by Joyce Alec
Her lips moved, but no sound came out. She swallowed hard once, twice, and then threw her arms around his neck, crushing herself against him.
George held her tightly, hating that she was upset. “I could not allow Lord Morton to continue to speak,” he said softly. “You are more important, more precious to me than any other, Ellen. I will defend you with my very last breath if I have to.”
“I pray it will not come to that,” Ellen whispered, her voice a little muffled. “I would prefer to have a stain on my name than to let you do this.”
A small chuckle escaped from George’s lips. “So, it appears we are both as determined as each other then. Unfortunately, since I have already laid down the challenge, I cannot easily back down. You will simply have to trust me.” He waited until she had lifted her head and looked into his eyes before smiling at her. “Do you think you can do that?”
A single tear splashed onto her cheek, but she nodded, leaning into his palm as he gently wiped the tear away. “I can trust you,” she whispered. “Not because I have to, but because I want to. You are proving yourself to be the fine gentleman you once pretended to be.”
“Lord Hartley? Ellen?”
Making their way quickly toward the staircase, George hoped that he was not about to find himself berated by Ellen’s mother who was quickly ascending toward them.
“I only just heard what happened!” she exclaimed with a broad smile on her face that George could not quite understand. “It now appears that Lord Morton has taken to his heels and run!”
George stared at Lady Fancot, whilst Ellen laughed aloud beside him.
“It is quite true, I assure you!” the countess exclaimed with alacrity, seeing George’s astonished look. “He made a meal of going to get his sword from the confines of his carriage, stepped inside, and then was off. He is now the laughing stock of the ton – and you have no need to defend Ellen’s honor, although it was very fine of you to be so willing to do so.”
“My goodness,” Ellen breathed, her fingers tightening on his own. “And so, the threat has passed and all that remains is to look forward to our wedding day.”
“So it seems,” George replied, awash with relief and surprise. “Who would have thought it?”
The Countess of Fancot smiled, her eyes filled with happiness for them both. “I shall leave you for a few minutes, but I think it best that you return to the ball very soon,” she said, with a slight warning in her voice. “It would be best not to start any new scandals since we have managed to quash the other with such success!”
George laughed and nodded, promising to take Lady Ellen downstairs after a few moments.
“Well,” Ellen murmured, turning to face him. “It seems you have been given a reprieve, my love. And I must say, I am glad of it.”
“As am I,” George agreed softly, aware of the tenderness in her gaze. “Come, my dear. I do not want to waste these few precious moments.”
Aware of the crowd below them, many of which would be watching them he was quite sure, George took Ellen’s hand and led her to a small alcove where they could be entirely hidden. His heart was beating frantically in his chest, as his desire to have her in his arms grew with every passing second.
“Ellen,” he whispered, as she drew close to him. He did not need to say anything more, for there was an understanding in her eyes, a willingness that he had not expected. When he put his arms around her waist, she stood on tiptoe and gently placed one hand on his chest. When George lowered his head, she raised her face to his, their lips meeting in a gentle and tender kiss.
It stole his breath, his heart pounding as she kissed him, feeling her softness underneath his hands. This was the first kiss they had shared where there had been a full understanding and acceptance of one another, and, with it, there came a measure of healing.
His blood began to burn as he angled his head. Ellen wrapped both arms around his neck, pulling herself tightly against him, and George felt his whole being respond to her. There was so much passion within her that George had to pull back.
“My dear,” he breathed, resting his forehead against hers. “I confess to you now that my heart is yours. I love you with all my heart and soul.”
The smile on her face made his heart lift. “I confess I feel the same,” she whispered, stepping out from the alcove, her hand in his. “Despite everything, I cannot deny the love growing in my heart. The love for my betrothed, the reformed Lord Hartley.”
THE END
A Heart’s Rescue
Text Copyright © 2018 by Caroline Johnson
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing, 2017
Publisher
Love Light Faith, LLC
400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825
Fort Lauderdale, FL 33311
www.LoveLightFaith.com
1
England, 1843
Eliza smiled and held out her dance card, bestowing a gracious smile on the gentleman in front of her. She curtsied, nodded, and smiled some more, grateful that her card was almost full. At least then he could not hound her as he had done these last few days. Letting out a breath, she turned her eyes to the dancing.
"Ah, Miss Williams," a voice said in her ear. "I see your dance card is not quite full. Let me rectify that."
Numb, Eliza allowed the odious man to grasp her wrist before writing his name on her dance card in one of the few remaining spaces. A waltz, no less. He looked at her, all charm and smiles, dropping a short bow before walking away, glancing back at her with a look of triumph.
“Oh no,” Eliza whispered to herself, dropping into a nearby chair. “Oh no…”
“Are you quite all right, my dear?”
It was her mother.
“Yes, Mama, yes of course. I just felt a trifle warm; that is all.” She smiled brightly, attempting to push aside her fear and trepidation. She knew she could not share her burden with Mama.
Her sister danced past her, looking overjoyed at her partner’s attentions, but Eliza knew it was nothing more than flirtation. At least she’s enjoying herself, Eliza thought grimly. Sophie had no idea about the horrific situation Eliza was in – not that she would be of much help.
“Miss Williams, shall we take to the floor?”
It was Lord Stockton. He had signed up for the quadrille, and Eliza was relieved to see him. He has been showing me particular attentions lately, Eliza thought, seeing her mother's beaming smile as she watched Lord Stockton escort Eliza to dance floor.
“Are you quite well, Miss Williams?” Lord Stockton asked as they prepared for the dance. “You seem a little distracted this evening.”
“Do I?” Eliza asked, gazing to the left of his shoulder. "I feel a little fatigued, that is all. I am sure."
Lord Stockton said nothing, dancing the quadrille in silence. Once it was over, he tucked her hand under his arm and escorted her to an empty chair.
“Would you like some ratafia, Miss Williams?” he asked, his face clearly concerned. She smiled in response, trying to ignore the sight of Lord Penn approaching her.
"Indeed, Lord Stockton. Still, I should much rather come with you, if you please?"
Surprised, Lord Stockton did as she requested, allowing her to place her hand on his arm as he escorted her towards the refreshments. However, she was not to make her escape; the firm hand of Lord Penn grasped her arm.
“Miss Williams! Surely you cannot have forgotten that this is to be my dance?”
Lord Stockton, dropping his arm, turned about to face Lord Penn.
“Ah, Lord Penn, how
do you do?” He executed a short bow. “Indeed, I would not deny you your chance to dance with Miss Williams, but only on the promise that you will return her to my side once the dance is over!" He chuckled, turning to Eliza. "Miss Williams, I will have refreshments waiting for you upon your return."
Bowing again to Lord Penn, he left her alone. Eliza closed her eyes briefly. Lord Stockton was not to know, but she desperately wished he had not been so much of a gentleman. Had he demanded that she take some refreshment, she might have been spared this dance with Lord Penn.
“Shall we?” he smirked, his eyes triumphant as he took her hand. Resisting the urge to tug it away from him, Eliza allowed him to lead her onto the floor. Odious man! He had chosen the waltz specifically, she was sure. The feelings of his arm around her waist made her shiver as she determined to remain silent, no matter what he said.
“Have you considered my proposal, Eliza?”
Her eyes flashed. She had not given him permission to use her given name. He laughed.
“I can tell that you have. You will see that there is no way out, my dear. You must acquiesce, despite how much it may pain you. You will let me know when I am to take collection of the item? I cannot wait to hold it in my hands!”
Eliza bit her lip, refusing to speak a single word, despite the retort that pressed against her lips. She stared straight ahead, willing the dance to come to an end.
“I will hear from you soon, Eliza. Very soon, I imagine.” He bowed, escorting her from the floor and back to the waiting arm of Stockton, bidding them both farewell. Eliza was not surprised. He had fulfilled his purpose of coming here tonight; there was no need for him to stay.
“Did you enjoy your dance, Miss Williams?” Lord Stockton asked, handing her a glass of ratafia.
“I did,” she replied shortly, wishing she could tell Stockton the truth, but knowing she could not. Lord Penn had made it very clear that she would be forever ruined in the eyes of the ton, should she breathe a word to anyone. She did not know how he would achieve such a thing, but she had no doubt that he would.
Lord Stockton cleared his throat.
“I was wondering, Miss Williams, if I would be permitted to call on you tomorrow? Perhaps a drive through Hyde Park?"
Eliza looked up at him quickly, realizing with a smile that he was blushing slightly. The poor man. She needed to put him out of his misery.
“Of course, Lord Stockton. I should like that very much.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Lord Stockton replied, a smile crossing his face. “I shall call for you at precisely three o’clock.” Seeing Eliza’s mother approaching, he bowed and took his leave, leaving Eliza feeling both excited and happy, Lord Penn’s words completely forgotten.
"My dear!" her mama called, sailing over and taking both of her hands in her own. "I see Lord Stockton has been at your side on several occasions this evening."
“Yes, Mama,” Eliza replied, in a quieter tone. “He is coming to call on me tomorrow at three o’clock. We are to go driving in Hyde Park.”
“Oh, my dear! How delightful.” her mama gushed. “Lord Stockton is a wonderful man, and I am sure would make an excellent husband. Rich too! You shall be set for life.”
“Slow down a little, Mama,” Eliza laughed, patting her mother’s hand. “It is merely a drive in the park, not a proposal of marriage.” She bore her mother away to the refreshments, trying not to wonder what it would be like to be Lady Stockton.
2
Anthony Russell, the Earl of Bessington, relished the cool mornings. He could be himself, with no one around to spot him, to enquire after his health or to debase themselves in order to earn his favor. Ever since his father's death a few months earlier, Anthony had found his new responsibilities both wearying and frustrating. There was so much to do that he barely had time to go for a ride; there was always a tenant to take care of, accounts to go through, or debts to pay. He had barely known his father, but was not in the least bit surprised to find that he had left mountains of unpaid debts that had almost critically wounded the estate. It had proved to be much harder work than he had anticipated, but it seemed the estate was finally beginning to turn a profit. And, of course, his mother had organized a house party to celebrate, as if they needed to fritter away money on such frivolities.
She had not taken his criticism well, promising, at least, that he would not have to make much more than one or two appearances. At least that was a relief. He wandered through the woods that surrounded the estate, appreciating the little things, such as the dewdrops on a spider’s web and the colorful toadstools that littered the path. His valet would have a fit when he returned to the house, but Anthony didn't care. His loose shirt, trousers, and old boots were all he required for an early morning walk, the sense of freedom overwhelming his senses. This was what he needed. This was his relief.
Eliza only half-listened to her mother and sister's eager chatter, her wish that it would not last for the entire journey going unanswered. They would be pulling into the Bessington estate in a few moments, and Eliza could not wait to escape the confines of the closed carriage. Her mother, who was old friends with the Dowager Countess of Bessington, had been vastly excited to receive her friend's invitation to the house party, and, having been asked to arrive one day early before the other guests, instantly made all the preparations—much to her husband's amusement. Eliza's father had opted to remain at home, citing business affairs that required his attention. Lord Stockton would also attend the house party, much to Eliza's delight. Their carriage drives had become a regular occurrence, and Eliza was sure there was a proposal of marriage in their future. To her utmost dismay, she had also been told that Lord Penn would be attending, shuddering as she remembered the letter he had sent.
“My dear Miss Williams," it had read. "I am delighted to inform you that I, too, shall be attending the Bessington house party. What a pleasure it shall be to spend such a prolonged length of time with you. By now, I am certain that you have seen the sense in my proposal. I shall expect you to bring the Williams necklace to the house party and, at the end of the week, it shall be given to me and remain in my possession. If you do not, you know what the consequences will be. Speak to anyone of this matter, and you shall find yourself ruined in society’s eyes, and what will Lord Stockton think of you then?”
Eliza stared out of the carriage window, focusing on preventing any tears from falling—not that Sophie or Mama would notice. Lord Penn had her firmly in his grip, and she could see no way out. He wanted the Williams necklace, the family heirloom that was only worn by Mama on very special occasions, and would, one day, be passed to her. It was made up of jade, diamonds, and rubies and was the family's safety net. Lord Penn had courted her a long time ago, but both Eliza and Sophie spurned his advances, much to his displeasure. It now became clear that Lord Penn was determined to have the Williams necklace, and unless she could find a way out, he would get it. If she did not give it to him, he would call in her father's debts, which would ruin the family entirely. They would lose everything: their home, their social standing, and their chances to make an eligible match. However, Eliza knew that if she did give him the necklace, Mama would be heartbroken and her father furious.
She thought back to the night her father had come home, blazing drunk and shouting about Lord Penn. He had accused him of cheating at cards, one of the most dangerous and dishonoring accusations against a gentleman. Of course, there was no evidence of Lord Penn’s cheating, so the family had tried to quieten him immediately, knowing the scandal that would ensue should Lord Penn hear of their father's remarks. However, Eliza began to think that her father had been correct in his statements, for she was sure Lord Penn would stop at nothing to possess the Williams necklace.
Since that night, her father had never returned to his clubs, not once stayed to gamble or play piquet, never reached for a glass of port or whiskey. He was quiet and unsociable, waiting for Lord Penn to call in his debts whilst saying nothing to his family. Eliz
a's soft heart ached for him, whilst wishing desperately that there was an easy way out. The Williams necklace was packed carefully in her trunk, taken from her mother’s bedroom without her knowledge. Eliza hoped she could find a solution before the week’s end.
“Violet, my dear,” said Lady Bessington with her arms outstretched as she welcomed Eliza’s mother to her home. “How good it is to see you once more.”
“Catherine, it is as though you have not aged a single day since I saw you last,” Eliza’s mother replied. “Let me introduce you to my daughters. This is Eliza, my eldest, and Sophie.” Eliza and Sophie both gave elegant curtsies to the dowager countess, who studied them both with an appraising eye.
“Both beautiful, I see.” She smiled at them warmly, a handsome woman still, in spite of her years. “You are both very welcome. I do hope that you enjoy your stay here.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Eliza said.
Lady Bessington laughed.
“None of that nonsense, I beg you. You are daughters of my dear friend, Violet, so you must refer to me as Catherine. I insist.”
Surprised at being granted such an intimacy, both girls smiled and nodded, immediately feeling at home with Lady Bessington.
“You have a beautiful home,” Sophie remarked, aware of the magnificent paintings on the wall as well as the plush carpet.
"Thank you, my dear," Catherine replied. "My son has no time for such ‘frivolities,' as he calls them, so he has left the decorating of the house to me. It is something I greatly enjoy." Smiling, Lady Bessington rose to ring for refreshments.
“Girls,” their mother began. “Please go to your rooms and refresh yourselves. I shall be along momentarily.”
Realizing that their mama wanted a long, comfortable coze with her dear friend, Eliza and Sophie nodded, making their way from the drawing room up the grand staircase to their private rooms above.
