by Laura Hile
Lady Russell was rather hurt by this response. Her fingers ruffled the banknotes. “Forgive me, Sir Walter,” she said, “but time is the very thing we do not have. When that second warrant is issued, you will need to come up with the money to pay it.”
Sir Walter’s breathing became laboured. He pulled out a handkerchief and blotted his brow.
“The choice is yours to make. You may leave this place now, with me, and tomorrow travel to London to be married. Or you may remain here and wait for the second warrant.”
“Surely it is not as bad as all that,” he squeaked. “You say Elizabeth does not wish to marry Rushworth? But Wentworth! Have you consulted Wentworth? Perhaps he can assist me!”
“Captain Wentworth knows nothing about this, nor do your daughters. No one knows about this but me. By the bye,” she added, “would you happen to know where your passport is kept?”
Sir Walter was thunderstruck. “My passport?”
Lady Russell ran the tips of her fingers along the banknotes. “I was thinking that we could have a lovely wedding trip abroad. I believe Venice is especially nice at this time of year.” Her eyes met his. “We shall leave England as soon as we are married. And later, once things have calmed down, we shall enquire about settling your debts.”
“But—my things! I have only the clothes on my back! I am in no condition to travel.”
“I expect we can do a little shopping once we reach London.”
Sir Walter blinked. “Shopping?”
Lady Russell preserved an innocent face. “After all, our ship might not depart for several days. Perhaps we shall attend the theatre as well.”
Color returned to Sir Walter’s cheeks. “The theatre?”
Heartened, Lady Russell enlarged upon this theme. “We might, with luck, be invited to various dinners and parties. You do realize that I am not unconnected with the London social set.”
She uncorked the bottle of ink. “My solicitor drew up documents relating to the settlement of my fortune and such. I daresay you won’t mind signing them.”
Smiling, Lady Russell held out the pen.
13 At One Fell Swoop
Elizabeth gazed at the entrance to the Pump Room with a sinking heart. The Ionic columns on either side of the door seemed enormous. She knew all too well how she would be received and what people would say.
Mary, on the other hand, tripped across the wide marble step eagerly. Once inside she let out a sigh of admiration. “The Pump Room cannot compare with Kellynch Hall, can it,” she said, too loudly for Elizabeth’s taste. “Those chandeliers, for instance, are notably inferior.”
Elizabeth looked the other way. Mary would make outlandish statements today, when her reputation hung by a thread! She nodded politely to the prim and smiling Master of Ceremonies and walked past Mary into the main room.
“Elizabeth,” Mary called, “do these windows not put you in mind of the Great House at Uppercross?”
It was all Elizabeth could do not to roll her eyes. The Great House was a rambling country house, built without regard to architectural plan. It had none of the graceful, classical elements that characterized this building.
But today Elizabeth was determined to be pleasant. “Shall we take the water?” she said. She loathed even the smell of it, but her sister needed occupation. Although Mary was noisy and had poor taste, she was better than no one. Several ladies had already turned away; there was much whispering behind gloved hands.
Then Mary gave a little cry. Elizabeth turned to see a young woman coming toward them with hands outstretched. Behind her was a tall man who looked vaguely familiar. “Mrs. Wallis,” cried Mary. “How lovely to see you.”
Elizabeth’s heart gave a bump. Colonel and Mrs. Wallis were particular friends of William Elliot’s; it was no accident that they were here. Sure enough, Colonel Wallis stepped aside to allow another to join their conversation.
“Hello, Cousin,” William Elliot murmured. “You are late. Thirty minutes late, to be precise.”
“I apologize,” Elizabeth said stiffly. “I was detained.” Her cheeks were hot. This was a bad beginning.
“You have your reasons, I am sure,” he said smoothly.
She decided to explain. “Lady Russell read us a lecture on the state of Father’s health. She thinks he is heading for a decline.”
“Lecturing is Lady Russell’s specialty. Your guilt is absolved. And what is your opinion?”
“Of Father’s condition? I wish I knew. Lady Russell has told us not to call. She claims a visit would upset him.”
A knowing look came into William Elliot’s eyes. “Ah,” he said. “No doubt referring to the notice in the paper and all the gossip. Is what I hear true? Have you indeed broken the engagement?”
“There was no engagement,” Elizabeth cried. “As well you know!”
“Elizabeth, hush.” He lowered his voice. “Our every move is being watched. You should not give more fodder than you—”
“—than I already have? I thank you, Cousin, for your support! I was never engaged to James Rushworth. I told you that myself; weren’t you listening?”
“But his mother seems to think you were. She is spreading stories all over Bath.”
“His mother may go to the devil for all I care!”
A flicker of surprise shot through Mr. Elliot’s eyes. “My sentiments exactly,” he said. “But alas, I fear they” —he rolled his eyes toward the row of matrons sitting together near one of the windows— “do not agree. Nor does your father.”
Elizabeth’s chin came up. “I do not care what my father thinks.”
“That is patently obvious.” Mr. Elliot’s expression changed somewhat. “He was very eager to have you marry Rushworth.”
“I shall marry whom I choose!” flared Elizabeth. “It is not for him to dictate what I do.”
“I quite agree.” Mr. Elliot offered his arm. “Shall we stroll for a bit?”
No sooner had she placed her hand on Mr. Elliot’s arm than Mary came rushing up. “Elizabeth,” she cried. “The most delightful thing! Mrs. Wallis has invited me to join her for shopping and lunch. She will see me home, so you needn’t worry about arranging anything for me.”
Mrs. Wallis came up from behind. “You are most welcome to join us, Miss Elliot,” she said politely.
But this Elizabeth firmly refused. Colonel and Mrs. Wallis departed immediately with Mary, which to Elizabeth’s mind was a bit too convenient. Her cousin had invited her here for a reason. Well, she had accepted for a reason of her own. From beneath lowered lashes she studied him. How did one ask a man for over nine thousand pounds?
“Elizabeth,” he said, smiling faintly, “you must know that your father only wishes to see you comfortable and happy.”
His words were like the flick of a whip. “Comfortable and happy?” she cried. “I am anything but! Father is ill, our home is let to others, and according to you, my reputation is ruined.”
And I owe an impossible amount of money!
“But you have not considered. There is another way.” His smile reappeared—the cat-like smile that Elizabeth distrusted—and he covered her gloved hand with one of his. “The fondest wish of your father, in point of fact.”
His voice was smooth—too smooth! What was he up to?
She turned to face him fully. “Of what are you speaking, Mr. Elliot?”
“Why, of marriage, my dear.” He gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.
Her eyes narrowed. “Whose marriage?”
William Elliot’s smile grew coy. “Why, ours,” he murmured.
But—he was playing right into her hands! This was too easy! What was he about?
Elizabeth pulled her hand from his arm. “As always, Cousin,” she said, “you will have your little joke.”
“I am perfectly serious.”
“I rather doubt that.” Elizabeth left him and walked over to the fountain. She dug a coin from her reticule and accepted the glass. She could feel Mr. Elliot’s gaze as
she took a sip of the warm water. What calculating eyes he had!
“It is quite revolting, isn’t it?” he said, coming up to her. “But I thought you knew that.”
Elizabeth frowned at the contents of the glass. “Men drink gin without complaint.” Casting a scornful glance, she tipped back the glass and drained it.
“Now what,” he said, “would you know about gin?”
“I do read! I am not stupid, Mr. Elliot.”
“What you are,” he said drily, “is stubborn! An alliance between us would be a very good thing.”
Elizabeth put down the glass. “I fail to comprehend why we are speaking of this in a public place.”
He spread his hands. “But what else am I to do? I am unwelcome in your sister’s home, and propriety forbids us from meeting elsewhere. How else am I to see you alone?”
Elizabeth looked at him sideways. Here was an answer to her painful situation, but how thoroughly disagreeable it was! “I have no desire to be married out of pity,” she said frankly. “Or, utility!”
Again she saw his eyes widen. His pleasant smile twisted. “Maidenly reluctance,” he said sharply, “does not become you, my dear! I have gallantly offered to rescue you from public scorn and ridicule and this is the thanks I receive? I am the man who holds the key to your happiness!”
Elizabeth’s throat constricted. There was only one man who held happiness—and he was not William Elliot! But for all his disarming charm and wit, dear Patrick could not help her now.
Again she eyed William Elliot. Would this man, who had married his first wife solely for her money, agree to advance such a large sum? She doubted it.
Apparently her distress was evident, for he cried, “Forgive me,” and recaptured her hand. “How can I make you understand? With us, dear Elizabeth, it’s destiny!”
“Destiny,” she repeated woodenly. His words were impulsive and even romantic, but his eyes were so cold! Elizabeth looked the other way.
“Well?” he said. “What is to be your answer?”
But Elizabeth was no longer attending, for she had seen a face in the crowd. As if aware of her gaze, the woman turned. “Elizabeth?” she called out. “Elizabeth Elliot?” To Elizabeth’s surprise, she was smiling.
“Miss Bingley!” said Elizabeth. “Hello!”
~ ~ ~
Since leaving the bailiff’s, a transformation had taken place. The lines that worry and illness had etched on Sir Walter’s handsome face were smoothed away. He gazed out of the window of Lady Elliot’s carriage with obvious delight. They were very near their destination.
“I had quite forgotten about your little house, Amanda,” he said. “Rivers Street is a charming situation—a most charming situation.”
The carriage came to a stop, but Lady Russell did not appear to notice. “I cannot understand it,” she said, frowning. “The bailiff was so insistent about knowing your address. I cannot like that.”
Sir Walter smiled slyly. “Was I not clever to give him Anne’s?”
“But you were seen to be leaving with me. When that second warrant is issued, the bailiff will come here.” Outside, Lady Russell’s coachman let down the steps and attempted to open the door, but she held it closed. Then she pulled down the window blind.
“Sir Walter,” she said urgently. “You will not be well-hidden here.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said, but my friend, you are not safe! I fear we must leave Somerset earlier than planned. In fact, we ought to leave tonight.”
“Tonight?” he squeaked. “That will never do.” He looked about anxiously. “Surely your coachman must have time to prepare. After all, one must travel properly. I was hoping,” he added, “to have my crest painted over Sir Henry Russell’s before our departure.”
Lady Russell’s fingers dug into his arm. “Don’t you understand?” she cried. “We daren’t use this vehicle! We must travel to London secretly!”
Sir Walter considered this. “Do you mean … in disguise?”
She waved aside his boyish grin. “We must travel on the Mail. Longwell will know how to manage it.”
Sir Walter clapped his hands. “I say, that’s famous! I’ve always fancied to travel in disguise!” His smile became cunning. “I’ll go dressed as a highwayman.”
“A tradesman would be best,” corrected Lady Russell. “Or a common labourer.”
Both eyebrows went up. “Common?” Sir Walter scoffed. “Me? Impossible!”
~ ~ ~
Miss Bingley came rushing forward with decided friendliness. Elizabeth went weak with relief, for here was an end to the tête à tête.
William Elliot was looking narrowly at her. “Well?” he said.
Elizabeth feigned surprise. “But—were you expecting an answer today, Mr. Elliot?”
“Eliza,” cried Caroline, bursting in. “My dear!”
Elizabeth was forced to present her cousin, who would not go. She could not resist adding, “Mr. Elliot is my father’s heir.”
“Is that so?” Caroline gave him a wide smile and launched directly into the story of her journey to Bath. Elizabeth listened with rapt attention, aware of Mr. Elliot’s growing impatience. After some minutes of this, he politely excused himself—giving Elizabeth a whispered order to meet him here tomorrow. She did not reply.
At once Caroline caught hold of her arm. “Your cousin is very fine, Eliza. I wonder that we have not met before! And he is to inherit your family’s estate?”
She paused, thinking. “Dear me, what is the name of it? You’ve mentioned it often enough.”
“Kellynch Hall.”
“Ah, yes. Kellynch. A quaint old place, I am sure. Your cousin must be very proud of it.”
Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to hesitate. She did not wish to reveal the details of the retrenchment to Caroline Bingley! “I believe,” she said carefully, “that Mr. Elliot resides in London.”
Caroline gave a little laugh. “A country estate is just the thing for a gentleman. How odd that your cousin does not agree. Or perhaps it is his wife who does not agree?”
“His wife is deceased. He has just come out of mourning.”
A glint came into Caroline’s eye.
“Kellynch is an isolated spot,” Elizabeth hurried to say. “A man of the world, such as my cousin, would have little desire to bury himself there.”
“A man of the world,” Caroline echoed. She beckoned to a woman, who immediately came to join them.
“I have met such a pleasant gentleman, Louisa,” Caroline confided, speaking very low. “He is Miss Elliot’s cousin, the future Sir William.” Elizabeth saw her dig an elbow in her sister’s side. “Can you imagine? He is a widower.”
Mrs. Hurt’s painted brows went up. “Unmarried? How intriguing.”
“Mr. Elliot is no paragon,” Elizabeth put in. “He is rather too fond of his own opinions.”
Mrs. Hurst turned to Elizabeth with smiling eyes. “How refreshing to meet a gentleman who is not a fortune hunter! We have had our fill of those lately.
“My cousin is many things,” replied Elizabeth, “but he is no longer a fortune hunter.”
But this bit of irony was lost on Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley. They pressed Elizabeth to join them, and when she refused they insisted on learning her address so that they could call.
Elizabeth wrote the address on one of her calling cards, using a pencil supplied by Miss Bingley. “My father is convalescing, so we have given up our house for the time being,” she explained as she wrote. “He is planning to return to the country at summer’s end.”
“To Kellynch Hall?” said Caroline. “Or might he be persuaded to take another residence if Mr. Elliot should decide to live there?” She exchanged a teasing smile with her sister.
Elizabeth took in the exchange. What new horror was this? Was Caroline Bingley setting her cap at William Elliot? Even in jest it was a dreadful thought!
~ ~ ~
Lady Russell peered into the stairway below.
“Sir Walter,” she called, “please! Your trunks are here. We haven’t time to dawdle.” He did not answer, and she gave an exasperated huff. The man was impossible. “Sir Walter,” she called again.
“Coming, my dear” he sang out, and he began to mount the stairs. “Truly, my dear, your house is a marvel. So well preserved. Such taste in its design.”
He came level with her, still talking. “So often these little houses are scruffy and worn down.” He wrinkled his nose. “The result of scores of lodgers, no doubt.”
“I’ll have you know that there have been no lodgers here. Sir Henry’s aunt was the only occupant.”
Sir Walter nodded. “That would explain the scheme of decoration. Charming, but outdated.” He shook his head. “A small house has no scope for the imagination.”
Lady Russell had her own ideas about scope and imagination, but she kept them to herself. She pointed. “Your trunks are in the spare bedchamber. Choose what you need, and remember,” she called after him, “only your oldest, plainest clothes. We do not wish to attract attention.”
She came into her own room and sank into a chair. What a business this was! Did the man understand nothing about the need for haste? She heard a soft knocking. “Come,” she called.
It was Sir Walter. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but the bell cord in my chamber is not functioning. I wish to summon your manservant.”
Lady Russell swallowed her irritation. “I do not keep a manservant,” she explained, “except for Longwell, and he is seeing to our tickets for the Mail.”
Sir Walter looked so pained that Lady Russell unbent a little. “I am very sorry,” she said more gently. “You will need to handle your own packing.”
“But what about my bath? You promised me a bath.”
It had been many years since Lady Russell had lived with a man. She had forgotten how trying they could be. “When Longwell returns,” she said, “he will see to your bath—but only if there is time. In the meantime, kindly attend to your packing.”
He went ambling away. Lady Russell gave a sharp sigh. “For heaven’s sake,” she muttered after him, “do something useful.”