw herself at his feet and beg forgiveness for having the audacity to fall in love with someone, then feel slightly put out when she was forced to marry a stranger. Put that way, it was all quite Rand’s fault, she decided.

  Certainly she could find the carriage and find her way to a hotel. She was the Duchess of Bellingham. No hotel would turn her away. At least, she didn’t think they would. Right now, she didn’t care. She wanted only to get away from this lovely scene filled with lovely happy people and her husband who was having far too much fun without her.

  Minutes later, Lord Hollings returned to the small room having arranged for the duchess to have a light meal in his private study while he calmed his friend down. He knew Rand would be extremely agitated when he told him his wife had arrived unexpectedly and he wanted to give Rand a chance to recover his wits before showing him where he’d put her. It wouldn’t do to have a scene in the middle of his ball.

  He entered the room and looked about, baffled. It was a small room, so it took only a moment for him to realize the duchess was gone. “Bloody hell.”

  Rand saw Edward coming toward him, his face grim, and decided to turn around and hope his friend would go away and leave him alone. No doubt he had another woman he would insist he dance with as a way to get his mind off his new wife. He’d danced with Edward’s little sister, it was the least he could do, but he’d be damned if he danced with anyone else. If anything, attending this ball was making him more miserable than he already was. Every waltz reminded him of Elizabeth. Every woman with brown hair, every one with blue eyes. With breasts, even. They all reminded him that he wished he was with her instead of here. Until he reminded himself that he’d been even more miserable with her around.

  “Rand. Damn it, man, stop,” he heard Edward say close to his ear. “Elizabeth is here.”

  Rand stopped as if he’d hit a rock wall, and spun around, nearly bumping into his friend. “Here?”

  “Well, she was here. But I can’t find her.”

  “Here in this house? And you can’t find her?”

  Edward nodded. “I told her to wait in the front room while I prepared my sitting room and ordered a small meal for her but when I returned she was gone,” he said quietly, obviously aware than a missing duchess would be quite a story for the gossips.

  “Why was she here?” Rand said, completely confused.

  “I don’t know. She didn’t say. And I didn’t ask. Perhaps she is here for the same reason you are here.”

  “I am here to get away from her,” Rand said pointedly.

  “Perhaps she has taken exception to that.”

  Rand looked wildly around the room as if he might find her standing on the sides watching the dancers. “Why would she come all this way only to leave?” he wondered aloud. Then it dawned on him. Elizabeth would not be content to sit still. A woman who had traveled four hours to get to him would not wait for him to come to her. She would get up, look about…and find him dancing with a beautiful blonde.

  “This is your fault,” he said accusingly to Edward.

  “Of course it is,” he said dryly.

  “She must have seen me dancing with your damned sister, beg pardon. No offense meant.”

  “None taken.”

  Rand strode from the ballroom ignoring the curious stares of onlookers, knowing Edward would follow him. He walked to the last place they knew Elizabeth had been, the small front room. Rand stood looking dumbly about the room as if she might suddenly appear. “Who knows she’s here?” he asked.

  “No one. I haven’t begun a search as yet. We’ll have to be discreet, of course.”

  Rand sighed. Elizabeth’s position in the peerage was tentative at best, even that she was a duchess. She was an American, so it would take very little scandal for this group to cast aspersions on her character. A duchess wandering about alone in London would be just such a thing.

  “I’ll go out and see if your carriage is still about,” Edward said. “She can’t have gone far, Rand.”

  Four hours later, with the house now empty of guests, Rand was frantic. Elizabeth had, indeed, disappeared. The carriage and driver had been found quickly behind
the mansion in the mews, where the grooms were still rubbing down the tired horses. Edward’s footman had not been asked to call for a hack and he didn’t recall seeing the duchess, but that did not mean she hadn’t slipped by with other guests. Rand couldn’t imagine her walking the streets alone. Surely Elizabeth knew better than that.

  “She doesn’t know this city. It’s far more dangerous to her than New York. She’s a stranger here,” Rand said, feeling desperation seep into his veins. “Where could she be?” he shouted.

  Edward could only shake his head, as upset and be wildered as his friend.

  Rand had never in his life been more frustrated. And more frightened. The more time that passed, the greater his fear. It was completely out of character for Elizabeth to have come all the way to London alone, and then to dis appear so quickly made it all seem like a horrible dream.

  “Where could she be?” he said on a note of pure despair. He wanted to scream, to rip something apart, to shake Edward until he somehow got an answer.

  “It may be time to call Scotland Yard,” Edward said, his tone measured. “I’ll have my man send over a message. Once they’re involved…”

  Rand roughly tunneled his fingers through his hair, as if trying to purge what was happening from his mind.

  “Yes. You’re right.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

  “I’ll be right back. You’re all right?”

  Rand looked up at his friend, not even attempting a reassuring smile.

  “Right, then. We’ll find her, Rand. We will.”

  Rand sat, his arms dangling from his knees limply, his head down, completely exhausted. He’d been all over London in the past four hours, visiting innumerable hotels, even ones he knew Elizabeth would never consider. He’d had to pretend as if nothing was untoward, that he was simply confused about which hotel his wife said she’d be staying at. He’d had to smile when his gut felt like it was being twisted in two when he’d been told time after time that, no, the duchess had not been seen. “Where are you, Elizabeth?” he whispered raggedly.