Elizabeth, kindly informed by Cook and Dawson that there was nothing for her to do in preparation for the dinner party, all was in hand, spent some of her time exploring the house and gardens, or walking by the lake, often taking three delirious dogs with her. In the house she spent time studying the family portraits, working out the various relationships in the different generations, and trying to see what resemblance there was to his lordship. Did he get his good looks from his father, or from his maternal grandfather? She could not decide. Both were handsome men, and there were portraits of both at around the same age as his lordship now.
She was in the garden one sunny afternoon with the dogs when the spaniel began to limp, and was clearly hurt. Elizabeth took hold of him, lifted up the fore paw he was favouring, and saw a thorn had become lodged in the soft pad.
She tried to hold the wriggling animal, but he resisted, and she needed two hands to deal with the thorn, so she sat down on the grass and pulled him onto his side. To keep him still she hitched up her skirt and flung one leg across him. Whether it was surprise or a feeling of indignity as his unconventional position, he stopped struggling for a moment and she was able to grasp the paw with one hand and gently tease out the thorn with the other.
'There, you silly clunch,' she said as she released him and the dog scrambled to his feet, moved a short distance away, and stood regarding her with his mournful eyes.
'Will you be sitting on the grass tending one of my horses next?' she heard Lord Clifford say.
She looked up in startled surprise, and then realized her skirt had ridden up over her knees, and he was gazing with appreciation at her legs.
'My lord!'
Mortified at being discovered in such an embarrassing situation she hurriedly pulled down her skirt, and began to scramble to her feet.
'Please don't apologize, I enjoyed admiring you.'
He bent down and grasped her hands, hauling her to her feet. She was so close to him when she was upright she could smell the masculine scent. It may have been to prevent her from falling that he released her hands and put his arms about her. Her heart was pounding, and she was aware she was blushing. She dared not raise her eyes to look at him, but before she was able to speak and demand to be released he pushed her gently away.
'Your confounded brother is most inopportune,' he said softly.
'The dog had a thorn in his paw, I could not hold him any other way,' she said, almost gabbling.
'Fortunate dog. Well, Henry, did you have a good ride? What do you think of the mare? Is she strong enough for hunting, do you think?'
As Henry began to give his opinion of Lord Clifford's new horse, Elizabeth slipped away. She was both mortified and strangely exhilarated. How unfortunate to have been discovered in such an undignified position. She had been sure Lord Clifford had been about to kiss her, and did not know whether to be offended at his presumption or astonished. She had not thought him the kind of man to take advantage of a girl in such a situation, but then, what did she know of how men behaved? She had so little experience, from her one brief Season. From the time her father died she had held all men at a distance, never allowing any to come close to her.
Then her thoughts turned to the next few hours. How should she behave? What would Lord Clifford do? It was only with a great deal of willpower that she forced herself to dress for dinner that evening.
*
Lord Clifford, having listened with scant attention to Henry, soon managed to leave him, taking the dogs who had promptly turned their allegiance to him when Elizabeth departed. He went thoughtfully into the walled garden, and was carefully inspecting the fruit in the succession houses against the north wall while he contemplated his recent behaviour. Was he such a loose fish that he would try to kiss a girl who was a guest in his house? A girl who had no male relative to protect her, for he did not consider Henry capable of doing so. Had he been so shaken by the sight of those slender legs and well-turned ankles that he had been lost to all reason?
He then recalled that he had not, in fact, kissed her, though he had had the intention, and was astonished at the disappointment this caused him. What should he do? For years he had avoided matchmaking mamas and eager debutantes. Did he want to marry Elizabeth Markby? Could he face the rest of his life without her?
He decided he did want her for his wife. How was he to proceed? Could he honourably propose to her while she was a guest? Ought he to propose because of his recent actions? If the latter, it might appear he felt obliged to do the right thing, like the wretched Matthews. He did not want her to gain that impression, and he suspected she would reject him if she had the slightest suspicion that was his motive.
In the end he decided the most tactful thing was to ignore it, and wait for a more propitious time to approach her. Perhaps, when they were back in Brighton, he would find the right moment.
*
Lady Markby was being entertained by going for occasional gentle drives, accompanied by Lady Palgrave, and intimated to Elizabeth that her company was not really necessary. Glad to be released from constant attention on her demanding mother, she fantasized that Lady Palgrave might become a regular part of the Markby household. Giving up this delightful dream, she recognized Lord Clifford needed her as Annamarie's companion and chaperone.
Lady Palgrave, one evening, was seated at a small table in the parlour after dinner, while Elizabeth played the piano softly. She had a sheaf of small pieces of paper in front of her, and was attempting to make a table plan for the dinner party.
'It is so difficult,' she complained, 'for I don't know some of these people, so where should I place them?'
'There is no cause for you to puzzle yourself,' Lord Clifford said, rather impatiently. 'Dawson knows what to do, he will arrange everything.'
Lady Palgrave frowned, and screwed up the paper.
'Then I might as well burn these! Why did Dawson give me the list in the first place?'
'You asked him for it,' Lady Markby reminded her.
'So I did. I was trying to be helpful. I had forgot.'
Elizabeth, with no responsibilities, even though Cook came to her for her approval of a change in the menu, since she had been informed certain species of fish would not be obtainable, was beginning to wish the dinner party was over. Then they would have just one more week before they all went back to Brighton. Though Lord Clifford had not referred to the episode in the garden, and she had gradually regained her composure and could face him without blushing, she wanted to be away from his disturbing presence, and able to think clearly about her feelings for him. She was attracted, she freely admitted, and somewhat shamefacedly knew that if he had kissed her she would have responded.
She was finding it more and more of a strain being thrown constantly into Lord Clifford's company. He was charming, considerate, an excellent host, and she found it impossible to dislike him for his determination that Henry would be a suitable husband for Annamarie, even though that irritating pair seemed on less than loverlike terms at the moment. Indeed, she was coming to like him far too much for her own comfort. For the past eight years she had turned her face against any romantic involvement, had discouraged the few men who had attempted to draw more closely to her. Marriage, she believed, was not for her.
The house in Brighton had been hired until the end of October, and after that they would return to Markby Court for the winter, and she could forget him. Perhaps, if Annamarie continued to repulse Henry he would get over his infatuation with her. Unless Lord Clifford relented and permitted her to go to London Henry would have no opportunities of meeting her. Whether that would cool or increase his ardour she failed to determine.
*
The day of the dinner party dawned bright and sunny. It was full moon, so the guests would have no problems driving home in the dark. The house had been spruced up, the silverware cleaned, the best tablecloths washed, and everything prepared. For two days the kitchens had been in a ferment with preparations, and Lady Markby was changing
her mind every hour about what she would wear.
Elizabeth left her to Joan, who seemed to be able to calm her down and still dress her in time. She herself was proposing to wear her best evening gown, a rose-coloured silk with short puffed sleeves, silver embroidery on the sleeves and bodice, and a deep band of silver and gold embroidery round the hem. Meg dressed her hair so that ringlets fell either side of her face, and she wore a diamond necklace, bracelets and earrings which had been a gift from her father during her one brief Season, a short while before he died.
Draping a silver gauze shawl about her shoulders, and pulling on her long gloves, she went downstairs early, ready to greet the guests. Her mother had graciously agreed to act as hostess, but Elizabeth placed no reliance on her being ready before the first guests arrived.
They were using the principal drawing room, opening from the Great Hall opposite the staircase. Double doors led from there to the big dining room. Both rooms had been thoroughly cleaned, the furniture polished, and the chandeliers taken down and washed, so that the prisms reflected all the colours in the room, and the candles threw out glittering light. The old fabrics of the curtains and chairs had been carefully brushed, for more vigorous treatment might make them disintegrate, and Elizabeth could see what glorious rooms they might be if some care and money were expended on them.
Lord Clifford was waiting, looking more handsome than ever in evening dress. Henry, to her relief, had eschewed his more extreme waistcoats and wore a plain grey one. Annamarie had on a simple white gown ideal for a young girl, and no jewellery. Lady Palgrave was fluttering round, and to her surprise Lady Markby, in a dark red silk gown, was already seated on a chair beside the fire. Joan had worked a miracle to have her ready in time.
She had little time for gazing. There were sounds of arrival, and soon Dawson was announcing the guests. Most seemed to be families, with young sons and daughters, some of whom Annamarie clearly knew, for soon there was a cluster of youngsters round her, and Elizabeth could hear her laughter. Two elderly ladies had come on their own, Dr Fleetwood arrived, followed by Mr Matthews. Then two young men, on their own, were announced. Elizabeth had tried to keep count, and she thought that only one guest was missing, but in that she could not be sure. Lord Clifford took a surreptitious glance at his watch, and gently shook his head at Dawson. Then another guest was announced.
Apologizing profusely for being late, explaining he had been held up on the road by an accident between a farm cart and a gig, a man entered the room, smiling round with great confidence as he crossed to greet his host.
He was by far the most foppishly dressed man there. His blue coat of superfine was skin-tight, as were his pantaloons of a paler shade of blue. On his shoes were a pair of large buckles, and diamonds glittered on them. His cravat, intricately arranged in an Waterfall, sat between ridiculously high shirt points, and was stuck with a large diamond pin. At least he wore the conventional white evening waistcoat, but it was decorated with what looked like patches of shiny satin sewn onto the heavy silken base. Several rings, a ruby, an emerald, an amethyst and a diamond, decorated his elegantly long, thin fingers, and as he fluttered his hands they sparkled brilliantly. He sported several fobs, and after Lord Clifford released his hand he turned to survey his fellow guests through an ornate, rather large quizzing glass.
Elizabeth had gone cold with shock. She wondered whether, for the first time in her life, she was about to swoon. She had never expected to see Sir Percy Royle, once her fiancé, who had jilted her when she was seventeen, ever again.
*
Chapter 7
Elizabeth tried to breathe deeply and strove hard to retain her composure. To her enormous relief Sir Percy had not attempted to speak to her in the drawing room, but it was possible that in the flurry of his belated arrival and the move soon afterwards to the dining room he had not seen her. And, of course, he might not have recognized her. She was, after all, eight years older, a mature woman, not the dewy-eyed debutante he had known.
She could not believe how much the mere sight of him affected her. She had supposed herself to be indifferent, long past the hurt and anger which had consumed her in the months following his betrayal, but she was shaking and had difficulty in breathing. For a few moments she was convinced she was going to swoon, but with a tremendous effort of will pulled herself together. He should not be permitted to affect her now. The hurt and bewilderment she had felt so long ago had almost immediately been replaced by anger, and later intense relief that she had not, after all, married him. She was so rarely in London she did not expect ever to meet him, and had tried to forget him. Did he have property nearby, or was he staying with someone? He had arrived on his own, so the former seemed a likely explanation. Where was his wife?
Somehow she had managed to move into the dining room when the company did so. She had been guided to her seat, a third of the way down from Lord Clifford at the head of the table, by Dawson. Sir Percy was further down on her side, so at least she did not have to see him during the meal. She took one sip of the mushroom soup, but did not taste it, and laid down her spoon. Her throat was so constricted she was unable to swallow.
The soup bowls were removed, and her neighbour on her right, a red-faced, bluff man in his fifties, who introduced himself as Samuel Hardcastle, insisted on piling her plate with food from the dishes in front of them, despite her attempts to tell him she did not want slices of pink beef, a collop of mutton, and some ham. He was full of praise for Cook's variety of vegetables, though he confessed he did not himself think much good came from eating too much greenery. He helped himself lavishly to the various sauces, though.
Elizabeth did not need to speak more than to murmur agreement to his various pronouncements. He owned a large estate a few miles to the south of Crossways, he told her, which he had bought ten years ago, when he had retired from his cotton mill business in Lancashire.
'I've three sons, all capable lads, so I thought they might as well take over while I had time and health to enjoy life.'
She nibbled at a morsel of ham, and was conscious that Lord Clifford was looking at her with a puzzled expression. She tried to smile, and when the second course was brought out turned mechanically to the young man on her left.
'I'm Felix Snaith,' he said diffidently. 'I came with my parents. We live just a few miles to the south. I have just finished at Cambridge, and am waiting for a ship. I am going to India soon, to join my uncle's firm. He exports tea and spices. In fact I have two uncles there, one is in the army, and they tell me it is not a bad place to be.'
'Indeed?'
She cared nothing for cotton mills nor Indian merchants, and this time managed to prevent her dinner companions from loading her plate with chicken legs, oysters, fillets of trout and any of the other delicacies set out before them. Somehow she managed to reply to Felix Snaith's remarks, though afterwards she had no recollection of what he had told her, and breathed a sigh of relief when the tablecloth was removed and the desserts set out.
This time she accepted and managed to swallow some syllabub, but she wanted only for the meal to end. When Lady Markby gave the signal to the ladies to rise, she felt as though her legs would not support her, but managed to walk steadily enough out of the room.
The ladies disposed themselves about the drawing room, and Elizabeth, careless of her duties as a hostess, muttered an excuse and passed on into the Great Hall, from where she almost ran up the stairs and along the gallery until she reached her own room.
Meg, who had not expected her to come upstairs until the guests departed, was not there to help her, so Elizabeth huddled into a chair and tried to control her shivers. After a while, recognizing that she could not face returning to the rejoin the guests, she pulled off her gown, stripped off her jewellery, and crawled into bed. Inured as she was to her parent's frequent claims of illness to avoid doing what she did not wish to do, Elizabeth had not thought she might resort to the same ploy. But it would have to serve, for tonight at least
.
*
Lord Clifford, with only half his mind on the conversation with his neighbours, had watched Elizabeth as she entered the dining room. She was deathly pale, and seemed to be moving in a trance. Fearing she was going to collapse, he was about to go to her when Dawson, ever reliable, guided her to her seat, and she appeared to recover somewhat.
He kept a discreet eye on her. Though she spoke to her neighbours, he saw she ate almost nothing. Was she ill? Her colour had returned, but there was a stricken look in her eyes he could not account for.
When the ladies left the room she seemed to have recovered, and he forced himself to pay full attention to a fellow landowner who was demanding his support as a magistrate over stiffer penalties to be imposed on the poachers who, it seemed, had denuded this man's woods of all game birds.
'They can have the conies,' the man declared. 'I don't care about them, and they eat too much of the crops, but I want my pheasants and partridges! There's nothing like pheasant cooked in wine with apples.'
He cut the after-dinner conversation short, soon suggesting they ought to join the ladies. Elizabeth, to his dismay, was not in the drawing room. His instinct, startling him by the strength of it, was to leave everyone and seek for her, to make sure she was not ill. Realizing that as host this was impossible, he went straight to Annamarie and demanded if she knew where Miss Markby was.
'Isn't she here?' Annamarie shrugged. 'I really hadn't noticed. Is it important?'
Should he insist the irritating girl go and find out? She turned away from him and gave young Snaith a dazzling smile, so instead he drew Lady Palgrave aside.
'I think Miss Markby may be indisposed,' he said softly. 'She was very pale and ate nothing. Please will you go and see if she is in her room and needs anything?'
Lady Palgrave looked concerned.
'Oh, dear, how unfortunate, when we need her here to entertain all these people. I'll go to her room at once, my lord, and try to persuade her to come down again.'
Lord Clifford's Dilemma Page 9
