Well, at least Elizabeth didn’t need to be concerned about making a wealthy connection. In fact, since she wouldn’t suit a member of the peerage, she could actually relax at these events. She glanced behind her, eyes sweeping the courtyard, but of course, Darian wasn’t there. He was probably with the other guardsmen in their quarters behind the stables.
A waiting maid took their wraps as they entered and the earl gave his card to the butler who gestured to the short receiving line.
William Armstrong, the Duke of Stafford, was a striking man. Although in his mid-fifties, his hair was still dark and he stood with the ramrod-straight back of the colonel he’d once been. Beside him, his petite wife looked like a delicate faerie with hair the color of corn-silk and a gown that shimmered in iridescent colors of greens and blues. His son was nowhere to be seen.
“Your Graces.” Elizabeth dropped a curtsey when her name was announced.
The duchess inclined her head. “We heard of your parents’ terrible misfortune and offer our condolences.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. “It was kind of Uncle James to take me in.”
“But of course he would,” the duchess replied.
The duke’s gaze glanced over her and then turned to Isabella. A look of approval crossed his face. “My son, it seems, is quite inexcusably tardy this evening; however… Oh, here he comes now. Lady Isabella, Lady Juliana, Miss Elizabeth: may I present my son, the Marquess of Bingington?”
Elizabeth’s feet felt like they were bolted to the floor and her legs felt heavy as iron, but her head felt strangely light, as if not attached to the rest of her.
The duke’s heir was Darian.
She managed a stiff curtsey, avoiding looking at his face. “My lord,” she said and then the room began to sway.
Chapter Two
Darian leapt forward as Elizabeth tumbled toward the floor. He wrapped one arm around her waist, supporting her, and gently pushed her head down. “Take some deep breaths,” he said.
She hung on to his arm and inhaled and exhaled slowly. After a few minutes, she raised her head, hoping she didn’t look as embarrassed as she felt. “I am fine now. I am not sure what happened.”
“You nearly fainted, my dear,” the duchess said. “Perhaps you should lie down and rest.” Before Elizabeth could protest, the duchess summoned a maid and a footman to escort Elizabeth to an upstairs chamber.
Darian watched her leave, wondering what had caused the color to drain from her face so suddenly. He didn’t think Elizabeth was the swooning type, given that she’d taken a tumble from her horse without so much as a whimper. Perhaps she was more fragile than she looked. She’d been light as a feather in his arms that day…and soft when she’d leaned over, the undersides of her breasts settling on his arm. Very soft.
“I am sure Elizabeth will be fine,” Isabella said by his side.
He looked down at her. When he left to join Wellesley in Iberia at the beginning of the Peninsular War, Isabella had been a child of…ten?...maybe eleven? She’d been such a dainty child, managing to keep immaculately clean even when the rest of the children were sweaty, with grass or dirt stains on their clothes. He remembered teasing her about it once and she’d given him the most reproachful look. Somewhat the same way she was looking at him now. He couldn’t deny that she’d turned into a stunning beauty with her delicate, heart-shaped face, pale hair, and deep violet eyes. So different from Elizabeth’s thick, lush, mahogany-colored hair and her unusual grey eyes, luminescent as pearls.
“Have you forgotten your manners, Darian? I am sure Lady Isabella would enjoy the quadrille that is beginning,” his mother said.
“How rude of me.” Darian automatically bowed. “Would you care to dance, Lady Isabella?”
“Please call me Isabella.” She placed her hand on his arm and he led her to the floor to join the set.
He watched as she laughed and flitted from one man to another as lightly as a butterfly. Slightly flirtatious, but not enough to upset their female partners. Fully confident and as much at ease as any hostess would be.
Darian glanced across the room to where his father stood, engaged in conversation with the earl. The duke had already told him that Dewberry suggested a marriage alliance with Isabella. And he knew, that as eldest son and heir to the duchy, he would be expected to marry and produce children. He had avoided that responsibility for as long as he could, staying on the Continent to fight alongside Wellington. With the Vitoria breakthrough of French power in Spain a year ago, Wellington had tried to send him back to England. “To do his other duty,” the general had said. Darian had managed to put in another year of service.
It wasn’t that he was opposed to marriage exactly. What he didn’t like was the false pretenses that were so a part of the ton society. Marriages were far too often made for political or financial reasons and both husbands and wives took lovers. That wasn’t what Darian wanted. He wanted a woman that enjoyed country life more than Town and actually was interested in something besides fashion and parties.
Perhaps someone who took a horse out by herself without an escort and didn’t caterwaul when she landed in a mud puddle?
He sighed inwardly as Isabella twirled back to him to complete the dance pattern. He envied his younger brother, Edward. If he were a second son, he could look for love. As a future duke, he was expected to wed within the peerage. He really dreaded the Season ahead with all the ninnyhammers bibblebabbling around him like so many white-clothed moths. Silly, giggling girls weren’t what he needed after seeing death and destruction for the past six years—nor after warming the bed of so many lonely widows.
“A farthing for your thoughts?” Isabella said.
He shook his head. “Just thinking about being back in England.”
She swept her lashes down and then looked up at him. “I would like to hear about your plans.”
“In due time you shall,” he replied with a smile.
“I am looking forward to it.”
Darian glanced at his father again. His mother now stood by his side. They’d always seemed happy and Darian knew their marriage had been arranged. It could work. Dewberry was an influential MP and their properties adjoined. Alliances had been made for less. And he’d known Isabella since she was a child. Certainly, she was a beautiful woman.
All in all, Isabella would suit, he supposed.
* * * *
“I think Lord Bingington really likes you,” Julianna chatted happily at breakfast the next morning. “He danced nearly every dance with you and hardly looked at another girl.”
Isabella smiled smugly. “I suspect he will be asking for my hand soon. Perhaps even before the Season begins.”
Elizabeth forced herself to swallow a suddenly tasteless lump of porridge and looked down at her plate. How could she have been so naïve to think Darian—Lord Bingington—was a commoner? He’d said his parents managed the estate. They owned it by right of the king. If being a duke’s heir weren’t bad enough, Darian’s—Lord Bingington—heroism at Vitoria would secure him the hand of any eligible lady of the peerage.
Julianna’s voice was much more subdued. “Does that mean you will not have a Season? Papa would never let me be presented this year if you did not go.”
“Of course I will have a Season! I am not about to be denied all the fun and social world of Town. I will just not say a definite ‘yes’ until later,” Isabella replied. “Besides, if I am going to be a marchioness, I want to integrate myself with the ton to ensure my own social standing. Our father is an earl, remember.”
Julianna giggled, happy again. “Do you think some handsome swain might seek my hand? Maybe Edward? His Grace said last night that Edward was due back any day.”
“Do not even think to be in his company alone,” Isabella exclaimed. “He is much too worldly for you and you would be disgraced before you even knew why.” She relented a little at Julianna’s fallen face. “You really are too young at six-and-ten. Papa is allowing you to get your
feet wet. And, since Elizabeth is included, I am sure she was meant to act as your chaperone.”
Elizabeth put her fork down. She would cast up her accounts if she tried to eat another bite. Chaperone? Surely, she wasn’t that old. Besides which, she’d never been married or even courted. What did she know about being a chaperone?
“I am not sure I am suitable,” she said.
Isabella narrowed her eyes slightly as she studied Elizabeth. “You may be right,” she said. “You did swoon last night for no reason that I could see. Perhaps crowds are not the best thing.”
“Why did you swoon?” Julianna asked, concern in her voice. “It seems so not like you.”
What could she say? Certainly not that the man who had ‘rescued’ her from a mud puddle—the one she spent countless hours recounting the feel of his arms around her and the hardness his chest as she pressed against it—and whom she thought might make a suitable husband turned out to be the duke’s son. It was embarrassing enough that the earl had the carriage brought around and Aunt Catherine had sent her home.
“Perhaps my corset was laced too tightly,” she answered. “Isabella’s gown—lovely as it was—was a bit small for me.”
“Then you shall have new ones made,” Julianna responded promptly.
“Is it worth the effort?” Isabella asked. “I have several gowns that have only been worn once. After all, Elizabeth is a bit long in the tooth to come out.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Do not worry though. Papa will find a husband for you, since you are… related. A squire’s son perhaps. I think Tomas Delaney down the road has a son close to your age.”
Julianna widened her eyes. “Do you mean John? He must be over forty and cranky to boot.”
Isabella waved her hand airily. “A wife can cure crankiness.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath and stood up. She had to get out of the room before she said something she would regret. “Please do not concern yourself over my marital state. Before my parents…passed, I was going to assume a position as governess. It is something I will probably still do.” Actually, that was a brilliant idea. Getting away from here before Darian—Lord Bingington, she corrected for the umpteenth time—actually married Isabella. Elizabeth didn’t want to be present for that.
Julianna looked horrified. “Papa would never allow a relative to work as a commoner.”
Elizabeth smiled at her. Julianna may be six-and-ten, but she’d been protected from the real world and was enthusiastically optimistic about most things. Unlike Isabella, who was ambitious and looked out for her own interests.
“But, my dear,” Elizabeth said to Julianna, “I am a commoner. My papa was your father’s brother, but he had no title and when he chose to become a vicar, the prince regent regained his lands.”
“Still,” Julianna retorted stubbornly, “you are living with us. I should like to have you as my chaperone. Please, please say you will stay…at least for the Season. I need you.”
Elizabeth took another deep breath. It was hard to deny the earnestness of the young girl’s plea. “I suspect you will have your beaus wrapped around your little finger,” she said with a smile.
“Does that mean you will stay? Please?”
She should say no. She should go to the earl tomorrow and tell him she wished to be a governess. She should get as far away from Stafford as possible. And yet…a part of her wanted to stay. To see Darian—Lord Bingington—again, if only from a distance. Such foolishness. She should listen to her head…
She sighed. “I will stay, at least for the Season.”
* * * *
Several days later, Elizabeth heard horses cantering through the gates and looked out the window of the parlor to see Darian dismounting in the courtyard. A man with light brown hair, bleached blonde by the sun, accompanied him.
Julianna leaned over her shoulder. “That is Edward. He is home!”
“Let me see.” Isabella moved quickly toward them. “Darian did not say he planned to call this morning.”
Elizabeth tried not to flinch at Isabella’s use of his familiar name. No doubt he’d asked her to use it.
“Do you not remember?” Julianna asked. “Lord Bingington told Papa at the ball that he wanted to see about breeding some horses.”
“A lady does not use that term,” Isabella admonished.
Julianna rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. “Who is going to hear?”
“Ahem.” From the doorway, the butler cleared his throat and Julianna blushed, but he merely bowed and held out a card. “If you are receiving, the lords would like to call on you before they conduct their business.”
Isabella smoothed the sprigged muslin of her day dress and touched her curls. “It is somewhat ill-mannered, but this is the country. You may show them in.”
Elizabeth felt a flock of butterflies fluttering in her stomach. It was too late to make an escape. She would have to go through the door into the hallway. She moved to a corner, partially blocked from view by a Grecian urn and tried to be calm.
“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Darian said as he and his brother came into the room and bowed in Isabella’s direction. “Edward returned home yesterday and insisted we ride over this morning.”
“I have been gone too long and you have only grown more beautiful.” Edward bent over Isabella’s hand and kissed it. Then he straightened and winked at Julianna. “Hello, Muffin. It looks like you’ve grown up too.”
“She would probably prefer Lady Julianna,” Darian said.
“I guess I cannot call you Ragamuffin anymore, can I?” Edward said. “I do not see a hair out of place or a tear in your dress anywhere. Lady Julianna.” But he winked again and she blushed.
“Where is Elizabeth?” Darian asked.
Drat. She’d hoped she wouldn’t be noticed. “Here.” She stepped away from the shadows. He turned, his brilliant green gaze sweeping over her and her face grew warm. He strode over and took her hand, leading her into the center of the room. Just the simple touch of his bare hand covering hers sent tingles coursing through her arm. She extracted her hand before her entire body started to quiver.
“Why are you hiding back there?” he asked.
“Yes, indeed, why would you keep yourself hidden? Beauty should always be displayed and admired,” Edward said.
Darian grimaced. “May I present my brother, Edward?”
Elizabeth looked at him, expecting to find him impertinently scrutinizing her body as any rogue of his reputation would, but instead found him gazing into her face. His eyes were the color of whiskey and as clear. For a moment longer, he studied her and then he turned to his brother and grinned.
“Does she have a name or do I have to ask her myself?”
Darian stiffened. “Of course. Miss Elizabeth Townsend.”
“She is our cousin,” Julianna added, “and has come to live with us.”
“Well, I can see why you wanted to keep her to yourself, brother.”
Complete silence met his remark. Elizabeth wished she could crawl under the Aubusson carpet.
Isabella stepped over and laid her hand on Darian’s arm. “Darian has asked Papa if he might court me.”
Elizabeth prayed that the floorboards would open and swallow her whole.
Edward’s grin faded. “I see.” His eyes held Isabella’s for a long moment and then he turned toward Elizabeth. “In that case, since I do not have to fear my brother will call me out when I have only just returned, I would like to request the pleasure of your company for a carriage ride tomorrow, if I may? With the proper footmen attending, of course.”
Could she refuse? Dare she? Or maybe more importantly, should she? Jumbled thoughts flew through her head like pigeons trying to avoid a hawk. She had no idea of why Darian’s brother would seek her company. Then she remembered what Julianna had said about Edward having a tendre for Isabella. He was trying to keep his pride after learning about her courtship. And Elizabeth needed to keep her pride too. Darian must never know
how she had foolishly entertained thoughts of them together. She lifted her chin and smiled at Edward.
“I would be delighted.”
Chapter Three
Darian didn’t know why he felt out-of-sorts with his brother as they walked across the courtyard toward the earl’s stables. Edward had always been glib and women had always been attracted to him. So why was Darian surprised when Elizabeth—Miss Townsend—smiled and said she would be go on a carriage ride? “I would be delighted to,” she’d said. He had a sudden, unexplained urge to tell her she couldn’t go.
“Why so dour?” Edward said as they entered the barn. “Horse breeding used to be one of your passions.”
“It still is,” Darian answered as one of the Andalusians thrust her sleek head over the half-door and regarded them with intelligent, liquid eyes. He stroked her velvet muzzle absently.
“As I remember, Isabella cared not to be around horses,” Edward said.
Because she didn’t want to get her dresses dirty. A picture of Elizabeth trying to stand in the road, her boots mired in mud and her habit wet with slushy snow came into Darian’s mind. She hadn’t even remarked on the condition of her clothes. She’d been more worried that the horse would return home lathered.
“She still doesn’t. Isabella does not care for the outdoors. I am sure she is looking forward to moving to Town for the Season.”
Edward grinned. “I am looking forward to everything London has to offer myself. Mornings at White’s, afternoons flirting with silly ingénues and nights…” He shrugged, his grin widening. “Nights with an enticing female old enough to reciprocate in pleasure.”
Darian looked at him sharply. “I hope you do not have any intentions of ruining Eliz—Miss Townsend’s reputation.”
Edward returned his look. “I have learned to be discreet. I dare say Miss Townsend is hardly a blushing innocent. She is well over twenty—”
A Season for Love Page 2
