by Mia Easton
"Your gown is so beautiful," May said as she carried it to Liz, who had not moved a muscle.
"It is, isn't it?" she managed. It had just been completed by Mrs. Bateman and paid for by Wes, of course. It seemed over and above his obligation for basic maintenance that he felt he owed her, but he had done it. He'd paid for a whole passel of new things. Maybe he was rich and it really didn't matter to him. One subject they had never broached was finances.
This gown was scarlet silk and the neckline was low, just off the shoulder, and edged in delicate white lace. The pleated-lace sleeves were puffy and elbow length. It was incredibly sensuous. May skillfully got the gown over her head, in place, and buttoned with little or no help from Liz, who felt close to passing out from lack of oxygen the entire time. That was because Liz had not asked her to loosen the stays even once. She'd come close but had bitten her tongue each time. Tonight, she was doing it right, kickin' it in eighteenth century style. It was her debut.
"Oh, Miss Elizabeth. You look so lovely."
"Thank you."
May went for the gloves and handed them over. As Liz put one on, there was a quiet knock at the door. "I'll see who that is," May said, starting toward it.
Liz tugged on the second glove as she made her way to the full-length mirror. Peering into it, she saw that her color was high and the gown was even more gorgeous on than off. If only Wes thought she was beautiful. But maybe she'd meet someone else tonight. She clenched her fists and shook her head to ward off the wave of emotion that threatened. Thankfully, May had stepped into the hall, so she hadn't witnessed the lapse of control. Which means it never happened. Liz looked toward the ceiling and worked at taking some calming breaths as best she could in her constraints.
She heard the door shut again. "You seem sad," May commented as she came back toward her.
Elizabeth met May's eyes in the mirror. "A little nervous. That's all. I'll be meeting all sorts of new people."
"You'll be just fine. Mark my words."
"I hope so."
May held out a small box. "I was told to give you this."
Elizabeth turned and looked at it and then up at May. "Just now?"
May nodded.
Elizabeth took it in hand. "Who was it?"
"I bet you can guess."
Elizabeth felt tears threaten and that would not do. She was all ready, damn it. She blew out a slow breath. "Was he rather handsome and has a slight limp?" she asked, trying to sound light.
"Don't know that I'd say rather handsome. And, you know, I don't notice the limp so much anymore."
Liz steeled herself and opened the box. Inside was a ruby teardrop pendant on a thin scarlet colored silk ribbon. He'd gotten it to match her dress. She took a breath and blew it out, waving a hand to stop herself from crying. She shook her head because she was losing the battle.
"It's all right," May said tenderly. She jumped into action, quickly producing a handkerchief. "Think of something funny," she advised. "'Cause you get all red and blotchy lookin', the major gonna take back that fancy necklace."
The teasing helped and Liz felt some control return. She carefully dabbed at the corners of her eyes. May took the box, removed the necklace and set the box aside before putting the necklace around her neck. It was perfect. It completed the look.
May stepped beside her and nodded with satisfaction. "I'll go tell him you said thank you," she said, keeping her tone light. "Then you can tell him better tomorrow."
Liz couldn't speak to thank her; her throat was so tight.
"You're going to be fine tonight," May said with an encouraging smile, reaching over to take hold and squeeze her gloved hand. "You are."
"Thank you, May."
May left Elizabeth's room and saw Major Hale loitering at the end of the hall. She walked toward him and he started toward her. "It looks so pretty on her," May said. "She's very grateful." He smiled tightly and nodded, but she sensed how unhappy he was. It was because of the falling out they'd had several days ago. She'd known it right away from Elizabeth.
May didn't know what else to say, but it felt like there was something she should say. She liked Major Hale, they all did, but she'd grown to love Elizabeth. There was something very different about Elizabeth Gordon that May couldn't put her finger on, but Elizabeth had real, true goodness in her heart. Elizabeth looked at her as if she was an equal. Like her opinion mattered. Like they were honest-to-goodness friends. "She's fragile right at the moment," May ventured carefully. "She's real nervous about tonight."
"She'll do fine."
May nodded. "I told her so, too. But she doesn't know it yet. And she doesn't want to cry," she added meaningfully, stammering a little.
That sunk in and he nodded. "Thank you, May." He glanced at Elizabeth's door longingly and then turned and left.
May sighed. There was something about him tonight that made her ache for him. Surely, he'd figured out that Elizabeth loved him. And, surely, she knew he loved her, too. She turned back toward Elizabeth's room, but she needed to leave her be for now.
Five minutes of slow pacing helped Liz recover her equilibrium. Wes's gift had knocked her for a loop, but she had a big challenge in front of her. That's what she had to concentrate on. Maggie had shared tonight's guest list, so Liz ran through it in her mind as she practiced sitting gracefully and rising again.
"The Reverend and Mrs. Edwin Marsh," she said quietly. She'd been told they were elderly pillars of the community. The Reverend didn't deliver many sermons anymore, but he still engaged in good works. "Mr. and Mrs. Robert Burroughs." Social leaders, dull as whitewash. Liz walked over to the mirror again. She was the image of an eighteenth-century lady. She'd pull this off yet.
She resumed pacing. Six more guests were attending, Miss Daphne Stone and her fiancée, Byron Dannon, Mr. George Lloyd, Mrs. Sarah Beth Acker, Mrs. Olive Washington and her daughter, Susan. Maggie had declared they were all worth meeting.
"It's a good mix, I think," Maggie had mused. "The only two people I have any concern over are Miss Stone and Mr. Lloyd."
"The couple to be married?"
"No. Miss Stone is to be married to Mr. Dannon, but she has had a rather desperate case of infatuation with Wesley. Your Wesley."
Liz blushed at the words. "He is hardly mine," she'd murmured. No matter how much I wish it.
"He didn't return it," Maggie added. "The infatuation, I mean."
He doesn't return mine, either, Liz thought. "What does she look like?"
"She has light hair and a rather angular face. She's thin. Mr. Dannon, her intended, has dark hair and a handlebar mustache. Swarthy features. She looks delicate, and he's a substantial man. But they fit well together. He's very considerate of her. I think he's very much in love with her."
"And Mr. Lloyd? You said you have concerns about him?"
"Yes, more than anyone. He's successful and wealthy. A man of commerce."
Liz didn't understand her consternation.
Maggie glanced around before dropping her voice to explain. "He did not take part, that is to say, he did not fight in the rebellion. He declared himself a patriot and he supplied munitions. That's what his business is, munitions, but—"
"But what?" Liz prodded when Maggie faltered.
"Wes and John Paul dislike him rather intensely, although John Paul hides his disdain better than Wesley. I'm forever reminding them that it's unwise to make enemies of powerful men."
"They dislike him because he didn't fight?"
Maggie shook her head. "There is a rumor," she said slowly. "Only a rumor, mind you, that the man supplied munitions to both sides. It was never proven, but Wesley believes it to be true."
"Oh. I see."
"Wesley has always been deeply passionate about loyalty and the cause of freedom. He lost a good many men under his command."
Liz sighed and nodded. "I understand."
"Let's see," Maggie said, trying to lighten her tone. "Who else haven't I described? Sarah Beth Acker is a war
widow and as interesting as the Burroughs are not."
Liz chuckled.
"And lastly, Mrs. Washington and Susan. John Paul couldn't understand why I invited them and I'm not sure I can say myself, except that I like Susan and she has an infatuation with Mr. Lloyd. She has no dowry to speak of, but he doesn't need one."
"You matchmaker."
"Don't be silly," Maggie rejoined with her eyes twinkling mischievously. "I'm throwing a small dinner party for my husband's cousin. Nothing more."
Maggie had described everyone well. Even before Liz was introduced, she could have named everyone. The only person who surprised her was George Lloyd, and that was because Maggie had failed to mention how handsome he was. He had thick blondish-brown hair, gray-blue eyes, a trim build and wide shoulders. He was also charming and charismatic.
She'd noticed Wes standing back from the throng, sullenly observing everyone, but especially her and George Lloyd. He had not made an effort to speak to her, so she'd made no effort to speak to him. Maggie was also keeping a watchful eye on her, but the reason was to be able to quickly come to her rescue, if needed. Could Wes be depended on to do that? She hoped it wouldn't be necessary, but she couldn't help wondering.
Her cover story was that she was John Paul's second cousin from Wilmington. Liz had frequented the college town and neighboring Wrightsville Beach. It had been less than a four-hour drive from her apartment, but to get there now was a whole different matter. It would take more than a week of hard travel. It was far enough away that most of the guests wouldn't know its citizenry well. So, a simple, "Elizabeth is from Wilmington. Her father is in shipping," would hopefully suffice as an explanation.
The first hour went smoothly. There were enough talkers in the crowd that Liz was able to remain mostly quiet, which she was thankful for. She had two criteria for rating the evening's success. The first was not passing out from a lack of oxygen and the second was not saying or doing anything to embarrass herself or her hosts.
At supper, she was seated in the middle of the table between Wes and Susan Washington and directly across from George Lloyd. She could tell Wes was displeased that he'd been seated next to her. Or was it that she was facing Mr. Lloyd, who was rather blatantly eyeing her from across the table?
"How is your business, Mr. Lloyd?" Miss Washington asked over the first course.
"Excellent, thank you," he replied. "There's always a need for munitions."
"Mr. Lloyd's family runs a munitions company," Susan explained to Liz. She was a petite woman with curly, brownish-red hair and almond shaped brown eyes. Liz had already been told about Lloyd, but she gave Susan a friendly smile before glancing at Lloyd. "I see."
"How do you like our part of the world, Miss Gordon?" Mr. Lloyd asked. His eyes looked slate gray in the candlelight.
"I like it very well, thank you."
"Do you miss the seaside?" Susan asked.
"From time to time, but it's so beautiful here."
"Have you spent much time in Charlotte?" Lloyd asked her.
Not in 1783 Charlotte, she thought. "Not much," she replied.
"There are some worthwhile things to see and do there," he commented. "It's a city, after all."
Wes felt heat inching up his torso. Lloyd, that slimy bastard, was moving in on Elizabeth. His Elizabeth, who wouldn't have even been here except for him!
"Do you like music?" Mr. Lloyd asked Elizabeth. "We have a symphony there."
Wes felt an uncomfortable tightening in his gut, knowing what was coming.
"Have you heard them, Mr. Lloyd?" Susan asked with enthusiasm.
Wes could have kissed Miss Susan Washington.
"Yes," Wes spoke up, determined to take some control in the conversation. "Are they any good?"
"They are," Lloyd replied, addressing it to Miss Washington. "If you enjoy culture," he added, directing it to Wes.
Wes heard the intake of breath from Liz. Was she blushing as she often did? Was she shocked by the animosity between himself and Lloyd? Neither one of them concealed it well.
"You know, Miss Gordon," Mr. Lloyd went on. "For several years now, no one has worn that color you have on tonight." His leaned forward slightly. "The color of the enemy and all," he added in a hushed voice.
Liz felt her mouth go dry. Had she made a mistake? Maggie had seen the fabric before the gown was made and she'd seen her tonight before any of the guests had arrived. Surely, she would have mentioned if it was inappropriate.
"I commend you for it," George Lloyd continued. He smiled, but the warmth of it didn't reach his eyes. "After all, it's high time we all move on and put the past behind us."
Liz had no idea how to respond but she couldn't have anyway. Her breath felt non-existent, so she simply sat there feeling her cheeks glow with heat.
"It's a lovely gown," Susan said next to her. "I was admiring it earlier."
Liz realized Susan had just made an attempt to stand up for her—against the man she was in love with. At least, that's how it felt. No wonder Maggie liked her. "Thank you," she said softly, hoping some of the sincere gratitude she felt was conveyed.
"Oh, it is," Mr. Lloyd agreed. "And you are spectacular in it. My question is," he said, turning his cold gray eyes to Wes, "does it bother you?"
Liz's heart beat dangerously fast and she felt a little dizzy. Don't let me pass out, she prayed. Please don't let me pass out.
"Elizabeth doesn't look anything like the enemy to me," Wes replied smoothly.
Liz felt a heady surge of relief. It was the first time she'd heard him say her name in days and it made her heart do a heavy flip-flop in her chest. "I am very glad to hear that," she said, keeping her voice light and a pleasant smile on her lips, but hoping he would get the barb he'd earned.
"So, Lloyd," Mr. Burroughs asked from the end of table. "What do you hear of that savage uprising?"
Thank God the conversation had made a sharp turn. Liz was more aware than ever of Wes by her side, although he'd gone back to ignoring her.
Elizabeth Gordon is fascinating, George Lloyd thought as they lounged in the salon after the meal. And best of all, for some reason, Major Wesley Hale had strong objections to the two of them hitting it off. George smiled, sipped his port and watched his prey. She moved with grace and spoke with decorum, and yet there was something unconventional about her. It was as if she didn't give a damn about landing a husband. Of course, it was an act. They all cared. It was all they cared about. It's what made them such easy pickings. Still, she gave the impression of not caring. Or was it that she fancied Hale? She wasn't from around here, so perhaps she wasn't aware of what a waste of time and emotion that would prove to be.
His gaze dropped to the bulge of her breasts, then he looked over at Hale and found the great major glaring at him. He smiled slowly. Yes, I was thinking of sucking on those luscious tits. I think I'll do it, too. Just before I sink my cock into her over and over again.
Wes looked away first and then George did, just in time to see that old bat Mrs. Washington coming at him with a smile painted on her lips. No, dear, I have no interest in bedding your mousy little daughter. However, it was time for him to take a wife. Wives helped one's image, which was necessary in politics, and politics were his future. He looked at Elizabeth across the room again. If he could land a wife who was beautiful, exciting and would stick it to the major, that was almost too good a package to pass up.
Chapter 18
By the time the last of the guests finally left, Liz was drained and headachy, but she'd done it. She'd gotten through the evening without a screw up. It ought to have been a time of celebration, but Wes had disappeared again and she felt empty, deserted and depressed as hell.
"You charmed them all, Elizabeth," John Paul said with a smile as he refilled his glass.
"Thank you," she returned quietly. "Is Maggie—"
He turned back to her. "Still seeing the Burroughs off. Cecily Burroughs never knows when to stop blathering on."
"I'm goi
ng to bed."
"We're soon behind you. Charming people is hard work," he said comically.
She smiled. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, cousin."
Elizabeth's steps slowed as she went. Back in her room, she kicked off her shoes and pulled her hair down. Wes was partly responsible for her headache because he was so frustrating. He'd claimed she didn't look like the enemy to him, but that was exactly how he'd treated her.
"Shit," she muttered as she remembered she needed help to undress. That was yet another thing that was frustrating as hell. She pressed in at the bridge of her nose, trying to ward off tears before they started. It was no use. They fell anyway and she angrily wiped them away. Just admit it, Lizzy, you're in love with him but he does not love you. Admit it and then get over it. Life goes on.
It was true. Painfully, fucking true. It was time to move on. If she was stuck here, and she was, then she had to come up with a plan for her life, a plan that did not include Wesley Hale or being harbored out of obligation. She didn't want his obligation. What she wanted was a stiff drink. She'd consumed little alcohol that evening, afraid of making a blunder. So that's what she'd do. She'd go back downstairs and pour herself a hefty drink and then call for May to help her undress. And damned if she'd put her shoes back on, either.
She went to the door, flung it open and came face to face with Wes. For a second, they were close enough that she felt his body heat. Then they both pulled back and started speaking at once, although neither got out more than an unintelligible "I, ah—" before clamming up again.
Wes felt certain he'd been a picture of despair, standing at her door. He'd only stopped for a moment, wishing he could talk to her but too proud to actually do anything about it. "I didn't mean to disturb you," he said stiffly.
Her chin shot up and her eyes shot green fire. "I'm not disturbed. Why would you think I'm disturbed?"
Her words sounded defensive and she'd been crying. "I wanted to tell you that you did well tonight. You impressed everyone with your grace. And your beauty, of course."