A Chance Encounter (9 page)

“Do you really think I ought?” she had asked doubtfully. “She sounds rather frightening.”

He had laughed, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, white teeth flashing at her. “She will adore you, my love,” he had assured her, squeezing her hand tighter. “And do not try to persuade me that you are afraid. You are always easy in other people's presence. You never seem at a loss for topics of conversation.”

“But perhaps she will think a visit from me an impertinence?” Elizabeth had suggested.

His eyes had softened as they gazed back into hers. “I love her, Elizabeth,” he had said. “I have told her about you and all that you mean to me. She insists on meeting you. I do believe that if you will not call on her, she will call on you.”

“But that will never do,” she had said, aghast. “How would it look if your grandmother came calling on my aunt when we are not even betrothed?”

He had grinned, looking suddenly like a mischievous boy. “Then you have no choice, do you, my love?” he had said. The music had been drawing to a close. “Tomorrow afternoon?” he had suggested. “I shall call for you at three.”

And so they had gone. Elizabeth's Aunt Matilda had raised no objection to her charge's going with Robert Denning to visit his grandmother. Despite Robert's assurances of the night before, Elizabeth had been nervous.

Lady Bothwell was the first member of Robert's family to whom she had been formally presented. And she had wondered what he had said about her. Did the old lady really know that they loved each other? Did she know that they had pledged to wait three years until they were free to marry? Would she like Elizabeth, or would she find her ridiculously young and gauche?

That first meeting had certainly been disconcerting. The old lady had risen to her feet when they were announced and stood with her back to the fireplace, leaning heavily on a cane. She had watched Elizabeth through an old fashioned lorgnette as Robert led her forward.

“This is Elizabeth Rossiter, Gram,” he had said simply.

“I could have guessed that, boy,” she had replied gruffly, still surveying Elizabeth. “Well, if her sense matches her looks, it seems you have made a good choice. Come and sit down, girl.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth had replied, and she had perched stiff-backed on the edge of a nearby chair.

Robert had laughed, looking endearingly handsome and at ease in this very uncomfortable situation. “Gram, you old rogue,” he had said outrageously, “you are deliberately trying to make Elizabeth uncomfortable just to discover if she has character. Now admit it,” he had said.

“Hmm,” had been her reply as she lowered herself slowly into a wing chair close to the fireplace.

“I told you that she is not a silly, empty-headed chit, now, did I not?” he had said. “She may sit like that, looking ill-at-ease, Gram, but she will not dissolve into tears or the vapors, I do assure you.”

“Hmm,” the old lady had repeated. “You never did learn manners living with that young fool, did you, boy? Now, you go upstairs to my room and fetch the paisley shawl I left on the bed. It is chilly here.”

And, remarkably, by the time he had arrived back a few minutes later, Lady Bothwell and Elizabeth had been conversing quite comfortably on some topic that Elizabeth had now forgotten. The three of them had taken tea and cakes and talked for an hour or more. For Elizabeth it had been a blissful time. For once she and Robert did not have to steal a little time together in a public place. For once they could talk and laugh and relax together. And for once she felt the delight of being accepted by at least part of his family. There had been better to come. The old lady had finally pulled herself to her feet and grasped her cane.

“I have to go and check on my plants,” she had announced. “They almost did not survive the journey from Devon. Old, like me. It takes me ten minutes to water them. No, I do not need any help, boy.” She waved aside Robert's outstretched arm and hobbled toward the door. She had shut it firmly behind her.

Robert and Elizabeth had stared at each other incredulously for a moment. Then he had laughed. “Do you doubt now that she likes you?” he had asked, and he had stretched out a hand to pull her to her feet.

They had spent ten shameless minutes in each other's arms, kissing, gazing into each other's eyes, whispering love words, just holding each other. Elizabeth had rested her head against his shoulder at one point. She had closed her eyes and luxuriated in the feel of his warm, masculine body touching hers. How strong his thighs and chest and arms felt! How broad and comforting the shoulder! He was not very much taller than she and she liked him that way. She fit so comfortably against him.

He had nibbled on her earlobe and blown into her ear so that she had raised her head, giggling, to meet his laughing eyes again. They had embarked on another exploration of each other's lips and mouths before they heard the slow but unmistakable approach of the cane again. By the time Lady Bothwell had reentered the room, they had been sitting in their former places, Elizabeth flushed, Robert's fair hair looking less than immaculate

“Hmm,” the old lady had said, “sorry to keep you waiting.”

That visit had set the pattern for a series of visits that took place every few days. They would converse with Lady Bothwell for an hour and then she would have to check on her plants. Never for longer than ten minutes.

But the visits and the brief times alone had been sufficient for their relationship to grow. Their love had developed out of friendship; friendship helped it deepen.

And what had happened to the friendship and the love? Elizabeth asked herself now. They had seemed strong enough for a lifetime of happiness. But she did not dare let her memories stray any farther forward. Not tonight. She had no idea how late it was, but it felt very late indeed.

How could yesterday afternoon have happened? What was the explanation of his coldness and his anger? Elizabeth had gone over and over his words during the drive back home from the picnic and during the evening, which she had spent in her room, pleading fatigue. But she was no nearer a solution now. He had accused her of setting her cap at Mr. Mainwaring. That was outrageous enough, though at least partly understandable, perhaps, as the man had danced with her a few evenings before and had walked with her that afternoon. But Hetherington had accused her of dangling after Mr. Mainwaring's money. The idea was absurd. When had she ever suggested to Robert that money was important to her? She had been willing to marry him when neither of them had a feather to fly with. He must have known then that she had other admirers, wealthier ones, who might have been brought to the point had she given them the smallest encouragement.

He had seemed almost to hate her when he had charged her not to ruin a sensitive man like his friend. Yes, she had learned for herself that Mr. Mainwaring was a sensitive man, that he could probably be hurt easily. But to suggest that she would lead him on only to hurt him, to suggest that she was somehow heartless and dangerous, was, was . . . absurd! And he had told her to go to him for money. That he would give it to her. The gall of the man! The sheer gall! Elizabeth tapped her palm convulsively on the bed. How she itched to slap him again. She wished she could have hit him harder.

And she wished—how she wished—that she had not responded to his kiss. Perhaps it had not been so obvious, had it? She had certainly struggled hard enough at first. Perhaps he would think she had just grown tired of the struggle, had just gone limp in his arms. Would he? You did not open your mouth to a man when you just went limp, though, did you? And he would not look at you afterward with a contemptuous sneer, would he? Oh, drat the man, he knew, all right.

Elizabeth flushed with mortification and burrowed her head in her pillow, determined to sleep again. Persistence helped her to feel drowsy; she began to drift into welcome unconsciousness.

Suddenly her eyes flew open. Now, what had he meant when he had said that she could have had it all if she had only waited? She sighed and willed sleep to come yet again.

* * *

Mrs. Prosser and her sister paid a brief call the following afternoon to invite Cecily to drive into town with them. They also brought an invitation to the whole family and to Miss Rossiter to attend a ball at Femdale the following week.

Elizabeth went upstairs to help Cecily change into clothes suited for a shopping trip. The girl did not really wish to go.

“I like Mrs. Prosser,” she explained, “but I cannot abide that cat, Miss Norris. She forever makes me feel like a foolish country girl, Beth, and she positively glares at me every time the Marquess of Hetherington comes near me. Really, there is no need, Beth. I like him well enough, and if he is kind enough to single me out for attention whenever we are together. But really there is nothing between us. The cat is welcome to him, though I do not believe he likes her excessively.”

“What makes you say that?” Elizabeth asked casually as she selected a bonnet from a shelf that would match Cecily's primrose walking dress, “Have you not noticed that he always avoids having to spend too much time with her?” the girl explained. “Why, yesterday he even preferred your company to hers. Mr. Dowling remarked on it and she positively glowered.” Cecily giggled. “Would it not be amusing if she became jealous of you, Beth?”

“Yes, indeed,” her companion agreed. “Now hurry, Cecily, or the ladies will be tired of waiting.”

Elizabeth spent the unexpected free time in the rose arbor writing a letter to her brother. Cecily joined her there on her return from town.

“Well, the cat has thrown down the glove,” she said cheerfully.

Elizabeth did not comment on the strange mixture of metaphor. “Oh?” she prompted.

“We stopped for ices,” Cecily said, “and she hinted that the ball is to celebrate a special occasion. An interesting announcement is apparently to be made.”

“Indeed?” Elizabeth said lightly, not quite understanding the pang of emptiness she felt somewhere in the region of her stomach. “Her betrothal to Hetherington?”

“Oh, I think so,” Cecily said, “although Mrs. Prosser looked cross and told Miss Norris not to be premature.”

Elizabeth was carefully putting away her writing materials. “Will you be unhappy if it is true, love?” she asked. “Did you mean what you said to me earlier?”

“Oh, it will not bother me,” Cecily said airily. “I must admit that at first it seemed glamorous to be noticed by a fashionable man, and a wealthy, titled man at that. But really, Beth, these things do not matter much once you get to know a man, do they?”

“You mean that love and friendship mean more?” Elizabeth asked.

“Well, yes. I mean, yesterday the London people thought the church was rather a joke, did they not? But Ferdie and I have memories attached to it. We could have spent hours there and not got tired.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Is Ferdie back in favor again, love?”

“Ferdie?” said Cecily. “Oh, sometimes he can be very annoying and boyish, Beth, and he does like to show off because he has been to London. But, yes, I feel more comfortable with him than all the Mr. Mainwarings or marquesses you could present me with. I do not love him or anything like that,” she added hastily.

“No, of course not,” Elizabeth smiled, “and you must not be in a hurry to fall in love or to imagine that you should be in love with someone. You are very young, Cecily. Be sure that when you do marry, it is to someone you can trust completely.”

“Why, Beth,” Cecily said in surprise, “you sound so serious. I am not even thinking of marriage yet, you silly goose. But truthfully, what do you think of the Marquess of Hetherington and Amelia Norris? Will they suit?”

“Yes, admirably,” Elizabeth said with more vehemence than she had intended.

Cecily looked doubtful. “I think not,” she said. “For all that I do not love him, Beth, I think the marquess is a very pleasant man. She will sour him or make his life a misery.”

“I think Hetherington can probably control his own fate,” Elizabeth said, gathering her writing materials into her arms and starting off in the direction of the house.

* * *

The week was a reasonably peaceful one for Elizabeth. Although she could not ignore the fact that the imminent betrothal between Hetherington and Amelia Norris upset her somewhat, with her rational mind she was glad of it. If they became officially engaged at the ball the following week, they would surely be anxious to get back to town to prepare for the wedding, or if London was too sparsely populated for them at this time of the year, surely there must be any number of family and friends that they would want to visit with their news. Robert had only his uncle left, she believed, but Miss Norris probably had a larger family. Surely they would leave Ferndale soon and then she would be able to begin erecting the wall of quiet serenity around herself that had helped her through her years as governess and lady companion.

Only once during the week was she forced to face the Ferndale party. They all came over one afternoon to take Cecily driving. Elizabeth escaped from the drawing room immediately to fetch a shawl from the girl's bedroom. She handed it to Mr. Mainwaring on her return and would have left. He detained her for a moment.