by Laura Hile
Spurlock was in a jovial mood. “I have not yet met your sister,” he told Mrs. Wentworth, “but she is reputed to be a beauty. Tardiness, as you know, is entirely excusable in a beautiful woman.”
McGillvary rolled his eyes at Spurlock’s gaffe. Didn’t he know better than to praise one woman to another? Mrs. Wentworth appeared not to notice. Her placid expression did not change.
Presently McGillvary detached himself and wandered to the far end of the drawing room to converse with Wentworth and Croft. They were soon joined by Captain Yates, who launched into a tale of a raid he’d made near St. Malto several years ago.
McGillvary stifled a yawn and checked the clock. Elizabeth should have been here by now. The guests were occupied and the drawing room door was open. He glanced to his companions, who were engrossed in Yates’s story. McGillvary smiled a little.
If the mountain will not come to Mahomet …
Soon he was ascending the stairs to the upper level of the house. He walked quietly along the passageway, while studying each of the closed doors. Which one led to Elizabeth’s bedchamber? And then he noticed a pair of women’s shoes—red kidskin with beadwork. McGillvary’s smile widened, for he remembered these shoes. At a concert, his clasp knife had removed one of the tassels.
He stood before the door, debating. His next move could prove to be quite interesting.
And then he realized that there was nothing to decide. He rapped smartly on the door, turned the handle, and pushed. “Good evening,” he said and strolled in.
18 Hail and Farewell
Elizabeth was seated at the dressing table when McGillvary came in. She and her maid turned round, and Elizabeth gasped. “What are you doing here?” she cried.
He bowed and held out the shoes. “Are you waiting for these, Miss Elliot?” he enquired, smiling. “I used to be a dab hand with the polish.”
“You must leave at once!”
“Mrs. Wentworth is ready to go in to dinner,” he told her. “I thought I’d see if you needed a hand.”
“If I needed a—oh!” cried Elizabeth. “I need nothing! And you are a barbarian.”
“So I’ve been told. By you, I think.”
The maid had been placing pins in Elizabeth’s hair. McGillvary strolled forward and took them from her. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll take it from here.”
“Elise,” protested Elizabeth. “I demand that you remain.”
The maid looked from one to the other. Elizabeth blushed more hotly, and McGillvary gave her his most charming smile. “Off you go,” he said and held open the door. She went out, and he took her place behind Elizabeth. “Your hair is beautiful tonight,” he remarked.
Elizabeth made a grab for the hairpins, but he held them out of reach. “Leave the lower curls as they are,” he suggested. “They are lovely against your neck.”
“They are not! They make me look like my grandmother’s portrait.”
He considered this. “Have you any powder handy?”
“Oh!” she cried. “Go away.”
“Not without you, my dear.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. “I wish you would not call me that. And you should not be here.”
“Yes, I know.” He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her skin was soft and warm, and what was more, she did not flinch at his touch. “I see you are wearing your necklace,” he said.
“I have no choice. I …” Elizabeth paused, looking up at him. “It is the wrong colour for this gown. My sister informs me that I resemble a circus performer.”
Both of his brows went up. “Wentworth’s wife said this? I didn’t think she had it in her.”
Elizabeth sighed. “My other sister. Mary.”
“I beg to differ with Mary, for you are lovely. But,” he added, “if you’d prefer to change this dress for another, I won’t object.” He bit back a grin. “I am a dab hand with buttons, too.”
“What a wretched man you are.”
“Yes,” he said softly, and he knelt beside her chair. “I am wretched. Will you have me anyway?”
“How can you be so—” She shot him a quick glance and, after another sigh, turned her eyes away.
McGillvary reached to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear. “I see that you now have both earrings. Although how one came to be on the floor of my bedchamber …” He paused, hoping for a comment.
Elizabeth drew an uneven breath. “We ought to go down now,” she said uncertainly. “May I have my shoes, please?”
She wore no gloves; as he helped her to rise his bare hand closed over hers. There was a branch of candles burning on the dressing table. “We’d best blow these out,” he suggested, caressing her hand with his fingers. She raised her eyes to his; he drew nearer.
“The candles,” she repeated.
As McGillvary bent to extinguish them he caught sight of something in the looking glass. Frowning, he turned round. “There is a trunk in the corner,” he said slowly. And—your wardrobe has been emptied. He faced her, his eyes fixed hard on hers. “Why?”
She looked away, but not before he saw her troubled expression. “Elizabeth,” he said, “what is wrong?”
She became occupied with the beadwork on her gown. “Nothing,” she said.
“That trunk is corded. Why?”
“Everything is … fine. I am going on a journey, that is all.”
“Are you? I had no idea.”
“Neither had I,” she admitted, “until recently.”
McGillvary’s jaw tightened. “With whom will you be travelling?”
Elizabeth did not answer right away. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to me.”
Her breathing became more laboured. “Truly, we must go down or someone will come. If we are discovered here together—”
“The wicked admiral, eh?” McGillvary’s tone was harsh. “Caught in the act of seduction?”
She caught her breath. “How can you jest about such a thing?”
“Is that not what you think?”
“No,” she said brokenly. “Not truly.” She bent and blew out the candles. They stood together in the darkness.
“Elizabeth,” McGillvary said, “you owe me an explanation.”
“I know. But the truth is too—” She wheeled sharply away, leaving him standing there.
McGillvary followed her along the passageway. “You have not answered my question,” he said grimly.
Elizabeth did not stop until she reached the stairway. Voices floated up from below. He saw her take hold of the banister rail for support. “I do not wish to—to spoil the evening by speaking of it,” she said at last.
“Let me be the judge of that. With whom will you be travelling?”
“My wretched family.”
“They do not seem wretched to me,” he said. “Save for your cousin, who is not here.”
She gave a sharp intake of breath.
McGillvary took hold of her shoulders and turned her round. “Will you be travelling with your cousin?”
A woman’s voice drifted up. “But Frederick, we cannot go in without Elizabeth.”
“Patrick,” Elizabeth whispered. “Please. We must go down.”
McGillvary looked into her face. Fear was written there—and something else. Could it be grief? “Very well,” he said more gently. “But this conversation is not finished.”
He raised his voice and called, “Here is Miss Elliot.” He offered his arm and together they descended to the hall. “Don’t mind us,” he said heartily. “We’ll take our place at the end of the line.”
Elizabeth made a sound; he gave her hand a reassuring pat. “Handsomely, my dear,” he murmured.
“Handsomely?” she whispered back. “As opposed to unbecomingly? Are you determined to despise me?”
“Nautical term, my dear,” he said into her ear. “Means in shipshape style. By the bye, did you catch the look that woman gave me? The one wearing pink?”
“That would be Mary. You’ve pleased her no end
by offering to go last.”
“Odd the way a turban alters a woman,” he said. “She rather resembles a circus performer.”
He heard her choke back a laugh. But when they came into the dining room and saw the seating arrangement, her smile fled away. “I should not be placed beside you,” she whispered. “What have you done?”
“Nothing,” he protested.
“You bribed Yee to change the place cards.”
McGillvary shook his head. “Impossible,” he whispered. “Yee is not the sort of man one bribes.”
“Then you changed them yourself. Did you see the look on Captain Wentworth’s face?”
McGillvary drew out the chair for her. “Pray be seated, Miss Elliot,” he said crisply. “Allow me to introduce Captain Benjamin Yates.”
Elizabeth lowered her voice even more. “What are you up to?”
“What are you up to?” McGillvary countered.
“Nothing!”
“I wonder,” he said.
~ ~ ~
For the final stage of the journey Longwell slept curled on the seat. He was clearly done in. Now the Yellow Bounder was in front of Lady Russell’s house on Rivers Street.
Lady Russell called his name, very softly, several times. Longwell’s eyes came open, and immediately he struggled to sit up. He rubbed his forehead. “What is that scent?”
“It’s rosewater.” Lady Russell held out her damp handkerchief. “I used it to bathe your forehead, as it was so hot. There was nothing else.”
Longwell groaned. “The entire bottle, milady?” He wrinkled his nose. “My coat reeks of it.”
“Do not worry,” she soothed. “No one will notice.”
“The devil they won’t. It will be all over Bath by morning, if I know our Ellen.”
Lady Russell brushed this comment aside. “Longwell, I have been thinking.”
“The saints preserve us,” he muttered, aside. “Of what were you thinking, ma’am?”
“It is not so very late. I ought to change my dress and call on Anne. By now she’s had the letter announcing my marriage to Sir Walter.”
“Relieve her mind, you mean,” said Longwell.
Lady Russell drew herself up. “Anne was most certainly pleased to learn of our marriage! She would have welcomed me as step-mother with open arms.”
“If you say so, milady.”
“Well, I do. My offer to Sir Walter was made from motives of purest chivalry. Justice demands that I set the record straight.”
Longwell shook his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, ma’am. That plan is only fit for Bedlam.”
“Do you—think so?”
“Some topics are best broached in a letter. Think, ma’am, of all you have not told Miss Anne and her sisters. About the warrant and the bailiff and all.”
Lady Russell sat silent, studying his face. At last she gave a sharp sigh. “There is sense in what you say. Very well, I am persuaded. I shall write.”
Her expression softened. “Are you certain that you shall be well enough to travel to Uppercross tomorrow?”
“I am well enough tonight, ma’am!”
“But I,” she said roundly, “am not. I have been comforting myself with the thought of a warm bath for at least the last five miles.”
With his good hand, Longwell reached to open the door. It swung open, and he caught sight of the coachman’s boy. “Don’t just stand there like a looby!” he said. “Hop to it!”
The boy hurried to let down the steps.
“You’d best go in first, milady,” he said, as she gathered her things. “It’s bad enough that you’re arriving in this contraption. After you are settled and the hubbub has quieted, I’ll come in through the service door.”
Lady Russell smiled fondly. “Very well, Longwell,” she said. “You know best, as always.”
~ ~ ~
William Elliot removed the document from his pocket and unfolded it. The rector or curate or whoever he was, took it. “Everything looks to be in order,” he said.
“Everything is in order,” insisted Mr. Elliot.
The rector looked over the top of his spectacles. “We live in uncertain times, Sir William. One cannot be too careful.” He returned to studying the license. “Would you look at that, a clerical error.” He clucked disapprovingly. “Your title has been omitted. I’ll write it in.”
“No,” Elliot cried. “Do not bother, please.” Above all, this document must be legal! He thought quickly. “Should we not instead choose the way of humility?”
He brought a pious hand to his breast. “I’ve no desire to shame the archbishop’s staff, for a correction is bound to be remarked.” He smiled slightly. “I’ve no objection to being married as a private gentleman.”
The rector unbent a little. “And your affianced wife?” he said. “I see you’ve not filled in her name.”
“I shall do so later.”
“Is she present? I would like to meet her.”
Was there no end to the man’s officiousness? Elliot concealed his annoyance. “She will be,” he said smoothly. “We have arranged to meet at half past nine.”
The rector shook his head. “An unconventional hour.”
“It is,” Elliot said. “And yet, ‘A man’s gift makes a way for him.’”
The ability to quote biblical passages was helpful when dealing with the clergy. And wasn’t there a text of Solomon’s about money being the answer to everything? The rector had taken the five pounds he’d offered without a blink.
The rector folded the license. “You young persons must carry all before you. Youth, as they say, is wasted on the young. And now if you’ll excuse me, Sir William, I’ve several things that require my attention. Bring your fiancée round to the office when she arrives.”
Mr. Elliot had the door open when the rector called him back. “Yes?” he said, turning. This time he did not bother to disguise his irritation.
“This woman, your fiancée. You do have her father’s consent?”
“She is nine-and-twenty, my good man,” Elliot burst out. “If she were a horse, she’d be put out to pasture!”
The rector clicked his tongue, and William Elliot flung out of the room. Never mind Sir Walter, it was Elizabeth who was the unpredictable factor. Would she come tonight? Or would he be forced to evade Penelope’s father by other means? He had little desire for foreign travel.
His fingers clenched into fists. “She’ll come,” he said aloud, and the sound of his voice went whispering down the passageway. Elizabeth had no choice—it was marriage or spinsterhood—and she was wise enough to know which side of the bread was buttered. Besides, Mary Musgrove had described Uppercross Cottage in such terms that he knew Elizabeth must relent.
As for the rest of it, why, once they were married she would learn to mind him soon enough.
~ ~ ~
He and Elizabeth kept up a flow of trivial conversation throughout the dinner, but by the time the final course was removed, McGillvary had had enough. Yates was discussing Byron with Mrs. Wentworth and, of all people, Croft. Miss Owen, who sat on his right, was conversing with Spurlock. This meant McGillvary had Elizabeth to himself.
“You never did answer my question,” he said softly, looking at her over the rim of his wineglass. “Are you eloping with your cousin?”
Elizabeth turned aside to cough. “I beg your pardon?”
McGillvary put down the empty glass. “I heard what he said to you last night, Elizabeth.”
The frightened look, which had so troubled him earlier, returned to her face. “My cousin,” she faltered, “is fond of making fine speeches.”
“That was some offer,” McGillvary agreed, still whispering. “Your wardrobe is empty and your trunk is corded, and you have not given me a straight answer. So I am left to wonder where you are planning to be at half past.” He brought out his timepiece and opened it. “Ten minutes to go,” he said, showing it. “Have you a chair waiting?”
Elizabeth glanced up and d
own the table before answering. “How can you think I would elope with William Elliot?” she whispered fiercely. “And you should not be using my Christian name!”
“You used to call me Patrick.”
“That was before,” she protested. “When I thought you were …”
“When you thought I was what? When you thought I was that clerk?”
“No. When I thought …” Again she hesitated. “When I thought you—loved me.”
“But I do!”
She shook her head. “You were only in it for the chase.”
“The chase, eh? Who taught you that term? Wentworth?”
“You did!”
McGillvary flushed. She had him there. A footman placed the dessert. Elizabeth took up her fork. She kept her eyes focused on the plate.
“Let us return to the crux of the issue,” said McGillvary. “Are you going to accept your cousin’s so-gracious offer or not?”
Elizabeth laid down her fork. “How can you think I would?” she flashed.
“Then why do you not deny it?”
Elizabeth made a sideways movement. “This is not a fit subject for the dinner table.”
“I make you an honourable offer of marriage,” he growled, “and you have the temerity to—”
“I beg your pardon?” she interrupted. “You have done no such thing.”
“Oh yes I have. If you recall, I—” McGillvary broke off, frowning in an effort to remember. What, exactly, had he said?
Elizabeth put up her chin. There was a challenge in her eyes—and a question.
McGillvary threw down his napkin. “Very well, Miss Elliot, I will put the question to you now.”
“At—the dinner table?”
“Yes, at the dinner table.” McGillvary was no longer whispering. He pushed back his chair and rose. White-faced, Elizabeth gazed up at him. “Where are you going?” she quavered.
“This chair,” he said, “is in my way.” From the corner of his eye he noticed his hostess staring, her fork poised in midair. “Pray excuse us for a moment, Mrs. Wentworth,” McGillvary said politely. “I have a question to put to your sister.”
He held out his hand to Elizabeth, a smile hovering about his mouth. “Will you come with me, please?”