Lord Runthorne's Dilemma: A Regency Romance (2 page)

Elizabeth
smiled a little. “How fierce you are, my love. He has done nothing, trust me.” That was nothing but the truth. She had done it all to herself seven years ago. But she could not tell her young friend that.

She
cast around for an excuse. “I have a headache, my love, so I am a little crotchety today.”

“
Oh, you are not crotchety, Elizabeth. You are not nearly old enough for that. You are a little cranky, perhaps.”

Elizabeth laughed.
“Where did you learn that most improper word? Do not let my aunt hear you, she would be mortified. Now do keep still a moment, my love. This gown fits you perfectly,” she said. This time the button slid easily into place and Elizabeth stepped back.

“
You are so lovely.”

Mary’s
face shone with delight. “Do you really think so, Elizabeth?” She twirled, her exuberance bringing an answering smile to Elizabeth’s face.

“
Yes, I do, my love.”

“
It is so good of your aunt to allow me to join you all. Although I am so excited, I am sure I will not eat a single morsel.”

“
Oh, a lady never eats anything,” Elizabeth said, her hands fluttering in faux horror. “So I have asked for a tray to be brought here so we will not starve at dinner.”

“
You are funny, Elizabeth.” She twirled again.

“
And you are growing pink. Do sit down, dearest, so that I can finish your hair.”

Obediently, Mary sat before the mirror and her gentle grey eyes met
Elizabeth’s brown in reflection. Elizabeth gave a very unladylike wink and expertly twisted her fair hair into a pretty knot.

“I am so excited,” Mary said. “But what if people object to my presence?”

“Why should they? Had matters turned out otherwise, you would have had your Season last year. You are quite old enough to be in Company,” Elizabeth said. She pinned a spray of white lilac next to the knot and teased some curls to frame Mary’s face.

“No, my aunt is quite right to allow you to join the house party. If nothing else it will give you some polish before you go to London.”

Elizabeth laughed. “At the risk of sounding ‘cranky’, that polish is much needed.”

Mary
stuck her tongue out and wrinkled her nose. “Now, you are being mean.”

Elizabeth tapped her on the nose. “Listen to me. You are a pretty heiress, thanks to Captain Maybourne and much will be forgiven you. But misstep once too often and you will be ruined.”

She handed Mary her reticule. “There,” Elizabeth said, pleased with the effect. She no longer looked the gauche child she had been, she was now a young girl poised on the brink of womanhood.

“
Oh, Elizabeth.” Mary’s voice was soft with wonder. “You are so clever. I am almost nice.”

Elizabeth
shook her head, not in denial, but in astonishment. “My love, you always look nice. Now you are beautiful. Do not underestimate yourself.”

Mary stood and twirled.
“Thank you so much for helping me dress in here. It is so much more fun than being in my own room with Simpson. Oh,” her hand flew to her mouth. “Please do not think me ungrateful. Mrs Maybourne is very kind to offer me her own maid but she really
is
crotchety.”

Elizabeth folded her hands. “Simpson is a truly good woman,” she said. “And she is not afraid to tell you that.”

“But she takes no pleasure in anything. The last time she helped me dress she made me feel positively sinful for wanting to look pretty.” Mary sighed. “I would have dressed myself but I could never look like this, not if I practised for years.”

“
As to that,” Elizabeth said, twisting her own brown hair into a sophisticated knot, “I had every opportunity to study. Before she died, Mother always commandeered every maid in the house to help her dress.”

Elizabeth
smiled a sad mile at the memory of her frivolous Mother. She had been beautiful and so full of laughter, but Elizabeth had not really known her. As a child she had been a fragrant, fleeting presence in Elizabeth’s life. She was a light kiss before gliding away to some Ball or disappearing for months to London. Only when Elizabeth herself was presented had she come to have a small window into her Mother’s life. Elizabeth shook her head to dismiss the thoughts.

“
Even during my come out, I had to manage for myself,” she continued, “so I had to learn to dress myself or appear a complete ragamuffin.”

Elizabeth
smoothed the front of her gown and plucked at a loose thread. For a moment she regretted it was not the height of fashion.

Do not be so shallow
, her conscience chided her. The amber silk complimented her face and figure without drawing attention, as was suitable for her position in life. An heiress could flaunt herself and merely draw indulgently raised brows. An ex-heiress had to be more circumspect.

“Captain Maybourne has promised me my own maid for my come out,” Mary said. “
If you wish, we can share her.”

Elizabeth
gave her a quick hug. “My dear, you are so sweet, but I have no intention of accompanying you to London. You have waited far too long for your Season and I will not ruin it for you. It will do you no good to be seen with me.”

“
I do wish you would tell me what you did that was so awful, Elizabeth.” Her friend’s lower lip protruded.

Elizabeth
shook her head. “I am sorry, my dear.” She kept her voice light. “Just accept that I disgraced myself beyond saving and that, despite your undoubted eligibility, my presence will only ruin your chances.”

Mary put her hands on her hips.
“I do not believe you could do anything so terrible that it would hurt me.”

“
And yet, were you so foolish to ask, there is no-one in Society who would agree with you.” Elizabeth smiled. “Come, my love let us not quarrel over what is done. I made my choice and I do not regret it.”

She closed her eyes briefly against the memory of Sir James
’ face. Lord Runthorne as she must now call him. What was done was done. There was no benefit in repining.

Mary looked thoughtful, but ask
ed no more questions, something for which Elizabeth was extremely grateful. She did not think she was strong enough to fend off her young friend’s curiosity.

Elizabeth
pulled her long gloves up over her elbows so they ran smooth, almost to the edge of her puff sleeves.

“
Would you be a dear and fasten my ribbons?”

“
Oh no, Elizabeth, you mustn’t wear your gloves like that,” Mary said. Her own gloves were artfully crumpled along her forearms, leaving her upper arms bare. “Only really old ladies wear their gloves like that. I read it in
Le Beau Monde
,” she added as though that clinched the matter.

“
Well, I am old,” Elizabeth said. She sighed at her reflection, wishing she dared to flout convention.

For a moment she wondered how
Lord Runthorne would react if he saw her with her arms bare like a young girl rather than a spinster of twenty-seven. “You can hardly expect an old maid like me to dress like a green girl.”

“
If I did not know you better, I would think you did not wish to be noticed at all.”

Elizabeth
chose not to answer this.

“
You used to be the toast of Society,” Mary continued, “why are you hiding from a little company?”

Elizabeth
spread her hands.

Explain to her
, her conscience whispered.
Explain how James made your heart race, how his very touch made you melt and how you yearned for his love
.

Elizabeth
shook her head. She had thought she had banished him from her heart, but one glimpse of him and it was as though the last seven years had vanished. He may be ‘Lord Runthorne’ now, but he would always be ‘Sir James’ in her heart.

She could not say any of this.

“
I was the toast of Society for my wealth and nothing more,” she said, instead. “Now that is gone.”

“
You are afraid?” Mary’s voice was full of doubt, as though she did not quite believe her own words.

Elizabeth
lifted her chin. “No, I am not afraid,” she said. She pushed her gloves down her arms and felt her courage grow.

It did not matter what
Lord Runthorne made her feel. It was irrelevant that the sight of him made her want to curl her fingers through his black hair or that his smile could light his dark eyes and make her knees weak. He would not know it. She would not let him hurt her, not any more. She would not let him confuse her.

A
nd if she found the chance to wipe that smile from his mouth, she would take it.

“
Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth
shook her head, dragging her thoughts back.

“
I beg your pardon, my love. I was wool gathering, again.”

With
the dignity of a warrior arming herself Elizabeth clasped a string of pearls around her throat and slipped the ribbon of her fan over her wrist. Then she took a simple bracelet from her jewellery box. Silver links separated tiny pearls and it slid as supple as cloth through her fingers. It had been James’ gift to her, many years ago, and the one gift she had not returned. If she wore it would he see it as a sign that she remembered, or that it meant nothing to her? For a moment she hesitated then she passed it to Mary.

“
Would you fasten this for me, please?”

***

Runthorne made one last, minute, adjustment to the snowy fall of his cravat. Next to him Manton nodded and eased Runthorne’s coat over his shoulders, careful as always not to disarrange his master’s work.

“
It will do,” the valet said.

“
Your enthusiasm unmans me, Manton.”

“Indeed, my lord.”
Manton turned away and took a clothes brush from the dressing case.

“
Remind me, Manton, why exactly do I tolerate you?”

“
If I may be so bold, my lord, I seem to remember you saying that it is because I am not a ‘damned toadeater’. Please stand still just one more moment, my lord.”

Manton swept
the brush across Runthorne’s broad shoulders, leaving him to his thoughts.

Those thoughts were not comfortable.
Seeing Elizabeth again had disturbed him more than he wished to admit. The skin of her cheek was as soft as he remembered and his fingers twitched as though they longed to cup her face again.

“
Damnit!”

“
My lord?”

“
It is nothing.” Runthorne rubbed his fingers together, trying to remove the memory of Elizabeth’s silky skin.

Manton coughed.
“Your signet ring, my lord,” he said.

Runthorne
took the heavy ring and held it up so that it glinted in the sunlight streaming through the window. It was a thick, gold band. The bezel surrounded an engraved image of a boar.

It was a
ring that had passed from one Marquess of Runthorne to the next until it had come to him, the scion of an obscure branch of the family. There was no more potent symbol of duty and honour.

He
weighed the ring in his hand and for one, mad moment he wished he could throw it into the deepest lake in England. Instead he slipped it on his finger and felt the weight drag him down.

Somewhere a gong sounded, summoning the guests.
“Do not wait up,” he said, as he always did.

Manton bow
ed before opening the door. “I will be here,” the man replied, as
he
always did.

Runthorne
barely heard him. Finding Elizabeth here, where he had least expected to see her had shaken him more than it should. If he had realised for one moment that his hostess was Elizabeth’s aunt he would never have come.

No matter what Lady Delphine wanted.

He frowned. What was that woman thinking of? She, at least knew what he had suffered and how intolerable this situation was.

When
Elizabeth had disappeared from his life he had been in agony. Sleepless night had followed sleepless night and meals had gone uneaten replaced by far too much drink. But all the time duty and responsibility had forced him to show a smiling face to the world. He did not think he would survive that again.

Lady Delphine was one of the f
ew who had known how devastated he had been and how hard he had fought to forget Elizabeth. He had thought he had been successful, he had thought he had banished her from his heart. His lips twisted.

What a fool he
was.

Within a heartbeat of seeing
Elizabeth again, all the old feelings had surged back. He felt a twist of anger. How dare she?