“And why, Gavin, would I wish to do that? What, exactly, do you hope to achieve by it?”
“I… I want to… to… to have the chance to talk to someone, in a situation where she won’t just turn and walk away.”
“I see. I take it that you are referring to the woman you never allowed me to meet, three years ago? And who is the other lady, that you wish me to invite with her?”
“Ah… yes, I am referring to Lady Elizabeth Chartwell. And the other lady is her sister, Anne, Lady Carsteade. She is staying with her sister for the Season.”
“I take it from your previous comment, that you have approached her at a social occasion, and she refused to talk to you? I must say, I can’t blame her.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what happened, and I can’t blame her either. I know that, three years ago, I was an immature, callow fool. I am not that man any longer – but if I am to have a hope of getting her to see that, I will need the chance to see her, to talk to her. And this is the only thing I can think of, which might work. Surely they will not refuse a dinner invitation from a Duchess, however reclusive you may usually be?”
His mother startled him then, by releasing a gentle snort of laughter. He had not heard her laugh, he realised, since the day his father died. That she did so now warmed something inside him, which he had not realised was cold.
“I have not had any visitors here since your father’s death. But perhaps I am ready to change that – if only because I wish to finally meet the young woman who had a strong enough effect on you to make you change. I do not promise that it will be an easy evening, for I have never been one for social chitchat. But I will try, given that you care this much – and because I am impressed that you had the courage to ask me.”
Gavin almost slumped in his chair from relief.
“Thank you – this means more to me than you can imagine.”
“Oh, I suspect that I can imagine. But, one thing – if I invite them, you are not to be here when they arrive. You can arrive late for dinner, so that they are already seated at the dinner table when you come in.”
“I can do that – but why?”
“If she’s seated at dinner, she can hardly jump up and run away from you, now can she? No matter how much she might initially want to.”
*****
The next day, the sisters woke late and broke their fast with a moderate selection of foods, partaken of in the breakfast room. They were alone as, according to a note left for Anne, David had taken George riding (‘a man is never too young to learn’ was the Viscount’s philosophy).
Elizabeth had worried that Anne would quiz her mercilessly about what had upset her the night before, but Anne seemed to have assumed that her sister had simply been overwhelmed by the size of the Ball, and the absolute crush of attendees, and didn’t ask Elizabeth anything about what had caused her ‘megrim’.
A situation for which Elizabeth was profoundly grateful.
“Thank you, Jeffries.”
Anne took the stack of letters from the correspondence tray offered by the butler and looked rather sleepily at Elizabeth, then turned her attention back to the pile of letters. She sifted through them quickly.
“Are any of them important, Anne?”
Anne gave a small shake of her head, even as she sorted them into two piles and began to open them. Obviously, just by the names of the senders, or the hand they were written in, Anne was able to categorise them.
Idly, Elizabeth wondered what those categories were. Then Anne spoke again, pulling her thoughts away from speculation.
“The amount of invitations I have received, ever since marrying David, is utterly amazing.” Anne lowered her voice confidentially. “Lady Winters wanted nothing to do with me when I first arrived in London with Aunt Mary, despite my being an Earl’s daughter – I suppose because her own daughter was coming out that Season too. But then I married David – and suddenly it’s teas, soirees, and outings every week. Oh - the Dowager Duchess of Blackstone has invited us to dine tonight. Rather short notice, but we’ll be there, of course.” Elizabeth looked up from her tea. Her older sister often mixed up subjects like that, and Elizabeth wasn’t sure that she’d heard correctly. She looked at her sister expectantly, but Anne was chattering on about Lady Winters again. “And you know, Lady Winters only knows Lady Chattam through me. I really must introduce you two, Elizabeth.”
“Did you say Blackstone, Anne?” Elizabeth asked quickly as her sister took a breath of air.
“Oh, yes. Dinner tonight.” Anne slid the invitation over to Elizabeth and looked thoughtfully into space. “I can’t quite recall who she is, but the name rings a bell. Blackstone…”
Elizabeth hadn’t ever been granted an audience with Blackstone’s mother, not even when they had been close. Why would the woman suddenly invite her to dinner now?
“Oh, let’s not go,” Elizabeth said without thinking.
“Why ever not?” Anne asked in surprise.
“I mean – yes, you should certainly go, Anne,” Elizabeth amended with a disarming smile, putting a hand to her head. “But please excuse me; I’ve still got a terrible megrim from last night. I had hoped that food would help, but…”
“Oh, Elizabeth, you’ve used that excuse since we were children,” Anne laughed, neatly disarming her sister’s alibi in an instant. “I know that you don’t like some of my friends, but really – we should both go. One doesn’t refuse a Dowager Duchess lightly. In fact–” Anne seized the card back. “I believe she asked for you! It’s addressed to “Lady Carsteade and Lady Elizabeth Chartwell. How did she know you were visiting?” Elizabeth stared rebelliously down at her plate as Anne wound a curl contemplatively around her finger. “Blackstone… it rings a bell. Why can’t I remember! My mind is still fuddled with sleep, obviously. Elizabeth!”
Elizabeth jumped at Anne’s tone, looking guiltily at her sister, sure that she’d be berated for not explaining her connection with the Duke earlier – although it was Anne who had remembered when he had saved George near the Park.
“Yes?”
Anne frowned for a moment, then brightened.
“Ah! I have it now! The Duke of Blackstone is the one who saved George yesterday morning. In the Park,” Anne explained, observing Elizabeth’s expression.
“Oh! Yes.”
Elizabeth attempted to look as if she had, only now with Anne’s words, remembered that fact.
“Of course we must go,” Anne insisted, wide eyed. “He saved George, after all! And he’s your old friend, and he is a Duke now, you know.”
“Oh, very well,” Elizabeth sighed resignedly, “and I told you, we were not friends.”
Anne clearly didn’t actually remember the details of Elizabeth’s special connection with Blackstone from three years ago - and why should she? After that year, Elizabeth had maintained silence on the matter – had, in fact, refused to ever utter his name, or to discuss him, for the intervening years.
She didn’t quite know why she was so intent on denying her previous association with the man to her sister, but she did know one thing. It could never work for her with Blackstone – not after what he had done - and it was better that she forget he existed. He didn’t love her – that had been amply proven - and no dinner or meeting with his mother would change that.
*****
“Lady Elizabeth.”
The Dowager Duchess of Blackstone stood forbiddingly in the parlour of Blackstone Hall – a magnificent house set on an estate which was on the outskirts of London and barely on the fringe of locations normally considered acceptable by fashionable society – as they were shown in.
In the carriage, Anne had chattered on about nonsense, clearly viewing this visit as simply another routine social call. Elizabeth had allowed her sister’s words to wash over her, barely paying them any heed as she stared out the window. Long shadows fell across the increasingly wooded landscape they passed. She had never had a chance to meet Blackstone’s parents, had never been invited
to visit his house, to call upon his mother in the normal round of afternoon calls. Why not?
She supposed that the location of the property might have meant that his mother rarely entertained – for many in society would regard this as too far to come for a social call.
Yet, here she was, invited now.
It made no sense to her – and things which made no sense left her feeling nervous.
She wondered if Blackstone had done this on purpose, to taunt or tease her. But that would be going too far, even for Blackstone. He had seemed genuinely confused by her cold reception of him at the Ball – but how could he possibly be surprised that she had taken offense to having been led on, then discarded without a thought? She was not someone whose heart could be trifled with, and she meant to make Blackstone very much aware of that fact.
Elizabeth had to admit that she was a little intimidated by the Dowager Duchess when she and Anne were admitted to Blackstone’s huge home by the butler. She had known that he was wealthy – generally, that could be said to be true of all Dukes - but she hadn’t imagined such wealth as this.
The Duchess of Blackstone herself was dripping with rich fabrics and jewels. Elizabeth didn’t know what she had been expecting – a female version of Blackstone, perhaps – but the stately, imposing lady could not be more different. Where Blackstone was loud and humorous, the Duchess was reserved and cold.
One thing mother and son had in common, though, was the mystery of their privacy. Why had Blackstone not introduced her to his family before? Had he been ashamed of her, and thus cut her from his life as soon as he sensed that she expected more? He was a bit of a flirt, but Elizabeth had never believed him to be a rogue or a cad.
No, it was far more likely that, as soon as he had learned of his new title, he’d found her unsuitable for the potential role of his Duchess. She wondered what could be motivating him now, for him to have convinced his mother to invite her to dinner - could he possibly want her back?
Well, she didn’t want him anymore.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
“Lady Elizabeth,” the Duchess repeated, breaking Elizabeth out of her tumultuous thoughts.
The stately lady smiled briefly as Elizabeth quickly curtsied, embarrassed at having been caught woolgathering. Anne’s voice cut across her confusion.
“Your Grace, I thank you for your invitation – but… I must ask - have we had the pleasure of being introduced?”
Anne spoke cordially, but the Duchess looked curiously uncomfortable as she shook her head and suggested, gesturing to a nearby servant, “Let us eat and we can get to know each other.”
Which was rather rushed, for a social occasion.
Normally, one would expect some conversation in the parlour before proceeding to the dining room. Elizabeth had an irrationally foreboding feeling as the three women followed a footman through the quiet, stone-flagged hallway, and into a cavernous dining room.
The huge room seemed to match the rest of the home, and indeed the Duchess herself –cold, wealthy, and secretive; as though it and its occupant were stuck in another time.
The Duchess was wealthy, there was no doubt.
But something in her solemn, still air was so different from the lively, colourful ladies of London society… Elizabeth would never have guessed that this rather austere woman and the man she had first known as Lord Gavin Villiers were related.
Was this why she had never been invited to call on his mother, had never even seen the woman about in society? Was there something about his family that he hadn’t wanted her to know? But if that was the case, why was she here now?
The women took their places at the long dining table, set for just three – which was strangely empty for a dinner party. Once they were settled, and the footmen had placed the first course before them, the Duchess spoke again.
“No, we have never met before, Lady Carsteade. But I have certainly heard of you. I simply don’t get out in society much. We are located so far from the heart of London – almost in the country, you see.”
“Of course.” Anne smiled, although Elizabeth could tell that she didn’t understand at all. An awkward silence fell, and Anne fidgeted a moment, obviously feeling the need to fill it rather acutely. “Your Grace!” she exclaimed with a large smile. “I cannot thank you enough for the service your son rendered me the other day.”
“Oh?”
The Duchess gave a small lift of her eyebrow, curiosity writ clearly on her face. Elizabeth was even more puzzled – none of this made any sense. It was clear that Blackstone had not told his mother of the incident.
“Yes, he saved my little son from being run down by an oncoming carriage,” Anne continued on unaffectedly. “I am deeply in his debt.”
The Butler, seeming every bit as ancient and proper as the rest of the house, entered the dimly lit room and bowed.
“The master is here, Your Grace.”
“Excellent!” the Duchess said with the first genuine smile Elizabeth had seen all night. She began to warm to the older woman as she turned to the two sisters and said with the air of a proud mother, “I’m so glad that my son had the chance to help you, Lady Carsteade. He has just arrived, earlier than I had expected; so he will be dining with us. Another place setting, please,” she told a nearby footman.
“How lovely!” Anne exclaimed warmly.
The Duchess smiled at Elizabeth. It lit her face, and made her seem warmer, more human. It also showed just how beautiful she must have been in her youth.
“And of course, my son will be happy to see you, Lady Elizabeth.”
Anne looked at Elizabeth with raised eyebrows – but Elizabeth barely had time to dread Blackstone’s imminent arrival when the man himself appeared in the doorway.
He bowed deeply to her, and then Anne, then placed a gentle kiss on his mother’s cheek before taking his seat at the head of the table. Once seated he turned that devastating smile back to Elizabeth.
She felt, instantly, flushed, and quite faint. His eyes caught hers, and she was falling into their deep amber depths.
Anne looked curiously between the two of them, while the Duchess looked unconcerned. Elizabeth tried to be annoyed by his overt familiarity towards her, but instead found herself feeling the tiniest bit flattered that he was so glad to see her.
Even though he has not the slightest chance of winning me back, she assured herself.
Somehow, the dinner passed without incident.
Blackstone and Anne made conversation, while the Duchess ate steadily and composedly, occasionally putting in a word or two. Elizabeth could tell that her older sister was burning with curiosity to know what exactly existed between her and Blackstone – and would no doubt take the opportunity of having Elizabeth trapped in the carriage with her on the way home to question her.
She would deal with that when the time came.
Anne confined her conversation to the weather, and past and upcoming Balls. Eventually she delicately broached the question of where Blackstone had been for the past few years, in a light tone which masked her curiosity.
Elizabeth looked accusingly at Blackstone, for a moment unable to prevent the pain of the past from showing in her expression, but he avoided both Anne’s query and Elizabeth’s eyes.
Anne looked at Elizabeth then - the usually adept socialite was having a difficult time obtaining information from the Duke and his mother, and Elizabeth was ever more certain that she would be in for an intense questioning on the way home.
Once the last course had been removed, they retired to the parlour for a short time, but the conversation became no more personal – and there was only so much one could say about the weather, the paintings on the wall, or the décor of the house.
Soon, they rose to leave, citing the long journey back to Mayfair as a cause for leaving early.
The Duchess and her son bid them farewell with seemingly genuine warmth, but Elizabeth was no closer to understanding the reason for the evening’
s invitation than she had been to start with.
They stepped into the carriage, and the coachman set the horses in motion, proceeding at a steady slow trot, for the carriage lamps barely lit the road ahead, even with the assistance of the relatively full moon.
“That was lovely of the Duchess, wasn’t it, inviting us?” Anne asked casually. As Elizabeth nodded noncommittally, Anne continued with a touch of impatience, “It seemed as though both the Duke and Duchess of Blackstone valued your presence entirely more than mine, though.” Elizabeth shrugged, still silent, and Anne sighed in frustration. “Come, Elizabeth, I’m burning with curiosity! So you were good friends with the Duke, during your Season, as I suspected – is that not true? Perhaps even more than good friends…? Why did you not tell me so? Do you know the Duchess, from that time, as well?”
Elizabeth folded her arms and spoke calmly, even though her heart pounded and she felt not in the least calm inside.
“Can we please not discuss it, Anne?”
Anne looked at her sister in surprise.
“Since when do we hide things from each other?” After a pause, Anne continued resignedly, “Tell me when you like, Elizabeth – but I never imagined that you would keep a secret from me!”
Elizabeth smiled sadly and looked at the dark, moon silvered countryside outside the window.
If only it had worked out.
Chapter Four
Two weeks went by without a note or call from Blackstone, leaving Elizabeth somewhat confused and annoyed with herself for caring at all. At both Lord Foster’s Ball and the dinner with the Duchess, it had seemed as though Blackstone wanted to pick up where they had left off three years ago – but since when had he let a week go by without sending her a note or flowers? Certainly not three years ago.
Elizabeth was tempted to write him off as an incorrigible flirt. She saw him multiple times that week – shopping on Bond Street, walking in the Park, as well as at some afternoon salons and the like. He was his past flirty, carefree self, yet paid special attention to her with sweeping bows, kind words, and lingering glances.
Her Determined Duke: Clean Regency Romance Page 3