The Lady Confesses (4 page)

He did not know the Tennant family well, had only been slightly acquainted with Sir Rufus’s younger brother Giles, before his involvement in a scandal some years ago that had resulted in his taking his own life. He did not know Sir Rufus himself at all, the other man being eight or more years Nathaniel’s senior. Reputed as being taciturn and somewhat reclusive, Sir Rufus’s visits to London were infrequent, his forays into society non-existent, and without so much as a rumour or two regarding his romantic inclinations.

An occurrence that had, on one occasion, prompted Nathaniel’s Aunt Gertrude into scandalously musing, after that gentleman had refused yet another of her invitations to dinner, as to whether or not Sir Rufus’s…tastes might be in another direction entirely.

Tennant’s request to call upon Elizabeth tomorrow would seem to imply his aunt’s conclusions were entirely wrong.

‘Sir Rufus Tennant is here to see you, madam,’ Sewell announced loftily as he stood in the drawing-room doorway late the following morning.

Elizabeth looked up from her needlework as she sat unobtrusively at the back of the room, curious to see what Sir Rufus would look like in the light of day.

The gentleman who stepped into the room some seconds later was probably just under six feet tall, with dark hair in need of a trim in order to be completely fashionable, with the palest blue eyes Elizabeth had ever seen set in an austere but not displeasing face, his figure shown to advantage in the brown superfine, tan waistcoat and buff-coloured breeches, and brown black-topped Hessians that had obviously become somewhat dust-covered on the ride over here.

He paused in the doorway, those pale blue eyes narrowed as his gaze swept briefly over the two older ladies before coming to rest upon Elizabeth. He appeared to draw in a sharp breath, jaw tensing slightly, before he stepped further into the room to bow stiffly before Mrs Wilson. ‘I trust you are well, madam?’

Elizabeth had mentioned last night’s encounter to her employer over breakfast this morning, so Mrs Wilson, unsurprised to see him, smiled graciously up at her visitor. ‘It has been far too long since we saw you last, Sir Rufus.’

That hooded pale blue gaze flickered briefly across to Elizabeth before returning to the older woman. ‘I am, as usual, kept busy with estate business, ma’am. In fact, I only called this morning to ensure that Miss Thompson and your nephew returned safely from their walk yesterday evening.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Mrs Wilson’s kindly gaze turned towards the now-blushing Elizabeth. ‘Betsy has told me of what occurred. I trust that your horse suffered no ill effects from the encounter?’

‘None at all, thank you, ma’am,’ Sir Rufus assured.

‘You will take tea with us, Sir Rufus?’ Mrs Wilson nodded to Letitia to ring for Sewell.

‘Thank you.’ Sir Rufus nodded abruptly. ‘I—do I have your permission to enquire after Miss Thompson’s well-being?’

Elizabeth’s blush deepened at the speculation that glittered briefly in Mrs Wilson’s gaze as she nodded her permission before to all intents and purposes returning her attention to her own needlework. But Elizabeth knew that well-meaning but interfering lady well enough by this time to know that Mrs Wilson would be aware of every word exchanged between Sir Rufus and her young companion.

‘Miss Thompson?’ Sir Rufus stood before her now, that pale blue gaze piercing as he looked down at her.

‘Sir Rufus.’ Elizabeth nodded graciously, standing up to place her embroidery down on the chair behind her before curtsying briefly, not altogether sure that she was comfortable with his having singled her out in this way. ‘I am pleased to hear of Starlight’s good health.’

‘Thank you,’ he returned. ‘I— Are you from these parts?’

‘No, Sir Rufus, I am originally from H—’ Elizabeth broke off abruptly, delicate colour once again warming her cheeks as she realised she would be revealing too much about herself if she were to announce she came originally from Hampshire. ‘Herefordshire,’ she announced firmly. ‘But from the little I have seen, Devonshire is a very beautiful county.’

‘Its cliff paths are perhaps not to be traversed at night, by either foot or horse,’ he drawled ruefully.

‘Perhaps not,’ Elizabeth conceded with a smile. ‘I trust the rest of your journey home was uneventful?’

A nerve pulsed in that tightly clenched jaw. ‘I am sure I could find nothing in the least disturbing after our own…momentous meeting.’

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably as she realised that Rufus Tennant was attempting to flirt with her. Not in the least practised or smoothly—as if it had been far too long since he had done such a thing—but nevertheless he was attempting to flatter her, at least. ‘It is very kind of you to say so, Sir Rufus.’

He attempted a smile. ‘Perhaps—’

‘How good to see you again, Tennant,’ Nathaniel greeted briskly as he entered the room to stride over to where the older man stood beside Elizabeth.

She had ample time, as the two men exchanged greetings, in which to note the contrasts between the two of them. Unfortunately to Sir Rufus’s detriment, she finally conceded grudgingly.

Nathaniel Thorne was probably ten years younger than Sir Rufus and possessed a vitality and smouldering good looks the older man so obviously lacked. Sir Rufus was dark where Lord Thorne was golden, and the younger man’s hair was styled in the latest fashion. Lord Thorne’s superfine hair was blond, and of a much more fashionable cut and with the same richness of colour as his eyes, its tailoring perfectly complimentary to his broad shoulders and tapered waist, the long length of his legs encased in tan pantaloons above brown Hessians polished to such a degree it was almost possible to see one’s face in them, rather than dusty and mud-splattered as the older man’s now were.

All of which only succeeded in arousing Elizabeth’s sympathy for Sir Rufus’s more homely looks…

Nathaniel could almost pick the thoughts out of Elizabeth’s beautiful head as she looked at the two men from beneath the fan of her long, dark lashes. He sensed that she had compared the two of them, found Tennant wanting, but still preferred that gentleman’s company to Nathaniel’s own. Not surprising after the two of them had parted so at odds with each other the previous night!

He had given in to the temptation to kiss her once again—a kiss that should never have happened, he knew, but which had nevertheless kept him tossing and turning sleeplessly in his bed for far longer than it should have done.

Admittedly it had been three weeks or more since Nathaniel had bedded a woman whilst visiting Gabriel at his palazzo in Venice, but even so merely kissing Elizabeth Thompson should not have affected him so deeply that he had been unable to dampen his arousal. Taking himself in hand to alleviate that arousal had not been in the least appealing, either, which was why Nathaniel did not feel in the best of humours this morning.

His temper had not been improved in the slightest upon entering his aunt’s drawing room a few minutes ago to find Tennant at the back of the room in private conversation with Elizabeth.

The fact that he had felt that way at all had only succeeded in increasing his irritation concerning this completely inappropriate attraction towards Elizabeth Thompson. ‘Perhaps we should rejoin my aunt, Tennant, and leave Miss Thompson to her needlework?’ he suggested coolly as Sewell entered with the tea tray.

The other man looked at him with the pale, cold blue eyes of a fish. ‘I—’

‘Yes, do come and join Letitia and me,’ his Aunt Gertrude invited lightly. ‘I can then extend an invitation to Sir Rufus for the dinner party we are to have on Saturday evening,’ she added warmly.

Tennant, although obviously displeased by the interruption, had no choice but to give a brief nod in Elizabeth’s direction before strolling over to sit with the two older women.

Leaving Nathaniel alone with a quietly displeased Elizabeth…

Chapter Four

‘D
o you take some cruel delight in humiliating me?’ she breathed accusingly.

‘I did not wish you to make a fool of yourself by flirting with one of my aunt’s guests,’ Nathaniel came back coldly.

Elizabeth gasped at the insult, tears of humiliation glistening in her deep blue eyes as she looked up at him. ‘Sir Rufus was the one to seek out my company, not the other way about.’ Her voice was shaky with emotion.

Nathaniel glanced across at the older man as he attempted to converse politely with Mrs Wilson and Letitia Grant. Tennant was obviously ill at ease in female company; the occasional glowering glance he sent in Elizabeth’s direction seeming to indicate that she was the only reason he was putting himself through such discomfort today.

Nathaniel’s mouth twisted derisively as he turned back to Elizabeth. ‘No doubt he would be quite a catch for a lady’s companion.’

She gave a pained frown, not altogether sure what she had done to incur the earl’s displeasure this time, only aware that she had. Sir Rufus Tennant might indeed be ‘a catch’ for a paid lady’s companion—the same could not be said with regard to Lady Elizabeth Copeland.

‘No doubt.’ She kept her expression deliberately bland.

‘Perhaps—’

‘Are you not coming to join me in my endeavours to persuade Sir Rufus into joining our dinner party on Saturday evening, Osbourne?’ Mrs Wilson looked slightly disapproving at her nephew’s continued conversation with her employee.

‘I will join you in a moment, Aunt,’ he answered his elderly relative, once again lowering his voice as he spoke to Elizabeth. ‘Of course, Tennant may be a little old for you…’

She raised dark brows. ‘I doubt that a lady’s companion has the luxury of worrying about such things as the age of one’s husband, my lord.’ She glanced across at Sir Rufus. ‘His looks and manner seem pleasant enough. And he appears to be a moderately wealthy man, too.’

‘And is that important to you?’ Nathaniel looked down the length of his nose at her.

Elizabeth’s lashes were lowered. ‘I am sure it would be important to most prospective brides, my lord.’

‘As a bride’s dowry is invariably of import to the groom,’ he drawled pointedly.

Reminding Elizabeth that a dowry was something neither she nor her sisters possessed…

Their father had been the dearest of men, loving and kind, but always somewhat vague after his wife had left, resulting in him becoming slightly removed from his family and society to such a degree that he had not given his daughters’ future after his demise the consideration that it deserved.

His death had been unexpected, so perhaps their father had believed Diana, Caroline and Elizabeth would all be safely married before that occurred. Although how that should have come about, when none of them were ever allowed to meet eligible gentlemen, Elizabeth was unsure.

Whatever his reasoning, the reading of Marcus Copeland’s will had revealed that he had made no provision for dowries for his three daughters, that lack of foresight instead leaving them to the guardianship and mercy of his distant cousin and heir, Lord Gabriel Faulkner.

Elizabeth smiled tightly. ‘Then let us hope, for your sake, that the two Miss Millers and Miss Rutledge are all possessed of a large fortune.’

Nathaniel frowned darkly, not at all pleased with the way she had turned this conversation towards his aunt’s less-than-subtle matrimonial intentions towards himself.

His two closest friends might have recently succumbed to the idea of marriage, Dominic intending to marry the masked beauty Caro Morton, and Gabriel, more sensibly, planning to offer for one of the three young ladies who had become his wards on his inheriting the title of Earl of Westbourne. But this didn’t make Nathaniel feel any more kindly disposed towards the parson’s mousetrap for himself. Indeed, he considered it his duty to uphold the very idea of bachelorhood for those others of his peers who had also so far managed to escape such a fate.

Elizabeth barely restrained her smile at the look of disgust that had come over Nathaniel’s face at the mere mention of matrimony in regard to himself, revealing to her, at least, that Mrs Wilson’s hopes in that direction were likely to come to nought. ‘You really should join your aunt and her guest, my lord.’ She looked up at the earl challengingly, feeling that she had emerged the victor in that particular exchange.

Nathaniel looked down the length of his nose at her. ‘I am used to doing as I please, not as others might wish me to do.’

She smiled briefly. ‘One would never have guessed!’

Brown eyes narrowed at her obvious sarcasm. ‘You—’

‘Your tea is becoming cold, Osbourne,’ Mrs Wilson cut in imperiously.

Alerting Elizabeth to the fact that she was seriously in danger of incurring that lady’s wrath herself if she did not bring this conversation with her nephew to an immediate end. She did not so much as glance in the earl’s direction again before crossing the room to stand before the older woman. ‘Lord Thorne was merely advising me concerning the safest path for me to take in regard to Hector’s walk.’ She gave Sir Rufus Tennant a distracted smile as he rose politely to his feet.

‘Of course.’ Mrs Wilson gave her nephew an affectionate smile as he joined their group. ‘Such a dear boy, always so concerned for the well-being of others…’

Elizabeth’s snort of disbelief escaped before she had chance to stop it, a snort she quickly turned into a cough as she saw the way her employer frowned up at her. But, really, the mere idea of Nathaniel Thorne as a ‘dear boy’ who was ‘concerned with the well-being of others’ was perfectly ludicrous; the man was arrogance personified, and the only person towards whom he showed the least consideration, besides himself, was his aunt.

‘I do hope you are not coming down with a cold, Betsy.’ That lady delicately raised a lace handkerchief in front of her nose.

Elizabeth could see the irritating earl out of the corner of her eye, was completely aware of the mockery in the smile that now curved those sculptured, and oh-so-sensuous lips. ‘I do not think so,’ she assured the older woman mildly. ‘I am probably just a little allergic to something in the room,’ she added for the smirking earl’s benefit. ‘I am sure that it is nothing that a brisk walk outside in the fresh air will not cure.’

‘I was about to take my leave.’ Sir Rufus Tennant placed his empty tea cup on the table. ‘Perhaps I might walk with you for a short distance?’

Elizabeth felt her heart sink at the suggestion. Her remarks to Lord Thorne a few minutes ago regarding Sir Rufus had been pure bravado on her part; she had absolutely no romantic interest in a man who was not only almost twenty years her senior, but so plain in appearance that she was almost ashamed to admit, as Lady Elizabeth Copeland, she would probably not even have noticed his existence.

‘I am sure my knowledge of the area is far superior to Osbourne’s,’ that gentleman added haughtily.

Not only plain to look at, but pompous too, Elizabeth noted with an inward wince, making sure not to so much as glance in the earl’s direction now, knowing that gentleman was sure to be frowning his disapproval, which was perhaps, contrarily, reason enough for Elizabeth to accept Sir Rufus’s invitation. Except she really did not have the least romantic interest in the older man, as either Betsy Thompson or Lady Elizabeth Copeland…

She drew in a light breath. ‘It is very kind of you to offer, Sir Rufus—’

‘Very kind, indeed,’ Mrs Wilson said warmly. ‘Are the bluebells still out in the West Wood, Sir Rufus?’

‘They are, ma’am.’

‘Oh, then you must allow Sir Rufus to show you the West Wood in bloom, Betsy.’ Her employer smiled her approval. ‘Hector has always liked to frolic in the bluebell wood,’ she added, as if that settled the argument.

Which, in fact, it did, Elizabeth accepted at the same time as she struggled with her inner frustration; Mrs Wilson’s indulgence where her little dog was concerned was limitless, and if Hector liked to go to the bluebell wood then Elizabeth must surely take him there.

Chancing even the briefest of glances at Nathaniel Thorne beneath lowered lashes, in order to gauge his reaction to this conversation, had been a mistake. Horrible, horrible man—instead of disapproving he looked highly amused—no doubt because he was fully aware of Elizabeth’s lack of enthusiasm for Sir Rufus’s company!

Nathaniel’s lips were pressed tightly together, as if to suppress the smile that was reflected in the laughing brown eyes that looked down at her so engagingly. ‘I am sure you will greatly enjoy the bluebell wood, Betsy.’

If it were not for their listening and watching audience she would enjoy telling him exactly what she thought of him! ‘I am sure that I shall.’ She turned to Sir Rufus. ‘If you would not mind waiting a few minutes more, I will go upstairs and collect my bonnet, sir.’

‘Not at all.’ He gave her a curt, unsmiling nod.

Elizabeth’s steps were slow as she made her way up the stairs. In truth, she did not know quite what to make of Sir Rufus Tennant. Oh, he was polite enough in a brusque, no-nonsense sort of manner and did indeed seem desirous of her company, yet at the same time he made no effort to charm or cajole as a younger gentleman might have done in order to secure a lady’s interest. She—

‘I believe that is the first time I have been referred to as an allergy, Elizabeth.’

She turned so sharply on the stairs at hearing that mocking voice directly behind her that she might have tumbled down them if Nathaniel had not reached out to clasp the tops of her arms to help her regain her balance.

Elizabeth moved out of that grasp as soon as she felt steady enough on her feet, rendered briefly breathless as she looked straight into the earl’s rakishly handsome face as he stood on the stair two steps down from her. Standing so close to him, in fact, that she could see the golden shards of colour amongst the brown of his eyes and feel the warmth of his breath against her lips. As soft as a kiss…

Elizabeth stepped back and up another step to escape that sensual pull. ‘I believe it is more an irritation than an actual allergy,’ she bit out frostily.

‘Are you ever at a loss for an answer?’ The earl looked up at her admiringly.

‘I sincerely hope not,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘And you should not have followed me, my lord,’ she added, a perplexed frown on her brow; the role of lady’s companion might not sit altogether comfortably on her shoulders, but for the moment that was indeed what she was.

‘I did not “follow you”, Elizabeth,’ he denied. ‘I only came to the drawing room at my aunt’s behest so that I might say my hellos to Tennant. Having done so, I now have work to finish in the library.’

Elizabeth cheeks felt warm at the obvious rebuke. ‘Work, my lord?’

‘Try to sound a little less incredulous, Elizabeth,’ Nathaniel drawled drily. ‘Despite my recent stay in Venice, I am not completely a man of leisure,’ he added irritably as her expression remained unchanged. ‘As the Earl of Osbourne, I do have estates and such like to attend to.’

‘I would have thought you had estate managers and a lawyer to do those things for you,’ she commented.

‘Well. Yes. Of course that is so,’ Nathaniel acknowledged. ‘But those people are directly answerable to me.’

‘I see…’

His frown deepened. ‘Why is it, do you think, that even the mildest of remarks from you sounds like a criticism?’

Elizabeth looked up at him with innocent blue eyes. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

‘That is not your first untruth of our acquaintance,’ Nathaniel muttered impatiently, ‘but it is certainly one of the more obvious ones.’

Elizabeth instantly felt on her guard as she regarded him warily. ‘I am sure I have no idea what you mean, my lord.’ She had never been particularly good at deceit and prevarication; in fact, she was surprised that she had managed to maintain her role as a servant in Mrs Wilson’s household for the amount of time she had without detection.

If, indeed, she had…

Mrs Wilson had been too caught up in other things since her nephew’s return from Venice to trouble herself in questioning ‘Betsy’s’ origins too deeply, but Lord Thorne had already made it obvious that he was starting to regard her as something of a puzzle that needed to be solved.

Indeed, his next comment confirmed it. ‘Just as long as you are aware that, as my only living relative, my Aunt Gertrude’s welfare is of the utmost importance to me,’ he bit out pointedly.

Elizabeth looked alarmed. ‘I trust you are not implying that I would in any way wish to do that kind lady harm?’

Nathaniel looked at her speculatively, noting the pallor of her cheeks and the way her eyes had darkened. Guiltily? Or was it pain at Nathaniel having voiced his suspicions? ‘Not deliberately so, perhaps,’ he allowed slowly. ‘But my aunt is apt to trust people rather than not—’

‘Whereas you, no doubt, are apt to distrust them until proven otherwise?’ she shot back.

His jaw tightened. ‘Perhaps.’

There was no ‘perhaps’ about it in Elizabeth’s eyes; Nathaniel Thorne had shown only too clearly these past twelve hours or so that the easy charm he chose to present to society—that Elizabeth had also believed to be the nature of the man—was, in fact, nothing but a front for his intelligence and shrewdness of mind. A shrewdness, now that he was back on his feet and out of bed, that was obviously causing him to question her motives for taking employment with his aunt.