by Tuft, Karen
She turned to leave, but Lord Halford took her by the hand before she could and raised it to his lips. “Thank you again, Lady Elizabeth. For you to take such a stand against your parents shows courage, and I shall forever be in your debt.”
He’d called her courageous when she felt anything but. “I only pray all will be well, Lord Halford,” she said.
***
The country dance Kit had enjoyed with Amelia came to an end, and Amelia curtsied to him. “Thank you for the dance, Lord Cantwell,” she said.
He bowed in return. “The pleasure was mine, and my name is Christopher, though that is as big a mouthful as Cantwell is. My friends call me Kit, and as I hope we may be friends, I would like you to call me Kit also.”
“Kit, then,” she replied. “And, please, call me Amelia.”
He escorted her across the floor toward the french doors, where Anthony and Lady Elizabeth were standing, but then held Amelia back briefly. “Amelia, I must tell you something,” he said, slowing down their pace. “Lady Elizabeth is informing Anthony that her father blames you for the failed betrothal between them, and he is in a frame of mind to create trouble over it.”
“Oh no,” Amelia said. “Perhaps I should leave. My presence will only make matters worse.”
“I am truly sorry to be the bearer of such distressing news. When Lady Elizabeth asked for my help, we decided the best thing was to speak to you individually, which seemed the most discreet way to let you both know. To tell everyone at once might have caused too obvious a reaction.”
“Thank you for that,” she said.
She suddenly looked exhausted, so Kit gently led her to a chair in a small alcove, away from the crowd. “Would you care for a drink?” he asked, concerned about her. “Lemonade, perhaps?”
“No, thank you. I shall be fine in a minute.” She rested her head against the back of the chair. “Is it normal for the upper classes to be so contentious about these things?”
“No,” Kit said. “And that is the puzzling part. Lady Elizabeth and Anthony were agreed that there would be no marriage. Apparently, her father had other expectations. He is certainly bearing a tremendous grudge.” He frowned. “At any rate, the Ashworths, Lord and Lady Farleigh, Sir Richard, Hugh, Phillip, and myself are at your service this evening, and we shall endeavor to do whatever we can to end this business once and for all.”
“Why did Lady Elizabeth ask you to speak with me?” Amelia asked.
“She knows I am loyal to Anthony,” he said.
“I see. Thank you, Kit. I can only hope the Duke of Marwood decides to act with honor, for everyone’s sake.”
“I too. Are you feeling better? If you are, I will return you to Anthony,” he said.
“Thank you, but I believe I promised the next dance to your brother.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” he asked, studying her closely.
“I’m fine.”
“Well done, Amelia. In that case, I will escort you to him and commiserate with you over your bad fortune.”
“Meaning Marwood?” she asked.
“Not this time,” he said with a slight grin, hoping to lighten the mood. “As you dance with Phillip, I suggest you watch your toes.”
She smiled. “I am rather attached to my toes, so I shall be very careful indeed.”
Kit subsequently left her in the capable hands of his brother and went to search for Anthony.
***
By the time Elizabeth located Mama, she’d heard enough. Wherever she went, people with long faces patted her arm and said, “Poor dear! The very idea!” and other such drivel as to make her want to scream. But the daughter of a duke didn’t scream, and so Elizabeth did not. She kept her countenance serene, thanked every one of those long-faced people for their kind wishes, and assured them all was well, knowing full well they weren’t listening to a word she was saying.
She was learning that people loved a scandal.
“Come, Mama,” she pleaded. “I think we have been here long enough, don’t you? Let’s find Papa and go home.”
Suddenly, there was a commotion in the center of the ballroom, and Mama ignored her completely to turn and strain her neck to see what was going on. Elizabeth followed, squeezing past people to get closer. She didn’t dare leave Mama to her own devices.
If she raised up on her tiptoes, she could make out a stranger, a gentleman, having a confrontation with Lord Halford. She pushed forward, trying to stay with Mama, trying to hear what the men were saying.
Suddenly, everyone was talking at once, the noise buzzing around Elizabeth until she couldn’t bear it and turned away, but in so doing, she spotted Papa standing not far from them. It was obvious he’d overheard the confrontation.
Papa then forced his way through the crush of people until he was near Lord Halford, and Mama followed him. Elizabeth felt she had no choice but to move closer and stay near Mama. “What a delightful discovery to find the great Earl of Halford, who could have married the daughter of a duke but now finds himself shackled to a trollop of uncertain parentage—a social climber of the worst sort,” Papa said.
What? Elizabeth’s mind scrambled to make sense of what Papa said.
“You will watch your language,” Lord Halford said. “There are ladies present—”
“True ladies,” Papa said.
“Ladies,” Lord Halford boomed in a commanding voice. “Including my affianced bride. You will act honorably, or I will not be accountable for the consequences of my actions.”
“Anthony,” Elizabeth heard Amelia say.
“And as for you—” Lord Halford said to the stranger.
“Anthony,” Amelia said again. “This is my battle too.” She stood up straight. “Mr. Clarke-Hammond, how happy I would have been to meet you on more neutral terms, where you could have told me about my father’s childhood and family.”
Clarke-Hammond? Elizabeth thought. Amelia’s maiden name was Clarke. Did she have a family connection to this gentleman?
“He did not speak of you, you must understand,” Amelia continued, “and yet I know how important family was to him in the way he cared for me and my mother—yes, I can see you wish to argue their relationship with me. But in all the ways that mattered, they were my parents, and I loved them. And they loved me. They never told me I was not their own.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached. Apparently, the Reverend Clarke and his wife had taken Amelia in, most likely as an infant, and reared her.
They had wanted her.
“Yes, Mr. Clarke-Hammond,” Anthony said. “I too must wonder at your showing up at this ball fully prepared to make a scene—and I must commend you on your success—when I would have respected you much more if you had come to me privately, where we could have discussed these matters in a civil manner.”
“I could not trust that you would see things with the proper perspective, Lord Halford.”
Elizabeth watched Lord Halford’s face turn bright red.
“Well, Duchess,” Papa said, turning to look at Mama, who had moved to stand behind him, although she was now looking at her feet. “It appears I needn’t have made you say anything after all.”
Elizabeth gasped and clutched her breast. “Father, how could you? Oh, Mother, even you. I just knew it.” She turned and pushed through the crowd to run away. Where she was going, she didn’t know, but she had heard enough and needed to leave this horrid scene.
She left the ballroom and ran down the corridor that led to the main stairway and then began hurrying down the stairs. “Lady Elizabeth!” she heard a man call after her. “Lady Elizabeth!”
She ignored whoever it was and kept going.
“Lady Elizabeth!” the man called again. “Lizzie!”
Only one person had ever called her that. She stopped and turned, halfway down the stairs. It was Lord Cantwell. Kit, he�
��d asked her to call him once.
He reached her side swiftly and took her hand in his. “You are understandably upset,” he said, escorting her the rest of the way down the stairs. “Ho, there,” he called to a footman standing nearby. “Please have my carriage sent for. Lord Cantwell.”
“Yes, my lord,” the footman said.
“I shall see you home,” he said. “Unless there is somewhere else I can take you? Perhaps tonight isn’t a good time to be with your parents, all things considered.”
Elizabeth shook her head. She felt she could sleep for an eternity and it wouldn’t be long enough to remove the heavy weight and exhaustion she was feeling. “There is nowhere else.”
“I’m sure the Ashworths or Lady Walmsley—”
“No,” she cried. “I would not burden them anymore with this. No, I will go home. That is where I belong.”
The footman cleared his throat. “Your coach has arrived, my lord,” he said.
“Thank you. Come, Lizzie. At the very least, I shall see you home safely.”
He assisted her into his carriage and sat across from her. She was grateful for that. After the crush of people at the ball and the turmoil she felt, she thought she might break if anyone touched her. Every fiber of her being felt brittle, and were he to sit next to her, she might literally fall apart.
He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs, and watched her—too closely—so she looked down at her hands, which were clasped tightly together in her lap, and said nothing.
He remained silent.
It seemed an eternity, but finally the carriage arrived at her front doorsteps. Lord Cantwell exited first and offered his hand to assist her from the carriage. She didn’t take it.
She didn’t dare.
He walked next to her, his hands clasped behind his back, as she went to the door and knocked so the footman on duty would unlock the door and let her inside.
The door opened.
“Good night, Lizzie,” Lord Cantwell said.
“You really shouldn’t call me that,” she choked out, barely able to speak. She fled into the house, the footman closing the door behind her, and didn’t stop running until she reached the confines of her room. And then the dam burst, and the tears fell until she’d exhausted herself and slept.
Chapter 3
Elizabeth had hardly slept. Papa hadn’t returned home for two nights now, and Mama hadn’t left her room at all yesterday. Elizabeth herself felt as though she were on pins and needles, tossing and turning all night.
She awoke with a start. It was early yet; the dim light that filtered into her bedroom told her it was barely past dawn. There was a commotion outside her bedroom door—an unfamiliar male voice, Mama crying, the scuffling of feet . . .
What was going on? Had Papa returned home? The sounds didn’t bode well, and her heart pounded. Something was wrong.
She flung aside the bedcovers and leaped out of bed, swiftly donning her dressing gown. Then she opened her bedroom door—and froze.
A couple of unkempt footmen were supporting Papa on either side as he tried to go into his room, while an older gentleman barked orders at maids to bring hot water and rags. Mama was pale, her cheeks wet with tears, and Papa cursed at everyone—including Mama.
Papa was covered in blood. It was on his face and all over his clothes. His eyes were sunken and red-rimmed.
He suddenly spied Elizabeth, and his face contorted into an angry grimace. “You,” he growled in a voice that could turn mortal flesh to stone. “Get out of my sight.”
She backed into her room and clung to the doorframe, gasping for breath.
“A duel, Marwood?” Mama cried. “What were you thinking?”
“Shut up, woman, and go away,” Papa said. Elizabeth heard him hiss. “That hurts like—”
“What did you expect?” the strange man said, interrupting Papa. “Now, hold still, Your Grace, while I clean and dress your wound. You’re lucky the shot went straight through and that Lord Halford is a good enough aim not to have killed you.”
A duel. Papa had dueled with Anthony. Oh, good heavens.
Elizabeth quickly changed her clothes, donning a day dress that buttoned down the front. There was no time to awaken her maid. She brushed her hair and twisted it into a knot at the back of her head. She needed to be prepared for whatever the day held in store.
Once she was dressed, she stepped out into the corridor and watched maids rush in and out while the strange gentleman—a surgeon, apparently—barked commands for more hot water and more clean rags. Mama stood next to the bed, wringing her hands. One maid dashed away with Papa’s soiled clothing while another ran into the room with a large bottle of brandy. “This is going to hurt terribly,” Elizabeth heard the surgeon say. He soaked a rag with the brandy and laid it on Papa’s wound.
Papa began cursing again.
“The brandy will help avoid infection,” the surgeon said. “Now, hold still while I bandage this.”
A footman appeared at Elizabeth’s side. “Ahem,” he said softly. “There is a . . . person . . . here to speak with the duke. When I told him the duke was not available, he became rather insistent.”
It was still early in the morning—too early for callers of any kind. “Why are you asking me?” Elizabeth said. “What did Harris say?”
“Harris is gone,” the footman said.
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, utterly confused. She could hear Mama talking to Papa but couldn’t make out what was being said.
“He has gone, my lady. Left the duke’s employ.”
Harris had been here yesterday, and now he was gone? “You must simply tell the gentleman to come back at a more reasonable hour,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, my lady. I hope it works, my lady.”
Through the door, Elizabeth could see the surgeon packing up his things. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, Your Grace. I suggest you rest for a day or two—or more. Watch for infection and send for me if you become fevered. Otherwise, I’ve done what I can do for you.” He stalked out of the room, nodding brusquely at Elizabeth.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Hmph,” he replied before striding down the corridor and out of sight.
“Marwood, what are you doing?” Mama said. “The surgeon told you to stay in bed.”
Papa was edging his legs off the side of the bed in an effort to sit up. “Get me a shirt, and then pack my things, and be quick about it,” he snapped at his valet, Smith, who had emerged at some point from his small bedroom next to Papa’s dressing room. Poor Smith looked bewildered, but he went back into Papa’s dressing room as ordered.
Smith had been with Papa for as long as Elizabeth had been alive. He’d been a devoted servant, as had Harris. Why had Harris left suddenly?
Smith returned with a clean shirt and assisted Papa in putting it on. He’d brought a neckcloth and waistcoat too, and soon Papa looked more like himself than he had just minutes before, although he was extremely pale. “Don’t just stand there, man. Go pack the rest of my things. Now!”
Smith vanished.
“Marwood, what is going on?” Mama said in a strangled voice, her hand at her throat. “Where are you going?”
“It’s over,” Papa said. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? We’re finished, and I am leaving.”
“What do you mean, ‘finished’? Where are you going? What is happening?” Mama asked, her voice getting shriller with each question.
Papa laughed without humor. “You must have me explain it to you? Very well. We are penniless—no, worse than that—we are so far in debt as to never see ourselves clear again. I invested heavily, you see, my dear,” he said sarcastically. “In fact, I borrowed extensively. The returns on the investments should have paid handsomely. Trade with China, India, the West Indies. Seven ships in all. Seven ships at the bot
tom of the sea. You may thank the wars with Napoleon and the Americans for that—oh, and pirates, of course. Can’t forget the pirates.”
Elizabeth gasped. So did Mama.
“I have bet on worse odds and had better luck,” he continued. “We have nothing, less than nothing—except what funds I have kept for my own personal use. This house and all its belongings are being sold. Only the land and the manor in Surrey remain. You may go there, if you like. I do not care. I will be out of the country.”
Smith hurried out, carrying two large suitcases, then returned to the dressing room and came out dragging a large trunk behind him. “Call for some footmen to help, you old fool,” Papa said. He hoisted himself off the bed, supporting himself with his uninjured arm.
“Mama, did you know Harris has left?” Elizabeth asked quietly.
She turned to look at Elizabeth in alarm. “What?” she asked.
“Of course he’s gone,” Papa said, sounding bored now. “Haven’t you been listening? I dismissed them all from service. If they don’t know it yet, they soon will.”
Mama gasped. “Marwood! Why did you not tell me?”
“And why should I have told you? What could you have done? It never would have come to this, if she”—he stabbed his finger in Elizabeth’s direction—“had only done what she’d been told to do. The family connection, the money the marriage contracts would have provided. It would have been the saving of us. But no. Elizabeth must fail to bring either brother to heel. And then Halford must be smitten by some illegitimate nobody and make a public fool of himself—offering marriage to her in front of all and sundry. Well, I’ve seen to that, now, haven’t I? They are paying the price, just as I am.”
“They are paying the price? Who?” Elizabeth asked. “What price?”
