Kathryn Caskie (22 page)

A voice drifted into the room from the passageway. “Eliza? Eliza, dear. Are you here?” It was Aunt Viola.

She heard the click of walking sticks on the floor just outside the door. Saw the brass door handle depress.
Lord, help us.

“Answer her,” Magnus whispered, “as though nothing is wrong.”

Eliza nodded her head. “Yes, Auntie,” she replied feebly. “I am here.”

She looked frantically to Magnus.
Do something. Please.

Magnus suddenly snatched up one of Eliza’s paintings from the stack of three propped against the wall. He held it before him, covering the telltale bulge in his breeches, just as the door opened.

“Lord Somerton!” Aunt Viola gasped and gaped at them in utter astonishment. She looked behind her at Aunt Letitia and Grace, who stared back at him with equally startled expressions.

Magnus bowed slightly, keeping the painting centered over his body. “Ladies.”

Eliza stepped in front of Magnus. “You have returned quite early. Did you forget something, perhaps?”

Aunt Letitia poked her cane into the Turkish carpet and moved toward Eliza. “How could we enjoy ourselves at the
Spectacular,
knowing our dear niece sat all alone at home?”

“Oh Letitia, how you go on,” Aunt Viola broke in. “It started raining again. The event has been postponed, so we came home.” She cast a frown in Magnus’s direction. “Of course, we could not have guessed you would be entertaining Lord Somerton whilst we were gone.”

Eliza’s felt her ears reddening. “I just—.”

Magnus cut in. “Miss Merriweather had offered me one of her paintings. I only thought to take her up on her kind offer, while I visited with her and her family.”

Eliza spoke up. “I explained that we never received his card, else my family might have remained at home to receive him.” She could feel Grace studying her and saw her glance surreptitiously at her skirts for any rumpled sign of a dalliance with Magnus.

“I am sorry we were not at home to receive you, my lord,” Aunt Letitia replied, somewhat unsteadily. “It is only by the grace of coincidence,
it seems,
that our Eliza was here.”

“Will you not sit down, Lord Somerton?” Aunt Viola gestured to the chair beside the fire.

Eliza saw Magnus glance casually at the straining fabric beneath the painting.

“Uh … no thank ye. I was just leaving,” he said most convincingly.

Aunt Letitia took one exasperated look at the wide canvas in Magnus’s hands and shook her head. “Lord Somerton, you need not carry the painting through the damp streets. I shall have our footman come by with it on the morrow. Let me take it from you now and give it to him.” She reached out and caught hold of one corner of the frame.

Magnus held fast to the painting—his shield from certain embarrassment, even as Aunt Letitia tried valiantly to tug it from his hands.

“My, such
large …
hands you have, my lord,” Aunt Letitia quipped, casting a wry glance at Viola. “Do help me with the painting, Sister.”

When Aunt Viola enthusiastically joined in the tug-of-war, Magnus turned to Eliza, his eyes pleading for assistance.

“Aunties,
please”
Eliza pleaded as she gently pried her aunts’ hands loose from the gilt frame. “Lord Somerton came here with the sole purpose of retrieving this painting.”

The minute the women’s fingers left the painting, Magnus lurched away from the two determined old ladies. “I am afraid I have already overstayed my welcome. I shall take my leave.”

He turned to Eliza and manufactured a perfectly genteel smile. “I must thank ye again, Miss Merriweather, for gifting me with such an extraordinary painting. If ye do not object, I will take it home with me
now.”

“Of course, Lord Somerton. Thank you so much for coming.”

With the canvas pressed securely against his hips, Magnus bid farewell to the ladies, backed his way to the door, and made a swift departure.

“My, he left in quite a hurry, did he not?” Grace commented.

Eliza furrowed her brow. “He only came for the painting but obviously noted my fatigue and departed quickly so that I might rest.” She turned and moved to the banked fire.

“Of course, dear. I am sure you are right,” Aunt Viola replied, raising a gloved hand to conceal an all too discerning grin as she followed Letitia to the settee.

Grace moved shoulder-to-shoulder beside Eliza. “Thanks to the rain and our early return, you have been saved from the stain of impropriety once more.”

She leaned forward and took Eliza’s shoulders and turned her to face her. “What will it take to make you see what damage your actions can wreak on this family?”

“I do apologize.” Eliza removed Grace’s hands and stepped away. “But I did not invite Lord Somerton here. He came of his own accord.”

Aunt Letitia exhaled loudly. “There, you see, Grace? This was not some grand scheme hatched between his lordship and Eliza. She knew nothing of his plans to visit.”

Grace eyed her doubtfully and Eliza prayed she would not reveal her “arrangement” to their aunts.

“Still you should know better than to ask a
bachelor
into the house when you are home alone.” Angry red blotches erupted across Grace’s cheeks.

“Calm yourself, Grace. You have worked yourself into strawberries again,” Aunt Viola tittered.

“What?” Grace released Eliza and peered into the gilt-rimmed convex glass above the mantel.

In the reflection, Eliza watched her sister pat her finger pads across her splotched cheeks. A horrified expression contorted Grace’s face a moment before she whirled around.

“My face! Do you see?” Grace whined to her aunts. “Do you see what she’s done to my face?”

Aunt Letitia tapped her stick twice on the floor. “Grace, I assure you, no one is to blame for the blotches on your face. Go to your chamber, clothe yourself in something dry, and relax your nerves.”

Grace shrieked with frustration then started for the door.

Eliza turned in behind her, attaching herself like a shadow. Aunt Letitia’s cane suddenly shot between them, blocking Eliza’s escape.

"Eliza,
you
will remain here. Sister and I will have a word with you.”

Nodding her head, Eliza turned and sat down on the fireside chair. Inwardly, she cringed, quite aware that she deserved any punishment her aunts might levy upon her. As far as Society was concerned, her transgression was grievous to say the least.

But it was oh so wonderful too. Her body never felt so alive, even if a little sore. She felt heat begin to suffuse her face at the memory.

Her aunts took their places upon the sofa. Aunt Letitia began quietly. “I am greatly pleased that you have decided to put aside your plan to study art in Italy to pursue Lord Somerton. But, Eliza, what you did tonight was very, very risky.”

Aunt Viola waved her hand. “Do not misunderstand, we do applaud your determination and ingenuity, dear.”

Confusion knit Eliza’s brows. “I am sorry, I do not know what you mean.”

“Do not play coy with us, Lizzy,” Aunt Letitia continued. “It is quite clear you consulted the rule book
again
and set out to use its strategies on your own.”

Eliza cocked her head and a small laugh pushed through her teeth. “What ever gave you that idea, Auntie?”

“Why Rule Thirteen, of course,” Aunt Viola replied softly.

“Rule Thirteen?” Eliza gulped.

Aunt Letitia rose and left the parlor, returning moments later with the scarlet rule book, much to Eliza’s shocked dismay. Her aunt turned the brittle pages carefully, then lifted her lorgnette to her eyes and began to read the heavy black text at the top of the page.
“Use bait to draw him into secure ground. Here, his strengths can be compromised.”

“You baited Lord Somerton with your offer of a painting, dove, did you not?” Aunt Viola’s voice was soft and gentle.

“Oh, of course she did,” Aunt Letitia broke in. “We understand what you were trying to accomplish, gel, but you mustn’t attempt these strategies alone. We must discuss the Rules before venturing into the field.”

Aunt Letitia snapped the book closed and set it on the tea table, as Aunt Viola crossed the room to Eliza and placed her hand on her shoulder.

“In the future, please allow
us
to guide you.” Aunt Letitia joined Viola and Eliza at the hearth. “Our experience with London Society is far greater than your own and you may benefit from our knowledge.”

“Yes, Aunties.” Eliza released the air pent in her lungs.

“Well, shall we also change our clothing?” Aunt Viola asked her sister. “Don’t want to catch our death, you know.”

“Quite right.” Aunt Letitia lifted Eliza’s chin with her index finger. “Chin up, Lizzy. Tonight was no loss. Why, if I read Lord Somerton’s countenance correctly, you have him by the …
collar.”
With that, the two aunts giggled and left the room, closing the door behind them.

Exhaling her relief, Eliza turned and moved to the mantel. She rested her elbows on its surface, then, laying her head on her arms, closed her eyes. She had somehow escaped the harsh reprimand she had feared was coming her way.

But what had she done? Why was she so powerless against his touch? One kiss was all it took. Once kiss and all thoughts of Italy were gone. All consideration for her family, banished. Her mind held only one thought.
Magnus.

At the click of the door lock turning, Eliza lifted her head and gazed into the mirror. In the reflection, she saw Grace move behind her. Felt her sister’s hands on her shoulders.

“Are you all right?”

Eliza turned to face her. “You are not angry anymore?”

“How could I be? Once I collected myself, I realized that you were in no state to react logically. That’s why I intend to help you.”

Eliza opened her mouth, fully intent on arguing that she needed no help at all, when she realized, to her great dismay, Grace was right. Utterly, right. When it came to Magnus, logic seemed to leap out the window … even if
he
wouldn’t. “I don’t know that anyone can help me now.”

“That is where you are wrong, Sister.” Grace wrapped her arm around Eliza’s waist and led her to the sofa. Once seated, she took Eliza’s hand. “The way I see it, you have but two
real
choices that will not end in this family’s ruin.”

Eliza cocked her head. “As many as that—two?”

“Yes,” Grace said in a matter-of-fact manner. “Your first choice is to marry Lord Somerton of course.”

Eliza came to her feet. “Does it not matter to you that he has not asked me to marry him?”

“Eliza, do not be daft. At least twice now, he has compromised you. It would not take much to convince the earl to do the honorable thing and marry you.”

“We’ve had this discussion before. Despite his fanciful beliefs, marriage is an impossibility. I am virtually penniless. So, unless the worlds align in the heavens, he must marry a woman with a fine dowry. A woman who can help him save Somerton from the creditors.”

“Then you have no other choice but to choose my second option. Stay away from him, for all of our sakes.” Grace looked down and slowly drew a paper from the placket opening in her skirt. “Take this.”

“What is it?” Eliza took the sheet and turned it over in her hand. It was a document of passage. She looked up at her sister for explanation.

“I used what money I had to secure passage for you to Italy.”

Eliza was dumbfounded. “I—I cannot accept this.”

“You can, and you will. The ship sails on the thirtieth day of July, evening tide.”

"But Grace, the cost… you cannot afford to do this for me.”

“I didn’t do it for you alone. I did it for myself and our sister as well. Your leaving is the best course of action for you—and more importantly, for the family. Otherwise, at your current trot, it is only a matter of days before Society turns its back on us all forever.”

“I see.” It all made sense.

The only problem that remained, in Eliza’s mind anyway, was avoiding Magnus until the thirtieth of July—and that was still a few weeks away. But she had to keep her distance. They had proven, on nearly every occasion, they could not be trusted alone. Not with dratted lustful impulses spurring them on.

“Mayhap, Eliza, with the billet of passage in your hand, and knowing you have an ally within the family, you will find it easier to avoid Lord Somerton until you set sail—or until he marries someone else, of course.”

At those words, Eliza stared mutely at Grace.

“Eliza?”

“Marries someone
else”
she repeated thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s it.” Abruptly, she yanked Grace into a tight hug, then released her and started for the door.

“Wait!” Grace reached out a hand. “Where are you going?”

Eliza glanced back over her shoulder and smiled brightly. “To the library—to find Lord Somerton a bride.
Tonight.”

The spent candlewick dipped into the melted beeswax and began to sputter, forcing Eliza to accept her conclusion, as much as she was loathe to do it. She took once last look at the list of names she’d scratched off her foolscap sheet. Only one debutante’s name remained. She cringed.

Sitting before her aunts’ rosewood writing desk, Eliza matched her own observations of the season’s most eligible debutantes with Magnus’s list of desirable wifely attributes. And now, after two long hours, she had come to the unsettling conclusion that only one woman was perfectly suited:
Caroline Peacock.

She was everything Magnus was hoping for: beautiful, charming, poised, intelligent, accomplished and cultured. But perhaps most important, she was rich. If Society gossip was to be believed, Miss Peacock’s dowry alone was enough to wipe out Magnus’s debts entirely.

Caroline Peacock had only two faults Eliza could ascertain: her social-climbing family and her personality. Neither of which seemed to concern Magnus. He would just have to resign himself to the fact that his late brother’s betrothed, Miss Peacock, was the most logical solution to his dilemma. Besides, the chit’s family
wanted
her to marry him for his position in Society. No other suited Magnus’s situation so well.