by Tuft, Karen
He finished the knot that bound their ankles together and stood. “Now, the trick is to match our strides,” he said to her. She was staring down at their feet. His own booted feet looked large next to hers. “If you will allow me to place my arm around your waist, we will be able to sense each other’s movements much more successfully.”
He watched her cheeks heat up. Had his words been indecorous? Perhaps they had been, at least to the daughter of a duke. “I apologize if what I said seemed forward.”
“Not at all,” she said, still staring at their feet.
He wasn’t sure he believed her, but the race was about to begin, so he slid his arm around her waist anyway and held her tightly against his side.
The pistol sounded.
“Here we go,” he said. They put their shackled feet forward first and quickly got into a decent rhythm that managed to take them swiftly down the field. “You’re quite a natural at this,” Kit said.
She stumbled then. “Sorry,” she said, sounding breathless.
He tightened his arm about her waist. “Not to worry,” he said. Anthony and Amelia had edged ahead of them. “Let’s pass these ne’er-do-wells, shall we?”
Lady Elizabeth puffed out a laugh at his remark and quickened her pace, sliding her own arm gingerly around his back to anchor herself.
They were gaining on Anthony and Amelia. “Yes!” Kit said to her. “Well done; we can take them!” Now they were side by side.
And then, out of nowhere, Anthony seemed to stumble over his own feet and right into Kit, sending him—and Lady Elizabeth, naturally—tumbling to the ground in a clumsy heap, with Kit landing on top. He swiftly moved himself off of her and assisted her to her feet. “Come on! We haven’t lost to them yet!”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anthony stumble once again, but this time, it was Anthony and Amelia who toppled to the ground—just in time for Perkins, the local blacksmith, and his wife to cross the finish line. Kit and Lady Elizabeth finished a respectable, albeit disappointing, second, and Anthony and Amelia managed to place third.
“Dash it all, Tony,” Kit said, laughing as everyone bent to untie their ankles. “What was that all about?”
Anthony ignored his question, making Kit laugh again while he finished his task. Lady Elizabeth had proven herself a capable partner and good sport. He straightened—and froze. He couldn’t believe what he saw: the statue had been completely transformed.
Lady Elizabeth’s face was bright pink from exertion, and her hair was coming out of its pins, allowing long strands of utter sunlight to spill down her shoulder. She brushed one strand away from her face, laughing, her blue eyes twinkling.
He’d never seen her look so charmingly unkempt before.
“I do believe that after what we have just accomplished, we should be on more familiar terms,” he managed to say. “Perhaps you would consider calling me Kit, and I shall call you Lizzie.”
“No one ever calls me that.”
“Even better, then.” He grinned.
Her smile dimmed a bit, however. “I think we’d better not at present.” She glanced around anxiously, as though looking for someone. Anthony? Her parents, perhaps?
“I shall honor your wishes, but I fear you might always be Lizzie in my heart,” he teased, placing his hand over his heart to emphasize his words.
Her smile brightened again at his joke. “Thank you for understanding.”
They walked toward Mr. and Mrs. Perkins and congratulated them both. Kit had always liked Perkins—he was an honest, hardworking blacksmith, if there ever was one.
Then he took Anthony aside. “You bounder, I see what you are about. Well played, Tony. You put the winner’s purse into the hands of someone who could use it.”
“Shh, don’t let Perkins know,” Anthony whispered with a grin. “Manly pride and all that.”
They were awarded their prize ribbons to the general cheering of the crowd, and then Kit and Anthony left to join the men’s cricket match. But Kit glanced back at Elizabeth to see her now chatting with Amelia and wondered at the difference a simple three-legged race had made in her.
***
The ball that took place that evening was unlike any Elizabeth had ever attended. Even as she and her parents walked through the doors of the Ashworth ballroom after greeting Lord Ashworth and Lady Ashworth and Lord Halford, Elizabeth could feel such a joy and vitality amongst the guests that it brought goose bumps to her skin. The nobility and gentry were all in their finest, as would be the case at any ball—whether in Town or in the country. But this ball was different, for the entire village had been invited. Everyone had dressed in their finest and were smiling and conversing.
It must be a great relief for the villagers to see the marquess in attendance; his ailing health was now obviously on the mend. And then there was Lord Halford, the guest of honor, the hero returned home from Spain.
The ballroom was already a veritable crush, filled with fragrant flowers and friends and acquaintances.
“The Earl of Halford didn’t seem particularly attached to you after greeting us just now,” Papa whispered just loudly enough for Elizabeth to hear over the din of the crowd. “I am expecting a betrothal announcement later tonight. See that it happens.”
“Listen to him carefully, Elizabeth,” Mama said.
“But I don’t understand. Lord Halford has barely returned and is still unwell. And certainly, he wishes to spend time with his fam—”
“See that it happens,” Papa repeated in a hiss before stalking off to the cardroom. The sound brought snakes to Elizabeth’s mind.
“Take heed,” Mama said once he was gone. “I do not know what is going on with your father, but he is not at all the same as he was. He is placing a great deal of stock in this match of yours. I will not have our lives upended by your failure in this.”
“I will do my best, Mama, but what if Lord Halford—”
“Lord Halford will, if you do your part correctly. Now, I must go and mingle with what few worthy people are here. We must be at our most genial.” She turned away from Elizabeth with a flourish. “Ah, Lady Putnam, how do you do?” she said, barely masking her sneer. Lady Putnam was the wife of a mere baronet, and as a result, Mama could barely tolerate the woman. She would have to do much better if she was going to actually be her most genial.
Amelia Clarke entered the ballroom just as Mama left Elizabeth. She was wearing a lovely plum-colored gown that was at once both bold and demure. Elegant. She remained just inside the ballroom doors, looking about her as though she’d been dropped into a foreign land, which, of course, she had been.
Elizabeth knew how to assist her with that particular feeling. It was one she had encountered many times since her come-out. She approached Amelia, hoping she would be a friendly face. “How fine you look this evening, Amelia,” she said. “I love the color of your gown. I can never wear such a bold shade, you see, but it goes wonderfully with your hair. I am quite envious.” She smiled so Amelia would know not to take her last comment seriously and offered Amelia her hands in welcome.
“You have no reason for envy, Lady Elizabeth. You put everyone in the shade,” Amelia replied, taking Elizabeth’s hands in her own and squeezing them in greeting before letting them go. She lowered her voice. “I never could have imagined seeing you run a three-legged race. It is an image I shall treasure for some time.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh. “It is an image that would have haunted my father for decades had he seen it. And remember, you must call me Elizabeth.” She would dearly love to have Amelia for a true friend and confidante, if Papa would only allow it.
“I shall endeavor to get used to it,” Amelia said.
“You know, it has been so long since I did something as frivolous as that race,” Elizabeth said, reflecting back on the afternoon. “I enjoyed myself thoroughly. Lord Cantwe
ll is a jolly sort of fellow.”
“Indeed—”
“What a lovely gown,” a strident Harriet Putnam said as she approached with her younger sister, Charlotte.
Elizabeth had dealt with the Putnam sisters before. Because she herself was the daughter of a duke, they usually fawned all over her until she couldn’t bear it.
They would make mincemeat out of someone like Amelia, who’d had no prior association with Society. She shot an understanding look at Amelia. “Ladies, how breathtaking you both look. I envy your ability to wear that particular shade of yellow, Miss Putnam. Yellow does absolutely nothing for my own complexion. And Miss Charlotte, the ruffles on your gown are delightful.” She smiled at the sisters and raised one eyebrow ever so slightly as a warning.
“How very kind of you, Lady Elizabeth,” Harriet Putnam sputtered. “Come, Charlotte, Mama is gesturing toward us. We best see what she wants. Adieu, ladies.”
Lord Cantwell and his brother arrived at their side and greeted them. “I see we just missed the Putnam sisters,” Phillip Osbourne, Lord Cantwell’s younger brother, said. “Dash it all.” He grinned at Amelia conspiratorially, which made Elizabeth smile just the tiniest bit. “I suppose that means, Amelia, that I must ask you if you would care to dance, for I have agreed to defer to my brother’s wishes on partners for the next dance.”
“That is true,” Lord Cantwell said. “I found I enjoyed Lady Elizabeth’s partnership so much during the race this afternoon that I am determined to enjoy that partnership again. What do you say?”
“I would be delighted,” Elizabeth said. And she realized that she was.
The musicians had finished tuning their instruments, and the music began. Elizabeth focused on the steps of the dance in order to have something with which to occupy herself, rather than staring at Lord Cantwell.
“You are a graceful dancer, Lizzie,” he said when they were taking a turn together.
“Hush! Someone will hear you,” she whispered. “And you promised you wouldn’t call me that.”
“True enough. My apologies.”
She might have believed he was actually sorry if he wasn’t grinning mischievously at her.
The steps of the dance took them apart briefly, and Elizabeth bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. It would not do to let him get away with this.
The dance continued, bringing them together and taking them apart, mixing partners and bringing partners together again. He had a lively, engaging demeanor, and Elizabeth found herself relaxing and enjoying herself.
All too soon, the dance concluded, and Lord Cantwell offered his arm and started to return her to the side of the dance floor when they were intercepted by Lord Halford. “May I have the honor?” he asked Elizabeth.
“I think you can do better than this lackwit,” Lord Cantwell said with a wink.
“Lord Cantwell!” she said, aghast, before the wink registered. “Oh, you are joking. I would be delighted, Lord Halford.” She placed her hand on Lord Halford’s sleeve and allowed him to lead her back onto the dance floor.
The time had come. Elizabeth must say something to him. She glanced around to see if she could spot Mama or Papa, although she suspected Papa was still in the cardroom. It had been so easy to dance with Lord Cantwell, and for a brief few minutes, she had been able to forget the task that loomed in front of her. But no more.
As they waited for the music to begin, she tried to formulate the words she needed to say to Lord Halford. Flirt, Mama had said. She looked up at his serious, searching face. Flirting seemed utterly inappropriate.
“Lady Elizabeth, I hope you have been enjoying your stay at Ashworth Park,” he said.
“Of course. Have you heard something to the contrary?” Oh, this conversation was not off to a good start.
“Not at all,” he replied, giving her a reassuring but weak smile.
Thankfully, the moves of the dance took them apart briefly, giving Elizabeth a chance to collect her thoughts. Flirt, Mama had said, flirt. Think of something. What else had Mama told her to do?
The dance brought them back together again. “You are no doubt aware of our fathers’ intentions for us,” he said.
Elizabeth swallowed. There it was, out in the open.
“What is your opinion on the matter?” he said.
“What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.
“Come with me,” he said. He guided her off the floor toward a corner of the room and away from the crowds. When they were effectively alone, he gently turned her to face him. “I meant exactly what I asked. What is your opinion?” he said.
“I-I . . .” she stammered. No one had ever asked for her opinion before. Certainly not Mama or Papa. “I have never presumed to have an opinion on the matter. I knew marriage to your brother was a good match, and I accepted his courtship and proposal willingly, as everyone expected me to do.”
“Ah,” Lord Halford said.
This was going to be harder than she had anticipated. An image flashed into her mind, back when they were much younger—both brothers together, laughing, while Elizabeth looked on, the hardships of life not upon any of them yet. “You must know, Lord Halford, that I grieved for your brother when he died,” she said, hoping he felt her sincerity.
“Thank you.” He paused before speaking further. “Lady Elizabeth,” he said at last, “what would your opinion be if I were to suggest that we not continue down the path set out by both our fathers? Would that be your preference? Or are you set on the match?”
Elizabeth had no idea how to respond, his questions having sparked off such an array of emotions within her: surprise, bewilderment, fear, relief . . .
“I will, of course, honor the agreement that has been made,” he continued, “if that is your preference. However, I have made it clear to my father that no announcement will be made under any circumstances without your full consent.” He drew her farther into the corner and lowered his voice. “I was only just informed of your father’s wish for an announcement to be made this evening. Forgive me, then, for my abrupt manner in bringing up the subject. I would have preferred discussing this with you under more accommodating circumstances. I would never want to rush any lady in such a manner. But his insistence requires that I receive an answer from you.”
Lord Halford was suggesting they not go forward with the betrothal. Perhaps she should feel insulted, rejected—but she did not. And perhaps, just perhaps, with it coming from him, her parents would finally drop the subject. She searched his face to see if what he was saying was in earnest. “Do you truly mean what you are saying? That if I choose not to accept your proposal at this time, you will honor it?”
“Yes. However, I must be frank, my lady. I have given my word to my father that I will wed at the earliest convenience and, therefore, cannot promise I will be free later should you change your mind.”
“I see,” she said. “I understand completely.” And she thought she did. He had seemed at peace, even happy while running the race with Amelia Clarke. Elizabeth wanted peace for Lord Halford after all he’d suffered in Spain. She doubted he would have any peace at all if he had the Duke of Marwood for a father-in-law.
“You are an exceptional woman, Lady Elizabeth, and I am not the only person to recognize this, am I? I am fully confident you will marry well and find great happiness in the match. I believe you know in your own heart it will not be with me though, don’t you?”
“Yes, not with you,” she lied. She had no confidence at all that Papa would take her happiness into consideration when searching for another match for her. She smiled—Lord Halford was concerned for her feelings, and she would play her part. “I hope you do not take offense at that.”
“Not at all.” He smiled in return. “It is why I am having this conversation with you in the first place.”
“Thank you for your honesty and your concern for m
y happiness,” Elizabeth said. “You are a true gentleman, Lord Halford. I hope we shall remain friends.”
“I am certain of it, my lady.” He took both of her hands in his and kissed each one. “And now, I shall go find your father so I may tell him of our decision.”
“I would never let you do that alone, Lord Halford,” she said. Putting on a united front might work best at convincing Papa. He would accuse her of failing in her task otherwise. “My father is not the most reasonable man once his mind is made up. I will go with you, and we shall face his wrath together.”
“As a gentleman, I cannot let you,” he said. “Were I to ask for your hand, I would approach your father on my own. It will be on my own that I face him now as well.”
“But he must be made to understand this was a mutual decision,” she argued.
“Lady Elizabeth, we are not betrothed, nor have we ever, until this moment, even discussed the matter,” he said in the commanding voice of the army captain he had been. “I will simply make it clear to him that it is not to be and that it is my decision. I would not have your relationship with him tarnished.”
“What relationship?” she asked. “I am merely a pawn my father moves at will to accomplish his ends.”
“Nonetheless, he is your father. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go find him. But promise me something first?”
“What?” she asked with resignation.
“Enjoy yourself tonight. You deserve to.” He kissed her hand again and left her.
She stood there alone in the corner of the ballroom, watching him stride off in the direction of the cardroom, wondering at the relief she felt, all while a prickle of unease coursed down her spine. Mama and Papa—especially Papa—would not be happy about what was going to happen next.
She decided she had better find Mama to prepare her for the news.
***
After some lengthy searching in the ballroom, Elizabeth eventually found Mama in a retiring room set aside for the ladies, not far from the cardroom arranged for the gentlemen. Elizabeth might have thought of that earlier, except that Papa had said they all had their respective roles to play this evening. But here Mama was, fanning herself, looking absolutely bored while Lady Putnam talked about her daughters.
