“Well, he wouldn’t put one in for you, would he?” sniffed her sister. “Lynwood’s tastes are a bit too refined. No doubt his duchess will be younger and more, shall we say, comely than you.”
“Tell me, Charlotte, when was the last time you saw Lynwood court a lady who set a servant on fire? You do recall he was here for that incident, correct? After all, he is the one who extinguished the man.”
“I didn’t set the man on fire on purpose. I just shoved him and he was oafish enough to fall into the candelabra. He wasn’t even burned. And with the settlement Marcus gave him, he was able to retire to the country. Servants should beg me to shove them if that’s the reward they get.”
“You’re missing the point. If Marcus marries that creature, he’s likely to move back to Riverton House.”
Charlotte picked up one of the mirrors on her bedside table to confirm she was, as Sir Lucas Winchester had so winningly said, prettier each day than the last. “It shall be easier to ask for advances in pin money.”
“And how often do you think that request will be granted with Elizabeth here? She hates us. Do you really think she’ll let Mama and us remain in this house? We’ll have to move into that town house he lives in now. Or, worse yet, back to the country.”
Charlotte almost dropped the mirror. “He wouldn’t dare!”
“He would. We have to stop this engagement before it goes any further. We’ll get him to marry Lady Isabelle. She’d never have the will to stand up to us.”
“True. She is the dreariest milksop, even if that mother of hers is enough to make one go screaming into the night. But how ever do you think we can influence Riverton? He never listens to us or takes our counsel.”
“We must find a way to force his match with Lady Isabelle. Our very comfort depends on it.”
Charlotte knew the best incentive for Edith to do anything was one that served her comfort and self-interest. If there were a way to marry off their brother to Lady Isabelle, Edith would find it. She was a sneaky one, that Edith. With a face that would frighten pit bulls.
“Well, off you go,” said Charlotte. “I need to rest before I begin my day. But if there’s anything I can do to help, pray tell me during the evening hour.”
Edith left Charlotte’s bed chamber with renewed commitment to her mission, then mentioned to a maid that her sister had requested a pot of chocolate in exactly half an hour. That should give the chit just enough time to fall asleep only to be awakened again.
It was shaping up to be a very pleasant day.
* * *
Riverton had received the summons from Lynwood first thing that morning. It had been phrased as an invitation, but had the tone of a royal command. As Riverton sat in the duke’s study he regarded his friend who was about to entrust his sister into another man’s care. While Riverton would be only too glad to see his own sisters married, he knew just how close Lynwood was to Lizzie. In many ways, the duke had been surrogate parent to her. Riverton hoped he could live up to the faith Lynwood had in him. He had to. He couldn’t think of letting Lizzie down. He also hoped Lynwood had no idea where Lizzie had been the previous evening.
“I understand I’m gaining you as a brother,” said Lynwood, seated opposite Riverton in a chair near the chess board.
“Yes,” said Riverton, clearing his throat. “I know it may seem a bit sudden, but I wanted to formalize things are soon as possible.”
“And how exactly did this proposal come about?”
Riverton took a moment to study the chess pieces beside him, despite having seen them countless times before. “Has your sister spoken to you about this?”
“I’m more interested in what you have to say,” said Lynwood, leaning back in a deceptively relaxed pose.
“Do you have an objection to the match?” Riverton wasn’t sure what he’d do if Lynwood did, but it would likely involve a quick trip to Scotland.
“I have absolutely no objection to the match.”
Riverton relaxed at last.
Lynwood continued. “I just want to know what event – or events – transpired that brought you into contact with my sister at such a late hour of the evening. It was, to say the least, highly irregular.”
Riverton cleared his throat. “And Lizzie didn’t say anything to you?”
Lynwood had no response, other than the clear-eyed gaze that awaited a confession. It was a tactic the duke had used to his advantage time and time again in the House of Lords. Now Riverton finally had some empathy for those poor sots who’d been on the receiving end of it.
“Lady Elizabeth had some questions about my motivation in wanting to marry her. I believe she was afraid I’d offered solely to be of assistance to her and her family. And while I certainly do want to help in any way I can, I assured her my interest extended beyond that to more personal factors.”
Lynwood raised one eyebrow. “How personal?”
Riverton rather wished the duke would pick up his dueling pistol and be done with it. “I esteem your sister. I respect her very much. I admire her intellect and her desire to better the lives of others, although I disagree with how she channels that energy. She is kind, witty and beautiful. And I look forward to making a life with her.” Which was true. But it was astonishing how much he was looking forward to his marriage, when he’d spent most of his adult life avoiding that state.
“And there’s nothing else you’d like to tell me?” asked Lynwood with a severity that made Riverton wonder whether a pistol really would be presented.
“No,” said Riverton. “I believe that is everything I’d ever want to admit to you.”
There was one silent moment when Riverton calculated how quickly he could run for the door if Lynwood attacked. Under normal circumstances, he and Lynwood were evenly matched in fisticuffs, but he couldn’t hit back at a man who was defending his sister’s honor. Especially when Riverton had so thoroughly enjoyed compromising that sister the previous evening.
Then Lynwood broke out into a grin. “I won’t torment you further, Marcus. I’m sure you were the perfect gentleman with my sister last night.”
Funny, thought Riverton, how those words of faith tormented him more than an actual punch would have.
Lynwood made his way to the brandy. “I believe this calls for a toast, regardless of the early hour.” He poured each of them a drink, then held out the glass to Riverton without letting go. “Just always remember that she’s my sister. Be gentle and treat her like the lady she is.” Then, with a warning glance, he released the glass into Riverton’s hand.
Riverton’s heart sank. Lynwood’s request was true and all things correct. Lizzie was a gentlewoman, born and bred. She might have the natural curiosity of a virgin, but Riverton had no business fantasizing about doing things to her that would make a dockside whore blush.
And he’d been doing a great deal of fantasizing. He’d gone to bed hard last night and relieved himself three times during the course of the night, just thinking of the many ways he and Lizzie would make love.
“What have we here?” Arthur asked as he entered the study, with Hal behind him. Hal appeared as if he’d barely slept the night before, and Arthur looked like he hadn’t been to bed at all.
“I was welcoming Marcus into the family,” said Lynwood, as he poured his brothers a drink.
“You’re not adopting him are you?” asked Hal. “How about a little more brandy?”
Lynwood moved the decanter out of Hal’s reach, as Arthur took his glass. “Arthur, are you all right?” asked Lynwood. “You look decidedly unwell.”
“It’s nothing, I’m sure,” said Arthur, as he raised his glass to his future brother-in-law. “Congratulations, Riverton. You’re gaining a fine wife, even if she will keep you on your toes.”
“I look forward to it. And where is my fiancée?”
“Out shopping for a trousseau with Aunt Prue,” said Hal.
“Already?” asked Riverton.
“Your future wife loves to shop,” said L
ynwood. “Something you should keep in mind as we draw up the marriage contracts. You’re likely to become a good deal lighter in the purse, despite her not unsubstantial dowry. Sure you don’t want to reconsider, old boy?”
“Believe me,” said Riverton with a slow smile. “I look forward to being wed to your sister, just the way she is.”
* * *
“Here is the finished treatise,” said Lizzie, as she handed it over to a clerk at the Examiner. “However, this time, I should like you to give the piece better placement. And if you must allow one of those men who draw the caricatures to sketch my likeness again, I prefer he capture my right side and not the left. My curls don’t seem to grow quite so wild on the right. I looked quite a fright in that last cartoon, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Carter?”
Mild-mannered Mr. Carter was as bewitched as the last time she’d visited the paper. He was hardly able to utter a word in the presence of such a fine lady, even if she did have the sense of a peagoose. An all together delightful, beautiful and kind peagoose, but peagoose nonetheless.
“Permit me to say, milady, that even in a cartoon, you looked elegant and refined.” Mr. Carter cleared his throat. “Are you sure you want to publish another treatise? Things still haven’t calmed down since the last one. Did wonders for our circulation, it did. But I can’t think it was easy for your ladyship.”
“Don’t worry a thing about me,” said Lizzie with a blinding smile for the clerk. “I only hope they increased your pay for putting it in the paper in the first place. Seems only fair, especially if the treatise helped sell more copies. Perhaps I should have a word with your boss.”
“Oh, no, milady. I thank you, but I don’t think he’d take kindly to that.” In fact, mused Mr. Carter, it would likely do more harm than good. The paper’s editor Mr. Roberts had almost had apoplexy when he realized Carter had printed Lady Elizabeth’s treatise. Treason is what he’d called it. Against God and nature. He’d tried to retract the evening edition, but it was too late to get them back from the news boys. But once Mr. Roberts realized how many papers were sold and the subsequent surge in subscriptions, he’d said he wished more ladies of quality would take to writing and lunacy. One more lady nutter and he’d be able to retire to Brighton. Mr. Carter had taken umbrage silently at the implication that Lady Elizabeth was a nutter. She was, but she was also quite nice for a lady of quality.
He hoped society would be nicer to her this time than the last. But he didn’t think it would.
* * *
“Another treatise!” said Aunt Prue, as she and Mariah waited in one of Madame Juliette’s dressing rooms with Lizzie. Madame and her assistants were out of the room gathering dress samples and no doubt salivating – in a refined French way – over how much money they would make if they were the ones chosen to design Lady Elizabeth’s wedding gown and trousseau.
“Of course I wrote another treatise,” said Lizzie as she fingered the light pink peau de soie Madame had delicately suggested might be an excellent choice for a night rail. Lizzie could only imagine Marcus’s reaction to it. She imagined it in such vivid detail, that soon her skin was the same color as the silk.
Aunt Prue cleared her throat, her eyes smiling at her niece.
“Of course I wrote another treatise,” said Lizzie again, hoping she hadn’t lost complete track of the conversation. “You didn’t think I’d stop after the one.”
“I had rather hoped you would,” said Prue, as Mariah looked on in concern.
“But it’s not like these problems are going away. Just the other day I overheard one of the maids saying a friend of her cousin’s had been beaten by her husband yet again and nothing could be done about it. It’s an outrage how this is tolerated.”
“It is truly outrageous,” said Prue, as she quietly took Mariah’s hand. “But your brothers will be most displeased about your latest treatise as will your fiancé, unless I miss my mark.”
“But now that I’m getting married I don’t have to fear for my reputation anymore. Everyone was so worried I wouldn’t find a decent husband, but now I have one. Well, almost. And he’s most proper.” Except for those passionate kisses and caresses he’d bestowed on her the night before. Nothing the least bit proper about any of it.
Thank goodness.
“My dear,” said Prue, “while you no longer have to worry about finding a husband, you should take some care about pleasing the one you’re getting. Lord Riverton is the very notion of propriety and I can’t imagine he envisions his wife taking such a public role in politics.”
“He admires my intelligence and passion for my causes.” He also seemed to enjoy her passion for him. Why oh why was it so difficult to keep her mind on the matter at hand?
“All I know,” said Prue, “is that I’m not sure this was a good time to publish another treatise.” She stopped talking as madame and her assistants walked back into the room. And Mariah quietly pulled her hand away.
“Maintenant,” said Madame Juliette, “let us see what is good enough for the beautiful bride-to-be.”
Right behind Madame, her two shop girls exchanged a pointed look, then went about the business of pleasing one of their richest clients.
An hour later, as Lizzie, Prue and Mariah were leaving Madame Juliette’s, they met Lady Martin and Lady Isabelle who were entering. The girl’s face lit up.
“Lady Elizabeth! It’s such a pleasure to see you again.”
“And you as well,” said Lizzie with genuine fondness for the girl. She’d proven to be an apt student at the play, despite her mother’s attempts to block any knowledge from getting into her head, at one point hissing “Gentlemen do not care for bluestockings!” That prompted Riverton to ask Lizzie for an explanation of what had just transpired on stage, then he praised her knowledge of it.
Riverton was a man of great depth. And broad shoulders.
“Aunt Prue, Miss Mariah, I trust you know Lady Martin and her daughter Lady Isabelle?”
“Lady Martin and I are acquainted,” said Aunt Prue coolly, “but I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Lady Isabelle.” She turned a warm smile on the girl.
“And you won’t, either,” said Lady Martin, as she ushered her bewildered daughter into Madame Juliette’s.
“If only every overbearing matron could be got rid of so easily,” said Lizzie as she set off down the street. “What say you to Gunter’s? Ned, Jane and Vi should be there within the half hour.”
“I’d say that’s a lovely idea,” said Mariah quietly.
* * *
“But Mama,” said Vi, with all the anguish a six-year-old can muster, “how can I possibly choose among all the different ices?”
“I don’t think you should have to choose,” said her doting papa. “Why not have one of each?”
“Ned!” said Jane, who could barely be heard over the squeals of Vi’s delight, “we cannot possibly order that many ices. It would give her a terrible stomach ache.”
“Then she need eat only one bite from each.”
“Do I have to have only one bite, Papa? I can eat all of them, really I can.”
“But poppet,” said her mother with an eye on Ned, “I don’t want you to feel ill.”
“I won’t! I promise!”
“And it would be very wasteful,” continued Jane, as she brushed Vi’s hair out of her eyes.
“I can certainly afford it,” said Ned. “There’s nothing I’d rather spend my blunt on than my two favorite girls.”
Lizzie watched as Jane simply shook her head and gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. Having missed the first few years of Vi’s life, Ned was doing everything in his power to make it up to her now. It was rather endearing, really, and made Lizzie wonder what kind of father Riverton would be. Frightfully efficient, she thought. Then she wondered about the process that would get her with child, and found she had absolutely nothing to add to the ice debate.
“I have an idea,” said Aunt Prue. “What if everyone ordered a different flavored ice, the
n Vi could sample each of them with us?”
“That’s a great idea, Aunt Prue! Can we do that Mama and Papa, please?”
“Of course,” said Ned. “And I shall order their very best eel ice.”
“What?” exclaimed a clearly dismayed Vi.
“Your papa is teasing you, poppet,” said her mother, as Ned winked at his worried daughter.
“May I join you?”
Lizzie awoke from her reverie to see a particularly well turned out Riverton standing near the table, wearing fawn trousers, a light blue waistcoat and matching jacket. It was as if she’d conjured him from her thoughts, even if he was a bit more formally attired than what she’d been imagining. He was much more attired in general.
Her thoughts coupled with his very presence had the disconcerting effect of robbing her of speech.
“Riverton,” said Aunt Prue, “you’re just in time. Please sit down. We were ordering ices – what would you like?”
Riverton took a seat next to Mariah, giving him a clear view of Lizzie. “Chocolate, if you please.”
“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible,” said Prue. “Vi has already ordered it.”
“Pardon me, Miss Violet. I didn’t realize they only had one serving left.”
“You can have it if you want, my lord,” said Vi as sincerely as she was able, with disappointment written plainly across her face.
“You miss my point, Riverton,” continued Prue. “We’re all having different flavors, so Vi can sample each of them.”
“That sounds like an excellent plan. Perhaps I should choose lemon.”
“My beautiful wife already chose it,” said Ned.
“Coconut?”
“That’s mine,” said Lizzie, proud of herself for finally finding her voice.
“But you could share with her,” said Vi.
“I look forward to it,” said Riverton, as he flashed a smile at Lizzie that thoroughly warmed her. Everywhere.
“Mint?” At the look of Vi’s obvious distaste, he asked. “What flavor would you suggest, Vi?”
“We haven’t had strawberry yet, Lord Riverton.”
Never Miss a Chance (Kellington Book Two) Page 13
