Elizabeth, The Enchantress

by Lavinia Kent

  “Only you can answer that question. But it is actually one more reason why you should patch things up with Linnette. You can trust us all—including her. And she has more experience with men than any of the rest of us. And despite your reputation, I think that you may need that.”

  Something in Kathryn’s tone caused Elizabeth to raise her head. “Why do you say that?”

  It was Kathryn’s turn to lower her tone. “Annie and I were talking, and neither of us can remember a man who was actually known to be your lover. Oh, that is not quite true. There were a couple in the beginning, but anyone with sense knew they were not men who actually took lovers—at least not of the feminine variety. We—Annie and I—have concluded that you have never taken a lover, or that if you have, he was not very satisfying.”

  What was there to say to that? Elizabeth wished she had a clever reply, but none came. All she could think was that her friends knew her so well, while her husband was ready to believe without question. “Does it matter if I have had lovers?”

  Kathryn took her by her arm and led her toward the retiring room. “Come, I see your husband beginning to look for you, and I trust this is not a conversation you wish him to hear.”

  “No, you are correct.”

  In a moment they were in the chamber, which thankfully was vacant except for a single maid sitting on a stool in the corner. She looked up as they entered, but looked away again when it was clear they did not need her help.

  Kathryn seated herself at one of the mirrored tables designed to allow women to fix their hair. “Let me get back to what I was saying. If you wish to begin a relationship with your husband, a physical relationship, then it does matter if you have had a lover—and also what your husband believes about you. This is one place where honesty is extremely important.”

  “I am not sure that this is the place for this discussion.” Elizabeth glanced at the maid, who was staring at the floor, but still could be listening.

  “You are right—and it was not what I wanted to talk about anyway. You must talk to Linnette. We cannot let this go on. Remember how we all supported Annabelle and corrected the rumors about Tattingstong and his second family? We can do the same for you—and for Westhampton—but we must stand united. If Linnette refrains from comment on the matter, everyone will wonder what she knows. It will appear that there is another, greater secret to be learned. If instead she supports you, then everyone will believe her. If she gives some explanation—no matter how unbelievable—for your husband’s sudden departure and long absence, everyone will believe her. She slapped you, she is plainly not one of your greatest supporters, and that will add credence to her words.”

  “I sense there is more you are not saying.”

  Kathryn sagged back, very different from the perfect duchess she normally portrayed. “Yes, there is more. I need you. I need Linnette. I have learned this past month how important my female friends are. I do not want to be without you—without either of you.” She sat up again. “I am going to find Linnette—and Annie and Annabelle. We will all meet on the terrace in half an hour and then stroll through the garden. The two of you will talk—and make-up.” The last was said with such a tone of command that Elizabeth wanted to smile. She could suddenly picture just what a power Kathryn would be in a few years.

  “I will be there,” she answered simply. “Although, I am not quite sure how I’ll explain it all to Westhampton. He seemed loathe to be separated for even as long as it took me to come here.” At least she wanted to think that he had—she could think of no reason why he would pretend such attentiveness if it was not what he was feeling, if he did not wish to keep her close to him, and only to him.

  Kathryn rose and left the room, and Elizabeth took a moment to refresh herself and to make sure her hair was still in place. It tended to be so heavy and straight that it could pull from its pins at a moment’s notice. Smoothing back the few escaping tendrils, she stood and turned to go downstairs to her husband.

  It was a relief not to meet anyone in the hall. It was starting to sink in that she had just agreed to meet with Linnette—in public. Her hand rose to her cheek. Could this time be any worse? Surely with all the women there, Linnette would behave.

  “There you are.” William was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Surely you have not been waiting for me all this time?”

  “Why would I not? You are by far the best thing here.”

  “Shh, you will insult our hosts.”

  “I only mean,” he said, taking her hand, “that you are so beautiful I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

  That stopped her. It was just a little bit too much. “You don’t need to say that.”

  “But it is true. I would sing it to the world.”

  “How much champagne have you had? And can you even sing?”

  He laughed. “I don’t sing at all and I’ve had hardly anything to drink.”

  She stopped in her tracks and looked about. Everyone was staring at them. They were pretending not to, but their intent was clear. “We are being stared at. You are making a show of us both. Perhaps you have forgotten that men do not fawn on their wives in this fashion.”

  “I know.” He smiled again.

  “Then why are you doing it? Why are you playing the buffoon?”

  “Come.” He led her to an alcove behind a large palm, an alcove that was clearly intended for some purpose other than discussion.

  “Are you trying to make them talk about us more?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?” What was the man about?

  “You told me how everybody thought I deserted you because you didn’t make me happy, satisfy me. I want to show them just how wrong they are.”

  She trusted that his intentions had been honorable, but still his words stung. “That is what this evening is about, showing everyone that you care?”

  “Wasn’t it a great idea?” He clearly had no idea what she was feeling.

  She tried to smile brightly. “Of course it is.”

  Something in her tone must have betrayed her, as his smile dropped. “You don’t sound sure.”

  She almost lied. The words were there on her lips, but she held them back. Why should she be a coward now? He had hurt her by leaving her years before and now it seemed he was destined to hurt her again. She understood his intentions in both circumstances, but that did not erase the pain. “I thought tonight was about something else. I thought it was about us. I thought that you genuinely liked me, wanted to be with me. When your eyes lit up as you looked at me, I thought that it was because you really found me attractive, that you desired me. I didn’t need you to put on a performance. I don’t care what others think. I learned long ago that it did not matter. I just wanted you to want me.” She hoped he didn’t hear the wobble in her voice at the end. She was close to tears and it would be unbearable if he knew. It was bad enough that she already sounded like a whiney schoolgirl.

  His mouth opened, and shut. It was clear her words had flummoxed him.

  She turned to slip past him and go. She would call the carriage early and go home—and lock her bedroom door. Whatever thoughts might have begun to sprout earlier in the evening would be carefully weeded out.

  “I do want you.” His voice whispered from behind.

  She turned her head and stared back. “It’ll do no good to make up stories for me now. I know you want a wife—maybe you even think you should desire the wife you have—but you’re stuck with me and I won’t play pretend games. We both know how you feel about me.”

  She pushed aside the fronds of the palm and stepped out into the swirl of guests.

  It was time to go home. Once she was home, once her door was locked and the maid sent away, then she would cry. She would cry until her heart quit aching and then she would put her feelings aside and decide how to proceed. She would give herself this one night, and perhaps tomorrow morning, then she would pull back her shoulders and move forward. There was no denying that sh
e was married and that William would need an heir; pretending otherwise would be foolish. And she was no fool.

  The thought brought her some calm, some strength.

  The world might see her as haughty and cold as she marched from the ball, but she knew the truth. She would not let another’s actions hurt her—not even her husband’s.

  “There you are. Kathryn sent me to find you. She is waiting in the garden with Linnette. Do hurry. She has Annabelle standing guard to be sure you are not disturbed.”

  Bloody, bloody hell. She had forgotten. Elizabeth turned to Annie with a broad, utterly false smile.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  William stared at the bloody, bloody potted Chamaerops vulcana. That had not gone at all as he’d planned. He’d intended to steal some kisses from his wife, not to send her running through the ballroom—although being Elizabeth, he was sure she had strolled with dignity.

  How had it gone it so wrong? Yes, he desired her! Yes, he’d been truly enjoying her company! He couldn’t remember having such a good time in years—and he’d been to some tribal festivals that were hard to beat. But all it had taken was his wife’s smiling face to lift his spirits higher than they’d ever been. Making Elizabeth happy made him happy. It truly was as simple as that.

  Damnation.

  He realized suddenly that it had always been that way. Even in those early days, when he’d been so concerned with rescuing her, she had made him happy. He’d been busy planning his departure, anxious to leave England and responsibility behind, and then he’d met her—and he’d willingly taken on another responsibility. It was because she hadn’t felt like a responsibility. She’d felt like a treat.

  Did he have time to find her before she left? He hated the thought of her going home, alone, feeling as distraught as her voice had indicated. He wanted to know that she was safe—safe and happy.

  Now if only he could make her believe that.

  Sidestepping out from behind the palm, he started to stride toward the door.

  A much shorter man stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “What happened back there? Your wife certainly did not look well-kissed as she ran out.”

  What the hell? Who was this man and why was he insistent on standing in the way—and what was he saying? William forced his fingers not to fist. The last thing Elizabeth needed was for him to punch out some stranger in the midst of Lord Pepperidge’s ball, no matter how satisfying it might be.

  He went to push past the man. Ignoring him was surely the best policy.

  “I’d always heard that she was unsatisfactory. Your performance earlier might have fooled the crowd for a moment, but now they’ll see just how right the cartoons were. And who knows? Perhaps there’ll be another one—one of her baring her bosoms behind a potted palm and you yawning away.”

  His words stopped William. He turned and faced the man, stretching to his full height. “And who are you, sir, that you dare make such comments about my wife?”

  The man swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, as if only now realizing just how big William was. “I beg your pardon.”

  And then he was gone.

  That had been a most strange encounter. In other circumstances he would have followed after and demanded to know why the man had spoken to him at all—and what his relationship to the cartoons was—but now it was more important to find Elizabeth.

  Picking up his pace he headed toward the door.

  Another man stepped his way, this time a familiar face. “And where are you off to in such a hurry?” the Marquess of Tattingstong asked. “After your performance earlier I wouldn’t have thought you’d be hurrying away from your wife so quickly.”

  Performance. After Elizabeth’s accusations it was not a word he wanted to hear. “I am hurrying after my wife, not away from her.”

  “Your wife is in the garden, along with mine and the rest of their little group. Apparently they’re trying to bring harmony and accord to all.” Tattingstong said the last with only a touch of sarcasm.

  “I’ll go find her then.” He turned to go.

  Tattingstong laughed. “You are a far braver man than I if you’ll brave the harpies’ den. Forgive me, I like all of the ladies. I truly do, but no man with any sense would wander into a gathering of them. You’ll likely return with your hair in bows, having agreed to host a charitable event or ten. I’ve known men to find themselves trapped into a season of musicale evenings because they were not brave enough to stay away—and we will not even begin to discuss being persuaded that your home is the only place where Ms. Picolo’s voice will sound its finest and that it would be a shame to serve anything stronger than lemonade at such an event. I shudder.”

  So did William—and it would not be possible to have the discussion he wished to have with Elizabeth until she was free from the other women. He could not imagine she would wish to discuss her marriage in front of them—although if what he heard about women was true, she might very well be willing to discuss it with them if he was not present. He shuddered again at the thought. He truly didn’t wish to know what she was thinking about at this moment. “Perhaps a hand of cards—or three, before I find her, then.”

  “That sounds like a rather fine plan. Come. I believe Doveshire and Harrington are already in the card room. Why don’t we go and find them?”

  William allowed himself to be led away.

  The card room was thick with smoke, the closed doors separating the men from the rest of the party.

  “Can I pour you a brandy?” Harrington asked, rising. “Pepperidge has brought out a good one.”

  William nodded and settled in beside Tattingstong. He sat and waited as the current hand played out. Luck was running high for Doveshire and the man grinned as he counted his winnings. “Lucky in love and cards. It must be my night.”

  “Are you so sure you’ll be lucky in love tonight?” Harrington teased, elbowing him in the ribs.

  Doveshire’s grin grew. “I am lucky in love every night—and now that Linnette has agreed to be my bride, I’ll be lucky every night for the rest of my life.”

  Congratulations followed—along with a good deal more brandy. And Doveshire’s luck did seem unbeatable. William grimaced as he contributed to the pot once again.

  The door to the hall swung open and the strange man who’d made such rude comments earlier about Elizabeth entered.

  William’s muscles tensed. One more comment and he’d put the man through the wall and not care who saw. Harrington and Doveshire would back him up, he was sure.

  Doveshire cursed under his breath.

  “Well, cousin,” the strange man said. “Are you ready to lose a little? It’s only fitting, given that you’ve stolen what should have been mine.”

  Doveshire threw his cards on the table. “Swatts, you’ve never been entitled to anything. If you’d gotten what you deserved, you’d probably be doing hard labor in Australia at the moment.”

  William leaned over to Tattingstong. “Who is that?”

  “Mr. Swatts, Doveshire’s distant cousin and heir presumptive—and one more reason to be glad that Linnette said yes.” Tattingstong spoke in a whisper. “For some reason that no one has ever understood, he seems to feel that Doveshire owes him something because he became duke and Swatts didn’t. It defies logic. We keep hoping he’ll just fade away. Rumor has it that he’s punting on the River Tick—but he always seems to have just enough ready funds. I don’t know how he manages it. He has no prospects, and I am sure Doveshire isn’t supplying him any of the ready.”

  Swatts ignored the glares that were sent his way and settled at the table. There didn’t seem to be a single friendly look aimed in his direction. Ignoring them all, he anted up and the game began.

  Doveshire’s luck continued to hold, and after a few more hands William pushed away from the table. The convivial atmosphere had been lost with Swatts’s arrival and while William didn’t actually mind losing, only a fool continued to play when the fates were clearly against him.

/>   “I am off to find my wife,” he said, “because clearly I am unlucky at cards tonight.”

  Swatts opened his mouth to say something, but wisely held his own counsel.

  Harrington looked up. “If the great summit is over, will you tell Kathryn where to find me? I would appreciate it.”

  “Of course.” William walked out of the room, relishing the clearer air, if not the loud sound of ladies’ chatter.

  Elizabeth bit down on the inside of her cheek. She should have made an excuse not to come out to the gardens. Her temper had never been her best asset, and it was already threatening to blow. It would be horrible if she took out her anger at William on Linnette. The worst part of this whole thing was that she wasn’t really mad at Linnette at all.

  Now William was another matter. Every second she thought about it, more of her hurt turned to anger. He might only have been trying to help, but he could have talked to her about it, should have talked to her about it. If she’d been part of the plan, it could have been great fun trying to deceive society into thinking that they were a devoted couple—and who knows for how long it would have been pretense?

  It made her blood boil.

  She was so tired of being hurt every time she began to trust.

  At least the air was cooler outside. There was a good crowd on the terrace near the windows, but as she proceeded down the steps and further into the garden, she rapidly found herself alone.

  “Over here!” Annabelle was attempting to whisper, but it was more of a shout.

  “Don’t attract the whole party or we’ll never get this done.” That was Kathryn, much calmer, but with the sound of authority.

  Elizabeth walked toward the voices. The heavily leafed branches of a large tree spread overhead, and despite the relatively small size of the garden, this nook was quite secluded. There was a small stone bench in the back corner and nearer a slowly dripping fountain. It would have been a most pleasant spot if not for the purpose of the meeting.