by Joan Vincent
“Yes, miss?” he questioned.
“I would like to go to the library,” Elizabeth told the stiff figure, his rigid disapproval making her forget the words she had thought to use.
“Comte de Cavilon is with a visitor. He has given specific instructions that nothing and no one is to disturb him,” he told her coldly. “Perhaps you could call another time.”
“But I do not wish to see the comte, only the library. He is not in the library?”
“No, miss.”
“Then I shall just go there and fetch my reticule. I forgot it quite by accident,” she said and slipped past the butler.
He stared after her for a moment and then decided to return to his duties. Sir Henry was well known, and his niece was well liked. It would not do to offer insult unnecessarily.
Tenbury was not an overly large manor house, but Elizabeth soon learned that it was confusingly arranged to so infrequent a visitor as herself. Taking a turn that she was certain led to the library, she found instead a short corridor. Hesitating near the end of it, she heard low voices coming from behind the door before her. Curiosity nudged her closer.
One voice she recognized as belonging to Cavilon, but the second was unfamiliar. Perhaps this is the man he meant to speak to about Morton, Elizabeth thought, and pressed an ear to the door.
“Then all has gone well in France?” she heard Cavilon question the other.
“Better than was first thought. The names you gave us are proving quite helpful, but several questions have arisen. The necessity of using your friend has been broached.”
“That may now be possible,” Cavilon agreed, “but perhaps not necessary. Let me see what you need to know.”
Elizabeth frowned as his voice faded, and she could not hear clearly what was being said. She heard the rustle of paper, as if a map were being unrolled.
“It is important,” the second voice became audible, “that your connections remain unsuspicious. It would not do for them to learn that you...” Again the voice became too faint to hear.
Questions tumbled over one another in Elizabeth’s mind. What did this mean? Was Comte de Cavilon some kind of spy? For England or for France? Was he to be trusted?
Padded footsteps straightened Elizabeth. She hurried to the end of the short corridor and hastened down the longer one, meeting the butler.
“Oh, you found it,” she smiled, seeing the reticule in his hand. “How kind of you to fetch it. I must go. Could you show me the way to the door?”
“Yes, Miss Jeffries,” the butler answered icily and motioned her to go before him.
“Thank you,” she said when they reached the doors. Elizabeth gladly hastened from his condemning stare, relieved that the man had not informed the comte of her return.
* * * *
Back at Ashly Elizabeth pondered what to do. “Oh, why did I ever go to Cavilon?” she asked aloud as she paced about her room. “And what do I tell Uncle Henry when he returns? What sense can be made from all this?” She paused before her mirror.
“What did I hear? Was it really anything? Can I trust him?”
At the creak of her door caused Elizabeth whirled about. A weak laugh of relief came from her at Barney’s appearance. “Where have you been?” she scolded, picking at the twigs and burrs in his fur.
“We are a pair,” she murmured. “galloping off where we should never go. What did you do, I wonder?” She stroked his woolly fur absentmindedly. “What am I to do?”
* * * *
Comte de Cavilon arrived at Ashly house shortly after Sir Henry’s return. His affectation had once more become pronounced, although Elizabeth, greatly disturbed by all that had happened, did not notice it. Her alarm grew when he asked to speak with her uncle alone. After an hour, which seemed more like a day, she was summoned to join them.
Both men rose as Elizabeth entered her uncle’s office. Sir Henry’s face was grave as he bade her take a seat. “My lord Cavilon has told me what he has learned in regard to the possibility of locating Morton.
“I am distressed by what he suggests in exchange for his assistance in this matter. Only you, however, can give the answer, my dear. I do not approve of this, and believe your brother would not, but I must let the decision to you,” he told his puzzled niece.
“My lord.” He nodded to the comte and withdrew.
Elizabeth, greatly bewildered, looked to Cavilon. A look which she thought to be doubt crossed his features, then was gone.
“If I were to offer for your hand in marriage, would you consent?” he asked.
“This is no time to speak of such matters. My brother may be dying.”
“What would your answer be?” Cavilon insisted, his lace fluttering to his chin as he poised a finger on his cheek.
“I do not think we would... suit. The answer would be no,” Elizabeth told him coldly.
“I then wish you to listen to all that I have to say before you give me an answer.” Cavilon lowered his hand. “Twice you have rejected me, and twice you have asked me for aid.” His eyes dropped to her hands, now tightly clenched. He receded into his affectations with greater force.
“The first matter, that of the lad, was trivial and I asked nothing in return. But your brother presents a difficult problem. I have spoken with the man I mentioned. He is agreeable to going to France and locating your brother but insists that your brother’s only chance of surviving is to be rescued. This man knows the prisons from experience.” He paused, then rose.
Turning away from Elizabeth, he continued, “The danger in such an attempt is very great, especially as your brother is ill. Thus the price demanded is equally great, a price which your uncle cannot pay. However, I,” he turned back to her, “am willing to meet the expense if you are agreeable to my terms.”
“Which are?” Elizabeth questioned, her eyes not leaving his.
“That you consent to be my wife.”
“Shall you go with this man to France?”
“And risk death or worse? Non, ma petite.” He shook his head. “You must know me for what I am.”
“Have you ever done anything yourself? Is your wealth always to purchase what you wish to have?” she asked bitterly. “You are no man—-”
“That is not the question,” Cavilon coldly cut her off. “I do not think either of us wishes to play games. I do not attempt to deceive you. I wish you to be my wife.”
“I do not understand you.”
“If I had arranged for your brother’s release and then asked for your hand, you might have given your consent out of gratitude. But I have no desire to have you come to me under any pretence.
“If you do not come for love, then it shall be because you have given your word. Honour, I have found, is more binding than gratitude.”
“You would wed me even if I said I hated you?”
“An honourable person is rarely totally unreasonable,” he answered, approaching her.
“I find you despicable.”
“Your answer?”
“I have little choice,” she murmured.
“I have your pledge?”
Elizabeth raised her eyes to his. “It is as you wish.”
He took her hand and kissed it lightly. “Would you have me tell you I do this for love?” he wondered aloud. “I have had love and would rather choose honour. You may one day understand.
“I must go now. There are arrangements to be made.” Cavilon paused as if expecting her to speak. When she said nothing he left her.
Tears clouded Elizabeth’s vision. Two men had touched her heart. One she would never know. The other she could now never love.
Chapter Seventeen
Worry over her brother’s condition forced Elizabeth to put aside her own cares. The decision to wed Cavilon had been made. There was no longer any reason to think of it as anything but an accomplished fact. She turned her mind to her brother’s plight, which was so uncertain.
The idea that Cavilon had unknowingly planted with his jest became the c
entre of her thoughts. Elizabeth attacked each obstacle that stood against her going to France with the same tenacity she had used to maintain her father’s home as a young girl and to keep it after his death.
Early on the morn after the pact with Cavilon had been made, she went down to breakfast prepared to begin her plotted enterprise.
Sir Henry, still uneasy about the agreement reached between his niece and the comte, came to the breakfast room reluctantly. He was surprised to find Elizabeth eating heartily.
“Good morn, Uncle,” she smiled. “Did Comte de Cavilon say when he would call this morn?”
“I... why, yes.” He joined her at the table. “In about an hour.”
“Then I had best hurry so that I am ready.”
“You are quite in the best of looks, my dear,” Sir Henry assured her. “There is no need to change your gown. I believe Comte de Cavilon wishes only to bid you farewell before going to Folkestone and completing all the arrangements for Morton’s... rescue.”
“I do not mean to change my attire but to finish my packing,” Elizabeth returned lightly.
Surprise filled her uncle’s face. “But you cannot mean to leave?”
“My visit has been a prolonged one, Uncle. You knew I did not mean to come permanently. I will feel more at ease awaiting Morton’s arrival at our home in Folkestone. Being there is, after all, eminently practical. If Morton is ill, as we know he is, it will be much better to nurse him in our home there rather than travel the additional miles,” she explained.
“You always have your head about you, Elizabeth,” he nodded, his pride in her evident. “You are quite right. But I insist you return here to be wed.”
A shadow flitted across her face. “To please you, Uncle,” she agreed, her gaze on her plate.
“Perhaps it would be more agreeable for you if you were to delay taking your leave for a few days. Morton cannot be returned to us in so brief a time. I would gladly send you home in my coach.”
“I do not mind going with the comte. Indeed, I must become accustomed to it, mustn’t I,” Elizabeth told him. She laid her napkin aside and stood. “Please call me if his lordship arrives before I come down.”
“Yes, my dear. You do not regret your decision? I fear the sum named was far beyond my powers,” her uncle told her gruffly.
Elizabeth went to him and brushed his cheek with a kiss. “Do not worry, Uncle Henry. Have you not always said I could manage no matter what?” She smiled reassuringly.
“ Mayhaps you would wish me to come with you?”
“No, it will be good for me to have some time alone.”
* * * *
A single portmanteau was brought to Elizabeth’s room. The young abigail, Spense, hovered over it. She neatly folded and packed the few garments that her mistress had laid upon the bed. “Miss, aren’t you going to take even one of your new gowns?” she asked.
“I will have no need of them if I... while I am awaiting my brother’s arrival,” Elizabeth corrected the near slip of tongue. “The day dresses I left there are sufficient for my needs.”
“Could I not go with you, miss?” The abigail stood before her hopefully. “I can cook and would not mind some cleaning chores.”
“No, I would like to have this time alone before... before I wed. It would please me, though, if you would come with me after my marriage.”
“Oh, yes, miss. I would be most happy to.” Spense beamed at her.
“Good. I believe that is all I shall need. Please take the portmanteau and set it in the corridor so it is ready when the comte arrives. I do not wish to cause any delay.” Elizabeth picked up her gloves and bonnet and followed the abigail from the room.
Niles admitted Cavilon just as Elizabeth reached the bottom of the stairs. “Good morn, my lord,” she greeted him briskly.
Meeting her, Cavilon took her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “You look very well this morn,” he told her in a tone that suggested he had not thought to find her so.
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Could we not speak privately before you depart?” Cavilon questioned with a wave at her gloves and bonnet.
“We may go to the small salon,” Elizabeth told him and started towards it.
“Tell Sir Henry that my lord Cavilon has arrived,” she instructed Niles as they passed him.
When they reached the salon, she turned to the comte, determination clearly written on her features. “I am not about to go out, my lord. I mean to go with you.”
“That is not necessary. I prefer that you remain here with your family,” he told her, his hands fluttering dismissal of the idea.
“You are going to Folkestone to make arrangements for my brother’s return,” Elizabeth told him evenly. “As I have agreed to your terms, I believe I have a part in those plans.”
You do not trust me to make them?” He cocked an eyebrow, a faint smile coming to his lips.
“Let us say that I would be... comforted by taking some small part in them. Also, I wish to ready my brother’s home for his return. Should he need nursing, as Captain Paraton’s letter strongly suggests, it will be better to have a bed awaiting him rather than force him to travel the additional miles to Ashly,” Elizabeth said forcibly meeting Cavilon’s challenging gaze.
“It would also enable me to prepare for our... wedding, my lord.”
“A most suitable idea.” He sniffed daintily into his kerchief. “But I dislike leaving you alone and I do not plan to remain in Folkestone once the matter is settled and the ship has left. There is much I must see to before we wed.”
“I did not intend to suggest you remain at my side. The details I must see to are not for the bridegroom’s eyes,” she answered, a quiet triumph rising within as she sensed him waver.
“Good morn, my lord,” Sir Henry greeted Cavilon as he joined them. “Is all ready?”
“Yes, I believe so. Elizabeth insists she come with me. Is this with your blessing, sir?”
“She knows what is best for her.”
“Then we are ready to depart.” Cavilon nodded at her. “I will arrange word be sent to you when the ship leaves the harbour and, of course, when it returns.” He turned his attention to Sir Henry.
“My man has suggested it could be a brief week, then again much longer, depending on complications.”
Sir Henry nodded. He embraced his niece, brushing her cheek with a kiss. “All will be right in the end,” he said with a smile.
“I pray only that Morton is still alive and the venture proves successful,” she answered. Returning his kiss, she hurried from the salon.
“All that can be done for your nephew’s safe return shall be,” Cavilon told Sir Henry before following her.
Walking to the comte’s coach, Elizabeth was greeted enthusiastically by Barney.
“Your eager guardian,” Cavilon frowned, keeping his distance from the beast. “La, oui, a perfect solution. We shall take the animal with us.”
“Oh, no, my lord. Tom would be heartbroken to find him gone when he returns,” Elizabeth protested.
“Sir Henry, have my agent bring the lad on to Folkestone when they arrive here,” the comte told her uncle. “Put the beast on the box,” he ordered the dubious footmen.
Barney decided they were playing a game of tag with him as they sought to get a good hold, and led them on a chase.
Elizabeth’s hopes rose. “You see, my lord, it would be best if he stayed here.”
Having noted the stricken look with which she greeted his idea that the dog accompany them only fortified Cavilon’s intent to take the animal. An inner sense told him Elizabeth was plotting something and that she considered the dog a hindrance. His footmen, however, were proven incapable of cornering the animal.
Elizabeth’s pleasure in the scene proved her downfall. Walking to the coach, the comte opened the door and whistled. Barney halted in his tracks, cocked his head, and then ran forward to clamber into the coach. “The animal has developed high taste under your tutelage,�
� he told Elizabeth as the footman handed her in.
Suppressing the desire to choke the wretched beast, she sat opposite him and began planning anew.
For the greater part of their journey, conversation was sparse. Each was preoccupied and did not notice the silence. It was only when they reached the outskirts of Folkestone and Barney took to barking at the passing carriages that both became more attentive.
“It was your idea to bring him,” Elizabeth laughed when Cavilon rolled his eyes.
Barney stood on the seat and barked out the coach window.
“See what I endure for your sake,” he returned with a wry grin. “I shall leave you at your home and proceed to the dock,” he added.
“Could I not go with you?” Elizabeth begged. “I am certain I can get Barney to behave.” She leaned forward and took hold of the dog’s collar.
“Sit, boy,” she told him and was relieved to see him do it. “See, he will be the perfect gentleman.”
“My dear, I disdain the adventure already. Why, only the gravity of the situation has compelled me to permit my person to go among such low individuals,” Cavilon drawled. “I certainly cannot allow my future wife to do so.”
“But I would be satisfied to remain in the coach,” she assured him. “It would please me greatly.” Elizabeth reached out and touched his hand while her eyes implored him.
“As you wish, ma petite,” Cavilon murmured, his instincts. urged refusal, but his heart yielded to her persuasion. “But you must remain inside. The men who shall be about the dock are not accustomed to ladies of your genteel birth. You must remember that soon you shall be a comtesse.”
“Yes, my lord,” Elizabeth answered demurely. She lowered her gaze to keep from betraying herself.
Tapping on the roof of the coach, Cavilon ordered the coachman to the docks.
With official trade and travel between the two countries facing each other across the Channel officially forbidden, Elizabeth was surprised at the number of ships and the great activity in the harbour. She scanned the scene eagerly, questioning the comte as to which ship would be the one used, but found his answers evasive.