Kathryn Caskie (29 page)

Aunt Viola folded her arms over her chest. “The matriarch. My, you’re feeling quite high and mighty this day, aren’t you?”

“Well, I am the eldest.”

“Only by three minutes!” Aunt Viola reminded her.

Grace lifted her hand regally. “The news is
mine,
so I will share it with Eliza.” With a flick of her skirt, she proudly settled herself in the iron chair beside Eliza. “Lord Hawksmoor has asked our aunts if he might marry me,” she said calmly. Then, quite unable to restrain herself, she boomed, “We are engaged!”

“What is this?” Eliza looked to her aunts for confirmation.

“Quite true. Lord Hawksmoor left only moments ago,” Aunt Viola said. Her sister nodded her chins in agreement.

Grace raised her hand to her brow to shield her eyes from the bright sun. “He will announce our engagement to all at the Cowper ball in two days time.”

Eliza felt her mouth drop open.
“Cowper?
As in Lady Cowper—one of the patronesses of Almack’s?”

“The very same!” Grace was beaming. “She is bosom friends with Lady Hawksmoor. Are you not pleased for me, Sister?”

“Why … of course.” Eliza bent and hugged Grace tightly. “This is grand news.” Then, she drew back from her sister and straightened her back. “Though quite unexpected, is it not?”

"Perhaps it might seem that way, to you. But, no, I did not think his offer at all unexpected.”

When Eliza said nothing, Grace looked across at her aunts. “May I have a moment alone with Eliza, aunties?” she asked.

“Most certainly, dear,” Aunt Viola said. “Sister and I have so much to do anyway.
A wedding.”

Aunt Viola snared her sister’s arm and the two started for the door. “Can you believe it? We are going to plan a wedding.”

“We must begin at once. Of course we’ll use lavender. Everything must be swathed in lavender,” Aunt Letitia replied.

“I agree, lavender is lovely. Though I wonder if we should consult Grace about color,” Aunt Viola quipped as the two entered the house.

“Heavens, no!” Aunt Letitia could be heard to say from passageway. “Who could possibly oppose lavender?”

When the aunts were out of earshot, Grace turned a sad smile on Eliza. “Will you take a chair, Sister. I fear there is much we must discuss … about what happened at Hyde Park, I mean.”

“I do not wish to discuss it.” Eliza pulled another chair from the table and sat down. “I explained as much to you and our aunts only yesterday.”

Grace took Eliza’s hand in her own. “I want you to be happy for me.”

“But I am.”

“Something is wrong. Are you angry because I assisted our aunts?”

Eliza widened her eyes. “Not really. But I am confused. I thought you were my ally—that you agreed that my leaving London was the right course for all of us.”

“Oh, Eliza. I was wrong when I told you to set Lord Somerton aside. I see that now. Once I put myself in your place, imagined that Reggie and I were being forced apart, why I couldn’t bear it. You and Lord Somerton belong together. He loves you and you love him. Put away your notions of painting in Italy. Reach out and claim the love he offers you.”

Eliza stood abruptly. “You know that is impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible, if you want it badly enough. What is life without love after all?”

Eliza stepped past her sister and stooped to retrieve a broken rose bud. “Not everyone lives for love, Grace. My art is enough for me. Painting is my life. It fulfills me. It is the window through which life appears the way it ought to be.”

Eliza heard the grinding scrape of the garden chair against the pavers then felt Grace’s soft hands on her shoulders.

“You’re wrong, Eliza. The canvas is
not
your window. Your art is your
shield
—your protection from life. Your excuse for not letting yourself experience life and love. Besides, it makes no sense to consider Italy any longer. What master would accept you as a student now? You have no portfolio to recommend you.”

Eliza whirled around and shook her sister’s hands away. “I can go to Italy, and I shall. I mightn’t have a fine portfolio any longer, but I can still paint and someday I will study with the masters and hone my craft. I will not give up on my dream, Grace. I will not let my art be taken from me—as Mother’s was!”

“As Mother’s was?” Grace looked astonished. “Is this why you still cling to this dream of traveling to Italy—to save your art? Is this why you resist Lord Somerton so strongly? Oh, Eliza, you are not Mother. And Lord Somerton is not—”

“Please,
Grace, allow me to handle this my own way. I know what I am doing. Believe me, this is the best thing for all.”

Without another word, Eliza turned for the house.

George Dabney should have seen it coming. From the moment he first saw the dour expression on Mrs. Peacock’s face, he should have known her mind was set.

He sat in the diminutive silk-covered chair, which, likely for interrogation purposes, had been positioned in the center of the Peacock’s ornate parlor.

“If I may, Madam, Somerton doesn’t deserve your daughter. Not in the least. Hasn’t a quid, you know.” He tried very hard not to look at Caroline, who sat on the settee across from him, wringing her hands.

Mrs. Peacock paced a tight circle around him, tapping her nail on her teeth as she walked. She waved off his last comment and stopped to stand before him. “He doesn’t need blunt. We’ve got that. But he has something our money cannot buy—a title that guarantees entrée into high ton.”

“But he’s an ill-mannered Scot!” Caroline protested. “Why, just the other evening he left me standing on the ballroom floor—alone!”

Mrs. Peacock swiped a finger at her daughter. “Quiet now! A Scot he may be, but he is also a peer of the realm. The woman who marries him will become a countess. Does that mean nothing to you?”

Caroline bowed her head at the rebuke.

Peer of the realm,
Dabney lamented. The son of a baronet, a peer was something Dabney was not. He ran his finger around the glossy rim of his beaver hat. Why ever had he trailed Somerton? For all his efforts, it made no difference.

He’d been kidding himself. The Peacocks would never accept his offer for Caroline.

Mrs. Peacock leveled her beaklike nose at him and studied him with her beady eyes. “Anything else to report?”

A chill raced over the whole of Dabney, making his throat constrict. “There was something else.”

Mrs. Peacock snapped her bony fingers. “Get on with it.”

“Saw him at Hyde Park, near the Serpentine to be exact. The Merriweather gel was there. You know, the odd one. The artist. Kissed her mouth. Right out in the open. Didn’t seem to care who was watching. Neither did she for that matter.”

Mrs. Peacock’s eyes looked black against her ghostly, lead-whitened skin. “Kissed her? And she allowed it?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and began to pace anew.

Dabney nodded. “Forgive me, Madam, but I fear it is too late for a match between Somerton and Miss Peacock. His heart belongs to Miss Merriweather, and by now the whole of proper London knows it.” He paused for a moment then, hesitating before making his own bid for Caroline’s hand. “Perhaps if I might speak to your husband. I can assure you, as heir, when my father passes—”

Mrs. Peacock shot him a glance so icy, that he felt his smalls draw up. “You will not speak to my husband about my daughter. Do you hear me? In the eyes of the high ton you are naught but a commoner. Caroline deserves better—
we
deserve better. Somerton, it will be.”

“But Mama,” Caroline whined. “I love—”

Mrs. Peacock slipped her nail under her daughter’s chin and turned her lovely face up to her.
“Not
another word. Your father and I decide what is right for you.”

Dabney came to his feet. “Somerton will not marry your daughter, of that you can be sure. He loves Miss Merriweather.”

In a moment of pure condescension, Mrs. Peacock patted Dabney’s arm and lead him to the parlor door. She snapped her fingers and her daughter obediently followed them.

Mrs. Peacock looked back at her daughter’s grief-stricken face. “Now, now, Caroline. Do not fret so. Miss Merriweather is of no consequence. I shall take care of Somerton’s little artist. She won’t be a problem for much longer, I assure you.”

Dabney straightened his back. “You never intended to consider my offer.”

A throaty laugh spilled from Mrs. Peacock’s thin pale lips. “Believing I would ever
think
of considering you for our daughter tells me all I need to know about your worthiness.”

At that, Caroline burst into tears and ran down the passageway.

Dabney, finding his spine at last, narrowed his eyes at Mrs. Peacock. “If you know what is truly right for your daughter …” But then he felt his courage draining away. Nothing he could say would sway her. Nothing.

Defeated, Dabney started for the front door, opened it, then turned to Mrs. Peacock one last time. “I’ll not spy upon Somerton any longer,” he told her. “It ain’t right.”

Mrs. Peacock turned down the passageway. “Oh, you stupid, naïve man. After today, if all goes my way, there will no longer be any need to watch Somerton.”

Mrs. Peacock cackled, then disappeared into the shadows of the staircase.

“Bluidy hell!” Magnus leaned forward to better observe the fair-haired gentleman skipping down the front steps of the Featherton town house.

Hawksmoor.
And he was grinning like an inebriated fool.

Devil take me.
He’d been supplanted again.

Well, it would not be for much longer. Magnus reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew a small, diamond-rimmed sapphire ring. He held it in a single ray of sunlight and turned it from side to glittering side.

The ring was precious to him, and no matter how light in the pocket he became, it was the one thing he would never sell. The ring had been his mother’s and she had worn it all her wedded life. And today he would give it to Eliza.

Magnus felt oddly nervous as he contemplated what he was about to do. In a few moments, one way or another, his life would be changed forever. Would Eliza accept an offer from a soon-to-be penniless earl? A man whose last hope to save his ancestral home likely lay drowned beneath the waves?

With the money from the sale of his military commission, he had enough blunt to set up a meager household in the cottage his mother had left him in Scotland. Perhaps even enough to revive the wee saltworks there. Aye, they could get by.

But even now, he couldn’t be sure of what Eliza’s answer would be. But in his heart he knew the truth. He felt her answer in the kiss at the Serpentine. Nay, despite her protestations, she loved him as much as he loved her. And he had to believe Eliza would see that he could never marry another when she alone possessed his heart.

Magnus took one last anxious look at the ring.

” ‘Tis time, Eliza,” he said, returning the ring to the safety of his waistcoat pocket before alighting from his carriage. “’Tis time at last.”

“Magnus!” Eliza said with alarm. “I did not know you were here.” She looked into the passage. “Where is Edgar? He should have announced you.”

“Would ye have received me had he done so?” Magnus asked solemnly.

"Well, that is neither here nor there, is it? You have come. The question I should ask is,
why?
We received no notice you were to call. No card.”

Magnus grinned then, and stepped toward her. “Perhaps not, but I received one of vers.” He withdrew a crimson-edged calling card and held it up to her.

Eliza stared blankly at the card he held out to her. “One of mine? I never … oh, give me that.” Snatching the card from his grasp, she held it before her eyes.

“H-how did you come by this?”

Magnus lifted a brow playfully. “Yer aunts were handing them out to any and all bachelors at the assembly room two nights past. I thought I should call, before your days and eves were filled with amorous lads.”

Good heavens.
Eliza stared back at him. Was there nothing her aunts were too ashamed to do?

Magnus chuckled. “Turnabout, I suppose. Another strategy from the
Rules of Engagement.”

“No doubt.” Eliza tucked her fingers into fists. “I cannot bear it. Everyone must think me a light-skirt! This is dreadful. Just dreadful. Dash it! When will this infernal season end?”

“All too soon.” All levity dissolved from Magnus’s eyes.

“Oh.
Quite right.” Eliza turned and sat down upon the sofa with timorous agitation at being alone with Magnus. “Have you spoken with Miss Peacock yet? Have you come to inform me of your wedding plans?”

“Nay.”

He was being so quiet all of a sudden. So serious.

“You have the portrait. I have fulfilled our
arrangement.
So why are you here?”

Magnus lowered one knee to the soft Turkish carpet and knelt down before her. His gaze glistened as he withdrew from his waistcoat pocket a sparkling sapphire.

No.
Eliza’s heart pounded in her ears.
Please don’t do this. Please.

Lifting her hand in his, Magnus raised it to his mouth and kissed it. “Eliza,” he said, in the deepest of tones, “I have come to ask ye to marry me, lass.”

Eliza was speechless, and could do naught but stare as he slipped the ring over her knuckle and drew it down to the base of her finger. “I love you, Eliza. And I know ye love me. Please, say ye’ll marry me, and accept this ring as a symbol of my troth.”

She looked up into his eyes, her own filling with salty tears as she twisted the ring and drew it from her finger. “Magnus, I’m sorry but I—”

“Shh,” he said, laying his index finger over her lips to quiet her. “I’ve sold what I can. Somerton’s crofters will be helped with the profits. Somerton Hall is forfeit, but I no longer care. No more can be done.”

Eliza brushed away his hand then. “You are wrong! You can still marry Caroline Peacock.”

“No, I canna, Eliza. For my heart belongs to ye and ever will.”

The parlor door swung open, sending Magnus to his feet. Aunt Letitia rushed in.

“Oh, Lord Somerton, is this not the happiest day? Did Eliza tell you the news?”