“Pray do not leave me hanging, Marcus. Although what?”
“Although I cannot imagine a better way to die.”
Lizzie froze. It was only a joke. A rather risqué one, that could’ve been carelessly tossed off by any of the rakes who sometimes flirted with her. But, somehow, coming from Marcus, it meant more. And it caused a curious flutter inside her.
“You’re making progress, my lord. Now, perhaps, you’d like to say something about my eyes or my gown or the way I play the pianoforte? Any of which would be perfectly appropriate conversation in a courtship.”
Riverton looked at her a long moment. A depressingly long moment, as if it took an inordinate amount of time to think of something nice to say.
Finally, he opened his mouth to speak.
“Your eyes,” he said. Then promptly stopped.
“Yes?”
“Your eyes are the color of….” Here he methodically looked into her eyes to study them, as if exams were coming round and he was determined to take a first. “Moss.”
Lizzie blinked. “Moss.”
He nodded. He looked at them again, as if to confirm his diagnosis, then said “moss” once again.
“Most gentlemen say emeralds, Marcus.”
“Then most gentlemen have either never seen emeralds or taken the time to really look into your eyes. They’re a rather dark green, almost black in places. If I had to match your eyes exactly with a color in nature, it would be moss. Look into a mirror and see if I’m not correct.”
Lizzie could think of few things she’d enjoy less than confirming her likeness to lichen. She tried a different tact.
“What would my life be like with you? You said you wanted a marriage of convenience, did you not?”
Something flashed in Riverton’s eyes, but was quickly gone. “I believe I said that was what I expected my marriage would be. If you and I marry, I suspect your life would go on much as it has before. I would give you the protection of my name, a generous allowance and the freedom to do as you like. Within reason, of course.”
Lizzie narrowed her eyes. “Define ‘reason.’”
“Your political activities would need to be curtailed, of course.”
“You said you admired my writing.”
“I do. You’re an extraordinarily gifted writer.”
Finally. A compliment that was actually a compliment. “Thank you.”
“And once you channel your considerable intellectual passion into a more acceptable cause, I’m sure you’ll be quite effective.”
“What do you mean a more ‘acceptable cause’?”
“There are any number of women’s charities that could use your passion. Reformation of the workhouses, programs for poor children and veterans.”
“All of those are laudable causes. But, Marcus, I already have my passion. I intend to work for the passage of women’s suffrage and the liberalization of marriage laws.”
Riverton looked to be in pain at the very mention of the issues. “Surely, you must see those causes are out of the question to pursue, especially as a lady in your circumstances.”
“You mean, they are causes Lady Riverton would never champion.”
“They are certainly causes the current Lady Riverton would never permit to be mentioned in her presence, which makes me of a mind to allow you to pursue them, just to see my mother’s reaction.”
“Allow me?”
Riverton was cognizant enough to know his choice of words had been poor, although his reasoning was just. “As well-versed as you are on the state of marriage, surely you know the husband is the decision-maker. I would consult you in all matters, but I could never allow you to place yourself in danger.”
“Or to discredit the Riverton line.”
“Clearly, the reputation of my family name does matter. But you would always be more important. I could not countenance allowing you to take up any cause that might jeopardize your health or well-being. And while you care little for your own social standing, I must remind you that your actions would also affect our children. Even if we chose to turn our backs on society, we cannot sentence our children to a life as outsiders.”
For a moment, Lizzie had no reply. She hadn’t even thought of children. Getting married would most likely bring children sooner than she imagined. She thought of her child. Then she thought of her child with Marcus and an extraordinary feeling came over her.
He was saying some appalling things and believed he should have an inordinate say in what she could and could not do. Contrary to what many would think from her treatise, she did recognize the husband as the head of the family, although she felt his wishes should constitute more like 51%, rather than an outright ownership of the decision-making process.
But in spite of his rather traditional views, she thought of him as the father of her child and that flutter inside her grew even bigger. She might have some doubts as to how good of a husband he would be, although that idea was growing on her at an almost alarming rate. But she knew he’d be an excellent father. And she couldn’t help but think their children could get the man to relax and become more…human. She could probably work wonders on him as well, especially once she learned the secrets of the bed chamber. Which were a complete, frustrating mystery.
She couldn’t say yes now. There was too much thinking she had to do. But perhaps, just perhaps, she could find a way to make this marriage work. It wouldn’t be the love match she always dreamed of, but if there was passion, there might be hope.
The door opened and Lynwood walked in.
“Do we have a wedding to plan?” he asked.
“I haven’t heard a proposal yet,” said Lizzie. “And I don’t yet have all the facts to make a decision.”
“What more do you need?” asked Lynwood. “My God, Lizzie, he’s one of the finest men I know.”
“Then you marry him, Liam. For my part, I don’t make any decision this early in the day.”
“Especially before her chocolate,” yelled Arthur from somewhere out in the hall.
“I need time,” said Lizzie, turning her attention once more to Riverton. “I hope you understand my lord.”
“I do,” he said. “It is not a decision to rush. Perhaps we should spend more time together as a couple.”
“What kind of time together?” asked an immediately suspicious Lynwood.
“I thought you just said he’s the finest man you know,” said Lizzie, arching a brow at her brother.
“But he’s also a man,” said Lynwood. “To safeguard your already damaged reputation, I suggest this be a quick courtship and that most, if not all, of your activities include your family.”
Riverton looked like he was none too happy with the duke, but he also knew which battles were worth fighting and which were best left for another day. “I have a box at the theater,” he said. “Lady Elizabeth, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to a play tomorrow evening? Accompanied by your three brothers, of course.”
“Do we have to go?” asked Hal, from the hallway.
“I can think of few activities I would rather do,” said Lizzie, smiling at the marquess.
“I can,” said Hal.
CHAPTER SEVEN
How very much had changed in little more than a day. It had been another mostly sleepless night, as Lizzie spent it thinking about life as a wife. She’d been born to the role of society matron, although with her mother dying so young and Aunt Prue never having married, Lizzie had had little guidance regarding what exactly the role would require, other than running a house and hosting the requisite social events. Aunt Agatha, Countess of Crenshaw, had tried repeatedly to teach Lizzie, using herself as an example. But no one in the Kellington family had been particularly keen on forcing the reluctant Lizzie to become another Agatha. It was thought that one Aunt Agatha in the family was quite enough.
And when Lizzie wasn’t thinking about being a wife in the abstract, her thoughts were riveted on what it would be like to be Marcus’s wife specifica
lly. She wasn’t too concerned about his trying to control her. Lynwood had been trying to do that for years, with little real success. Lizzie suspected Riverton wouldn’t be any harder to get around than her brother.
What concerned Lizzie the most – and kept her wide awake at night and daydreaming the rest of the time – was what it would be like to lie with Marcus. To share a bed. She knew most couples in the ton had separate bed chambers, as well as separate lives. But while Lizzie’s parents had each had their own bed chamber, they had shared a bed. And the children had always been told to knock, then wait to be invited in before opening the door. As a young girl, she’d thought her parents simply didn’t want to be awakened. As a young woman, she suspected they didn’t want other activities disturbed.
If only she knew just what those activities entailed.
While she was relatively sure someone would fill her in before her wedding night, she wasn’t sure who that someone would be. It couldn’t be Liam or any of her brothers. Aunt Agatha would probably give her a lecture about duty, leaving out all the good parts. Aunt Prue would be the most trusted, except she’d never been married and might not know the secrets herself.
Lizzie had no doubt that Marcus would do his best to put her mind at ease. But it was embarrassing to go into such a momentous event without any knowledge whatsoever of the subject.
Lizzie was shaken from her thoughts by the arrival of their coach at the theater. She looked up to see Liam studying her.
“You were deep in thought,” said her eldest brother. “Is there anything you’d like to discuss?”
Good heaven’s no, thought Lizzie. Not that Liam would be any more at ease hearing her thoughts on this topic than she would be relaying them. “I was just thinking about the many changes in my life.”
He reached across to squeeze her hand. “You’re doing very well, for someone in the midst of so much upheaval.”
And just like that, Lizzie’s eyes filled with tears. No matter how exasperating Liam could be, as well as extremely high-handed, she knew she could truly count on him. It was much needed solace at a time like this.
“Good grief,” said Hal with a wink. “I thought we were going to see drama at a theater, not in the carriage. Don’t tell me I made this bumpy journey in vain when we could’ve just stayed home and wept.”
“When have you ever gone to the theater to watch a play, dear brother?” drawled Arthur, as he, too, gave Lizzie’s hand a squeeze. “Last I checked, your interest in the arts was limited to dressing rooms and what can be accomplished in the interval.”
“Might I remind you that a lady is present?” said Lynwood, thankful that his brothers’ antics had brought a smile to Lizzie’s face. An all too rare occurrence during the past few days.
“Very well,” said Arthur. “We might as well disembark, else Riverton would call out Bow Street in search of his fiancée.”
“Wouldn’t want to keep the brother-in-law-to-be waiting,” said Hal. “Nor would Arthur want to be late to his dice game.”
“What’s this?” asked Lynwood.
“Nothing,” said Arthur, making a mental note to pummel his younger brother later. “Just a little game among friends.”
“We are here to support your sister,” said Lynwood in his most direct head-of-the-family tone. “Your game among friends can wait.”
Arthur reluctantly nodded, as the four of them exited the carriage. It looked to be a sell-out crowd, as they joined the sea of humanity making its way into the theater. Yet, somehow, Riverton was by Lizzie’s side in a manner of minutes.
He was dazzling in his formal clothes of black and white. Lizzie could feel all eyes upon them as Riverton bowed over her hand, before bringing it to his lips. His eyes never left hers and she felt a queer heat from where his lips grazed her gloved hand, all the way up her arm. They must’ve remained thus a moment too long, because she soon became aware of Lynwood clearing his throat.
“Evening Riverton. Care to release our sister’s hand so you can escort us to your box?”
Riverton gave a quick nod to his friend, before placing Lizzie’s hand on his arm.
“It seems like a shame to let the Lynwood box go unused,” said Hal, who looked like his usual relaxed self, but who’d no doubt already taken inventory of all available females in the vicinity, as well as those who could most easily evade their escorts.
“It would be an even greater shame,” said Lynwood, “were it to be used to entertain your ladybirds.”
“But by eliminating Arthur’s games of chance and my lovely guests, you’re leaving us very little choice for entertainment.”
“You could watch the play,” said Lizzie.
“If I’d known that was to be our only option,” said Arthur, “I would just as soon have stayed home and sent myself to bed with a glass of watered ratafia and Fordice’s Sermons.”
“Do you own a copy of Fordice’s Sermons?” asked Hal.
“Yes. I won it from a vicar. It was either that or a chance to court one of his two sisters, the smaller of which weighed more than the smithy and of the two had the better mustache.”
“I would like to remind you,” said Lynwood,” that this is an evening to once again show our full support for Elizabeth.”
“I don’t know why the rest of us have to suffer, especially when Riverton’s volunteered to get leg-shackled,” grumbled Arthur.
“I’ll have you know,” said Lizzie, “that I find it highly objectionable to describe marriage to me as a leg shackle.”
“It’s marriage in general we find objectionable,” said Arthur. “Although I cannot imagine you’d be easy to manage.”
“God no,” said Hal. “Would be easier to teach a pig to play the pianoforte.”
“Not that Lizzie’s any better at it than the swine.”
“Perhaps you should knock yourself on the head with that copy of Fordice’s Sermons, Arthur,” said their sister. “Since that’s the only chance of it making an impact on that thick skull of yours.”
Riverton watched the sparring continue – fascinated, as always. The Kellingtons were forever matching wits, and he’d been present on a number of occasions when their challenges had become physical. Wrestling, the occasional thrown punch. It was all part of how the brothers interacted, with Lizzie occasionally getting in a good hit. But he knew that when a real crisis arose, they’d stand united. As much as her brothers might complain, Riverton knew none of them would’ve missed being there for her this night.
It was a marked contrast to his own family and the distant formality between himself and his mother and two sisters. While his father could never have been described as loving, what warmth had existed in the family had died with his sire. Since that time, his mother’s cold, calculating manner had dominated family interaction and his sisters had become spoiled, self-engrossed and increasingly desperate to be married. Since neither of them would even consider marrying anyone lower than an earl, their search for husbands had taken longer than either would’ve predicted. Although Riverton wasn’t surprised in the least.
Riverton’s musings were interrupted by pressure from Lizzie’s fingers on his arm. “Is As You Like It a favorite of yours, my lord?”
“It pleases me well enough, although I’ve always preferred Shakespeare’s tragedies.”
“That wouldn’t seem to bode well for marriage, since most of the romances in his dramas don’t end particularly well, especially for the lady.”
“Which would account for them being tragedies,” said Riverton, as they approached his box.
“I much prefer his comedies, and have always related to the character Rosalind the most. I particularly like the idea of wearing breeches.”
“Do you limit yourself to just the idea or do you actually don them?” he dared to ask.
“You’ll find, my lord, that it’s a rare idea which lives only in my head. Especially one as intriguing as that.”
Intriguing, it was. In fact, the idea of Lizzie in breeches would
likely stay in Riverton’s head for the rest of his natural days. He could only hope to see Lizzie wearing them – in private, of course. Although there was little chance she would keep them on once he did. As his own breeches began to feel rather tight, Riverton felt it best to change the subject.
“I imagine the real reason you empathize with Rosalind isn’t her clothing, but because she must disguise who she really is. Being a lady in society can be extraordinarily difficult, especially for someone of independent thinking and a keen mind.”
She turned to him. “Is that how you see me? An independent thinker with a keen mind?”
“That is one way I would describe you,” he said, his lids heavy, his eyes darkening to a midnight blue. It wouldn’t do for Lizzie to find out how else he would describe her so soon after thinking of her in breeches.
“We’ve arrived at last,” said Riverton, as he escorted her into the box, only to be brought up short by the uninvited occupants.
“There you are, Riverton,” said his mother, completely ignoring Elizabeth. “Whatever are you doing in the hall? Come make your bow to Lady Isabelle, her mama and your two sisters.”
Somewhere in her ‘50s – she guarded her age closer than the Tower of London kept track of its jewels – Lady Horatia Riverton was still a beauty. Her blonde hair was graying, but still had the honey wheat color that, combined with her light blue eyes, had made her an Incomparable of her season. That she’d snagged a marquess had been no one’s surprise. That both she and her husband soon turned their attention elsewhere, had been even less of one. Her cool looks were indicative of a glacial personality.
She was joined in the box by her two daughters, Edith and Charlotte, as well as Lady Martin and her stunning daughter Lady Isabelle, whose father the earl was, Riverton noted, enviably absent. It wasn’t particularly surprising. Riverton’s mother and sisters rarely missed an opportunity to throw him together with Lady Isabelle, and the earl had rarely shown up for any of their meetings. It was most impressive, really, and Riverton wished he had the man’s knack for absenting himself. Lady Isabelle was a lovely, shy girl in her first season whose only flaw was the misfortune of having such a harridan for a mother. She would make a fine wife, for someone else. But she paled in comparison to Lizzie’s fire and grace.
Never Miss a Chance (Kellington Book Two) Page 7
