Authors: Jo Goodman
"I welcomed the diversion. There is a difference."
She understood that very well. It was the difference between running
to
and running
from.
What she did not understand was why the Earl of Northam was sharing that with her. Judging by his subsequent silence, his lordship was wondering much the same thing.
Elizabeth lifted her face to the sun moments before a stand of trees blocked its heat and light. Her bonnet was lying on the ground not far from her case of watercolors and brushes. She had no illusions that her fair skin was not pinkening, but she was supremely unconcerned by it. More bothersome was the pain in her hip. She paused in her awkward stride and felt Northam stop, immediately solicitous.
"Shall I fetch a chair for you?" he asked. "Your stool?"
She could only imagine how foolish she would look sitting at the stream's edge in a straight-backed chair, once again calling attention to her infirmity. "No, thank you. If you will but give me a moment, I only require—"
Elizabeth halted, her breath seized as Northam bent and lifted her. He held her against his chest, her legs dangling over one forearm while the other cradled her back. She blinked at him owlishly, dark amber eyes startled at first, then faintly accusing.
"It is only a short distance to those rocks," he said calmly. "You could put your arms around my neck."
"I could put my hands around your throat." She noticed he was not at all disturbed by this observation. Reluctantly, she raised her arms and slid them in place. Over his shoulder Elizabeth saw the baroness turn away from her circle of friends, obviously prompted to do so, and wave gaily to her, a happy smile brightening her face. The baron, deep in discussion with a clutch of politics-minded men, also turned and gave her a similarly warm acknowledgment. On the blanket where Northam's three friends still staked their territory, they exchanged friendly chucks to the upper arm in some sort of ritual of manly approbation that Elizabeth only vaguely understood.
"Your friends appear to approve of your behavior," she said. "Else they are preparing to brawl."
He laughed then, unrestrained, rumbling, deep and clear. He had to stop in midstride to steady himself and Elizabeth. She felt the vibration of his chest tickle her fingertips where she clutched him. Northam caught his breath and moved on, shaking his head, still smiling to himself as if he could see precisely the behavior that elicited her comment. "They cannot help themselves," he said. "I do not offer that as an excuse, merely as the truth of the situation."
"I certainly could find no fault with the marquess last evening. He was without exception considerate. I am sure he did not engage a single guest in fisticuffs."
"East was there alone."
East? she wondered. Marquess of Eastlyn, of course. Elizabeth rather liked the notion that these four friends clung to childhood familiarities. "Hardly alone. The baron's table was a squeeze."
Northam set her down on an outcropping of rock. He removed a handkerchief from inside his frock coat and placed it on the stone. "Please," he said. "Allow me to help you sit. The sun has warmed this spot nicely." He aided Elizabeth's balance and eased her onto the square of linen, then dropped easily beside her. Neither the close fit of his frock coat, nor the objections he anticipated from his valet that evening, stopped Northam from removing it. He glanced at Elizabeth as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "You don't mind?"
His lack of regard for convention startled her. In spite of the warmth of the afternoon, no other man had gone so far as to remove his frock coat. Many of them, she suspected, could
not
have removed it without the help of a valet. Instead of looking untidy, Northam managed an air of informal elegance, and Elizabeth suspected that if she were to turn her head and survey the guests, the female half would be looking in his direction with some admiration, while the males in their midst would be straining to relieve themselves of their own outer wear. It came to her then that this man had little regard for convention because he helped set the standard.
"You would put your jacket back on if I minded?" she asked.
"No, not at all," he said. "But I wondered if you did."
She laughed. "You say the most unexpected things."
His own smile was brief. "Do I? I assure you, I am quite serious."
"And I believe you. There can be no good reason for men to swelter in their frock coats while the ladies enjoy a modicum of comfort in muslin and the shade of parasols. I confess, however, I had not given the matter any thought before now. It did not occur to me that you were in any way uncomfortable."
"Deuced uncomfortable. But it is our lot to suffer in silence. I am told it impresses the ladies." He glanced sideways to measure the effect of his words. Elizabeth appeared vastly unimpressed, which Northam approved of immensely.
What Elizabeth found to her liking was his plainspeaking. "I am not wearing a bonnet," she said in the manner of a confession.
"I noticed." His gaze passed briefly over her hair. She was not strictly a brunette. Streaks of gold lent her hair a permanently sun-kissed coloring. It was one of the first things he noticed about her. Those strands of glinting, curling gold were what caught his eye each time she peeked out from behind her easel. "Would you put it on if I said I objected?"
Elizabeth did not answer immediately. She gave the question serious thought. "You know," she said finally, "I do not believe I would."
His eyebrows lifted as he challenged her in dry tones. "Not even if I commented on the spray of freckles appearing on your nose?"
She shook her head. "I don't freckle."
"Then for the simple protection of your fair skin from the sun?"
"No, not even then. Not today. It is a glorious sort of day to be bareheaded, is it not?"
"Indeed."
Elizabeth felt the urge to laugh again. She gave in to it because it seemed so natural and right, as if surrendering were a victory of a kind, not one that came in the aftermath of a battle, but one that arrived in the course of time, like spring treading lightly on the heels of winter. She could not say that, of course. He could not possibly understand what she barely understood herself. Still, he was in some way responsible for this moment, while she could take comfort that she finally had the capacity to enjoy it.
Northam picked up the threads of their earlier conversation regarding his friend Eastlyn. "As to the matter of his lordship, the marquess, what I meant was that without Marchman, South, or me being present at the baron's table... well, it is not the same thing at all. There is a tendency—regrettable, some would say—to encourage one another in certain lapses in conduct."
Elizabeth pulled her gaze away from Northam's forearms before he noticed she was staring. They were not nearly so pale as her own and the fine hairs that covered them were like gold dust. She concluded this was not the first time this summer that his lordship had rolled his sleeves to his elbows and enjoyed the out of doors in a more natural state. "Lapses in conduct," she murmured before her thoughts continued down a most wayward path. "I suspect you are putting a good face on it. No doubt you were all terrors in your days at Hambrick Hall."
"Terrors?" He shook his head. "No, not even the worst we could come up with would inspire someone to call us terrors. We were..." He paused, searching for the right description. "Cheerfully annoying."
"I see. And now?"
"Now we are simply ill-mannered."
Elizabeth laughed. "I rather doubt anyone thinks so, else you would not be so in demand."
"In demand?"
"Oh, come now. There is no need to be modest. You must know it is quite a coup for the hostess when you accept an invitation."
"Are you speaking of me alone, or of me and my friends?"
"Actually I was referring to you all individually because, in truth, I did not know you were fast friends."
"So the baron and baroness are very well pleased to have all of us here?"
"Well, yes. Can you doubt it? Though I don't understand about Mr. Marchman. I don't remember writing out his invitation, and I cannot say with any certainty when he arrived."
"West came as a favor to me—with our hostess's blessing, of course. It seems she answered this correspondence on her own."
"As she is wont to do from time to time. I do wonder that she never mentioned it to me." The oversight was odd. The baroness usually made a point to apprise her of all changes. "He was not at dinner last night either." And his absence had not caused the same disturbance that Northam's and Southerton's had. Clearly Lady Battenburn hadn't been expecting him until the picnic.
"No, he is only here for the day. When we finish our business he will be leaving."
Though curiosity goaded her, Elizabeth could not inquire about the nature of their business. "Why do you call him West?"
Northam shrugged. "We had to call him something, and the other directions were already taken."
Northam. Southerton. Eastlyn. It was easy for Elizabeth to imagine that as a young boy at Hambrick, Marchman must have despaired of fitting in. "Poor Mr. Marchman."
"I would not refine on West's tender feelings too long. He will grow into his name the same as we all have."
Elizabeth's brow puckered. She turned to look at Northam. "What do you mean?"
"I was not Northam at Hambrick," he said.
She expected more in the way of explanation, but Northam fell silent. He was not looking at her, but staring out across the stream to the bank, the field, and the wood beyond. She followed the direction of his gaze and could see nothing remarkable to capture his attention. Birds fluttered in and out of the boughs, making them dip and sway. A rabbit stilled in the grassy bank, his senses made wary by the slow, halting progress of a snapping turtle up from the water.
In profile Northam appeared unapproachable. The lines of his face were drawn with sharp, bold strokes. There was nothing forgiving about the set of his mouth, no weakness in the hard cast of his jaw. He did not seem to be thinking so much as steeling himself. Even his nose, with that slight bump on the bridge, was thrust forward aggressively. Only his long dark lashes, in perfect contrast to his thatch of sun-colored hair, made him seem in the least vulnerable.
Then he turned on her, and every impression of a granitelike countenance faded from Elizabeth's mind. He smiled easily, a trifle sheepishly, and offered an apology for woolgathering. Elizabeth accepted him at his word and did not challenge his explanation. She did not believe for a moment that his mind had been anywhere but in the present. He had not been collecting his thoughts. He had been collecting himself. Perhaps it had something to do with his business with Mr. Marchman, but she did not think so.
"Had you many invitations for this time?" she asked. In honor of Wellington's victory at Waterloo three years past, invitations to celebrate barraged the
ton
like cannon shot. This was a battle from which Wellington himself would have run. Every hostess threw herself into the fray. A reputation for sponsoring the premiere event could be set for a lifetime or positively ruined by those who did not arrive at her gala. Thus far, the baroness had done very well for herself. The fortnight affair at her country home gave people time to come and go at their leisure. Over the course of the occupation—this was war, after all—the very best of society would collect at Battenburn.
"Many invitations?" Northam mused. "It was impossible to remove oneself from the line of fire. But it was not difficult to decide among them. I very much wanted to be here."
Elizabeth smiled warmly, accepting this on behalf of their hostess. "The baroness will be so gratified to know. To choose her party among all the others... well, you can imagine that she would take this as a high compliment indeed. You don't mind if I tell her, do you?"
"Not at all, though perhaps you should not tell her the
reason
I wanted to be here."
Elizabeth's smile faltered, then faded completely. A small vertical crease appeared between her brows. "I don't understand."
"Don't you?"
"I just said so, didn't I?"
One of his brows lifted at the impatience communicated in her tone."Then I have overestimated your perceptiveness or been sadly lacking in my attention toward you."
"I believe I am perceptive, my lord."
He nodded. "I believe so, too. That means I have not made my interest clear."
Elizabeth wished herself anywhere but where she was. The sun no longer seemed so warm, and beneath her fingertips the stone was cool. Her desire to leave was clearly communicated in her face.
"Now I have made you uncomfortable," Northam said calmly.
"No, it's just that—"
"Please. Do not prevaricate. I can see plainly that you wish I had not spoken so openly. Perhaps I can ease your mind, since my interest has caused some offense."
Elizabeth did not know where to look. She was mortified that he had so easily discerned her thoughts. She was not an artless ingenue. At six and twenty years she had learned something about schooling her features and presenting a public face. She had an urge to turn away, much as he had done earlier, until she was all of a piece again. Instead, she regarded him boldly and stayed her ground. She only wished there was something she could do about the color in her cheeks.