Venison was the meat of the evening, a warm and rare treat that Hazel had insisted on for the occasion. Cold meats, fruits, and wine accompanied.
Liz enjoyed a quiet meal, as the ladies on either side of her were too busy chatting with their neighbors to take any notice of her. As casually as possible, she eyed the opposite end of the table. He too took his meal in silence.
Throughout the meal, she periodically glanced in his direction, and several times, much to her chagrin, she caught him looking her way, unflinching in his admiration of her.
After the meal, the men stayed behind in the dining room to share port and cigars while the women returned to the drawing room to gossip before the mixed-company card games began. Before she had a chance to return with the others or protest involvement in matchmaking plans, Hazel caught her arm.
“Liz, love. Come with me to show Annick the new portraits in the parlor.” Hazel winked and nodded towards Charlotte standing beside the duke at the door.
So, this was her aunt’s strategy, a portrait tour of the parlor while the guests were distracted. Liz nodded and followed them.
“And this,” her aunt explained to Annick when they arrived at the parlor, a curious Captain Henry watching them, “is a portrait of my late husband, God rest his soul. I loved him more than anything in this world, you know. We were a love match from the beginning. And this portrait to the left is of my mother, and next to her my father, or should I say Charlotte’s grandparents.” She turned glowingly to the trio, then, her eyes widened in dismay, startled by an unvoiced thought.
“What’s wrong, Auntie?” Charlotte piped concern from Annick’s side.
“Why, I’ve forgotten to tell Cecil something quite important. Oh, dear me. Lizbeth, come help me find Cecil.” She took Liz’s hand to lead her out of the room. “We won’t be but a moment, but this cannot wait.”
Charlotte in her blessed ignorance said, “Here, I will pull the bell-cord.”
“No! No, he will be in the drawing room. You continue the tour in my stead, my darling. Annick is a rapt audience.”
Spotting the cue, the duke bowed to Aunt Hazel, then distracted Charlotte with questions about the other portraits. Lizbeth slipped out with her aunt.
“Now then. That’ll do the trick. She’ll emerge an engaged woman, our little duchess. I’m not prone to fainting, but I may need smelling salts on this occasion. A duke, Lizbeth! A duke!”
“You are a remarkable woman, Aunt Hazel.” She hugged her aunt and returned to the drawing room, less than enthusiastic about the bridegroom, his title be dashed.
The men were still in the dining room, and she had no real desire to socialize with any of the guests, all friends of her aunt.
She escaped outside to the veranda overlooking the garden. The flowers basked in the setting sun, a hazy glow lighting the flowers and casting long shadows across the veranda. Swift moving clouds blotted the horizon from time-to-time.
Leaning against the railing, she welcomed the crisp air that whipped around the back of the house, pleasant after the previous days of muggy humidity. The grass in the garden was sloshed with mud, but the roses displayed fresh blooms after bountiful showers.
Before long, she became acutely aware of someone standing behind her. Gooseflesh covered her arms, and a distant memory flashed in her mind of Annick in his domino costume flirting with her on a balcony. She shivered.
This time, the intruder wasn’t Annick. She could feel discerning eyes gauging her mood, guessing her thoughts. Eyes she knew would appear black in the dusk.
Without turning, and hoping she wasn’t mistaken by the identity of her veranda guest, she said, “Tell me what I said to anger you.”
Roddam lumbered to the railing to stand beside her. Leaning his hip against the balustrade, his arms folded over his chest, he opened his mouth, then closed it, brows knitted.
When he didn’t reply, she launched into an impromptu speech, “Don’t play me for the villain. If you want my companionship, be forthright. I only ever ask for honesty, and in return, I offer my own candidness. True friendship is difficult to come by, and I value the few friendships I have. If you want to play games, my lord, play them elsewhere.”
Her ears filled with the rush of pumping blood, her heart pounding against her ribcage. This was not at all what she had planned to say.
Turning her body to face him, she held eye contact. Even in the encroaching darkness of night, she thought she saw his eyes alight with hope.
“You’re an unusual woman, Miss Trethow. I don’t deserve your friendship, but I value whole-heartedly your extension of the proverbial olive branch. I can only hope I won’t disappoint you. I—.” He paused, looking away, “I am not trusting by nature. My life has been a series of betrayals, which does not lend itself to easy trust. I make no excuse for my behavior. I was a lout. You showed me sweetness of temper, and I showed you hostility. I do not deserve your forgiveness.”
Here stood a man she had only met twice, and on one of those occasions he had acted irrationally, yet her heart went out to him. If he spoke truthfully, she had taken his anger personally when it had naught to do with her. Lizbeth moved her hand along the railing towards him, wanting to touch his arm, to reassure him that he did deserve forgiveness.
As if perceiving her intention, he uncrossed his arms and rested his hand on the railing within arm’s reach of hers. She gripped the rail, unexpectedly nervous.
From inside the room came cheers and exclamations as, she assumed, Charlotte and Annick made their appearance in the drawing room, an engaged couple.
“It sounds as though my cousin and your sister have come to an understanding.” Roddam said, echoing her thoughts. “May I be so bold to ask why you proclaim yourself a spinster?”
Somewhat startled by the question, she said, “You may. I’m not ashamed of my decision.” She shifted her weight to lean more heavily on the rail. “I want complete independence. With a husband, unless it were a love match, and I suppose even then, I would be controlled. My money would be his, my time and hobbies his. I want to make my own choices and not have them dictated by an owner.”
“I don’t see how remaining unmarried accomplishes that goal,” Roddam replied. “Women gain independence through marriage. Without a husband, women remain dependent on family. If employed, the employer would control wage, residence, reputation, and reference. How is that independence? Wouldn’t it be wiser to make a careful match with someone who would value your independence, affording you the ability to do as you pleased with your own money?”
Liz clarified, “Your own words explain the problem. ‘Affording me the ability.’ If I were to marry, I would be the property of another person. My husband would need to grant me permission on all things, even having access to my own money. My money would be his by law. My person would be his by law. With a considerate husband, yes, I could do what I willed, I suppose, but it’s not just about that.”
She drew a breath, garnering strength to resume. “It’s an unattractive life, as well. Couples are expected to move in separate circles, never to spend too much time together, even in public. It’s convenient for both parties because they live separate lives. I do not wish to live in a shadow. I refuse to live with a man I rarely see or who rarely speaks to me, living his own life separate from me. I would rather live alone than be another piece of furniture, dusted when guests are expected. You may consider me common, but those are my conditions, and as of yet, those conditions have not been met by any suitor.”
When he gave no immediate reply, she continued, considering her words carefully.
“I’m not opposed to marriage, Lord Roddam. I’m opposed to any marriage that isn’t based on mutual respect and affection. I have seen loving marriages, and if I chose to marry, that is what I would want, but so few examples exist. My parents and Walter’s parents were examples of loving marriages rather than convenient unions, even i
f cut short by death. There are others, I suppose. Never would you find a more loving and chaste couple than King George and Queen Charlotte, for instance.”
“And clearly, it’s driving him mad,” Roddam chided.
They both laughed, lightening the tension. She unwittingly lessened her grip on the railing and inched her fingers closer to his, quite contrary of an action to her censure of marriage.
How could she not be attracted to him, regardless of her concerns and his distrustful nature? She liked the sound of his laugh, a throaty chuckle, and liked how his smile reached his eyes. A compliment, this laugh, a compliment that he could laugh so easily with her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. She suspected he didn’t laugh often, not if, as he said, his life had been a series of betrayals, not when he believed he didn’t deserve forgiveness.
Everything about him, from his body language to his words, told her he was fiercely territorial, well-guarded, not apt to show any signs of weakness, and to him, emotion would be a sign of weakness. Yet here he was, laughing with her over a distasteful joke. Regardless of misdeeds and misunderstandings, he deserved to laugh more.
Fully aware he had not yet answered her original question of what angered him, she began to understand he would in his own time. He wasn’t not communicating, rather finding a way to communicate. Already he had admitted he didn’t deserve forgiveness. Was what he had to say so difficult to express?
Liz delved, “And you?”
His words weighed heavy with sadness, his eyes darkening, “Unlike you, I’ve never seen a happy marriage. I’ve witnessed manipulation, abuse, and adultery. I believe I could reconsider my own hesitation for matrimony if it were for love, as you say, but I’m not sure what that word means, what that feels like. I’ve been alone a long time, Miss Trethow, and have demons to exorcise before I could change that. I’ve….” His voice trailed off, his eyes closing for a moment before continuing. “I’ve hurt people in my past, people who loved me. I would be afraid to bring anyone new into my life, for she may not like what she sees, and I may not be able to bring her happiness. You asked for forthright words, and that’s what I’m speaking. I don’t deserve love, and I would only disappoint anyone who offered it.”
“Why would you say such a thing?” she gasped. “Everyone deserves love.”
Roddam shook his head, his expression pained. “Not everyone. Some people make poor choices, choices that affect others, that destroy lives and cause irreparable damage. Those people do not deserve love.”
Silence stretched. Chortling voices reached from within, and outside the wind blew through the leaves of the bushes.
“It’s silly in hindsight,” he said, reaching for her hand and covering it between both of his. “What angered me, that is.” His voice hitched. “The coincidence was too much for me to believe. You see, I inherited my great grandfather’s life’s work, Dunstanburgh Castle. He spent the family fortune restoring the castle but died before finishing it. It was a brutal undertaking that broke him. When my grandfather inherited, he let the castle fall into dilapidation, focusing instead on replenishing the depleted coffers. My father…well, my father allowed both finances and castle to fall to ruin. When I inherited, I swore I would make it right, restore honor to the family name, and finish the castle.”
He laced his fingers with hers using one hand, absently trailing the fingertips of his other hand along her forearm.
“My ancestor believed Dunstanburgh was the Isle of Avalon, where King Arthur found his final resting place, the mystical island of immortality and home of the Lady of the Lake. I’ve devoted a great deal of my life since my father’s death to studying the lore of King Arthur and restoring the castle, a kind of homage to a great man.
“The point being, I stupidly misconstrued our conversation when you said you lived in Trevena. I thought you were playing me. You must admit the odds are marginal that we would each live in a place pivotal to the king’s life. I thought, perhaps, Drake had mentioned something to you as a joke or a ploy. I’m not an animal to be hunted, and I thought you had lied as part of your hunt. What other reason could there be for you to live in the king’s birthplace when I live in his final resting place?”
“Fate?” Lizbeth said.
He laughed dryly. “I don’t believe in fate.”
“And yet, here we are,” she teased.
“Aye, here we are.”
He brought her hand to his lips and pressed the inside of her wrist against his mouth, watching her unblinkingly. “I love the sound of your voice, Miss Trethow. It’s musical.”
She sniggered a nervous laugh and glanced warily at him. “I thought you said I had a southern accent, like a pirate or a country bumpkin.”
“I did say that,” Roddam admitted. “But not as an insult. You don’t sound like a pirate and certainly not a bumpkin. Your voice could charm the birds from the trees.”
She was thankful for the onset of darkness. He wouldn’t see the rosy tint of her cheeks. All she could think to say in return was likewise, so she remained silent, feeling the warmth of his hands tingle through her limbs, chest, and abdomen. Could he feel her trembling?
Roddam’s thumb drew circles on the back of her glove, sending waves of pleasure undulating down her spine. He held her hand to his chest, massaging her hand, his fingers working towards her wrist where his lips had been only moments before. Lowering his head closer to hers, he admired her from beneath long lashes. She had never been more mindful of someone in her life, her senses acutely aware of him. He smelled like soap and leather, an intoxicating smell to Lizbeth.
Her gaze lingered on his lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss him, those moist lips pressing against hers. She imagined away the veranda and envisioned they stood in the moonlight on a cliff, their bare feet in damp grass, the sea air tickling their skin. As his lips reached for hers—
Roddam interrupted her day dream. “Are we friends again, then?”
Exhaling through her nostrils, centering herself in the present moment, she replied with a slight tremor, “I wish you had been honest from the start. Even if I had known about your castle, which I assure you I did not, I would never have made the connection between Trevena and Dunstanburgh. I thought the Isle of Avalon was in Glastonbury, you see.”
“A common belief, and who’s to say which is correct? The earlier works regarding King Arthur only describe places, descriptions that match aptly to Dunstanburgh. The king’s final battles were even fought in Northumberland, giving credence to the possibility. It wasn’t until Malory took liberties to name Glastonbury as the location when the controversy between Dunstanburgh and Glastonbury arose. Malory was a cheeky devil.” He half-smiled, making light of the conversation. “I admit I assumed erroneously both your knowledge of the literature and your awareness of me.”
Not wanting to spoil their reconciliation, but still determined to make her point, she withdrew her hand from his grasp and insisted, “The point, my lord, is that this whole silly misunderstanding could have been resolved in one conversation if you had chosen to talk to me instead of shutting me out.”
He scowled, shifting his weight away from her.
“Our first conversation,” she said, “was the most enriching of my life, so I can’t understand how someone so willing to treat me as an equal could then ignore me over a simple misunderstanding.”
“It wasn’t a simple misunderstanding to me.” Roddam wrenched out sharp words, arms crossed. “Nothing in my life is simple. Haven’t you heard a solitary word I’ve said? My life is rife with complication, so coincidence doesn’t factor in. I only felt confident offering friendship, but it would seem I shouldn’t have bothered, not when I can’t keep a friend longer than a single evening.”
“Stop that this minute,” Lizbeth commanded, boldly placing her hand on his taut forearm.
This wouldn’t do. She hadn’t meant for him to withdraw even f
urther, to erect walls so quickly. Instead of taking his brusqueness to heart this time, she recognized it for what it was—his defense. Had he never let in anyone?
“I forgive you, Roddam. Is that what you need to hear? I forgive you. I’m not scolding you, only asking that you talk to me as a friend. Instead of assuming the worst, talk to me,” she pleaded.
His intelligent eyes intense, and his brow-crease smoothing with what she took to be relief, he studied her pensively. Self-conscious under his heated stare, she covered her cheeks with her hands and waited for him to speak.
Uncrossing his arms, he palmed her shoulders and pulled her against him, wrapping muscular arms around her in a loose embrace. Pressed against his chest, she felt nothing else mattered. Did he feel the same? His heart beat against the palm of her hands, splayed open on his chest. Absently, she wondered if she should be reassuring him with her embrace rather than the other way around, for despite his formidable demeanor, he struck her as being vulnerable.
Oh, how easy it would be to fall in love with him, but she couldn’t live with him if he didn’t open to her, if he set a stone wall between them at every turn, barring her with his defenses. He was his own worst enemy.
“You never cease to amaze me,” he said, his words muffled as he moved his lips to graze her forehead.
He rested his cheek against her temple, sending every care in her world flying into the wind. When he brought his lips, soft and moist, down to her cheek, she thought he might kiss her, but instead he leaned his head back, looking down to level his gaze on her. Her skin tingled in the wake of his lips.
“I guard myself against injury, but your words disarm me. I offer friendship when all I want to do is kiss you. What am I going to do with you, Miss Trethow?” he asked rhetorically.
He brought his hand to her cheek, touching the back of his fingers to her heated flesh.
“You’re going to be honest with me, that’s what you’re going to do,” she wheezed, trying to sound confident as she trembled in his arms.
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