The Smithersons were an old, renowned name in Pembroke and while they did not claim noble blood, they did share the aristocratic prestige of the peers, something they apparently made no secret of when hosting their annual gala. It was one of the most well known in London Season although Elizabeth had never had occasion to go herself.
It made her consider how much she and David had missed while tending to Frances. While Elizabeth did feel as though her life had suffered by not attending such events, she was consumed with the idea that she would not soon forget the Smitherson gala if she never again returned in the future.
Never had Elizabeth seen so many candles in one place, nary a spot without as far as the eye could see. She felt enraptured in a fairy tale world among the flickering of the light despite the fact that night had not fallen entirely over the vast manor house.
The landscaping was alive, the large hedges clipped to depict cheerful animals, or shocking beasts while an array of blooming flowers of various species filled her nostrils with delicious scents. Elizabeth could not imagine how many hours of work were involved in the craftmanship behind the glorious gardens. It made her slightly dizzy to think about.
For a moment, Elizabeth was struck by a touch of sadness. She wished that Leonard was there to see such a spectacular sight. Their time together was about to come to an end and she longed to spend every minute she could with him before they parted ways. Before she could dwell on her thought too deeply, Frances chirped into her ear.
“Come along, Liza! We must get to the party!”
Shockingly, the ladies were among the earliest to arrive, despite Catherine’s insistence that they wait until the very last moment to depart from Brookside. She had declared that if they arrived early, they would be regarded as unimportant and therefore dismissed.
In truth, Elizabeth did not much care what the others thought of her as there was a lingering sense of foreboding which gripped her stomach. She dared not speak her mind to Catherine who was as excited as Frances for the event.
Leonard’s discussion with her the previous evening still rang clearly in Elizabeth’s ears. If the gala made Catherine happy, if only for a night, who was Elizabeth to discount the affair? If Leonard was correct, Catherine was apt to fall back into a pit of melancholy upon their departure. The Duke’s sister should have the happy recollection of that night to recall in their absence.
Elizabeth admitted to herself that the event was bound to be memorable and she was determined not to let her sorrowful thoughts affect their evening.
Tonight we relish in the Smithersons’ hard work. Tomorrow you will concern yourself with matters of the heart.
They were greeted by Mr. Edgar Smitherson and his frail wife, Christina, at the elegant entranceway. He was a stunningly tall man with a long moustache and balding head and she a mere waif, ready to be whisked away with the first harsh wind.
“Lady Catherine!” Mr. Smitherson announced, his eyes wide with surprise. “I daresay, I did not expect to see you here.”
Catherine’s own eyes narrowed and she studied him suspiciously.
“Our household did receive an invitation. Is my presence a problem?” Catherine asked with undue anger. Elizabeth placed a hand on her arm and smiled at their hosts. She knew Catherine was acting defensively without cause.
“Certainly not!” Edgar laughed. “We are delighted you are here. Is the Duke with you? The Duchess?”
“No, I am afraid I have only brought with me Miss Frances Follett and her sister, Miss Elizabeth, daughters to the Viscount of Gordon. Will that suffice?”
Elizabeth cringed but nodded as the Smithersons returned the introduction.
“Miss Follett, Miss Elizabeth, may I present my wife, Mrs. Christina Smitherson?”
“Charmed, Mrs. Smitherson,” Elizabeth interjected, nodding before Catherine could add any more scathing remarks to the conversation. It was the first time she was seeing the animus of which Leonard had spoken the previous day.
“Is there cheese?” Frances demanded and Elizabeth grimaced slightly.
The Smithersons were surprised by Frances’ question but Catherine was already hurrying Frances away, rudely leaving Elizabeth alone.
“Come along, Frances. I am certain there is cheese,” Catherine assured her and Elizabeth offered the hosts an uncomfortable smile, unsure of what else to say in the awkward silence. Thankfully, Mr. Smitherson saved her from having to produce any words of her own.
“Please do enjoy yourself in our home, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Smitherson said genially and Elizabeth accepted the dismissal gracefully.
“I do appreciate you having us, Mr. Smitherson, Mrs. Smitherson.”
As she moved in the direction where her sister and Catherine had gone, she overheard the lady of the house mutter to her husband.
“She is the one who snatched the Duke from Miss Priscilla.”
“Oh yes, I did think the name was familiar. How odd that she would be here when Miss Priscilla is also anticipated. You do not suppose there will be a scene, do you, darling?”
“I suppose we will see,” Mrs. Smitherson replied, a sigh in her voice. Elizabeth felt her breath catch in her throat.
Miss Priscilla. Oh no…
How had she managed to forget about the Baron’s daughter? She had become too complacent, too comfortable in the security of Brookside but she should not have dismissed Priscilla’s threats so idly. What if she were to show at the event of the year? It certainly appeared the type of party which the icy blonde would appreciate, from all Elizabeth had learned of her, and the Smithersons appeared to anticipate her arrival. Suddenly Elizabeth’s vow to enjoy herself was forgotten as her eyes darted about the filling rotunda. The desire to leave was overwhelming although she knew the protest she would hear from both Catherine and Frances.
“As I live and breathe,” a man announced from her side. “Miss Elizabeth.”
Any semblance of happiness she had managed to cling evaporated abruptly as Elizabeth turned toward the semi-familiar voice, her back tensing with anticipation. She was having a nightmarish recollection of the Fife wedding.
“Lord Cooke,” she replied, managing a tight smile. “How do you do?”
“I do much better now,” the young man leered and Elizabeth knew that she was apt to find trouble if she remained in his company. It was clear by the glitter in his eyes that he had not forgotten their encounter in Fife and was harboring some resentment toward her. She shuddered slightly as she recalled the feel of his roaming, drunken hand on her waist.
“Forgive me, Lord Cooke but I fear I am developing quite a headache.”
“I have just the solution for such a malady,” he replied, reaching toward her but Elizabeth had anticipated his unsolicited touch and agilely stepped aside. His eyes grew wide in anger and Elizabeth did not need to be near him to know that he was already a trifle disguised. His bloodshot eyes told her that he had been imbibing for a long while.
“Excuse me,” she told him again. “I must find Lady Catherine.”
She did not permit him an opportunity to respond, skilfully ducking her way through the crowds which had doubled in only a few minutes. Breathing was becoming more difficult, the combination of her mounting anxiety and the overflowing of people, knocking the air from her lungs. No longer did her surroundings seem magical, despite the free-flowing champagne and gaily dressed guests. It had become a prison in less than five minutes following her arrival, the stunning gowns of lace and silk only thinly veiling the leering inmates in their glittering chains disguised as jewels.
“We must leave at once,” Elizabeth told Catherine when she finally found her, standing off to the side of the dance floor. The orchestra played smoothly and Elizabeth did not need to look to see Frances already falling into step, albeit alone.
“Leave?” Catherine echoed. “We have only just arrived. You must sample these watercress sandwiches, Elizabeth. They are delightful—they melt on your tongue like icicles. There is something decidedly re
freshing about them.”
Has she been imbibing already? I only just parted company with her!
Elizabeth could not worry about Catherine’s consumption. She shook her head vehemently.
“Catherine, I had not considered that Miss Priscilla might be in attendance. I dare not stay lest she appear.” She did not mention Lord Cooke as her secondary concern. Priscilla’s potential presence caused her more than enough woe.
“Oh,” Catherine said nonchalantly. “I am certain she will make her appearance. This gala is certainly to her taste.”
Elizabeth stared at her in surprise.
“You knew she would be here?” she asked in disbelief. “Why did you not warn me?”
“There is nothing for you to be concerned about,” Catherine replied and dropped the remainder of her sandwich into her mouth, a slow smile forming around her lips. Elizabeth did not agree but she did not wish to confront Catherine when so many were nearby. She was more convinced than before that they needed to leave before something dreadful occurred. The sense of forewarning which had plagued her suddenly burned a hole in her stomach.
“Catherine, I will collect Frances and we are returning to Brookside at once. I will not argue with you.”
Catherine’s mouth puckered into a scowl and she arched a blonde eyebrow with disdain.
“I am surprised at you, Elizabeth. I would have thought you to be braver. One witless wench is causing you to falter? I thought you were better than that.”
“Bravery has little to do with the matter. I simply do not wish to have another encounter like the one we endured in town. Have you forgotten how inconsolable Frances was following that exchange?”
Uncertainty flashed in Catherine’s eyes and a look of contrition fell upon her face. It was clear she had forgotten how badly Frances had reacted to Priscilla and she instantly nodded. Even with her sometimes crass manners, Catherine did not wish to console Frances in the throes of a fit, not when high society was watching.
“Of course,” she mumbled, pink tinging her fair cheeks. “Forgive me, Elizabeth. I did not think of Frances.”
Elizabeth did not have time to be upset with Catherine for her apprehension was growing with each word they spoke. She could feel trouble simmering among them, closing in around her like a cloud of noxious air.
“I will collect Frances,” Elizabeth said again. “Do keep an eye open for Miss Priscilla, lest she see us first. If she does, distract her and I will escort Frances to the carriage before she can see.”
“Of course, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth spun to look for Frances who she easily found, floating alone to the music.
“Come along, Franny. We must return to Brookside.”
Frances abruptly stopped her romantic swaying to gape at her sister.
“We have only just arrived,” she declared, shaking her dark head of hair. “Why must we leave?”
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, prickles slithering down her spine. Not far away, Lord Cooke stared at her without subtly, his tongue lolling out to lick at his bottom lip lewdly and she shuddered involuntarily. His leering was unmistakable.
“The Duke has sent a messenger,” Elizabeth fibbed. “We must leave at once.”
She did loathe lying particularly to her guileless sister but it was necessary. Elizabeth knew Frances was apt to cause a scene if there was not a just cause for removing her from such an affair.
“What happened?” Frances demanded, worry clouding her eyes. “Is it Mr. Barlough?”
“I cannot say. I have no further information but we must leave at once. Please, Frances, there is no time to waste. It is a matter of great urgency.”
She pulled on her sister’s hand and Frances reluctantly permitted herself to be moved along but not without casting a longing gaze behind her as the party disappeared behind the walls of the Smitherson mansion. Catherine waited for them at the entranceway. To Elizabeth’s discontent, Lord Cooke had also followed them into the yard but he did maintain his distance. Elizabeth looked away quickly but not before Catherine caught her gaze.
“Was he not the swag-bellied twat who was troubling you at Lord Curry’s wedding?” Catherine asked, staring rudely at Lord Cooke.
“Catherine! Never mind Lord Cooke. Have you seen…her?” Elizabeth glanced at her sister, cautious not to mention Priscilla by name, lest she upset Frances. Unfortunately, Catherine did not share in her decorum.
“I have yet to see her,” the Duke’s sister confided. “But I did see the Baron of Argonshire. I imagine that Priscilla is nearby.”
“Miss Priscilla?” Frances screeched. “Is she here? The Duke promised that she would be no bother, that we are protected.”
“It matters not,” Elizabeth said firmly, leading the women toward their coach. “We must leave.”
In her mounting anxiety, Elizabeth had forgotten about Bernadette who had once more been swallowed by the crowd.
The coachman was surprised to see them and he glanced nervously about.
“Are you leaving?” Jasper asked, seeming confused.
“We must return to Brookside,” Catherine explained to him and he nodded quickly. “At once.”
“Yes, my Lady.”
Elizabeth could feel the blood roaring in her ears as the scrambled into the carriage, her heart racing wildly as she realized how close she had come to a worrisome confrontation with either Priscilla or Lord Cooke. It was not until the horses began to trot away from the Smitherson’s lavish party that Elizabeth begin to breathe with more ease.
Perhaps it is a blessing I will be returning home in a few days. I will not be apt to see either of their faces again…
She wondered if that was true for she could not feel contentment about leaving Pembroke, even though it meant a rest from the vindictive and petty Priscilla Arquette.
Of course, if Leonard and I marry, I will never be able to escape her, will I? Not unless she moved to another duchy.
“Is that why the Duke sent for us? Because Miss Priscilla is present?” Frances wished to know. Catherine cast Elizabeth a look of confusion but the Viscount’s daughter shook her head in the dim light, indicating not to question Frances. Catherine did not know of Elizabeth’s lie to her sister but she would explain herself later.
“As I said, Franny, I cannot say why the Duke ordered us to return,” Elizabeth insisted. “We will learn the truth when we return.”
“It must be because of that horrible woman,” Frances insisted. “I daresay, if he had known she would be in attendance, he would never have allowed us to go.”
“There is no need to lose your wits, Franny. Nothing untoward occurred,” Elizabeth reminded her quickly. “We will be safe in Brookside in—”
The coach jerked suddenly and the neigh of horses filled the carriage. All three women were jostled aside and they clung to one another in panic.
“Are you injured?” Elizabeth cried, sitting back to study them with concerned faces but they both shook their heads although tears were beginning to brim in Frances’ eyes.
“There, there,” Elizabeth said quickly but Catherine was furious, banging upon the wall of the cab in frustration. Elizabeth wished she would remain calm for Frances was apt to grow more upset in the confusion.
“Jasper! My word, what is the meaning of this?” Catherine yelled, ire staining her words.
“Liza?” Frances asked, fear tinging her voice. “What is happening?”
“You must not worry, Franny. I am certain that we encountered a deer or some other beast along the road. You must be patient while Jasper investigates.”
The words placated Frances somewhat as she did not pose another question but Elizabeth was filling with dread. There was neither a response nor a sound from the coachman but the horses continued to whine, shifting nervously.
“Oh for God’s sake,” the Duke’s sister muttered. “What in tarnation is he doing out there?”
Catherine reached for the door, prepared to move but as she did, the door
to the coach was wrenched open and they were staring at two men, their faces obscured by kerchiefs.
“Oh…” Catherine gasped and Elizabeth stared at them uncomprehendingly. Time slowed as they moved into the coach, their arms reaching to yank the ladies forward. It was clear what they were but her mind could not seem to identify what was happening and she spoke her inane questions aloud.
“Who are you?” Elizabeth demanded, her voice much stronger than she felt. “What is the meaning of this?”
It was then that she saw the pistols in their hands and Frances’ scream reverberated in her ears.
Chapter 18
The Curious Life of the Unfortunate Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 16
