Lord Runthorne's Dilemma: A Regency Romance (16 page)

“
You must think as you see fit. Please excuse me, Aunt Edina, I find that I am not quite recovered and am extremely weary. Goodnight.”

Without waiting for a response
Elizabeth made her way, with indecorous speed, to her room. It was strange, she thought, how cold she felt.

Once there s
he snapped her door closed behind her and wrapped herself in a warm robe, but it did nothing to take away the chill. It was impossible, she thought, that Lord Runthorne, that
James
, would lie to her so calmly. It was so ludicrous she began to laugh. She laughed until she cried.

Then she stopped because she was
not laughing anymore.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Mrs Maybourne, may I have a moment of your time?” Runthorne hesitated in the doorway, momentarily unsure of his reception.

Elizabeth
’s aunt glanced up from her letter. Her writing desk stood in a window alcove so that the early morning sun could stream over her shoulder to illuminate her work, but the position cast her face in shadow. He sensed rather than saw her pensive expression.

She twirled her pen in her fingers.
“Of course, Lord Runthorne,” she said, after a moment. “What can I do for you?”

She did not invite him to sit and
he felt like a naughty school boy. This, however, was as nothing to his unease. “I am worried about Elizabeth.”

Mrs Maybourne laid her pen down
and steepled her fingers. “I do not believe my niece’s wellbeing is any concern of yours, my lord. Nor do I think you have the right to call her by her given name.”

Runthorne felt the overwhelming urge to grind his teeth.
“My apologies, Mrs Maybourne, I meant Miss Hampton no disrespect.”

She inclined her head in acceptance of his apology and picked up her pen.
“Then if that is all, my lord, I have many letters to write.”

“
No, Mrs Maybourne.” He marched across the room and took the pen from her fingers. “Whatever you think of me, whatever you believe I have done, you must trust me when I say that I love Elizabeth, I mean Miss Hampton. I did not see her in the drawing room last night and I have not seen her all morning.”

“
Elizabeth was tired, that is all.”

“
Forgive me, Mrs Maybourne, but I do not accept that. Lady Delphine was far too pleased with herself last night. I fear she has been making mischief.” He almost said ‘
again’
, but held off. He did not know what Elizabeth had shared with her aunt.

“
I must speak to her.”

“
To be perfectly frank with you, my lord, I sincerely doubt she will wish to speak to you. Further, might I suggest that you turn your attentions to your betrothed? Or you may find yourself abandoned at the altar once again.”

She held out her hand and
he placed the pen on her palm.

“
Good morning, my lord.”

The last time he had been dis
missed so comprehensively, he had been a snotty-nosed little school boy.

“
Good morning, Mrs Maybourne.” He bowed, but she had already returned to her letter writing.

Runthorne continued his
search but the house was quiet, empty. Finally, he walked outside. Instantly his forehead beaded. Despite the earliness of the hour the contrast between the coolness of the house and the heavy air outside made his cravat wilt. It was as though the cloud cover was a heavy blanket pressing down on the earth.

He
walked swiftly across the grass, wondering where Elizabeth could be. In the distance he saw Aurelia walking with Mr Compton. He turned away; he did not want to speak to her just yet.

H
e needed to speak to Elizabeth first.

The ground sloped, guiding him downwards.
As he walked down the air eased a little, becoming cooler. A light breeze caressed his cheek, easing his discomfort. He smelt water. He paused, hidden by the thin barrier of trees circling the small ornamental lake.

Elizabeth
was sitting on a low rock, her bare feet in the water. Next to her, with a stick of charcoal in her hand, was a little girl. Alice, Runthorne remembered. It seemed that that particular child was a favourite of Elizabeth’s.

“
Do not try to draw the lake itself, sweetling,” Elizabeth said. Her head was bent over her young companion. “Look carefully at how the bushes define the shape.”

“
What does define mean?”

Elizabeth
laughed and her warm chuckle carried on the light breeze. Runthorne propped his shoulder against a tree trunk, listening.

“
You have such a butterfly mind, sweetling.”

“
But, Miss, how can I learn if I don’t ask?”

“
That is a good point.” Elizabeth paused and Runthorne waited to hear what she would say. “‘Define’ has slightly different meanings, depending on context.” She raised her hand. “No do not ask me what ‘context’ means,” she said, laughing. “In this case ‘define’ means the bushes make the outline of the lake clear. So if you draw the bushes in the right place…”

“
I will draw the lake.” The child clapped her hands, and Runthorne grinned. The child’s delight in learning was infectious.

Runthorne stepped out from the shade of the trees.

“Will you tell me what ‘context’ means next time?”

“I am sorry, little one, but I cannot come to see you for a while,” Elizabeth said, as he approached.

“
But why, Miss?” The charcoal slipped from Alice’s fingers and shattered on the rock.

He
heard Elizabeth sigh. “I know this does not seem fair, but it is for grown-up reasons.”

“
Well, I think it’s stupid,” Alice said, with the insurmountable conviction of a five year old.

“
Yes, so do I,” Elizabeth said.

Runthorne
cleared his throat and Elizabeth started. “My lord,” she said. She curled her legs under her skirts, and he smiled. He had been admiring her elegant toes.

“Miss Hampton,” he said. “Young lady,” he bowed elaborately to Alice, surprising a giggle out of her.

“
What can I do for you, my lord?”

“
Well, Miss Hampton,” Runthorne said, settling down on the ground, careless of the damage done to his fawn trousers, “I had hoped for a moment of your valuable time.”

“
I regret that I cannot oblige you.”

He
leaned back on one elbow and crossed his booted ankles. “I have no calls on
my
time. I can wait.” He watched her bite her lip, knowing what was going through her mind. He could see from her face that she wanted nothing more than to rise majestically and walk away, but she had nothing on her feet. To walk away barefoot would be the height of impropriety.

“
Very well,” she said, a little ungraciously he thought.

He
smiled, but did not immediately avail himself of her acceptance.

“
Miss Alice,” he said, instead, “I wonder if you would do me a great favour.”

“
Yes sir?” She glanced at Elizabeth. “I’m sorry. I mean, my lord.”

“
Do not worry, Miss Alice. Now tell me, do you think Miss Hampton is a pretty lady?”

“
Yes, my lord. She is. Very.” The little girl nodded her head vigorously.

“
Well, I do not know if you realise this, Miss Alice,” Runthorne said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “but sometimes gentlemen like to talk to pretty ladies, alone.”

Alice
nibbled her thumb. “But what if the pretty lady doesn’t want to speak to the gentleman?”

He
put his hand to his heart as though she had shot him. “Do you think that a pretty lady does not want to speak to a gentleman?”

Alice looked at
Elizabeth, who was frowning. However her eyes were laughing at their fooling and Alice apparently came to a decision. “I think,” she said, slowly, “that the lady thinks she shouldn’t, but wants to.”

He
nodded and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you know, I think the same?” He reached with a little difficulty, owing to his position on the grass, into his pocket and produced a half shilling. “I think that a little girl should take this home to her mother. What do you think?”

Alice accepted the coin, but frowned.
“I can’t, sir,” she said with scrupulous honesty. “Mam looks after me, but she isn’t really my mother. My mother died when I was a baby.”

“
Now it is I who am sorry, Alice,” Runthorne said, surprised at how sad her words made him feel. “You can give it to your mam instead.

The smile returned to Alice
’s face. “Thank you sir, goodbye Miss,” she said, leaping to her feet, scattering droplets of water everywhere. Then, heavy shoes swinging from her hand, she trotted around the lake and disappeared through the trees, leaving nothing but a rapidly drying set of footprints behind her.

He
turned his attention back to Elizabeth. He realised, from her surreptitious movements that she was trying to place her shoes on her damp feet. He turned his eyes away, allowing her that privacy.

“
That was well done,” she said. “Alice believes that she is less important because she has no mother. I think some of the other children tease her about it. Being able to give that money to Mrs Turner will make her feel more worthwhile.”

“
Is that why you spend so much attention on her?”

“
Perhaps.” Elizabeth gazed out over the lake, absorbed. “I just know that she reminds me a little of how I was as a child.”

“
But you had parents,” he said.

“
Can any of us say that we truly had parents?” Her smile was more of a grimace. “We are raised by servants, barely seeing either Mother or Father until we are old enough to be interesting. At that point we are launched into the world and expected to become parents ourselves.

“
Oh, I did not blame them. They were brought up the same way. But it is as though I was orphaned before they ever died.” She flushed and Runthorne sensed that she had revealed more than she had intended. He ached to hold her, to comfort her, but could not find the words.

In the silence,
he heard the breeze playing in the branches of the trees. Elizabeth sat, as still as though she had turned to stone. Had he not been able to hear her gentle intake of breath, he could have fancied that she was a statue. A stray leaf floated on the water until it disappeared, taken by a fish who had mistaken it for lunch. Suddenly, the silence was broken as a pair of swans streaked out of the sky and landed with much splashing in the lake.

Runthorne
jumped up, cursing.

“
Wretched birds.” Elizabeth leaped to her feet shaking the water from her skirts, stumbling a little.

He steadied her and stripped off his jacket. He threw it around her shoulders.

“
Come,” he said. “You must return to the house, you must not catch a chill again.”

Together they began to walk away from the lake.
“Why did you wish to speak to me, my lord,” Elizabeth said, after a moment.

“‘
My lord’?” Runthorne shook his head. “I had thought that we had moved beyond such formalities, Elizabeth.”

“
I am sorry, but perhaps we moved too fast.”

“
So I am right, you have been avoiding me. Why?”

“
Surely I cannot be accused of that,” she said. Her light laugh sounded forced.

He
narrowed his eyes, searching her face. “Somebody has been saying something to you, something that has given you a distrust of me. What is it?”

He thought for a moment that she was going to confide in him, he was sure she wanted to, but then she shook her head, turning away from him again.
“I cannot say,” she said.

He
gritted his teeth. He wanted to rage and curse, but knew that would drive her from him, forever. Instead he tried to keep his voice reasonable. “You must see that if somebody has been speaking against me, I have the right to know? I know Mrs Maybourne has taken a dislike to me, but I cannot imagine what she could have said to upset you so. She obviously loves you too much to hurt you.”

She kept her face averted, mute.
Runthorne touched his fingers to her cheek, brushing aside a tear. “Elizabeth, dear Elizabeth, is it so awful?” He brushed aside a lock of hair from her temple.

“
You can trust me, my love,” he said, softly. “I would not hurt you.” He placed a feather-light kiss to her temple. She turned her head, leaning in to him and he felt her damp lashes flicker against his cheek.

“
Oh, Elizabeth, Elizabeth,” he murmured, pulling her closer to him. His jacket slid from her shoulders, tumbling to the ground at their feet. He kissed her closed eyes, her nose and then his lips found her soft mouth. He deepened the kiss and her lips parting beneath his. Her arms entwined around his neck, holding him urgently to her so close that his shirt grew damp from the water in her gown. His fingers found the remembered place at nape of her neck and he stroked gently and felt her sigh against him.

Time stood still. There was nothing beyond the feeling of her soft body pressed so intimately against his own, her lips against his, her tongue
shyly tasting him. Runthorne felt as though he had shattered into a thousand pieces. How had he ever let this go?