by Edith Layton
“I do not feel I must indulge you,” he said slowly, taking a step closer to her, “but Bev was right in one way at least. A mere interview is a poor, cold way to discover another being’s heart. Only by learning to know my cousins well can I hope to make the right decision.” He paused and then went on in a lower, gentler voice, “The getting of an heir, you know, should not be a dispassionate business. No matter how one decides to go about it. Do you agree?”
Elizabeth was glad that the darkness hid her face and the flush his words caused upon her cheek. She only nodded as he went on, “So it was not my pleasure-loving friend Harry, not entirely, that caused my decision. It will be a pleasant affair.”
“I am sure,” she said. He was so close, she took a tiny step back, and had a second to wonder at her longing to have stepped forward instead. She was torn between wanting to stay and hear whatever else he had to say, and wanting to be left quite alone to sift through his words and ponder their import when she could think coldly and rationally. And that would have to be somewhere far away from his disturbing presence.
He seemed to understand, for he looked down at her in the semidarkness and said at last, with a smile that shifted the pattern of shadows upon his lean jaw, “Don’t worry, Elizabeth. We are here at Lyonshall now. Not only at Lyonshall, but actually within it. I shall not forget, lady guest. So no harm shall come to you here.”
“That’s what you say,” a sudden intrusive voice complained, cutting into their strangely intimate moment. “I wouldn’t trust that caper merchant for a second, Elizabeth. He’s too smooth by half.”
“Bev,” the Earl groaned, turning to see his friend saunter toward them, “I thought you were already abed.”
“Too aggravated,” Bev said angrily. “Invite a chap in, and he tries to take your house over. If I had my wits about me, I would have sent him off the moment he came in.”
“He is my friend, and it is my home,” the Earl said carefully.
“No friend of yours, Morgan. You’ve too soft a heart. He hasn’t been inside your doors for a day and he’s got you setting up fetes and soirees and Lord knows what.”
“But you like parties, Bev.” The Earl laughed. “You’re forever whining about my going to London with you to make the round of gaiety.”
“That’s different,” Lord Beverly said sulkily. “And you be careful, Elizabeth. The fellow’s been around and knows how to get round people. Why, he’s even talked Morgan here into giving him an adjoining room for his valet. Now my man’s fit to be tied. No, don’t grin, Morgan, just because you choose to be an eccentric and rusticate without a valet, there’s no cause to give mine heart spasms whenever he sees Harry’s toplofty fellow prance by. Mind, Elizabeth, he can talk anyone round.”
“I shall keep my head,” Elizabeth said demurely, knowing from her experiences with Anthony that the Earl’s friend was in no mood to listen to reason.
“Just watch yourself,” Lord Beverly warned, “for it might be a family failing. He’s got young Anthony wrapped about his little toe already. ‘Tony’ indeed,” he muttered.
“Good night; Elizabeth,” the Earl said firmly, “and good dreams. We shall have a lovely party. And I shall get to know my cousins much better.”
As she went up the stairs she could hear Lord Beverly’s grumbling continue unabated. But as she reached the head of the stair she heard the Earl’s rich voice say thoughtfully, “I shall watch them all carefully, Bev. Both my cousins and my guests. Don’t forget that.”
11
Lyonshall was transformed. Elizabeth could only stand and gape in wonder as the great house began to put on its best company manners. Anthony was overwhelmed as well, but dared not show it in the face of the flattering attentions he had received from such worldly fellows as Lord Beverly and especially his newfound comrade, Lord Kingston. So he went his way with an air of insouciance. But Elizabeth could often catch a glimpse of the awe in his eyes in unguarded moments. Lady Isabel announced herself well pleased with the results of her work, which had consisted of mainly drawing up plans and chivying servants to her will. But Lady Isabel and the others were used to Town ways, Elizabeth thought. She herself had never seen anything so splendid go forth.
For if the parquet and marble floors were gleaming before, they now were mirror-polished. And if the great hall was impressive in its ordinary way, now it was magnificent, with vases of flowers and ferns and even entire boughs of blossoms artfully arranged in every previously quiet corner. Branches of candles were brought in and placed everywhere belowstairs in preparation for the dinner party, as if it were felt that the night’s natural darkness were some sort of lowerclass shame not to be tolerated in such an establishment as Lyonshall. A platform had been constructed and set up in the disused ballroom, the whole of it entwined with leaves and flowers, so that the musicians engaged for the country dances could appear to be playing from out of some sylvan glade rather than in the heart of the great house itself. Preparations had begun the very morning after the Earl had announced his intention of giving a dinner party, before his invitations had even gone forth, as though it were understood implicitly that only fire or flood would prevent any guest from obeying such a summons. Now, only a scant week later, Lyonshall stood proud and ready for its company, and never had Elizabeth felt such a rustic.
For it was not only the house that had been transformed. It seemed that everything had been changed since the night Lord Kingston had arrived, and all the easy relationships that had existed had been subtly altered. Elizabeth had tried to resume her normal pursuits, but even that effort did not recapture the previous tone of her days. The addition of one house guest to their number seemed to have shifted the delicate balance of their lives and caused new alliances to form.
As was her habit, she had gone down to the Shakespearean garden the very next morning after Lord Kingston’s arrival. Happily enough, it hadn’t been long before the Earl had joined her. They had scarcely begun to speak when Lady Isabel had come trilling toward them down the crushed-shell walks. That she had followed the Earl’s progress was apparent, and that she sundered all the special peace Elizabeth had found in the garden became clear soon enough. For she prated on about the loveliness of the place, and then began to suggest red roses here, and a fountain there, and opine that a swing might not go amiss to the left and a gazebo be the sweetest addition to the right, till the Earl’s face had grown still. Then he suggested that they all go for a stroll to some more suitable spot.
It was Lady Isabel who took the Earl’s arm as they walked, and she who monopolized all the conversation for the remainder of the morning. She filled every moment with light and, to Elizabeth’s untutored ears, sophisticated and clever converse about London Society and all sorts of amusing personages known only to herself and the Earl. As Elizabeth knew nothing of the people spoken of, or of their foibles and fancies that so amused Lady Isabel and her host, she soon found herself sitting silent. Although it could not be said that they ignored her, for from time to time the Earl would turn to her and make some explanatory comments, still there was nothing Elizabeth could add to any of the conversation. Thus she was only too eager to go in for a light luncheon when the Earl suggested it. And then she sat mute as a stone all through the meal, as the previous conversation continued. Even Lord Beverly had begun to enjoy all the gossip as Lady Isabel charmed him from his brooding with it as deftly as an expert fishmonger could prize a winkle from its shell.
The Earl had business to attend to during the afternoon, while Lady Isabel napped and Lord Beverly moused about the house and grounds, keeping an eye out for Lord Kingston’s and Anthony’s return. Elizabeth read aloud with Owen all the day. Yet again, at nightfall, Lady Isabel, encouraged into veritable torrents of chatter by her morning’s successes, kept by the Earl’s side, and Lord Kingston and his new acolyte, Anthony, kept each other close company. Elizabeth and a bad-tempered Lord Beverly sought to keep each other tolerably amused, but it was soon apparent that each had an ear stre
tched to a different conversation in a different part of the salon.
So it went for a week before the night of the party. Elizabeth could not determine if it was due to a lack of interest in herself or to the press of duty, but her host appeared to have little time for her now. It was true that the Earl did seek her out at odd times to chat pleasantly to what seemed to be both their satisfactions, but she could not be sure that it was any more than a kind host’s kind consideration. For no discussion went on between them for very long before either Lord Kingston or Lady Isabel, or even Lord Beverly, spied the Earl and drew him away from her. Anthony was so besotted with his newfound friend that he had only a few words in passing for Elizabeth. And even though Cousin Richard returned after a few days, he was now so drawn and distracted that his previous manner could almost be described as gay by comparison.
Still, no one’s thoughts were far from the business at hand. Lord Kingston had been apprised of the Earl’s search for an heir, and as Anthony hurriedly confided to Elizabeth, his new friend Harry believed Anthony had “the inside track.” Elizabeth was not so sure. All were aware that Cousin Richard had received yet another private audience with the Earl when he returned from London. And their host surprised everyone by having a private coze with little Owen for upwards of two hours one misty morning. Though his mother had drawn him aside for the rest of the afternoon, she seemed no wiser about what had transpired than Elizabeth. For she questioned Elizabeth closely after she had seen Owen chat with her. But Owen had said only that he and the Earl had played jackstraws and had some gingersnaps together. Now only Anthony awaited his private interview.
As Elizabeth fastened on a pair of golden ear-bobs the evening of the party, she wondered whether Anthony’s approaching interview would be soon, for it would surely signal the end of their visit. Once all the cousins had been questioned and judged, there would seem to be no further reason for their presence here at Lyonshall. She had learned the Earl customarily spent only the summer here, and then could be expected to take himself off to his estate in Sussex, or his home in the North, or even on one of his jaunts upon the Continent. If Anthony were not named heir, she doubted she would ever set eyes upon the Earl again. And even if he were, she thought, with sudden clarity, the shock so great that her hand trembled of itself and one ear-bob slipped to the floor, why should she ever be in the position to see him again? The sudden realization that her pleasure in this visit, in his company, was as ephemeral as any of the pleasant days spent here, caused her to sit for a moment and draw in a deep breath.
But, she thought, tossing her carefully arranged curls back and forth, she had been misguided if she imagined there could be one thing more. If her host had flirted with her, it was only the fashion to do so in his circle. If he had stolen a kiss, it was known that kisses were very common coin in his set. If he had confided in her, it was, after all, easier to confide in a stranger. Perhaps it had even been necessary for him to tell her his strange history. For his pride may have been bruised when he discovered she thought him less than a totally virile man.
To even wish for so small a thing as a lasting friendship might be foolish fancy. For he had not touched her again, and though he sent her warm glances, and cheered her with small courtesies, he had not said or done anything further to encourage greater intimacy. Soon she would be back in Tuxford, in the shop and amongst the hats and customers. There, and perhaps only there, would she be able to fully appreciate how very unrealistic each one of her secret hopes had been. A cat may look at a Queen, she thought, even as a shopgirl may be smitten by an Earl. But both must understand that they might only look.
Elizabeth stood and replaced her ear-bob. The most that she could expect was that in his kindness, even if he did not choose Anthony, he might be able to give Uncle some financial aid to ease the family’s difficulties. And if that were all she hoped for, all she truly hoped for, then she could escape Lyonshall with her dignity, if not her heart, intact. She would enjoy tonight, she vowed, and not be intimidated by the worldliness of the company, and keep the evening as a bright memory. And that, she thought with determination as she kicked her deep-coffee-colored shot-silk skirt behind her as she rose to go, was all she would or could ask for.
At first, as Elizabeth stood with the other house guests and greeted the arriving guests, all she could see was an assortment of well-dressed people who bowed and curtsied and seemed genuinely pleased to meet her. She could not then, even if a knife had been placed to her neck, couple one name with one person. More than a dozen and a half new faces swam before her.
But by the time the company had been ushered into the large dining hall and been shown to their seats, Elizabeth realized that she had been utterly wrong in her estimate of the composition of an Earl’s country dinner party. The only invited guest that had been mentioned at all was a near neighbor, the Duke of Torquay. And then, his name had been spoken only in passing, when the Earl had laughed and told Lady Isabel that her old favorite, Jason, had sent his regrets and would not be there, as his wife had just presented him with a third son. Elizabeth had swallowed hard, assuming that all the guests would be of similar rank.
But once her eyes had been cleared of their social panic, she saw that most of the ladies’ frocks were neither so ornate nor so up to the second of fashion as Lady Isabel’s, or, indeed, even her own. Few of the gentlemen present even aspired to Lord Beverly’s sartorial excesses, and none to the quietly correct dignity of their host's apparel. As the introductions began to register at last upon her, her spirits rose. She realized that they all were simply country folk, as provincial as herself.
As she relaxed and raised a toast with the others to King and Country, she saw seated at the table: a vicar and his wife, a local squire and his lady, a few landowners and their mates, an elderly scholar, and various others from the locality. They all seemed merry and blessedly unaffected. The conversation swelled around her, and when a footman refilled her glass for a toast to her host, she raised her glass with alacrity. Then she settled in her chair for what now promised to be a delightful evening to remember.
Elizabeth was seated in her usual place, as befitted one of the two female house guests, on her host’s right. Lady Isabel had her accustomed chair opposite. But the newly arrived gentleman next to Elizabeth was a grizzled, brusquely spoken old fellow who informed her immediately that he was his lordship’s “country sawbones.” Before much time had passed he informed Elizabeth with a worried frown that he had not examined his patient for a time, but it was a constant irritation to him as to why that deuced leg did not heal properly after all his attentions to it. He seemed to feel that the Earl’s limp was a personal affront, and after brooding for a few moments, declared with decision that as he had seen his lordship into the world, he was in no hurry to see him out of it, so that he’d better arrange to have another look at that bothersome limb again before he left this night.
Elizabeth bit back a smile at the doctor’s grim insistence and envisioned the Earl forced to strip off his tight-fitting trousers at table to accommodate his determined physician.
But the doctor’s merry, round-faced wife put in quickly, before Elizabeth could entertain herself with any more such improper thoughts, “Aye, Dennie, and wouldn’t his lordship look fine, displaying his wounds betwixt the prawns and the porridge. Pay no mind to him, Miss DeLisle. It was hard enough dragging him away from business to get him here, so he’s trying to drum up some more to keep him busy during dinner. Don’t let him go on about medicine, my dear, or you’ll be bored to flinders by dessert, and then he’ll try to force a restorative on you.”
Once chastised by his wife, who then turned her attention solely upon an elderly gentleman at her side, the doctor minded her admonition so well that Elizabeth found him vastly entertaining. He told her anecdotes about the Earl’s childhood with such wit that she was soon warming his heart by her delighted response to his stories. He did not know that he could have hit upon no more enthralling subject for his
captive audience of one. Lady Isabel was occupied in desultory conversation with the local squire. So the Earl, being drawn into conversation about rotated wheat on one side and the time he had pretended measles to get out of churchgoing on the other, made poor work of consuming his dinner.
As the meal went on, through its amazing variety of courses and varied wines, Elizabeth became aware of some stir at the other end of the table. Anthony and Lord Kingston sat there, separated by only one shy young female. But they seemed to be largely ignoring her admittedly meager charms and having their own rollicking good time drinking and joshing with each other. It was the inordinate amount of laughter and noise they were creating that drew Elizabeth’s attention to them. She narrowed her eyes as she saw how rapidly Anthony was tossing down the wine before him, and drew in her breath when she saw how quickly the Earl’s well-trained footmen replenished it. She was surprised, as Anthony did not usually drink so heavily, and shocked since she had not seen or imagined the cool Lord Kingston acting so recklessly unbent before.
Through the course of dinner, Elizabeth’s gaze went toward Anthony again and again. At one point Lord Kingston seemed to be recommending a canary wine, at another, she saw her cousin and Lord Kingston gaily toasting the blushing girl between them. And then, before her incredulous stare, they raised a nonsensical toast, with equal enthusiasm, to Lord Kingston’s favorite horse. Hers were not the only eyes scrutinizing the uproarious pair, for she often saw the Earl look up to watch them, as well as Lord Beverly frowningly taking note of the increasing levity. Even Dr. Woods eventually turned his attention to them. “A little wine for thy stomach’s sake,” he muttered, “but more than that, and a man’s a fool.”
A crystalline spun-sugar cake that made Owen’s eyes widen to resemble his dinner plate was brought out, and the talk began to become more general. Those at the table were leaning over to address others that they had scarcely seen all night, and the conversations widened in concentric circles from two original speakers to four and then at last to encompass the entire table. This, Elizabeth was sure, seldom happened at formal City dinners, but somehow here in such congenial neighborly company, it seemed quite proper. The forthcoming charity fete was discussed thoroughly, as it was a topic dear to the hearts of many of the women present. And then somehow, some way, somewhere among the company, the subject of foreign travel was brought up.
