by Laura Hile
He hesitated, suddenly suspicious. He did not like the look of open doubt in her eyes. “Your father is ill?”
“In all honesty, I do not know,” she said. “At one time he was. Now I wonder whether that was part of the ruse.”
“His sickness was a ruse?”
She sighed heavily. “I think it has something to do with his debts.”
McGillvary’s eyes narrowed. “How do you mean?”
“My father owes money,” she said slowly, “and I think it suits him to feign illness.”
“Hiding from his creditors, eh? An old trick.”
“Is it?” She looked wonderingly at him. “I expect he thought he was being clever. At any rate, he is bored with being an invalid now. I think he’s planning something.”
“Your father owes a great deal of money to Madderly Kinclaven. I trust his plans include paying off his creditors.”
“I think not,” Elizabeth said. “He ignores the letters they send.”
“A handy notion.”
“To say truth, he burns them unopened,” Elizabeth confided. “Father believes that handling business matters is beneath him. He leaves it to our solicitor and other inferior persons.”
The girl came with the tea just then, so McGillvary was kept from answering. This was just as well, as the words he swallowed were not fit for her ears. Elizabeth’s comments today served to strengthen his resolve. Sir Walter might as well learn now that his future son-in-law was nobody’s fool.
“So,” he said, as soon as the girl departed, “is your father planning to flee England on a moonless night?” He spoke lightly. “Because barring that, he is out of options. He’ll have to sell something.”
“There isn’t much to sell.”
“I expect he’ll find something he can bear to part with: a piece of property, an art collection, jewelry …”
“… or his firstborn,” Elizabeth put in. “That would be me.”
McGillvary reached across the table and covered her hand. “You leave him to solve this. It’s surprising how resourceful a man can become when he’s pressed.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
“Elizabeth,” he said firmly. “Leave your father to fight his battles. This is not your affair.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I think I ought to go home now. I’m sorry; I’ve barely touched my tea. How I am going to find strength for that assembly I do not know. Every inch of me aches.” She smiled ruefully. “I fear I’m not a very good horsewoman.”
“Nonsense,” he said bracingly. “You’ve courage enough for anything.”
She shook her head. “Not this afternoon.”
“I know, my dear. But remember this: tomorrow is another day.”
He smiled. “You know what sailors say: Don’t give up the ship.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Bear up, my dear. Where there’s life, there’s hope.”
“Where there’s life, there’s hope.” Elizabeth repeated it, but not very convincingly.
~ ~ ~
“In a city like this, having a trustworthy nursery maid is everything.” Estella paused long enough to take the cup and saucer Anne offered. “After all, she walks out a good deal, does she not? And with no companion but the children? Any sort of person might accost her—which generally does happen, especially when soldiers are about.”
Estella paused only to click her tongue in disapproval. “My dear Mary,” she went on, “one can never be too careful. You are right to be discriminating.”
Anne studied her sister. Mary looked pale and worn, and yet it was a good thing that she had come down for tea. If only Estella would not talk so much! She would speak to Frederick tonight about sending Estella home. It was more than time.
“I must say, it is rather nice not to have Miss Owen here,” Estella continued. “The woman can be such a nuisance.”
“I do not find her so.” Anne offered a plate of sandwiches. “She has been very helpful, and I enjoy her company.”
“You are not the only one to enjoy her company.” Estella primmed up her lips. “Do you know what I saw this afternoon? Your Miss Owen returning from a drive. With a man.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” said Mary.
Estella turned. “Ah, but they were alone!”
“Perhaps it was her cousin,” Anne suggested. “There is nothing improper in that.”
“I could not see his face, but he was not Mr. Minthorne. What is more,” she leaned in, “Miss Owen was soaked to the skin—it was raining dreadfully! But she did not look at all bothered by it, nor did he. Laughing and carrying on, they were! He even held her hand while she climbed out. Scandalous, I call it.”
“How could anyone get so wet riding in a carriage?” scoffed Mary. “Only a simpleton would leave the top down.”
Estella lowered her teacup. “Ah, but Miss Owen did not come in a carriage. It was one of those two-wheeled affairs, the kind without a top. I forget what they are called. Like a pony cart, only larger.”
“A gig.” Mary adjusted her position on the sofa. “Charles was talking about taking the gig out today, but I’m sure he changed his mind. No one would be that stupid.”
“But he did,” Anne said, before she could stop herself. “That is, he took Elizabeth to see Father.”
“In all this rain? Oh, famous! Is she pouting in her bedchamber?”
“I don’t believe Elizabeth has returned.” Anne looked up to see the drawing room door open.
“Hallo!” called a cheerful voice. “Wentworth and I are going out, as the rain has let up. We’ll be back in a bit.”
Mary looked her husband over. “Charles, what have you done with your shoes?”
“Huh?” Charles looked down at his stocking clad feet and grinned. “Aw, they’re in the library. I was drying my feet by the fire a while back. Sorry.”
“Your shoes are … wet?”
“Sure,” he said. “From the rain.”
Mary glared at him, and Charles spread his hands. “What?” he said. “What did I do now?”
~ ~ ~
“You should not have done this, Patrick,” Elizabeth said softly. “I know how dear it is to hire a carriage.”
McGillvary tore his gaze from her face. “I can afford it,” he grumbled. “I was not about to let you walk. Don’t worry.”
“But I do worry,” she said. “You will have to do without something in order to pay for this. I don’t like that.”
“Elizabeth,” he said, “believe me, it is no sacrifice.”
“You have given me something you can ill afford. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.” The tender expression in her eyes only made him more annoyed with himself. The fare was nothing, yet she saw it as sacrificial gallantry! The lowly Gill grew nobler every day—and there was nothing he could do to stop it!
Unfortunately, his irritation must have showed on his face. “Ah, you see?” she cried. “My friend, you cannot hide it! I have put you out!”
The wisest course, McGillvary knew, was to remain silent. With difficulty, he averted his eyes. He could not stop her from gazing at him, though. He felt her eyes studying him.
“Shall I see you at the assembly tonight?” she asked.
“No,” he snapped. “I—” McGillvary could feel his jaw tense. He would have given up his right arm to be able to skip this evening’s obligation, but he was trapped. “I am hosting a dinner,” he heard himself say. “A small affair; nothing grand. For some of my colleagues.”
This was quite true—Admiral Mather and Commodore Ashby were colleagues, of a sort. They were also very fond of after-dinner conversation—and burgundy. There would be no slipping off to the assembly tonight.
~ ~ ~
William Elliot counted as he paced the length of his borrowed bedchamber. Eight steps forward, turn, eight steps back. The boards of the floor creaked beneath his weight, but he did not care. To go down to the front parlor meant encountering Annette Wallis, and Elliot had had quite enough of he
r.
It was the same old story. Wallis had married her for her looks and her fortune, but what had it brought him? All flash and very little substance. The public rooms of this narrow little house were fitted up in the first style, but the rest of the house was definitely shabby. The walnut paneling added to the oppressive feeling of the room. The worst of it was, until dinner he had nothing to do. After that was the assembly, and then there would be excitement enough—if he could find Elizabeth.
Elliot’s eyes followed the frayed border of the carpet. Her behavior had become so odd, so unaccountable. Then too, so had Penelope’s. He gave a snort of derision.
A soft knock sounded at the bedchamber door. It opened to admit the Wallis’s footman. “If you please, sir,” he said, “you have a caller. In the back salon.” Mr. Elliot did not bother to conceal his irritation. “Who is it?”
The man consulted the card he held. “Mr. John Shepherd. A solicitor, sir.”
“Tell him I am not at home.” The footman shifted from one foot to another. “Begging your pardon, sir,” he said, “but he said to say that he has come on business. About his daughter.”
“His daughter? What have I to do with his daughter?”
“Name of Clay, sir.” The footman swallowed. “That’s the name he said, sir. Clay.”
William Elliot’s brows descended, and the footman took a step back. “The devil it is!” he snapped. “Very well,” he said, through clenched teeth. “Kindly inform Mr. Shepherd that I will be down directly.”
~ ~ ~
Elizabeth had fallen silent. The interior of the job carriage was not so dark that her face was hidden. She kept her eyes averted; her mouth trembled slightly.
McGillvary cursed silently. Like a fool he had thoughtlessly allowed his irritation to show in his voice. Now he had hurt her, the very last thing he intended to do.
“Elizabeth,” he said quietly, “forgive me, please. My schedule of late has been impossible. I did not mean to be harsh with you.”
“I understand,” she said in a small voice.
He moved nearer. “It’s just that I don’t like leaving you to fend for yourself tonight.”
Elizabeth’s head came up. “I am not a child. I have been ‘fending for myself’ for a good many years now.”
“I know that,” he said. “And I can see that this has been a trying day. The last thing you need is to be cornered by Farley … or your cousin.”
Elizabeth sighed heavily.
“And whatever you do,” McGillvary went on, “don’t kiss Rushworth!”
“Oh for heaven’s sake!” cried Elizabeth, “I have no intention of kissing him! Besides,” she added, “Mr. Rushworth is in London.”
“Good. I hope he stays there. Indefinitely.”
“And I’ll have you know,” she continued, “that I do not make it a practice to kiss people at an assembly! I mean—” Elizabeth broke off in confusion.
“I do not mean you shouldn’t kiss anyone,” he interposed. “Just not anyone tonight. Not Rushworth. Or your cousin. Or Sir Henry Farley.”
“Sir Henry?” She gave a perfectly natural shudder, which pleased him. “You needn’t worry,” she said. “I expect I’ll have a dreadful time.” She glanced out of the window; they were not far from St Peter Square. “Let me out at the corner, please.”
McGillvary reached for the check string. “When shall I see you again?”
“Tuesday, I suppose.”
“No.” The word came out before he could stop it.
Elizabeth looked at him in sudden surprise. McGillvary kept his chin up. He had spoken his thought; there was nothing to be done but continue. “I need to see you sooner. Tomorrow. Can you manage to meet me tomorrow?” The carriage drew to a halt.
“I don’t know.”
“Tomorrow at eleven.” This was not a question.
“I’ll be asleep at eleven.”
McGillvary smiled. “Bailey’s, at two o’clock. Fair enough?”
She looked doubtful. He took hold of her hand. “Elizabeth,” he said, “it’s important.” He looked directly into her eyes. “Do not fail me … please?”
“Patrick, I …” Elizabeth’s hand trembled in his. “Very well,” she relented.
McGillvary caught hold of her other hand. “And tonight,” he said firmly, “remember: No kissing.”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “Yes, Papa.”
Papa? Was this how she saw him? His hold on her hands tightened. Before she could take avoiding action of any kind, he bend and pressed a warm and possessive kiss on her lips. At length he drew back, smiling a little at her confusion.
“No kissing,” he repeated, but gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” McGillvary released her and gave the door handle a twist. The door swung open.
Elizabeth’s eyes were wide. “No … kissing,” she repeated softly.
8 Bag and Baggage
Exactly how she extricated herself from the job carriage Elizabeth could not say. Fortunately, it was no longer raining. She found herself standing on the damp pavement, gazing stupidly at the houses across the square. She heard the box creak as the driver resumed his seat; he clucked to the horse. Elizabeth whirled round—she couldn’t help it! Through the window glass she could see Patrick. He was watching her; his face was very near to the glass.
And then he smiled. Elizabeth felt her knees turn to jelly. “Patrick,” she whispered, and realized that he saw her speak his name.
She felt vulnerable and exposed and foolish, but did it matter? His expression changed; the smile faded. He reached for something above his head—the check string? Immediately the driver pulled up.
Elizabeth stood rooted to the pavement. The handle of the door slowly turned, and his hand—Patrick’s own hand—pushed it open. Elizabeth’s heart was beating fast. Was Patrick coming out? Or would he invite her to rejoin him inside?
And then Elizabeth heard her name, faintly at first—and it was not Patrick Gill who said it. Involuntarily she turned. “Heigh-ho! Elizabeth!” the voice repeated. “I see you found your way home!”
It was Charles Musgrove coming around the corner, rather unsteadily. Behind him was Captain Wentworth.
This was worse than anything! In a pathetic attempt to appear calm she turned to face them, and behind her back she made a warning gesture to Patrick.
“Hello!” she called out, in a strangled sort of voice. She did not dare look behind at the carriage. She heard the door shut with a click, and then the carriage rolled away.
“So,” called Charles, “how was the Abbey?” He grinned over his shoulder at Captain Wentworth. “Hob-nobbing with the old ladies to her heart’s content,” he said. “Flirted with the curate, too. Wouldn’t take a ride from me, no-oh. Had to brave the rain.”
Elizabeth gave a start and glanced down—she’d left Charles’s umbrella at Bailey’s! What if he asked after it?
Captain Wentworth caught her eye. “I beg your pardon,” he said quietly. “I fear he’s a bit on the go. Had a pint on an empty stomach.” He linked his arm through Charles’s. “This way, Musgrove,” he said. “How about something to eat?”
Charles considered this. “Keep me out of Mary’s way, it will,” he said. “Always sick, my wife.” Elizabeth fell into step behind the two men. “Believe I’ll return the favor,” Charles announced, as Wentworth opened the door. “Feeling a bit under the weather myself!” He giggled as he passed his hat to Yee. “What’s it to her if my boots got wet? It was raining, wasn’t it?”
Elizabeth kept well back. She heard Captain Wentworth give instructions to the butler and then moved off. She felt weak with relief. For instead of peppering her with questions, Captain Wentworth was taking Charles Musgrove to the library!
Slowly Elizabeth mounted the stairs, grateful for the support of the banister rail. Had there ever been such a day? And tonight was the dinner and then the assembly—where she was to kiss no one. Elizabeth almost giggled aloud, very much like Charles Musgrove had.
&nbs
p; Smilingly, she pictured Patrick’s face. How could she have thought him scruffy? His eyes held such sparkling directness! His demeanor was so decisive! And his looks? Oh, he was handsome, definitely!
And the kiss! Elizabeth’s cheeks became warmer still. It was nothing like the kiss from James Rushworth—or anyone! Patrick’s lips were so warm, molding to the shape of her mouth with such intensity. She hadn’t wanted it to end!
As one in a dream, Elizabeth drifted into her bedchamber and tossed her reticule onto the bureau. She would have cast herself headlong onto her bed when she noticed, too late, that someone was already there! Elizabeth could not stop her fall and landed on top of a pair of feet.
Mary gave a start and sat up. “Good gracious!” she shrieked. “Have a care, Elizabeth!”
Elizabeth scrambled to her feet. “Mary!” she said, keeping a rein on her rising temper. “What are you doing in my bed?”
“I have the headache,” Mary cried. “Well, I do! Can I help it if this house is so noisy? Estella will carry on, and her children shriek and run about and ask for this and for that! The maids run up and down the stairs all day! I must have peace and quiet.”
Elizabeth pulled open the draperies one by one, ignoring Mary’s protests. “Yes, I know the light hurts your eyes,” she said. “You must get up now if you wish to be ready on time.”
She glanced at Mary’s face. “You haven’t had your hair washed. You’ll need to do it now so that it will have time to dry. Otherwise, Anne’s new maid will use the curling irons.”
“Heaven preserve us,” Mary exclaimed weakly. “My poor hair, frizzled beyond recognition! That dreadful girl!”
“It served you right, if you ask me,” Elizabeth said. “You were too harsh with her the other day. She was scared out of her wits. Now get up.”
Elizabeth pulled at the coverlet, but Mary resisted. “I’m not going,” she said, clutching it with both hands.
Elizabeth’s brows rose. “You and Charles are hosting the dinner tonight. Of course you must go.”
Mary raised her chin defiantly. “Charles is a perfect beast! He will not invite the Wallises! He refused, bold as you please, even when I asked him nicely! Which was perfectly Byzantine of him! So, I am not going.”