“Yes!” The dowager duchess whispered softly. “Second son of a second son who should never have inherited. Alas, the Weston men have suffered a series of terrible misfortunes. And now, we have a man who has lived his entire life in the colonies and will now be in the House of Lords.”
“They don’t really like to be called the colonies anymore. There was a war, if you remember!”
The dowager duchess turned to her with a gaze that could have cut glass it was so sharp. “I’m old, Elizabeth. Not daft!”
Elizabeth managed not to roll her eyes, though only just barely. “I hope no one is unkind to him.”
The dowager duchess cut her eyes once more in Elizabeth’s direction. “And what concern is that of yours?”
“As someone who routinely faces the censure of all these fine people, I can tell you it is a very difficult thing to tolerate,” Elizabeth replied softly. “And I think that he might be a very kind man.”
“Posh! There is no such thing. There are men who want something from you and men who do not. That is all,” the dowager duchess snapped.
A woman in the pew in front of them dared to shush them. Immediately, the dowager duchess lifted the fan she always carried with her and snapped it against the back of the woman’s head. The object of the abuse whirled around, saw who it was she had so unwisely shushed and then immediately dipped a curtsy, turned around and faced forward again.
Elizabeth ducked her head to hide her amusement. But almost against her will, she found herself turning, angling for another glance at the man she’d met the night before. With his close-cropped brown hair and sun-bronzed skin, he had a far more robust appearance than most of the gentlemen in society. But he was not a young man. In fact, she was fairly certain that he was her elder by several years. That did not at all detract from his appeal.
“You’re staring, Elizabeth,” the dowager duchess pointed out. But she didn’t sound annoyed. The cagey, old woman had the audacity to sound intrigued. That was the last thing anyone needed… for the dowager duchess to start matchmaking again.
Elizabeth turned once more, faced forward, and kept her gaze locked on the flustered cleric. Her eyes might have been on the minister, but her mind was firmly on the tardy marquess. It was, quite possibly, the longest church service of her entire life.
Burney was perched high above the congregation, leaning nonchalantly against a column beside the pipe organ. The note had not been easy. It had taken so much energy, as he’d been warned by his mentor, that leaning was really all he could do. He hoped they wouldn’t prove difficult. He’d managed to put them back in the same place once more. They were clearly drawn to one another if all those sidelong glances were any indication.
“Thank goodness,” he muttered on a heavy sigh. It was a strange thing, this new perspective he had on things. When one’s life had ended, it allowed one to see things much more clearly. Elizabeth Burkhart and Lord Oliver Weston, Marquess of Whittendon, simply radiated loneliness. It poured out of them in a way that he recalled quite clearly. It was even more obvious as the two of them stood in a crowd, surrounded by others who had found the thing in life they lacked. Much like Averston. They didn’t have the same obstacles he’d faced in finding love, but it would be remiss of him to deny that the obstacles facing them were just as real and just as difficult to overcome.
Elizabeth Burkhart had quite a storied past. She was notorious amongst the ton, as much for her long ago fall from grace as for her return to society amid her daughter’s triumph in making a match with the future Duke of Templeton. The matrons of high society had long memories and it was those memories that concerned him the most. They loved nothing better than to gossip and if they told Whittendon about Miss Burkhart’s scandalous history before she did, it could go very poorly for them both. If he couldn’t get Elizabeth and Oliver to make a match by Christmas Eve, only two days away, he would lose his one chance to right the wrongs done to his sister and to see her happy and cared for. There was much more riding on his efforts than simply the happiness of the couple in question. And to that end, he had to see just how persuasive he could be.
Chapter Five
He’d never heard anyone drone on so endlessly about nothing, Oliver thought impatiently. When at last the rector closed the service and dismissed the congregation, he was out of the pew and making a beeline for the door. Catching her as she exited was his best option, of that Oliver was certain. From the very moment he’d arrived, he’d been scanning the crowd for her face. It had taken him a bit to find her. But alas, her own curiosity had been her downfall. He’d caught sight of her peeking back at him over her shoulder.
He’d thought her beautiful the night before, entering a gaming hell with a kind of brazenness that appealed to him on any number of levels. He’d always appreciated boldness in a woman, after all. Shrinking violets had never interested him. He also found himself constantly frustrated with all the rules of high society. That she was willing to break those rules indicated they were like-minded, at least in certain regards. And she wasn’t simply a girl on a lark. She was a woman fully grown and was obviously her own person. Despite his drunkenness the night before, he distinctly recalled how clear her gaze had been. There was a wisdom within it and a wealth of pain. A woman who had lived and loved and lost and had not been beaten by it. That’s what she was.
The fact that he was waxing poetic about her did not escape him. He was quite besotted with her and they’d barely exchanged more than a few words. She might be none of those things, he reflected. It could all be little more than wishful thinking on his part, that because she was so very lovely, he’d woven a fantasy about her of who she might be and what she might come to mean to him. He’d been lonely enough since leaving America and coming to England to claim his inheritance. Was it any wonder he’d spin such fanciful dreams?
As the attendees of the morning service began to spill out of the church, all of them well dressed and clearly well acquainted with one another based on their buzzing level of conversations, his gaze remained steadfastly focused on that door. When she appeared, he took note of the elderly woman who accompanied her. The Dowager Duchess of Templeton. He didn’t know the woman personally, but she’d been pointed out to him at a social event. The term dragon might have been uttered in a hushed whisper.
The dowager duchess had her gaze focused on him quite closely. So much so that the small, elderly woman actually raised a monocle and peered at him through it. Then, as if on a mission, she began walking toward him. Beside her, Elizabeth protested, but the woman simply shushed her and kept walking. He didn’t have to catch Elizabeth, he realized. The dowager duchess was bringing her to him.
“You there,” the woman said, her voice not in the least frail despite her appearance. “Why are you staring at us?”
“I was taken by the loveliness of your companion, your grace,” he offered.
Her eyes narrowed and she pinned him with a cool, speculative gaze. “I see you’ve been quite busy, sir. You know who I am and yet you are unknown to me. I should not even be speaking to you! Alas, I detest stupid and utterly pointless rules.”
“I am Lord Oliver Weston, Marquess of Whittendon, your grace. We were both in attendance at a musicale hosted by Lord and Lady Deveril,” Oliver supplied.
“I see,” the dowager duchess said. “You are aware that I have a connection, somewhat distantly, to the Ashtons… Wilhelmina Ashton, Lady Deveril, is sister to my new granddaughter-in-law, Lillian,” the dowager duchess replied. “You will come to tea. This afternoon. Four o’clock, Lord Whittendon. Do not be late.”
Oliver’s gaze was focused on Elizabeth who was blinking in shock and who appeared to be utterly panicked at the prospect. If he hadn’t seen the spark of interest in her, he might have questioned what appeared to be her complete dislike of him. But he had seen it. Her reaction to him had only altered when she discovered his title and, specifically, what his title and family seat was. Why?
“I look forward to it,�
�� Oliver replied.
“And my companion, Miss Elizabeth Burkhart,” the dowager duchess said, “will be joining us.”
“I look forward to that, as well. Until this afternoon, Miss Burkhart, your grace.” Oliver allowed his gaze to lock with Miss Elizabeth Burkhart’s for just a moment, before giving a slight nod and walking away.
“Why did you do that?” Elizabeth demanded after they’d climbed inside the waiting carriage.
The dowager duchess shrugged. “Because he’s interesting. And quite handsome, don’t you think? I may have very little use for men given my advanced years and general disdain for them, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate one when he’s particularly attractive. Why on earth should you mind it? I’d rather think you, given that you are a woman unfettered by the rules of society, would enjoy having a handsome man about!”
“What exactly does that mean?” Elizabeth demanded.
“You can’t fall from grace twice, my dear,” the dowager duchess reminded her. “Well, you can, but only if you’ve managed to return to grace… and, alas, you have not.”
The carriage hit a particularly deep rut in the road, sending them bouncing about inside it. Immediately, the dowager duchess thumped on the ceiling with her cane. “Mind yourself up there! I’m old and frail!”
“Frail! Ha! You’re a manipulative old witch!” Elizabeth snapped. “How could you invite him? Do you have any idea what this will do to me?”
The dowager duchess leveled a hard and unrelenting stare at her, indicating, without words, exactly how displeased she was with that description. “Mind your tongue, Miss Burkhart!”
“I’m not your employee and I’m not Lillian who will tolerate your managing ways. I’ve been navigating this world on my own for a number of years, your grace,” Elizabeth continued. “I do not need you playing matchmaker for me!”
“Clearly, you need someone to play matchmaker for you. You’ve scarce looked at a man since I’ve known you!”
“Why would I?” Elizabeth replied challengingly. “Romantic entanglements lead to nothing but pain. Men, barring your grandson, cannot be trusted. And I’m not even entirely certain I trust him. If he hurts my Lilly—”
“He adores her,” the dowager duchess insisted. “Just as I knew that he would all along. Now, hush. Men can be terribly disappointing creatures. But they certainly have their uses. You are a young woman still, Elizabeth. You need not live like a nun. I’m not suggesting you marry Lord Whittendon, but there’s no harm in a bit of flirtation assuming you both know that’s all it is.”
“There is harm, your grace. His estate, the family seat, borders my father’s property. No doubt, he’s putting the names together even now and realizing that the woman he was just introduced to is the scandalous harlot who is daughter to his closest neighbor,” Elizabeth replied.
It had been so nice, that first moment the night before, when he’d looked at her as if she were simply a beautiful woman he wished to know. But now, by some cruel twist of fate, it seemed that the man who’d drawn her eye and who’d made her heart beat just a bit faster, would be forever out of her reach. Surely no man of such an elevated station, and certainly not one who had likely been regaled by tales of her wickedness by half of Derbyshire, would want anything to do with her!
“Do not count him out just yet, my dear,” the dowager duchess warned. “I think you may underestimate the man. I certainly hope you do. I know without question that you underestimate yourself. You, Elizabeth, are more than the errors of your past.”
Chapter Six
It was a ludicrous thing, really, but Burney couldn’t help himself. He was quite nervous as he stood next to the fireplace in the drawing room wringing his hands. Being non-corporeal in nature, hand wringing was foolish. But since no one could see him do it, he supposed it didn’t really matter. He just so desperately wanted it to go well. It wasn’t only for his own benefit, either. There was an unhappiness in Elizabeth, a deep shame which he recognized. She had loved William Satterly, or at the very least had loved the idea of him, who he represented himself to be. She blamed herself for loving him even more than she blamed him for lying to her and deceiving her as he had, Burney thought.
The house was bedecked for the coming holiday. Holly, ivy and various evergreen garlands were draped on the mantels and windows. But there was no tree. It seemed that the dowager duchess had no interest in following the fashions set by Queen Charlotte. But that surprised him not at all.
Almost as if his thoughts had summoned her, the dowager duchess entered the drawing room, settling herself on one of the lovely blue damask settees. Despite her age, her spine was perfectly erect and her posture completely rigid. Elizabeth followed, though she certainly seemed less than pleased about it all. No sooner had the younger woman seated herself than a knock sounded upon the door.
The dowager duchess smiled. Well, no. She smirked. It was a different thing entirely.
“He’s quite prompt, isn’t he?” the dowager duchess observed.
“It hardly matters,” Elizabeth replied. “No doubt, I have but to tell him of my sordid past and he will either make me an improper offer or make a hasty exit. We should wager on it.”
“Wager?” the dowager duchess questioned. “I’d never be so crass. I prefer to simply gloat when I am right.”
Elizabeth’s lips firmed into a thin, hard line in response.
The butler appeared in the doorway. “The Marquess of Whittendon, your grace.”
“Show him in, please,” the dowager duchess instructed with an impatient gesture.
Burney, if he was still in possession of actual lungs that required breath, would have been holding his. As it were, he just went completely still and waited for the marquess to enter. The moment the man stepped into the room, the marquess’ gaze fell unerringly upon Miss Burkhart and there it stayed. It was quite easy to see that he was entirely smitten with her and that given an opportunity, that state of infatuation could easily progress to something much deeper and infinitely more permanent. If she would let it.
Miss Elizabeth Burkhart was more than just prickly, much more than just a woman who had suffered disappointments and degradation in her life. She was afraid. Having lived almost all of his life in a similar state of fear, terrified that people would know the truth of who and what he was, Burney identified very strongly with her. And that was why he knew that Whittendon was the weak link for his attack. He’d have to keep Whittendon on course and make certain that the man, through the power of a bit of ghostly encouragement, would not lose hope in the face of what would surely be a rejection.
“It would be so much easier if only I had more time,” Burney mused.
And at that very moment, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake. Both Whittendon and Miss Burkhart turned their gazes toward the fireplace where he stood. Both of them looked directly at the spot where he stood. They hadn’t seen him. Of that, he was certain. Their equally puzzled expressions were proof of it. But they’d heard him. They’d heard what he’d muttered aloud and now they would be looking for answers.
Biting back another curse that would only compound his issues, he slunk toward the door, all but tiptoeing to reach it. Again, it was pointless. Being non-corporeal, he’d hardly trip over the rug or fall and knock over a valuable vase or figurine. Eventually, he swore to himself, he’d get the hang of ghostly interference in mortal lives. But until that time, he’d just exit the room and eavesdrop outside the door like a normal person.
Oliver was certain of two things. First, he’d heard the voice of the mysterious Burney when there was no physical presence in that room to account for it. Secondly, from the shocked expression on Miss Elizabeth Burkhart’s face and the direction of her gaze, he could be fairly certain that she’d heard it as well. Which begged the question, why had no one else? Neither the footman nor the Dowager Duchess of Templeton even glanced in that direction. It could be accounted for that perhaps the dowager duchess was, in her advanced years, somewha
t hard of hearing. It could also be accounted for by the fact that the servants in the dowager duchess’ household were impeccably trained and would never be so gauche as to be caught staring at a guest. But he was also fairly certain that was not it.
He wasn’t the sort to consider all the mysteries of the universe. He left that for men with a far more philosophical bent than what he himself possessed. Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was some metaphysical element at play in what they were experiencing. But in order to answer that question, he’d need to talk to Elizabeth Burkhart alone, without the eagle-eyed and clearly quite sharp dowager duchess overhearing.
“Your grace,” Oliver said, sketching a bow, “Miss Burkhart. Thank you again for the very gracious invitation.”
The dowager duchess let out a harrumph. “Gracious… I have been called many things, Whittendon, but I am not gracious. Termagant. Dragon. Vicious and mean! All of those descriptors have been applied to me at one time.”
“Manipulative,” Miss Burkhart supplied in a tone that was less than helpful. “That one has been applied, too. Many times and by many people.”
The dowager duchess’ faded brow spiked upward imperiously. “Miss Burkhart, the more time I spend in your company, the less charming I find you. It’s a good thing we’re practically related.”
Miss Burkhart didn’t reply verbally. She simply sucked in her cheeks to keep from smiling.
“Perhaps it would be best, given that you all are currently in a state of disagreement, Miss Burkhart, if rather than staying for tea, I were to take you for a drive in the park,” Oliver suggested.
“It’s snowed, my lord. Surely the weather is too—”
“Oh, stop being so missish! A bit of snow never bothered anyone,” the dowager duchess said, effectively cutting off her protest. “You’ve a lap robe and it’s an open carriage?”
O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales Page 10