“It is a veritable crush tonight, don’t you agree, Miss Ellison?”
“These rooms are rather stuffy.”
“You seem tired. Would you care to walk on the terrace?”
She nodded. He led her outside to where the cool night air gave welcome relief. Lights spilled from the open windows, gently illuminating the sculptured hedges of the garden beyond. Shrubs in white pots loomed in the terrace’s darkened sections.
“Are you enjoying yourself this evening, Miss Ellison?”
His unexpected solicitude caused her to admit, “Not as much as I thought I would.”
“That’s a shame.” He offered an arm and drew her away from the noise, down to a dimly lit section.
Here she could breathe, and she took in great quaffs of fresh air. Slowly the giddiness passed. “Thank you, sir. I feel better.”
“Do you enjoy London?” He leaned closer, his breath caressing her cheek.
She backed away, farther into the shadows. “It is the antithesis of St. Hampton Heath.”
“I imagine it is.” He studied her neckline.
Her skin crawled.
“Clara told me you were considered its most virtuous do-gooder.” Dim light from upper windows showed his thick, sensual lips. “You seem to have become more like London than you wish to admit.” He moved closer, forcing her to step deeper into the darkness.
“I wish to go inside now, sir.”
She moved to go but he snatched her close, pinning her arms to her sides. “I don’t. I’m quite enjoying this.”
“Let go of me!” She struggled but he was too strong. Tried to scream but her voice had frozen.
“Scream if you want. All the old biddies inside will have a field day.” His hand touched her chin, slid down her throat—
“Don’t! Please don’t!” She tried to claw, scratch, kick, anything to keep his slithery hands away. “Lord, help me!”
“You know you want this.” He bent his lips to her neck and murmured, “That dress tells me so.”
Twisting away, she froze.
She caught a glimpse of wild glittering eyes, heard a snarl, before being yanked free and pushed away near the wall. She huddled, gasping, shivering as the two men scuffled. A potted plant crashed to the ground. She heard a crack, a wheeze, muttered oaths, an exchange of blows. The two figures wrestled wildly, before the earl’s superior height and strength gained him the upper hand. Like a dog with a rat he shook Mr. DeLancey and then, with a loud smack to the jaw, felled him.
He stood over the prone figure, breathing hard. “You are a cur and a scoundrel!”
Lavinia drew back. Never had she seen him look so terrifying.
“If you were in my regiment, I’d see you thrashed!” His voice was low, taut as a whip. “How dare you treat any woman so? How dare you touch Miss Ellison?”
Mr. DeLancey groaned as he shifted into a sitting position. “Name your secon—”
“Do not insult me! Would you have your sister know her brother is a villain of the lowest order?” The earl glanced at her, his expression softening a touch, before he scowled at the younger man. “I doubt Miss Ellison ever wants to hear your voice again, but I insist you apologize!”
When no answer came immediately, he bent and shook the man.
She barely heard the muttered regret, as her attention remained fixed on the earl. The dim light revealed his broad-shouldered strength, his soldierly authority, his care for her. Her eyes filled.
“Do not dare to even think about seeing Miss Ellison again, else you will wish yourself in Hades. Do I make myself clear?”
Clara’s brother spat something vile and slunk away, leaving them alone on the terrace.
“Miss Ellison”—the earl drew close, his voice soft—“are you hurt?”
Hot tears spilled. “No, my lord.”
“You’re trembling.” He stripped off his bloodied gloves and gathered her close.
Her cheek pressed against his coat, the steady thump of his heart as reassuring as the strength in his arms. Here she was safe, protected, cherished. She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, her senses tingling at the tantalizing scent of fresh linen, bergamot, and another, indefinable masculine essence. As if by their own accord her arms stole around his back. His clasp tightened, his lips grazed her forehead. They stood still for a long, long moment, his breath ruffling her hair, ease wrapping around them like a cocoon.
Too soon he sighed, lowered his arms.
She drew in a shaky breath. “Th–thank you, my lord.”
“My dear Miss Ellison …” He thumbed away the dampness on her cheeks before smoothing her hair and moving into the light. “We had best get inside.”
“But you are bleeding.” She tugged off her glove, touched the small cut on his cheek. “His ridiculous ring, no doubt.”
“No doubt.” He gently clasped her hand to his cheek, the heat in his eyes flushing her warm all over. He shifted, pressed his lips to her palm. Fire danced at the site of his tender caress. “Your solicitude gives hope that you are not completely indifferent to me.”
Time stretched as his gaze held hers. The lights and music and chatter were inconsequential as certainty arrested her soul. Here was a man she could trust. Twice now, he had come to her rescue and would doubtless do so any time she required his assistance. “How can I be indifferent, my lord? When you have … when you are …”
A sweet expression crossed his face. He kissed her palm again. “Straighten your dress and pin on a smile. At least one of us should look presentable when we return. We cannot have the dowagers making a fuss.”
“Heaven forbid there be a scene.” Doing as he bade, she smoothed her gloves and adjusted her sleeves as he worked on the intricate folds of his neckcloth. She glanced up, smiled shyly. “Do I look acceptable now?”
Despite the dim light she could see his eyes darken and intensify. He took a step nearer then paused, opened his lips as if to speak and then closed them, his focus on her so compelling she could feel her body sway toward him.
He cleared his throat. “You are”—he lifted a hand, caressed a curl behind her ear—“you are lovely as always, Lavinia.” The searching look in his eyes deepened as his fingers trailed fire down her cheek.
Her breath caught. The air seemed to crackle with promise, with hope, with longing.
The sound of high-pitched laughter spilled from the open doors, breaking the spell. He blinked, offered a rueful smile, dropping his hand to offer his arm. He covered her fingers with his and walked her slowly toward the lit door. “I wonder, Miss Ellison, if you would be so kind as to grant me two favors?”
“Of course.”
“Would you please find it in your heart to forgive my carelessness earlier this evening? I behaved abominably and should not have insulted you. I humbly beg your pardon.”
Her steps ceased, her gaze fell. “You said nothing I did not already know,” she murmured.
“I was a jealous fool. Seeing you surrounded by those I knew could never appreciate you like I could, wishing I had the right to claim every dance with you. Please forgive me.”
His words were as honeyed balm to her earlier shame. “Of course, my lord.”
“And I hope you will overlook the fact that I neglected to say you are, without doubt, the most beautiful lady here tonight.”
“I am prepared to overlook it. This once.”
He chuckled. “You are generous.”
“Thank you.”
“And despite the fact this exceeds the two favors originally requested, I cannot but hope your tremendous generosity will also permit me the honor of a dance?”
“I find myself quite unable to refuse.”
They reentered the ballroom, and she followed his lead, lifting her chin, her smile firmly fixed as if unconcerned by the upraised brows and whispers behind fans. The earl led her onto the floor to join a set, his smile and the press of his fingers reassuring when she encountered the scorching glares of the Winpooles and her aunt. S
he forced herself to dance and laugh and exchange banter. Yet although her feet moved through the steps, underneath the assumed gaiety something whispered—had the earl truly changed or did underlying intentions mean he would continue to lead her on a merry dance?
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THE TOWN HOUSE smelled of lilies, roses, and lilacs, the hothouse arrangements filling the hall and the parlor. Despite last night’s challenges, and its subsequent uncertainty, today’s visits and flowers from her dancing partners had boosted Lavinia’s spirits. The afternoon proved a respite from activity, Aunt Constance happy to spend time stitching as Lavinia read. But the words passed her by without meaning, as her mind toyed with fragments of conversations from the ball.
“Terribly fast …”
No. How could people judge her so? Perhaps her dress had seemed a trifle risqué, but her behavior had never given anyone reason to doubt her character.
“He must marry money.”
Surely the Hawkesbury estates were not in such dire circumstances that Nicholas must be forced to find a wealthy bride. But if so, perhaps that explained his mother’s preference for Clara.
The look in his eye when the earl said she was “the most beautiful lady here tonight.”
Her heart beat faster. He couldn’t be serious. Why, the idea was utterly nonsensical! But oh, how she wished he were …
A footman entered, holding a salver. “Excuse me, m’lady. The letters have just arrived.”
Aunt Constance stretched out a hand. “Oh, there’s one for you, Lavinia.”
Lavinia pried open the envelope, read the few sentences, and gasped. “I cannot believe it!” She glanced at her aunt who had paled. “Is yours from Aunt Patience, too?”
“Of all the things to do! I knew they were fond of each other, but a special license? Mother will be beside herself!”
“Lord Danver is such a kind man. Surely she cannot object.”
“You’d be surprised.” Aunt Constance placed a hand over her eyes. “Oh, I think I might be having a spasm.”
Lavinia rose. “Should I get someone? Ellen? Parsons?”
“No, no. I will be better momentarily.”
She reseated herself, working to curb the bubbling disappointment at missing her aunt’s secret wedding. She reread the letter:
Dear Lavinia,
Your words the other day gave me pause. Edmund has been kept waiting too long, and it is time that was remedied. I hope you will forgive the abruptness of this decision, but understand that opportunities for such happiness rarely come twice. I have every confidence that you shan’t let fears shape your life, especially as you remember God’s gifts of love, power, and a sound mind. I am trying to also, so now my husband and I go to face the duchess.
Much love always,
Patience Danver
Despite everything, laughter burbled up and escaped. “I cannot believe it.”
“It is hardly a laughing matter, Lavinia! Typical Patience—doing her own thing before anyone can talk reason to her.”
Lavinia smiled, studying the neat copperplate. “Aunt Constance, who is the duchess?”
Her aunt peered over the small eyeglasses she never wore beyond family. “Do you mean Patience never told you?”
“Told me, ma’am?”
Aunt Constance’s brows pushed together. “Your grandmother, my mother, is the Duchess of Salisbury.”
What?
“Oh, do close your mouth, Lavinia. It is most unbecoming.”
“A duchess?” Her mind whirled. “But why didn’t they tell me?”
Aunt Constance sniffed. “Grace and Patience never valued rank appropriately. I suppose they never told you because they did not think it important. And Mother did make it very clear when they left she wanted nothing to do with them.”
“But why? Aunt Patience tried to explain, but I cannot believe anyone to be so cruel.”
Her aunt put down her needlework, removed her eyeglasses, and settled back on the gold-and-white-striped settee. “You need to understand Mother’s devastation when Grace left. She had always been very proud of Grace. She was the most beautiful debutante of the season. Her looks, her pedigree, her charm, everything about her said she was a diamond of the first water.”
Her gaze settled on the portraits above the fireplace, her face soft in lost reminiscence. “Mother always said that Grace’s success would open the way for Patience and myself to make splendid matches.”
Aunt Constance fiddled with the pleat of her russet gown. “I suppose that as the only child of the Duke of Grantham, Mother had been used to getting her own way, which probably explains why she fell madly in love with my father. See his portrait there, next to Mother’s? He was very handsome, wasn’t he?”
Lavinia nodded, moving to study the faces more closely. She recognized traces of her grandfather in both Mama and Aunt Constance—the fairness, something about the shape of the eyes—though Aunt Constance’s features were more tightly drawn than the softness she remembered of Mama.
“He was the second son of the impoverished Duke of Salisbury, not the heir, so her parents made such a fuss, yet she paid them no heed. I remember Mother once saying after Grace went away that she, too, had married for love and experienced lean years, until the older son died and Father attained the title.”
She waved a hand. “Of course, then my grandfather forgave her, bestowing her with all his wealth that was not entailed away, including the Grantham jewels, but she never forgot those hard years. Although Mother loved Papa very much, she determined that none of us would throw themselves away for matches based on mere love. So when Grace did almost the same thing, falling in love with your father the way she did after that first season, my mother determined to cut her off penniless if she didn’t repent and marry someone of Mother’s choosing. It turned out that Grace, despite her gentleness, had also inherited a will of iron and refused to succumb to Mother’s wishes. And so they departed.”
“And were married, with only Papa’s family in attendance,” Lavinia said softly.
Her aunt looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry to say I was too easily persuaded. I … I have regretted that ever since.” She glanced at Lavinia again. “I’ve always wished I could be more like Patience. She’s never cared what Mother thinks, which has meant she’s made her own choices. No doubt at times that has been challenging, but at least she is free.”
Lavinia gazed around the ornate room, suddenly understanding all of the hidden meanings and intrigues concerning the state of affairs at Twenty Grosvenor Square. Aunt Constance obviously lived in the pockets of this infamous grandmother.
She resumed perusing her grandmother’s portrait. Pride suffused every line, from her haughty stare to the aquiline nose both Lavinia’s aunts had inherited.
“When Grace died, my mother decided that all would be forgiven if only your father would release you to come live with her. But your father refused, saying how important you were to him.”
Lavinia remembered back to those first hard weeks of mourning. Papa had seemed so lost, which had been the catalyst for Lord Robert’s kindness in distracting her with music and puppies. But now she suddenly recalled the nights when Papa had come in and hugged her hard. “Oh my dear girl, how could I lose you, too?”
Her eyes filled. How hard life must have been for her father. Grieving his wife, fearing his daughter might be taken away. Other memories flooded in. The curate who had led the services for a month until Papa felt well enough again. The hampers of food from the villagers and the Hall—too much food it had seemed at the time. The way the servants were too distraught to do their jobs properly, until Aunt Patience made her home with them, after seeing the shambles things had been when she’d visited for the funeral. The servants quickly improved, and Patience started investing in Lavinia’s education. She’d approved of the visits to the Hall, saying Lord Robert was one of the few peers she had met with any intelligence. It all made so much more sense now.
“Mother w
ashed her hands of Patience when she left to care for you. I know Patience has written to her, even tried to visit, but Mother remained adamant that defiance must be defied.”
“But she’s her daughter!”
Aunt Constance nodded tiredly. “I don’t necessarily agree.”
Or did she not disagree unnecessarily? Keeping in her mother’s good graces seemed to have served Aunt Constance quite well.
“It is my understanding that the portion of inheritance due your mother has been preserved. I think Mother always hoped your father might relent and let you live with her, and as time went on her will never changed. So I believe you really are something of an heiress.” She adjusted the folds of her gown. “To the tune of forty thousand pounds.”
Lavinia gasped. “But … but that is absurd!”
“Not absurd, just unexpected.” Aunt Constance shrugged.
“Why did no one ever tell me?”
“Because, my dear, the very rich are not the only ones whose sin is pride.”
The flowers’ scent grew overpowering, nauseating. Is that why she had received so much attention in London? People were kind because they knew of her family connections? Knew she had money? Were the gossips correct, after all? Had Nicholas sought her out because of the wealth?
Suddenly all the warnings her Aunt Patience had ever given her raced through her mind. The ton were shallowly fixated on either titles or money. Character and talent might be applauded, but rarely were they considered to be factors for marriage.
She bit her lip as her aunt’s face grew suddenly blurry.
What did this mean about Nicholas?
As the horses began another circuit of the park, Nicholas shot Lavinia a glance. She wore a pretty carriage dress and a pelisse the same blue as that worn by the Hussars, which made her hair glow and her eyes appear more jewel-like than ever. The chilly afternoon air saw her hold a fur muff, the likes of which even his mother would envy, but it was the pensiveness she wore that ate into his content. Despite his best efforts to point out Hyde Park’s pretty features, such as the Serpentine, and a pair of frivolous squirrels, Lavinia, save for some inconsequential remarks about the beauty of the plane trees, had said little.
The Elusive Miss Ellison Page 28