Mercy's Embrace_Elizabeth Elliot's Story [Book 3]

by Laura Hile

  The crowded room felt oddly cold; voices took on a hollow sound. How wretched it was to be alone! And how would she be received? Would she be welcomed or openly snubbed?

  Her ladyship turned, and as soon as she caught sight of Elizabeth, the friendly shine disappeared from her eyes. “Good evening,” she said politely—and nothing more.

  “Elizabeth Elliot, my lady,” Elizabeth hastened to say, and made her curtsey. Her smile felt stiff and forced.

  Her ladyship blinked. “Ah yes. Miss Elliot.” Her voice was decidedly cool. “How good of you to come.”

  “Why, Miss Elliot.” It was a man who said this; his voice was reedy and unpleasant—and all too familiar to Elizabeth. Hating herself—and him!—she turned her gaze in his direction.

  Sir Henry Farley looked her over. “My, my,” he said. “You are a brave girl.” Elizabeth noted that he did not smile.

  There was a small silence. “Have you come alone, Miss Elliot?”

  Elizabeth could feel the disapproval in Lady Buxted-Heighton’s voice; her heart sank. For surely there was more to come!

  Just then a hand closed around Elizabeth’s elbow, and a voice said cheerfully, “And what am I, your ladyship?”

  Lady Buxted-Heighton’s face underwent a change. “Why,” she cried, “how lovely!” She turned to her daughter. “You see, my dear? He did come!”

  ~ ~ ~

  The final notes of the overture swelled to a crescendo, the curtain came up, and Sir Walter Elliot joined the others in polite applause. A tenor dressed as an Italian soldier came out and began his aria. Sir Walter Elliot smiled into the darkness. Although it was a noble art, he did not care much for opera. What he adored was the elegance of the opera house. He transferred his gaze from the stage to the rows of tiered boxes. Such a place to see and be seen!

  His companions, however, were opera enthusiasts, and they were very pleased about the sudden change in plans. The captain had been most apologetic when he’d announced the delay, but Sir Walter thought it was wonderful. Immediately he set out to make the best of a bad situation. At his suggestion, he and his new acquaintances were at the opera.

  Tenderly he stroked the fabric of his waistcoat. It was a very good thing that he had brought this along, not to mention the rest of his fine evening attire. Why, if he had listened to Amanda Russell’s advice, he would have packed only his oldest, scruffiest things! He stole a look at Lady Sarah, who sat beside him. Had she noticed how well he looked tonight? He hoped so.

  However, Sir Walter could not long remain annoyed with Amanda Russell. She had, after all, performed the office of a true friend when she rescued him from that bailiff. She had paid money too—a trifling amount, to be sure. And he would offer to repay it when next he saw her, although who knew when that would be?

  Over the years he had extended much hospitality—many meals and much valuable advice—to Amanda Russell. She, being a good friend, would certainly refuse payment. What were a few pounds between friends? It was not as if she needed the money. Everyone knew Lady Russell’s late husband left her very well provided for.

  She had also made a generous present to him in the form of a letter of credit, along with a stack of sovereigns. No doubt these would salve her conscience for deserting him. Sir Walter had heard of people who were unable to face the rigors of the sea. Lady Russell was probably one of them.

  Who would have guessed that she was a coward? Or such a worrier? Until recently, he did not realize how she fretted over everything. To listen to her, one would think he’d be clapped in irons if he remained anywhere in England!

  Such behaviour only went to show what fear could do. Why, he had been walking about Mayfair openly and so far nothing had happened.

  Sir Walter drew a long breath and slowly let it out. “I am ready to take in the blessings of this abundant universe,” he told himself silently, repeating the words Mr. Savoy had made him memorize. “I cannot deny who I am. I am in no way obliged to lead a monotonous existence.” He puffed out his chest a little as the music swelled around him.

  Under cover of darkness, he stole another look at Lady Sarah’s lovely face. Her eyes were fixed on the stage, and she was smiling. Sir Walter Elliot smiled too. Yes, things were definitely looking up.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Miss Elliot was so pleased to receive your kind invitation,” Admiral McGillvary told Lady Buxted-Heighton. “And so, here we are.” He took her gloved hand and gallantly kissed it. She beamed at him.

  Elizabeth looked from one to the other, scarcely able to believe her eyes. What was Patrick McGillvary doing here? From the response of their hostess, his appearance tonight was a feather in her cap.

  Elizabeth’s senses were reeling. Faintly she recalled the man behind her in the queue. Was he Patrick McGillvary? Had he been standing there all this time? Just how much of her exchange with William Elliot had he overheard?

  And then she noticed Lady Buxted-Heighton’s expectant look. She mustn’t stand like stock; she must speak! “My godmother was called out of Bath unexpectedly,” Elizabeth managed to say. “And I—”

  “And that’s where I come in,” supplied McGillvary.

  Her ladyship opened her eyes at him. “You are acting as godmother?”

  McGillvary gave Elizabeth a laughing look. ‘Hardly that, ma’am,” he said with a wink. He went on to greet the daughter, while propelling Elizabeth along.

  “Hello, Farley,” he said as they passed. To Elizabeth’s astonishment he added, “What a brave boy you are.”

  So he had heard everything! “You have some nerve,” she whispered, as soon as they were out of earshot.

  He smiled. “It’s time I secured the battery.”

  Here was more of his horrid naval cant, but Elizabeth was too flustered to ask for an explanation. He did not release his hold on her elbow but steered her firmly toward the ballroom. Because they were being watched, she dared not pull away.

  “What takes your godmother from Bath?” he said conversationally.

  Elizabeth discovered that her mouth was suddenly dry.

  “And where are your jewels?” he continued. “I returned them to Wentworth yesterday evening.”

  “Oh please,” she said, finding her voice. “My cousin has already remarked their absence. He assures me, however, that I look charmingly without them.” She turned to adjust her evening wrap, hoping to hide her flushed face. “Horrid man,” she added.

  He smiled down at her. “I quite agree. Did you give him a scold?”

  “Rather.”

  “Did you give as good as you got?”

  Elizabeth was betrayed into a smile. “A dignified silence,” she confided, “is sometimes the best answer.”

  He responded by propelling her away from the crowd and into the deserted card room. “I believe I have the remedy to your dilemma.”

  From his coat pocket McGillvary drew a velvet-covered case. “You left this behind the other day. My half-brother is not a reliable guardian for jewellery.”

  12 Round About!

  Elizabeth knew she ought to return the case. Then again, she knew she ought to run away, for this man was not to be trusted! But she could not seem to help herself. Slowly she lifted the lid. Inside was her mother’s emerald pendant.

  “Ronan did not take this from me, sir,” she said slowly. “I gave it to him.” She saw the flash of amusement in his eyes—so familiar. “Your brother,” she went on, “was behaving in the most tiresome way.”

  “There is nothing new in that.”

  This remark and she smile that went with it were too much. Elizabeth knew she ought to guard her tongue, but the pull of habit worked against her. “He was looking for something on your desk,” she confided. “Money, I think it was.”

  “Did he find the bank draft?”

  “Yes.” Elizabeth felt herself flush. “I did not know how to be rid of him! Fortunately, this is worthless or very near. The diamonds might be real, I don’t know. My father had the stone replaced with paste.”r />
  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I am sure! Do you think I know nothing about jewels?”

  He shrugged. “Ronan obviously didn’t.”

  “Yes, I was counting on that. How odious you are to stand there laughing at me. Here, I’ll prove it.” She looked about. “I need light.”

  McGillvary indicated a table lamp. “Do you carry a jeweller’s loupe?” he marveled, guiding her to it. “Are you planning to win back your fortune at cards?”

  “If I were not inclined to cheat,” she flashed, “I would.”

  “The temptation,” he murmured, “must be irresistible.”

  Elizabeth threw him a look and removed the coloured shade. She adjusted the flame and held the pendant to the light. “Now then,” she said, “if you look carefully, you will see the largest of the bubbles.” She looked up. “When one uses a magnifying lens, it is huge.”

  He made no move to take the pendant from her. His eyes were dancing in their old familiar way. “You knew this was a counterfeit,” he said, smiling, “and so you deliberately gave it to my brother.”

  Elizabeth squinted at the stone. “I know it’s here somewhere,” she murmured.

  “And Ronan, being the money-grubbing sapskull that he is, trotted off to sell it. You should have seen the look on his face when he returned to the house. It was priceless.”

  Elizabeth was frowning in earnest. “Half a moment,” she said. “The colour’s all wrong.” She looked swiftly at him. “This is supposed to be a dark bottle-green.”

  He looked amused. “Bottle-green is not the proper color for an emerald.”

  “I know that, but this should be. It was when I gave it to your brother.”

  “Let me put it on for you,” he offered. “You won’t be able to dance with it in your hand.”

  Elizabeth now noticed that a gold chain hung from the pendant. Where did that come from? She looked from it to him. “What have you done?” she demanded. “This isn’t glass. It’s real!”

  He merely laughed and took possession of it. “Turn round,” he said.

  “Patrick, no,” she protested. “I cannot accept—”

  He tossed his gloves aside and looped the chain around her throat. “It appears that you already have. Moreover, you told Ronan that I gave it to you.”

  “I told him nothing of the kind! He assumed it. He assumed—several things about me.” She turned away to hide her blushes.

  “Hold still,” he said, opening the tiny clasp. “Who gave this to you, since I did not?”

  “It belonged to my mother.” Her voice sounded odd and no wonder! “I cannot accept this,” she said again.

  “There.” He took hold of her shoulders and turned her around.

  Elizabeth fingered the pendant tentatively. “This is madness,” she said. “If my father finds out, he will only sell it again.”

  “Then we will not let him find out.”

  Against her will, Elizabeth raised her eyes to his.

  “Did your father give this to your mother?” he said gently.

  She swallowed. “No,” she said. “My grandfather did—my mother’s father. My father did not give gifts of that kind.”

  His hands remained on her shoulders; the sounds of the ball died away. Elizabeth willed herself to turn from him, to take her eyes from his, but she could not. He drew nearer.

  “Elizabeth,” he said softly. She felt his bare fingers move to caress her neck. She closed her eyes. Her senses were swimming.

  And then someone coughed loudly. She felt him stiffen. “What now?” he muttered, without turning to see.

  “There you are,” a voice said. “Lady B-H told me you’d be here.”

  She saw Patrick grimace, casting his gaze at the ceiling. This was a gesture she knew too well.

  The speaker clicked his tongue. “But I know you,” he said. “The Lady in Distress.” Ronan McGillvary stood in the doorway. His cheek, Elizabeth noticed, was disfigured by a red welt. She looked uneasily to Patrick. Was he responsible for this?

  McGillvary took a breath and slowly let it out. He released his hold on her. “This had better be important, Ronan,” he said warningly.

  Ronan shifted his stance. “Oh, it is,” he said. “But then, everything I say is important.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake,” Patrick sputtered. “Must you wear your sword everywhere you go?”

  Ronan’s head came up. “A fair lady in distress might need me.”

  “One never knows,” McGillvary agreed. “Once you learn to walk properly while wearing one, you might manage not to trip her with it.”

  “I know how to use a sword,” Ronan snarled. “Signore Giuseppe assures me that I am a master at the craft.”

  “Signore Giuseppe is well-paid to air that opinion.”

  Ronan twirled the end of one of his moustaches. “An ancient art of which you know nothing.”

  “In matters of that kind I prefer a more down-to-earth approach. Do be careful how you sit with that. It is the sitting that is the real mark of the man.” McGillvary reached to take his gloves from the table. “What is it you wished to say to me?”

  Ronan’s stance became more rigid. “I wish to inform you that I am leaving in the morning.”

  “Excellent. And?”

  Ronan raised his voice. “And I expect the bank draft to be ready when I depart.”

  “You will be waiting until Hades freezes over, my dear. I am not about to change my mind. You receive a generous allowance. I suggest you learn to live within it.”

  Ronan stood uncertainly, puffing his cheeks in and out. At last he said, “I would like my dog back. I hold you responsible for his disappearance.”

  McGillvary gave a snort of derision. “You come to my home, uninvited with your mangy cur in tow, and you have the nerve to blame me when he runs away? Take yourself off, Ronan. Find the animal yourself.”

  “Never!” Ronan snapped. He put a hand to the hilt of his sword.

  “Very well, we will save you the trouble of leaving. Come, Miss Elliot. The dance floor awaits.”

  “But—!” Ronan put a hand to his sword hilt.

  “But—!” Elizabeth put a hand to her pendant.

  Strong hands propelled Elizabeth toward the door. “Money,” McGillvary muttered into her ear, as he steered her through the crowd. “Always with him it’s money.”

  Elizabeth had to smile. “Now where have I heard that before?”

  He laughed, and Elizabeth’s heart gave a jump. How she missed this man’s easy laughter! There was a time she thought she might never see him again, and yet …

  His hand shifted from the small of her back to her waist. Elizabeth did not protest. Admiral McGillvary was dangerous; she knew that. But to be sought out and protected by him, even if it were only for this one night, was delicious.

  ~ ~ ~

  Amanda Russell glanced across her seatmate to the window. Although it was dark, she knew that dust from the road was everywhere. It was better, somehow not to see it. The Mail coach’s interior was illuminated by a small lamp, which flickered with every bump in the road. Lady Russell closed her eyes. It was better if she could not see her fellow passengers.

  The dark of night meant that the coach was at the mercy of robbers—or bridle-culls, as the fellow in the seat opposite called them—and there had been much discussion on this subject. Amanda Russell was past caring. Her back hurt, her legs hurt—and the coach was so ill-sprung that even her teeth hurt. It felt like she had been rattling along dusty roads for a year! When had she left London? Yesterday morning?

  No, it was this morning. Bath was still a long way off, but although the coach was horrid, she had reasons to be grateful. She was on her way home—if Bath could be called such—and she was rid of her scheme to marry Sir Walter. By now he was likely in the middle of the English Channel. Someone else would have to put up with his whims and eccentricities. She had to give him credit, however, for taking her explanation in stride. He re
leased her from their engagement without as much as a murmur.

  In situations such as this, breeding did show. Sir Walter might need managing, but his manners were flawless. Leaving him with the purse certainly did not do him any harm! But she was past caring about the expense. If only she could find Longwell, all would be well.

  The coach gave a mighty jolt and there were shouts from the outside passengers. Lady Russell scarcely heard. She continued with her calculations, counting the hours on gloved fingers that were none too clean. The coachman said it was possible to reach Bath by tomorrow evening. She prayed that Longwell would have the sense to remain in Bath until then.

  The coach came round a bend and the horses slowed abruptly. There were more shouts from above and the sound of the brake. The coach came to a halt.

  Passengers stirred. “Have we reached the next coaching inn?” one of them wondered aloud. But this could not be so, for there were no lights. Apparently they were in the middle of nowhere. Lady Russell was too worn to enter into the speculation. She leaned against the back of the seat and kept her eyes closed.

  One of the men let down the window. “What’s to do?” he shouted. There was no answer.

  Lady Russell opened her eyes. Now a seasoned traveler, she untied her reticule and fished out a coin. She gave this to the man. “Ask one of the coachman’s boys,” she suggested.

  “It’s a wreck,” she heard someone say.

  The boy, who came running at the sight of the coin, was more specific.

  “There’s a coach smashed in the ditch yonder,” he said, while pocketing the coin. Mr. Sopworthy says it’s no accident. And,” he added, “it’s at a bend in the road, see?” He pointed. “Proper hiding spot, that coppice is. Happen there’s hedge birds hid there, waiting for us!”

  Hedge birds?

  Everyone began to speak. “Footpads!” someone said.

  “Highwaymen!”

  “Bridle-culls!”

  The boy was sent off to gather more news. He came back at once and was rewarded with a second coin. “It’s the Mail,” he announced in ominous tones. “The westbound one. Busted to smithereens, it is.”