“Elizabeth wouldn’t dream of provoking gossip, would you Elizabeth?” Mrs. Armistead urged as she turned to her daughter, her eyebrows raised high above her spectacles.
“Of course not,” Elizabeth replied in mild tones she did not feel. She couldn’t say why, exactly, it vexed her so much that her mother was in agreement with her sister-in-law unless it was that it happened so very rarely. “However, it is rather distressing to be chastised for my intrepid nature when it was praised only a few days since. I suppose it was due to the company we were keeping while at the home of Mr. Lloyd-Jones; doubtless you wished to present me in the best light.”
“But of course I did. You are so much more than your beauty, my dear, and I wish all to perceive it,” her mother soothed.
Elizabeth felt her mother’s attempts to be of no consequence; Mr. Lloyd-Jones was as incapable of seeing past her outward appearance as every other man she had met, save her father and, of course, her betrothed. At first she had believed Mr. Lloyd-Jones to be different, but then he had looked at her with such naked admiration in his eyes and she knew that he was as caught up in her outward appearance as any other. She felt astonished by the keen sense of disappointment she felt upon the realization of the truth.
“Elizabeth, see here, the music has stopped and Lord Northrup approaches to ask you to dance after all!” Aunt Augusta enthused. “I cannot imagine why he hasn’t worked up the courage to do so until now. If only you had allowed me to introduce you to him, you might have been dancing all the evening.”
“Aunt Augusta, I am in your debt, but I do believe you have forgotten that I have come to London to make preparations for a wedding, not to find a husband.”
“Oh, pshaw!” her aunt insisted with a deft unfurling of her fan.
Lord Northrup was now upon them and, to Elizabeth’s dismay there was no escaping the following introductions. She assigned herself high marks for her forbearance, as well as a perfectly executed bow, but from the moment he took her in his arms and whirled her away to the strains of a waltz she made no attempt to charm him. She had been admired by more men than she could count, all of whom bore the same stunned expression on his face as the young earl. It was an expression she loathed, just as she loathed the hypocrisy of those who professed to love her, but only wished to possess her beauty.
In spite of the heat of India, she longed to go home, longed for the safety of a society that considered her no longer on the Marriage Mart. She had been born and raised in Bengal, yet she found her nature was far more inclined towards the atmospheric conditions of England. She had vastly enjoyed spending time in London during the course of her season four years prior and often wondered if her attraction to her betrothed was as much due to his very Englishness as it was his other qualities. The fact that his home was in Scotland and they would repair to Edinburgh directly after the wedding was an eventuality to which she looked forward with great anticipation. And yet, she longed for what she had left behind.
Lord Northrup cleared his throat. “What a brown study, Miss Armistead! Of what are you thinking, might I ask?”
“But, of course you might ask, my lord. However, I fear the answer isn’t terribly diverting.”
“No doubt one as enchanting as yourself is possessed of nothing but thoughts equally so.”
“Very well, if you insist; I was thinking on my modiste appointment on the morrow.” She inclined her head. “Pray tell, does that enchant as expected?”
“Yes, indeed!” he replied with relish, the spots on his cheeks turning white against his reddening skin. “Though I can’t envisage how a new gown might possibly improve your appearance one whit.”
“If you say so, but I am persuaded the opinion of my betrothed will differ when I don my new gown for our wedding.”
His face turned red to the roots of his hair, most likely due to the fact that he had taken a deep breath which he held between his enlarged cheeks.
“Lord Northrup, you mustn’t take on, so. Your petulance very well may be observed by any number of young ladies, all of them currently most eager to be courted by you,” she said with a kind smile.
“Not one of them can hope to outshine you,” he blurted out on a gust of air. “You are the most beautiful girl in the room!”
“If you say so,” she replied tonelessly. “However, let us speak of you. I imagine that your mother, on any number of occasions, has led you to believe you deserve the very best of everything. And who is to say she is wrong? Certainly not I. However, I am persuaded you ought to pursue a younger lady if it is marriage you are considering.” Elizabeth peered about the room, her gaze coming to rest on a very sweet-looking debutante with masses of dark hair, and a pair of fine gray eyes. “Why, I believe she will do very nicely. You must ask her to dance the next set,” Elizabeth insisted as she inclined her head in the direction of the dark-haired ingénue.
Lord Northrup turned his head in the direction Elizabeth indicated and grimaced. “By that you would mean Miss Analisa Lloyd-Jones. She is fair enough, I suppose.”
“Miss Lloyd-Jones; but of course!” Elizabeth wished to pose a dozen impolite questions of Lord Northrup, every one of them concerning Mr. Lloyd-Jones, but she managed to tamp down her desire. “She seems utterly charming.”
“Perhaps, but she is just out of the schoolroom. I don’t trail after children, I would have you know,” he insisted with a fractious air.
“And you left . . ?”
“Eton,” he supplied readily enough.
“How long ago?”
Lord Northrup had the presence of mind to hang his head. “I have only just taken my final exams. M’ father promises he shall send me to the Continent for my grand tour when the season is up and says that I shall come home a man,” he added, his former bravado returned in full.
“Miss Lloyd-Jones isn’t likely to wait on you,” Elizabeth noted as she watched the two gentlemen who even now fluttered about the girl like a pair of butterflies.
Lord Northrup followed her gaze and uttered a grunt. “He would never allow such if he were here to see.”
“He?” she asked, tantalized.
“Her brother, of course. I have never laid eyes on her except when he was hovering around her like a suit of armor.”
“In that case, it is passing strange that he is not in attendance,” Elizabeth mused.
“I can’t think why he should miss one of his sister’s very first balls but, as you can see, he is not present.”
It was then that Elizabeth remembered Mr. Lloyd-Jones’ claim to have given up the entertainments of the season. She had thought it a polite fiction but perhaps she was mistaken. Whether it was the truth or he stayed away to reinforce the lie, she found it intriguing. Once a man had looked at her the way Mr. Lloyd-Jones had, there was no being shed of him. And yet, he was not present, in spite of his sister’s circumstances. She found the idea vastly pleasant and a vision of his exceptionally light gray eyes, heavily fringed with dusky lashes, would rise, unbidden, into her mind.
“Am I wrong to presume his absence to be singular?”
“Yes, it is. It was just a fortnight ago that he was seen out and about with his intended, Miss Cecily Ponsonby.”
“How very intriguing.” Elizabeth was grateful to be finally provided with Mr. Lloyd-Jones’ marital status. However, she declined to share her thoughts on his character, a silent narrative that was less than kind. A man who squired his betrothed about in public only to so openly admire another lady in private was nothing but a cad.
“It is not nearly as interesting as what happened the next morning,” Lord Northrup said in conspiratorial tones.
“Do refrain from sharing the details, Lord Northrup. I am persuaded they can’t be meant for a lady’s ears,” Elizabeth chided gently.
“How did you know?” he breathed.
“Whatever can you mean, my lord?”
“Don’t play coy with me,” he said, straightening to his full height. “Of course you have already heard it
elsewhere. What does a woman have to do all day but pay calls and blether on about who has done what?”
“Why, you . . !” Elizabeth began, then thought better of it. She had no wish to suffer the same public and humiliating fate as Miss Delacourt. Taking a deep breath, she changed tack. “Lord Northrup, as I have already stated, I have no desire to hear your piece of news. Now, might we go on to discuss something more suitable?”
Lord Northrup accommodated her wish by remaining utterly silent for the remainder of the set. Elizabeth had danced with many young men, some more junior than her current partner, but could not recall when she had been treated with such childishness. It was with a mutual sense of deliverance that they parted ways and she found herself once again under the auspices of her aunt.
“Now, there, Elizabeth, that was not too painful, was it?” Aunt Augusta twitted her.
“I may truthfully say, Aunt, that despite his extreme youth and inexperience, he did not tread on my toes even the once,” Elizabeth demurred.
“Well,” her aunt purred in approval, “he is young, barely out of his books. The waltz has only been fashionable for a season. He must have had lessons. You doubtless gave him some much needed confidence, as well as something to boast about to his little friends.”
“Little, indeed,” Elizabeth murmured before turning to her mother and asking after Miss Hale.
“Why, Miss Hale has proven extremely popular. She has danced every set and more than once with at least two young men,” Mrs. Armistead reported, her face beaming.
“Mama, you can’t be serious. That will never do,” Elizabeth chided.
“I did so try to warn her,” her aunt said airily before turning her nose into the air.
“Why, Elizabeth, what is there in that to trouble us? It isn’t as if she is going to form an attachment to either of them; we are off to India again in a month’s time. Any unsavory reputation she might gain in London isn’t likely to follow her there.”
“I suppose you are correct, as long as she isn’t seen as too fast. Those are the sort of girls who find themselves in difficult circumstances. She will be hard-pressed to find a husband, then, officer or no,” Elizabeth pointed out.
“That does remind me! Your Aunt Augusta has, just moments ago, shared with me a delectable tidbit about our Mr. Lloyd-Jones!”
“If you are referring to his betrothal to Miss Ponsonby, whoever she might be, I have heard tell of it.”
“No! That isn’t it. That is to say, it does have something to say to it, however, the interesting portion has to do with his crying off.”
“Hortense,” Aunt Augusta chimed in, “I relayed that news in the strictest of confidences!”
“Yes, I know, dearest Augusta, but I hadn’t thought you meant I shouldn’t share it with my own daughter. With whom shall Elizabeth discuss it, pray tell?”
Aunt Augusta merely snorted and turned away, waving her fan as if ridding herself of a foul odor.
“At any rate, Elizabeth, is it not the most outrageous thing? Whoever heard of a man crying off from a betrothal? She mustn’t have been as good as she should have been or he would not have dared.”
Elizabeth thought of the man she had met and owned that it was likely he had a very good reason to break off his engagement to Miss Ponsonby. He seemed far too full of rectitude to take any action that would needlessly harm the young lady, therefore, it must have been he who was wronged. It was clear that he was the talk of the ton, and Elizabeth felt it a small wonder that he was unwilling to appear in company.
“Well, Elizabeth, what have you to say to that?” her mother demanded.
“That he is perhaps not the cad I first thought him,” she replied.
“Cad? Of course not! Augusta has just been informing me of how he is the most eligible bachelor on the town! That is to say, he along with his bosom beau, Sir Anthony Crenshaw. I am persuaded that was he with Mr. Lloyd-Jones when we were nearly run over as we entered the milliner’s the other day.”
“Yes, Mama, I remember.” Sir Anthony, if it were he, was indeed a handsome man, but he appeared to be a bit of a peacock. Elizabeth found Mr. Lloyd-Jones’ quieter dress and manner far more appealing. He was older than her betrothed and seemed to exude a purity of manliness and sophistication that could not fail to attract.
“But of course you remember! How could one forget two such fine gentlemen?” her mother exclaimed. “And the other night, Mr. Lloyd-Jones was the perfect host and his home so inviting!”
“You have been inside Mr. Lloyd-Jones’ home?” Aunt Augusta demanded.
“Yes, we have done, and he was all that is lovely,” Elizabeth’s mother continued. “One of our team threw a shoe in the street directly in front of his house and he was so good as to allow us to warm our hands at his fire whilst a new shoe could be produced.”
“Directly in front of his house,” Aunt Augusta echoed, her face turning pale.
“It truly was pure happenstance,” Elizabeth hastened to assure her aunt. “We were none of us attempting to scrape up an acquaintance, I do assure you.”
“It hardly matters what I think,” Aunt Augusta insisted. “It is what he believes to be true that could very well turn the tide of opinion against you. Well,” she said as she fanned the heat of shame from her face, “there is naught to be done about it, now. It is well, indeed, that you are not on the hunt for a husband, Elizabeth, as none shall give you a second glance once word of this gets out.”
“It’s been days, already, Augusta,” Mrs. Armistead replied, “and though Elizabeth has not danced overmuch, Miss Hale has proven to be quite popular. If word were to get out, it should have been out already. I am persuaded such a gentleman as Mr. Lloyd-Jones shall continue to refrain from repeating the details of our visit to anyone whose opinion matters in the least.”
“Let us hope you are correct,” her sister-in-law said with a huff. “I am not accustomed to championing gels who make cakes of themselves.”
“Aunt Augusta, once again, though I am grateful for your sponsorship, I haven’t the need of it. I am only here tonight at Mama’s behest. I could spend our entire holiday in London without another waltz and should happily forfeit any number of parties for the chance to walk through the park in the cool of an evening.”
“That is all very well and fine, young lady, but you might, even now, be long married if you hadn’t hampered the success of your own come-out when you were last in London,” Elizabeth’s aunt carped.
“What is this about?” Elizabeth’s mother asked, her eyes round with curiosity.
“It is nothing, Mama, only that I did not put myself out to seduce a man I did not love into offering for me.”
“Men, Elizabeth. Not man; men,” Aunt Augusta pressed. “You could have had any one of them if only you hadn’t chosen bonnets of a hue that made you look dyspeptic and gowns that hid your figure rather than flatter it, not to mention that hideous coiffure that all but obscured your face.”
“If my actions indicated a degree of ingratitude, it is a sensibility I did not feel, Aunt, and I must beg your pardon for it. I was young and desired nothing more than to be admired for anything other than my beauty. Of what use is beauty when it has flown? What is there to attach a husband if he is so satisfied with my outward appearance that he has never looked beyond it?”
“Well, that is neither here nor there, but might you make a reasonable attempt to put your best foot forward this time, if only to be a credit to your aunt?” Aunt Augusta queried.
Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. “I vow to do my best not to disgrace you.”
“There, then, that will do very nicely. I expect this means you shall attend the Green’s do two evenings hence?”
“Augusta, you very well know we intend to attend the Green’s do, as we do all the others,” Mrs. Armistead averred.
“I presume this means Elizabeth shall begin to make her good intentions known immediately,” Aunt Augusta said. “She may start by refraining from insulting her dancin
g partners. And before you refute it, Elizabeth, I am persuaded Lord Northrup’s excellent impression of a blowfish was due, entirely, to something you said in his hearing.”
Elizabeth wished to show her resentment but dared not. “You are quite correct, Aunt, but his indignation was due, entirely,” she said, hoping this slight dig would sail past her mother’s comprehension, “to his learning that I am already betrothed.”
Aunt Augusta had the grace to look a bit discomfited, but this fit of compunction quickly passed. “Perhaps it would be wise to keep that piece of news to yourself. I should dearly love for you to make a sensation in society, the one you have long been due,” she added as her severe frown softened into a tiny smile.
There was little Elizabeth wished for less than to make a sensation in society, but she owned that she owed much to her aunt for her sponsorship during Elizabeth’s come-out four years prior. How to avoid one and fulfill the other was a puzzle she determined to chew on at length when she had some time to herself. If only she might talk it over with Duncan; he would know how to proceed. Either that or he would merely laugh and wave it all away, causing Elizabeth’s fears to melt into nothingness. Only one more month and he would arrive and they could be married. Naught else mattered.
Chapter Three
Colin squinted at the missive in his hand and read it over a second time. He believed it to say that Tony was to fob off their planned boxing match in favor of tooling his curricle into the country with a young lady as companion. Surely, that could not be right. It wasn’t like Tony to break a solemn vow, at least not so soon after its initiation.
Colin turned the letter over in his hands and read it yet again. Tony’s explanation that the journey was to be undertaken at the behest of his grandmama did little to assuage Colin’s ire. He had had the dubious pleasure of meeting Tony’s grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Marcross, on more than one occasion. There was nothing dubious as to his feelings on each and every occasion thereafter. At worst, she treated her grandson as she might a servant, at best, a sycophant who had nothing better with which to fill his time than to carry out her every whim.
Miss Armistead Makes Her Choice Page 3