ROMANCE: Romantic Comedy: Love in 30 Days - The Best Plans Don't Always Work! (Plus 19 FREE Books Book 13)

by Jane Keeler

  But the music was finishing, and Lord Heyer was already bounding back to the side of the room with Mary trailing behind him. It seemed that he had run out of stamina for a second dance, and was keen instead to re-engage the friend of his object of affection.

  Lord Heyer breathlessly and exuberantly approached them, unaware of the history between them. “Come now, young ones. Are the two of you not tempted to dance?” he asked, beaming.

  “No,” Elizabeth and Richard replied, almost at exactly the same time. They gave each other a sideways glare, then Richard whirled to march off into another room.

  “Oh dear,” Lord Heyer muttered, as Mary insistently tugged at his arm to warn him of his faux pas.

  “It’s alright, Lady Mary,” Elizabeth smiled, nodding to Lord Heyer. “I’m quite alright. If you don’t mind, I’ll go stand with Mama for a while.”

  Though Elizabeth was invited to dance by several young men, for the rest of the night she did nothing but stand quietly by her mother. She had been unsettled, and the ball was quite ruined for her. She made up her mind to put it to one side, however, and to try to enjoy the rest of the season as much as possible.

  Chapter 3

  There were three weeks between that first ball and the next, a fact that Lady Shelley at least was very pleased about. It only served to put both Mary and Elizabeth into a frenzy of despair, as neither of them had yet received marriage proposals (despite Lord Heyer’s obvious interest in doing so).

  To pass the time, when over a week had passed since the ball, they decided they would go into town to shop for new ribbons for their bonnets, both of them having been last changed the season before. Lady Shelley agreed to accompany them, and so they were able to embark on at least a little excitement.

  The fabric store in town was a large one, occupying a sprawling little building which had been expanded and added onto over the course of many years. The result was alcoves and anterooms at every turn, a confusing maze which left each small room quite isolated – particularly thanks to the large amounts of fabric stored up everywhere, and the ribbons, threads, buttons, and other such accessories that were piled and hung from every surface on display.

  Elizabeth wandered away from her mother and friend, seeking a particular shade of yellow which might compliment her favourite day dress. She came into the next room, turned a corner, and then gave an almighty start. Without any warning, she had once again come face to face with Richard Spencer – who appeared to be very much engaged in the examination of a series of differently coloured ribbons spread out before him.

  Elizabeth hesitated, just for a second. She wanted to turn and walk out the other way, but she could see that just in front of him were the yellow ribbons she had been looking for.

  Though she did not want to admit it to herself, her thoughts had focused on him often this past week. He was unguarded now, informal, with no thought to mind his expression or his demeanour, and she saw again what she had seen at the ball. Richard was a handsome man, with something in his face that spoke of fairness and honesty. He looked like a man that could be trusted. She knew, however, that he was dangerous – the kind of man that would take another’s life.

  The moment of hesitation was all that was required for him to glance up and see her, and then there was no decorous way to retreat.

  “Lady Elizabeth,” he said, with some surprise. He quickly made a bow, though it was by no means a deep one.

  She cleared her throat. “Lord Richard,” she responded, with the barest dip of a courtesy that she could afford him.

  He glanced down at the ribbons in his hand, and must have realised how odd it seemed. “I’m looking for a ribbon for my sister,” he explained quickly, putting them down with the faintest hint of a blush. “It is her birthday this week.”

  “How is Lady Margaret?” Elizabeth asked, reluctantly. She had liked the younger Spencer once. Ever since the business between Arthur and Richard, they had not spoken.

  “She is well,” Richard said, almost enthusiastically, before checking himself. “She is disappointed to not yet attend her first ball.”

  “I expect she will be presented next year,” Elizabeth replied, wishing that she could escape from the small talk.

  “Yes,” Richard replied awkwardly. He shrugged his shoulders after a moment. “I do not rightly know which is the colour to choose for her.”

  “Blue,” Elizabeth said, in spite of herself. “Light blue to match her eyes.”

  Richard smiled, then met her eyes and remembered who she was. The smile faded as he nodded his head, putting his eyes back to the ground. “I thank you for the advice, Lady Elizabeth,” he said, reaching for the colour suggested. He took a breath, then added, “I know she misses your company greatly.”

  “I was fond of hers,” Elizabeth replied. “Though I am sure she has found other company to occupy her time.”

  “It is my fault that you no longer speak,” Richard said, sighing. He looked truly regretful, toying with the ribbon in his hands awkwardly. “For that I wish you would reconsider. Punish me, but not my poor sister.”

  “You know well that I cannot associate with you or your name,” Elizabeth replied, and as he looked up, she caught a flash of deep hurt in his eyes.

  “Elizabeth,” Mary breathlessly burst out as she followed her into the room, breaking the tension between the two of them almost instantly. Richard drifted away through another doorway, though not before Mary had noticed him.

  “I was looking for the yellow ribbons,” Elizabeth said.

  “And you found a ribbon indeed,” Mary replied, with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

  Elizabeth scowled at her friend, then reached over for the ribbon that had caught her eye. “I did. And this is the only ribbon I am referring to, thank you.”

  Mary laughed, but Elizabeth did not join her. There was something unsettling in her heart. She did not want to address it by name, but it lurked there, and she was afraid of what it might do.

  That was all but forgotten two weeks later, when the next ball finally dawned. Elizabeth wore a dress of white crepe ornamented with pink satin ribbons and flowers, which Mary cooed over as soon as she saw it.

  Then they were off in the carriages once again, and ready soon to enter the ball, where both young ladies were perceived with some excitement. It was known, of course, that Elizabeth was still unproposed to; on the other hand, whispers in the corners of the room spoke of Lady Mary and her continued hope for Lord Heyer.

  Elizabeth was almost immediately approached by Lady Westford, the hostess of the ball, and pulled into private conversation with her. It seemed that the Lady had great desires for her ball to be filled with dancing, and as such was instructing all of the eligible young ladies to dance as much as they possibly could. Elizabeth nodded and smiled agreement, though in truth she was a little resentful of the idea of being forced to have fun.

  “Now tell me, Lizzie,” Mary whispered wickedly in her ear, once they were alone again. “Are you terribly disappointed that Lord Richard is not here?”

  “He is not?” Elizabeth asked, in spite of herself. Catching her friend’s grin, she quickly shook her head. “It makes no difference to me. I could not care to speak with him again for as long as I live.”

  She danced a few turns to oblige her hostess, once with a Baron’s son and once with a military man who was keen to tell her all about his new promotion. Though his red jacket seemed to catch the eye of the other young ladies at the ball, Elizabeth barely wanted to touch so much as his hand. Ever since Arthur’s death, the idea of violence between men was something that had repulsed her. She did not wish for any continued association with a military man, not if she could help it. As she turned across the dancefloor, she could not help but wonder about Lord Richard; why he had not come – was it to avoid her? And exactly how did she feel about his absence? In truth, had she not been looking forward, just a little, to catching sight of him again?

  At last she was able to find a seat between da
nces, feeling a little out of breath from her efforts and glad to be able to take a pause.

  “Oh, Lady Elizabeth!” Lady Westford exclaimed from behind her, dashing forward. “I see you are without a partner. How fortune. I was just saying to this young gentleman that he ought to dance at once, having arrived late, and so you must dance together, you absolutely must.”

  Elizabeth wearily got to her feet, prepared to be obliging once more, but a glance behind Lady Westford paused her in her tracks. The Lady must not have heard, or remembered, the feud that lay between their families. It was Lord Richard standing there, looking suitably mortified.

  “Lady Westford, I…” Elizabeth began, trying to find some excuse that would be acceptable.

  “Lady Elizabeth,” Richard interrupted, striding forward and offering his hand. The strained look on his face indicated that he was acting from a sense of propriety, so as not to cause any embarrassment or fuss.

  Elizabeth swallowed, and reluctantly placed her hand in his. With an approving wave from Lady Westford they walked out to where the other dancers were assembled – only to hear, with mutual despair, the band starting to strike up the tune of a waltz.

  “I suppose we must,” Richard murmured to her, though without a trace of resentment, and they took their positions. Somewhat stiffly, she placed her right hand in his, while his left encircled her waist. With all but a grimace, she finally placed her left hand on his shoulder, and they began to circle the room in time with the music.

  “This is quite ridiculous,” she murmured back, trying hard to find somewhere to look that was neither his face nor his chest, both of them being directly in her field of view.

  “Quite,” Richard agreed softly. “But perhaps we can endure it.”

  Elizabeth huffed. She felt stiff and awkward, dancing without her usual grace. His arm around her waist was warm and gentle, and he seemed to have no problem dancing just as elegantly as he always could. Even the feel of his hand was calm and soothing: a light grasp that held her steady, though let her know she could escape easily if she only pulled away.

  “If Lord Arthur could see me…” she said, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks with the thought of shame in her brother’s eyes.

  “He cannot,” Richard said, though it was clear he was attempting to be kind. “I know that is my fault. But if he were here, I know he would approve of dancing, no matter who were the partners.”

  “How dare you suggest you knew him?” Elizabeth asked sharply, her eyes flashing. She pulled away slightly from Richard, almost ready to break away and run from the room. “You were never friends. You were simply the man who took him from us.”

  “I knew him more than you think,” Richard said firmly, using his arm on her waist to drag her in a step closer again. The sensation went down to her core, his strength lighting a fire down her spine that she tried immediately to ignore. “I would not tarnish his memory, but I know of him that he always enjoyed merriment and balls.”

  “What are you saying?” Elizabeth demanded, forcing herself to lower her voice so that she would not cause a scene. “Knew him how?”

  Richard looked down at her for a moment, as if deciding what to say. Then he looked away, at the crowd around them, while he spoke. “It was a dance that brought us to blows. He and my sister twirling merrily without music, out on our lands.”

  “The Lady Margaret?” Elizabeth stuttered. She had heard no rumour of this, not even after Arthur’s death. Reflexively she gripped Richard’s hand a little firmer, and he squeezed tighter in return. “But she is a girl still. You cannot mean he had secret meetings with her?”

  “I mean exactly that,” Richard said grimly. He met her eyes just then, and seeing that she wanted to know more, he continued. “I caught them together that day. I told them they could not see one another again until Lady Margaret was introduced formally in society.”

  Elizabeth took a breath to understand it all, the whirling motion of the dance starting to leave her dizzy. Although the music was light and romantic, it was peals of doom she fancied she could hear. “And then Arthur refused to go, and challenged you to a duel,” she said, her voice sounding far away.

  “Precisely that,” Richard said, his words flat. Perhaps he felt anger still, or shame, at the memory. Then he looked down and remembered that she was grieving still, and tried to soften. “He was a passionate man. I tried to dissuade him from the idea, but he only accused me of cowardice. He would have it out with me, at any cost. I think his intention was to impress Lady Margaret, perhaps to sweep her away to marriage there and then.”

  The music was coming to a close. They stopped moving, Richard first, and then Elizabeth felt the ground trembling beneath her. Before she could fall, Richard caught hold of her, his arm still around her waist as support. It was all she could do not to pour herself into his arms. She saw sanctuary there now, as she had never seen it before: strong arms, protective, and fiercely loyal.

  “It was never you,” she murmured, seeing it all too clearly. “It was always Lord Arthur’s fault. He must have known that he could not win, and that you could not refuse.”

  He helped her over to some chairs and gently sat her down, quickly putting the back of his hand against her forehead. The touch was momentary, though she wanted to pull his hand back to her face as he moved away.

  “You’re hot,” he said. “Wait here for me. I’ll fetch you a cool drink.”

  Before he was gone an instant, Mary instead was by her side. “Lizzie! What is this? I saw you dancing with him – with Lord Richard!”

  “Oh, Mary,” Elizabeth groaned. “I – we – had it all wrong!”

  Then she swooned away, and the last thing she remembered as her eyes closed was the sight of Richard rushing back towards her with a tall glass in his hand.

  Chapter 4

  When Elizabeth came to herself again, she was in the carriage, jolting along the road. She did not open her eyes at first; she guessed that they had all left the ball and were now on the way back home, and she did not want to answer questions to her mother or to Mary just yet.

  The whole story had changed everything, put it all into a new position. To think that all this time they had believed Arthur wronged, and murdered – when indeed it was his own foolishness that brought him to that terrible pass! And to think of the Lady Margaret – just a girl and not yet introduced – what had Arthur promised her? What had they done together in secret?

  The thought of it all was almost enough to make her swoon again. She had experienced such a sudden and dramatic shift: all of her perceptions and beliefs swept away with just a moment’s explanation. Despite his situation, she believed what Richard had told her. He had nothing to gain with a lie, and in truth, Arthur had been given to such foolishness. He was a headstrong and belligerent man, and had found trouble with it in the past. To imagine him insisting on a duel was no hard thing.

  At last Elizabeth raised her head and was met with the inevitable fussing. She insisted that she was alright, wrestling in herself with the problem of what to do. Were she to spill the whole story to her beloved parents, how would it leave them? Could her dear Mama even cope with such an end to her darling son?

  She kept quiet for the moment, telling them she was awfully tired and wished to go to bed as soon as possible. Unable to argue with her, given her recent condition, Mary and Lady Shelley reluctantly gave her up to her bedroom, leaving her there in the quiet darkness.

  She cried quietly for some hours, then at last managed to sleep. When she awoke, there was a new drive within her. Before going to breakfast she quickly took up pen and paper, and summoned a servant to deliver a note for her, in secrecy and with haste.

  Lord Richard,

  Your story took me by surprise, but I do not doubt the truth in it. I fear I must apologise for my behaviour towards you, believing myself the wronged party. Now I understand that it was my brother’s wild ways that sealed his own fate.

  I regret what has happened between us, and I wis
h we might start anew. Would you ever consider calling me friend? I was fond of the Lady Margaret once and I should like to make both your acquaintance again, if it would please you.

  Yours, and with much regret,

  Lady Elizabeth Shelley

  The mood at breakfast was sombre. Lord Shelley was furious, Elizabeth could see that; but whenever his anger boiled up to the point that he would speak it, Lady Shelley made sure to tap him on the shoulder or the leg, quieting him once more. He scowled into the paper and into his eggs, and finally strode scowling out of the room to be gone for the rest of the day.

  “Your father is not best pleased at your choice of dance partners, Elizabeth,” her mother said carefully once he was gone. “I should make sure not to repeat the occasion, if I were you.”

  Elizabeth said nothing, but held her tongue and went to work on some embroidery that she had underway.

  It was a little after noon that another message came, returning from Lord Richard with a hurried hand.

  Lady Elizabeth,

  To receive your letter gives me great joy. For a year it has weighed heavy on my heart that your family sees me with such malice. I hope you know that it was never my intention to harm Lord Arthur, and that his death weighs as heavily on me as it must on you.

  Lady Margaret and I would happily receive you on the morrow if you are able. My father Lord Spencer is unwell and is not fit to receive guests, but in his stead I am to play host. We should also like to see Lady Mary Percival if she is to come with you.

  Yours faithfully,

  Lord Richard Spencer

  Her heart leapt into her throat, and she caressed the page where his words fell. She felt a sudden excitement now, a sincere wish to see him and to be in his company again. She lied to her mother about receiving a letter from Mary that invited her as a guest to luncheon, and made up her mind to take the carriage first to find her friend and second to the Spencer house.