He was flirting back and her heart leapt to her mouth. “Well, Mr. Roxbury, you should know that I am not a woman who is easily persuaded.”
“Is that a challenge?” He leaned even closer to her, his blue eyes gleaming.
“Perhaps,” she whispered, slightly breathless.
He inched a bit closer to her. “Then I suppose I have no recourse but to wait upon your good favor then.”
Close enough to touch him now, she could not help smiling at his response. “Yes, you shall.”
He regarded her with a steady gaze as if considering whether to continue their flirtatious conversation. “How long will you be staying in Brighton, Miss Hamilton?”
“I’ll be there for a week. I shall return to London next Tuesday. And yourself?” Lisette could not deny the intense undercurrent in their exchange.
“I’m not entirely sure as of yet.” His eyes met hers, lingering, and a meaningful look passed between them. “It depends.”
“Depends on what?” she asked, losing herself in the blue of his eyes. There seemed to be so much more to what they were saying than the actual words. She had never had such a conversation before, and the pleasure of it excited her.
His eyes gleamed. “On how things go . . .”
She held her breath for a moment. “With your business ?”
“Yes.” He tilted his head in her direction. “Among other things.”
“Other things?” The very nearness of him made her head spin. The urge to reach out and touch him became unbearable. He’d almost kissed her in the lane yesterday. Would he kiss her now? Did she wish him to? Yes. This desire to be close to him was unfathomable. She wondered what it would be like to reach out and run her fingers along the line of his jaw, and over the sensitive curve of his lips. Wondered what it would be like to press her lips against his. A kiss. Yes, she wanted to kiss him.
“Yes,” he said.
“And what might those other things be?”
“Might I call upon you tomorrow?”
Lisette took a deep breath as cold reality settled over her and her little fantasy of kissing him evaporated. He wanted to call upon her! Thrilled and terrified by his intent, she trembled. How she wished she could answer yes . . . But she might as well let it be known from the start, before he got any more ideas into his head about her. “Mr. Roxbury, I . . . You should know that . . . I . . . Well, I am engaged to be married.”
His eyes widened slightly in surprise, but his expression remained guardedly neutral. Slowly he sat back in his seat away from her. “And you should know that I am engaged as well, Miss Hamilton.”
“I see,” Lisette murmured, unable to squelch the sudden and bitter disappointment that surged within her. She turned to face the window, afraid her disenchanted expression would betray her. He was betrothed! The fact stunned her, yet why should it matter to her if this man was engaged to someone else? She was marrying Henry Brooks in June, and it was nothing to her that Quinton Roxbury had a fiancée. Her fiancé had just escorted her to the train, for heaven’s sake.
Yet she felt terribly hurt and saddened by this unexpected development.
“When are you to be wed?” he asked, his voice very soft and low.
She faced him. “June.” She had to know, had to ask. “And you?”
“The third of January.”
So soon! She bit her lip just in time to prevent herself from crying out in protest. Today was the second of December. In a few short weeks he would be married to another woman! An indescribable sensation of loss over whelmed her. It was completely irrational, she knew, but she could not shake the feeling that she had just lost an opportunity for something wonderful and magical. It was ridiculous. She should not care that this man was engaged. She squared her shoulders and stared back out the window, watching the hills speed by her.
As the train rolled along, they both sat in silence for the remainder of the journey. Ignoring the undeniable feelings of attraction that hovered in the air between them like a living thing, lost in their own thoughts, they said no more. For what was there to say now? Once she dared a glance at him, and he, too, stared out the window, looking rather pensive.
At last the train chugged slowly into the station with a shrill whistle. It stopped with a harsh squealing of brakes as it jerked to a halt with a long shudder. Lisette began to gather her things together and rose from her seat.
Quinton Roxbury also stood, taking a step toward her. “You haven’t yet answered me, Miss Hamilton.”
She glanced at him in surprise. “I’m not quite sure I know the question.”
He pinned her with his intense blue-eyed gaze. “I asked if I could call upon you tomorrow afternoon.”
Her heart now stopped. Really! What on earth was the man thinking? He still wished to call upon her knowing full well that she was an affianced lady! “Mr. Roxbury, I believe I gave you my answer when I told you I have a fiancé.”
“No. You merely told me that you are to be wed. You did not give me an answer about visiting you.”
She had to stop herself from reaching out and touching him. He was so close to her. Again. “That fact that I am engaged precludes my accepting your calls, Mr. Roxbury.”
“Not necessarily.”
A small gasp escaped her lips, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest. “What does that mean?”
“It means that if I were unattached, it would be somewhat untoward of me to ask to call upon a woman who is engaged, but since I, too, am affianced, there is no problem.”
“Isn’t there?” Her voice squeaked, a little stunned by the path of the conversation. Had she misread all that had happened between them? She felt certain that he had wanted to kiss her. And she . . . Well . . . She had wanted him to kiss her! And now, now once again she wished he would kiss her.
The uniformed porter opened the door to the compartment. “Miss Hamilton, we have arrived.” He lifted her embroidered tapestry portmanteau.
“Yes, thank you.” She nodded as he carried her bag from the compartment.
Quinton continued to press her. “Can we not be two acquaintances, Miss Hamilton? Can we not be friends?”
His request sounded so easy, so simple. Being friends with him would be wonderful and she wanted to be his friend in an almost desperate way, yet her conscience pricked her madly for she desired him as more than a friend. But it was not so easy or so simple. It was far more complicated than that. Being friends with Quinton Roxbury would be considered improper. In fact, it was most scandalous. Lisette detested scandal.
“No.” She shook her head lightly. “I am afraid that we cannot.”
“Good. Then it’s settled.” A wide grin spread across his face. “I shall call upon you tomorrow to tell you more about my project, for there is much I wish to share with you about it. You can then pass that information on to your brother-in-law for me.”
“Mr. Roxbury, you will do no such thing! Good day to you.”
Lisette hurriedly followed the porter from the train, anxious to have their unusual encounter at an end before he could say another word to her.
However tempted she was to be with him, not seeing Quinton Roxbury again was the safest course of action and the only proper thing to do.
And Lisette Hamilton was nothing if not proper.
5
How Still We See Thee Lie
Wednesday, December 3, 1873
“Lisette, bring my tea to me here by the fire,” Genevieve La Brecque Hamilton demanded in an irritable tone from her place on the divan. “I have a dreadful headache again. J’ai un terrible mal de tête.”
As Lisette walked from the kitchen balancing a tray laden with teacups and saucers in her hands, she was happy to have something to occupy her mind from the maddening Mr. Roxbury.
When she arrived the night before, her mother had been thrilled to see her and, miraculously, had seemed cured of her mystery illness. However, this afternoon she had become quite fractious. Her serving woman, Fannie, had rolled her eyes and warned Lisette
as soon as she had come downstairs after luncheon.
“Oh, but Miss Genevieve’s in a state, I tell you. Thought her good humor might last a spell since you got here, but she’s as cranky as a cat with no tail. Don’t know what’s got into her. I fixed her favorite lunch, but she wouldn’t touch a bite of them chicken pasties. Now she’s just wanting mint tea and calling for you.”
“Thank you, Fannie. I’ll bring it to her.” Lisette also brought the new lavender-scented eye pillow she had made for her mother last week.
She set the tray on the table beside her mother and handed her the teacup.
“Merci, ma petite,” Genevieve whispered.
Lisette took a soft woolen blanket from the sofa and covered her mother’s legs. It was chilly in the room, in spite of the fire burning in the hearth. The day had dawned with a heavy downpour, and the damp and cold seemed to permeate the little house.
When their mother had left London and Hamilton’s Book Shoppe to live in a cottage by the sea, she had indeed moved to the shore. However, “cottage” was a relative term. Through Lucien Sinclair’s generosity, Genevieve had purchased a rather small but elegant house for herself. Situated outside the main part of town on a small hill with a lovely view of the sea, the pretty white house was surrounded by a garden, which in warmer months bloomed and blossomed with a profusion of colorful flowers and vines. But now the cold December wind whipped around like a fury and made the gables shudder.
“Sit back after your tea, Maman. See, I have a new eye pillow for you. The lavender will help ease your headache.”
As she made her mother more comfortable, Lisette wondered if she would ever see Quinton Roxbury again. Their encounter on the train yesterday made her feel giddy, like a young schoolgirl. And here she was almost one and twenty. Such ridiculous nonsense! She must put the idea of him out of her head immediately.
“Ah, my sweet Lisette, it is so good to have you here with me. Ta place est içi avec moi. You belong here with me. You girls are too far from me, all the way up there in London.”
Lisette was careful not to fall into that trap. It was their mother’s decision to leave them living at Devon House, when they had begged her not to go, and she was content to have her cottage by the sea. Yet she expected them to be in Brighton all the time.
“There, is that better?” she asked, placing the scented pillow over her mother’s eyes. She smoothed her gray hair from her face as she did so. Her mother had been a beauty once, and Lisette could see the shadows of past heartaches in the fine lines that wrinkled Genevieve’s care-worn face. Her unhappy marriage to her father, Thomas Hamilton, and her disappointments in her life had etched their sad stories across her countenance.
“Oui, ma petite chérie. Yes, my dear. Thank you. I always feel better when you are here and taking care of me. Tu es la plus douce de mes filles.” With a wave of her hand, she motioned to the sofa. “Sit down, Lisette, and tell me everything that is happening with your sisters in London.”
Lisette sat upon the chair and began, “Well, Uncle Randall and Aunt Cecilia are still at their wits’ end with Nigel. Aunt Cecilia canceled having tea with us the other day, claiming she was ill, but Lucien discovered that Nigel had been gambling and is in debt over his head again.”
“That family is terrible,” Genevieve muttered in disgust. “Ils sont effroyables.Your father’s brother always hated me.”
Lisette’s opinion was that Uncle Randall disliked all the Hamilton girls, but ever since Colette married Lord Waverly, he had kept his disdain well hidden. So had Aunt Cecilia.
“How is Phillip? My precious grandson. Le plus merveilleux au monde des petits garçons! ”
“He is simply adorable and getting so big already, Maman. I am afraid we are all spoiling him.”
“That is as it should be. With so many people to love him, how could it be any other way?” She sighed. “I hope Colette has a daughter this time. J’aimerais tant avoir une petite-fille.”
“I think we are all hoping for a little girl.”
“Yes, another pretty little girl in the family again would be lovely.” Her mother turned her attention to Lisette. “And what of your Henry Brooks? Il est devenu si lent. He has been so slow. Has he made up his mind yet?”
“It just so happens that I have some news regarding him,” Lisette said, not without a bit of pride. “He told me yesterday that his uncle has decided to retire at last and is giving Henry his law practice. Henry and I can finally be married in June!”
Genevieve remained silent, a definitive frown on her lined but still attractive face.
“Mother?” Lisette asked in concern. “Isn’t that good news?”
“It is if you think so, ma chérie,” her mother said with a simple gesture of helpless resignation. “If it is what you want, so be it.”
“It’s what I have been waiting for all these years,” Lisette said, feeling more than a little defensive. She hated when her mother pretended to act as if nothing were bothering her when it was quite obvious that she was perturbed. “I thought you would be happy about it. Or at least happy for me . . .”
Genevieve sat up in a quick motion, as if she were not suffering from a debilitating headache at all, and removed the lavender pillow from her eyes. She looked directly at Lisette, her eyes glittering with intensity. “Are you happy about it, Lisette? Est-ce que tu es heureuse avec lui? Es-tu amoureuse de lui? Are you happy with this man? Are you in love? Are you truly happy to marry Henry Brooks?”
“Of course I am!” What a ridiculous question for her mother to ask. “I would not be marrying him otherwise.”
“Are you convincing me or are you convincing yourself ?” her mother responded, her eyes staring with quiet speculation at Lisette. “Qu’est-ce que ce serait, hein? Quelle est ta réponse? What would it be, eh? Which is it?”
“I don’t need to convince anyone of anything. Honestly, Mother, you are acting as if you don’t care for Henry or that you do not wish for me to marry him.”
“It is true. I do not.”
“Mother!” Lisette gasped, horrified at her mother’s words. “You cannot mean that!”
“I do,” Genevieve said in a calm and cool manner. “I do not wish for you to marry him. I never did wish it. You deserve better. You deserve a man you love. Tu mérites d’aimer un homme.”
“Henry is a good man!” she protested heatedly. “He loves me. We have known each other for years.”
“I am aware of that, Lisette. I have watched you waiting for him. I have also watched your two sisters follow their hearts where you have bided your time and accepted what came along. I had hoped you might meet someone special while you waited so patiently for your Mr. Brooks and changed your mind. He is a nice man, my dear, I do not argue that point. He is just not for you. Do not marry him if you do not love him. Rien de bien n’en ressortira. Nothing good will come of it, ma petite. Do not settle for him as I did with your father. That would be a terrible mistake you will regret for the rest of your life. Ce serait l’erreur que tu regretterais pour le restant de tes jours.”
With no words for her mother’s outburst, Lisette blinked back stinging tears. Never had her mother spoken so bluntly to her.
“I am being honest with you, Lisette. I do not wish for you to marry this man. C’est l’entière vérité. I had not said a word about it before because I did not believe this wedding would ever come to pass.”
Lisette sat motionless, a bit stunned by this development.
Genevieve continued to speak plainly. “You should have allowed Lucien to give you a Season. With all the advantages you have now! Such a waste! Quel dommage que tu ais perdu une pareille opportunité. You have been handed opportunities your father could never give you. But no, you spurned making your debut for this simple solicitor. This Henry Brooks. You never gave yourself a chance to meet someone special, and you settled on the first man who came along.”
Her stomach formed a tight knot, and still Lisette blinked back the tears. She did not
wish to cry in front of her. “That is not true, Mother, and you know it.”
Her mother sighed heavily. “You still have not said that you love him. That you are happy to marry him.”
“Of course I am.” Wasn’t she? She thought of her aching desire to kiss Quinton Roxbury on the train yesterday and the cold disappointment that flooded her at the news of his upcoming nuptials. A confused pang of guilt washed over her.
“You do not seem happy, ma chérie. Do not marry him if you do not love him enough. Life is too short to waste by marrying the wrong man, my darling. I know the truth of that all too well. S’il y a une chose à retenir . . . tire une leçon de mes erreurs! Learn from my mistakes if nothing else.”
A sudden knock at the front door drew their attention. “Who could be calling on such a blustery afternoon?” Lisette asked, grateful for the timely interruption. She had had all she could take of this conversation. A deep breath helped to calm her, but still her mother’s words spun around her like a spider’s web and she could not brush them off.
“Mrs. Wheeler said she would stop by to see you and say hello. I told her you were coming,” her mother explained, settling back into the divan, and placing the lavender pillow back over her eyes. “Fannie will get the door.”
Lisette remained rooted to her chair, relieved that, for the time being, her mother seemed to have dropped the subject of her marriage to Henry.
What her mother thought about her feelings for Henry bothered her more than she cared to admit. It surprised her to realize that.
In spite of what anyone thought, she did love Henry. She had always loved Henry, for they knew each other as children and had been friends. His father used to bring him into the bookshop from time to time and he would play with her and her sisters. They started out as playmates but things between them changed as they grew older.
When she was sixteen, she had been helping in the bookshop with her father one afternoon. Henry had come in looking for law books and Lisette had been sent to fetch them. When she returned with the books, Henry was waiting for her, his warm smile melting her heart. She was drawn in by his good looks and quiet manner. He visited the store regularly when he knew Lisette would be there, and they spoke of their families and his interest in the law. Her sisters teased her relentlessly before Henry eventually gathered enough courage to ask her to a local dance, which was about the same time that Colette met Lucien.
It Happened One Christmas Page 5
