by Julia Donner
“What have I interrupted?” Peregrine whispered.
Elizabeth’s demure expression contrasted with hazel eyes twinkling with silent laughter. “Your brother came to visit this morning, as promised, an hour early. His admirers followed. I had a few visitors of my own and more of Harry’s kept arriving. I decided to ask them all to stay for a luncheon al fresco. The Pavilion is always well lit at this time of day and gives the impression that we are out of doors. Everyone proclaimed themselves enchanted with the idea of an impromptu picnic, and so here we are. Will you be staying?”
He shook his head, frowning at the guests now moving as a herd to tables covered with platters heaped with wafer thin slices of meats, ham, and poultry. There were decorated trays of fruits, jellies, cheeses, dainty pastries, and a generous assortment of biscuits and custards.
Peregrine nodded to those he knew as they passed by. A few stopped to shake hands and congratulate him on his “secret” wedding plans. He noticed that more than one meaningfully winked, telling him they admired his trick of catching the rich widow. It was obvious that they wanted to make a comment about his canny choice, but of course, that was impossible with Elizabeth standing nearby and providing a sumptuous champagne luncheon.
Peregrine glanced around the room, admiring the calm precision of her staff. He asked under his breath, “How did you manage all this on such short notice?”
“There are purveyors and vendors who can be relied upon to provide what is needed. Crimm tells everyone what to do. I do nothing and look very clever.”
The sly glee sparkling in her eyes made him smile. Hoping some of that gleam was there just for him, he said, “You’re always a wonder to me, Eliza. Wellington needs you on his staff.”
“And I would relish the chance to marshal his provisions.” When she paused to purse her lips in thought, he could scarcely wait to hear what she’d say next. “Do you think he’d let me near the ordinance?”
When he threw back his head and laughed, the clatter of plates and glassware subsided. With her back to the guests, she missed knowing glances exchanged. Older heads nodded and shared meaningful smiles.
Unintentionally, with a spontaneous laugh, he’d obliterated the gossip that their union would be one of convenience. He allowed his delight in her to show, making it obvious to all that this was a love match and a suitable arrangement.
Perhaps the attraction he and Elizabeth felt for each other was obvious. He hoped so and was banking on the world combining her entertaining skills with his consequence. More than one imaginative mind would think they might be looking at a future Parliament House leader. The fact that the content of their mundane conversation was not the least romantic struck him as humorous.
Grinning down at her, he tapped the tip of her nose. “If I were a member of your staff, m’dear, I might grumble about staging a show like this on short notice. Might even go so far as to ask for my reference. Crimm, by virtue of his name alone, would be welcomed at any house in town. Including Carlton.”
“He won’t leave me for another position, Asterly. I pay him too much. And where could he enjoy such complete authority but with me or in his own establishment?”
“We both know that it has more to do with loyalty than lucre, m’dear. How many does he have leave to order about?”
“There are forty in house.”
“Forty! I didn’t think this house large enough to provide work for twenty individuals. I am sincerely glad that females manage the domestic staff. I would’ve hired half that number.”
Her reply was swift and tart. “I can see no reason to wear everyone to the socket to save a few pennies. And four of the staff members in house are for the servants. There are only ten in the stable.”
He took her hand. “I wasn’t criticizing, Elizabeth, only expressing my surprise.”
She relaxed. “Oh.”
“I hadn’t realized you possessed a hot temper. How many veterans do you employ?”
“All but two of the groomsmen and the kitchen staff. There are a few in Manchester.”
He nodded at another acquaintance. “How many there?”
She looked away to check on her guests. “Thirty-two.”
“Do you have more servants elsewhere or perhaps a palace tucked away that no one knows about?”
She chuckled, a marvelous sound that made him want to kiss her, but she kept her attention fixed on the needs of her guests and replied without looking at him. “That horrendous, positively freezing abbey was penance enough to endure for all my unasked-for wealth. And I simply had to hire them, Asterly. They were so hungry, and there is no employment for men with bits of their bodies blown away. The widows and children cannot find work in the mills with so many men unemployed. In Cornwall and Wales, the children are in the mines picking rocks and leading blind ponies, when they should be above ground playing in the sunshine.”
He rubbed his thumb along the underside of her wrist. “Softly, m’dear. With such fervor, you’ll have everyone thinking we’re in the throes of a lover’s quarrel. And how can we properly make peace when you have so many quests avidly watching us? Only think of what would be said if I should drag you away to some private corner.”
Her cheeks brightened. “You didn’t say if you were going to stay.”
In a merciful mood, he let the subject go. “I’m sorry, but I cannot.”
“Dinner or supper this evening?”
“Thank you, no. I’ll be working until dawn. Saturday is also a confounded mess. I had wanted to introduce you to Cass myself. May I escort you to Sunday service?”
“Yes, please. And luncheon afterwards?”
“I could stay only a quarter hour and then must get back to Horse Guards.”
She masked her disappointment by teasing him. “Toiling on the Sabbath, Asterly?”
“Oh, I believe I’ll be forgiven for laboring in service to my country, but will you show mercy? Knowing how I must neglect you in future, I came crawling today. You see me abject and prepared to grovel.”
“Grovel, sir? You have no idea of its meaning and don’t look the least bit abject.”
He hummed an agreement. “Perhaps I put that too strongly. In any event, I must tell you that with the exception of church service, I may not be free to see you until Tuesday morning in Rochester. Please tell me that you understand.”
“I do. I had it in mind to go to Rochester on Monday.”
“An excellent idea. It would be prudent to get all the rest you can the night before our vows are exchanged. I must take my leave.” He leaned closer to whisper, “It’s been devilish hard to keep my hands off you, m’dear. You’re such a tempting distraction to the work that needs to be done.”
Asterly bowed over her hand before leaving. Elizabeth felt everyone watching, no matter how much they pretended not to be. She knew they must wonder about the reason for her flaming cheeks. She had been married after all and was far past the age to blush over a gentleman’s touch, but there was nothing she could do. He made her heart race and body tremble whenever he came near.
She returned to her guests but had trouble concentrating. She gratefully overheard one comment that it was natural for a bride to be preoccupied and wear an enigmatic smile. Her smile lingered until the next morning when she remembered that it was Saturday. Today, she would make a public appearance with Countess Ravenswold, a woman Asterly called as his dear and close friend.
There was no way to avoid this meeting. A card had arrived from Lady Ravenswold to confirm the time. It was a perfect day for riding or driving—sunny, cool, and not a hint of wind. There could be no shying away from this next, intimidating hurdle.
She wished she could recapture the glow of yesterday’s luncheon. If only Harry would visit unexpectedly. He would support her and remind her of what it was like to bask in sibling affection. Having him as a brother was better than anything she had ever longed for. He was brotherly companionship without the childish pranks. She’d had enough of that from her classma
tes at school. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t rid herself of the sad ache their exclusion and ridicule had caused.
And now, she stood on the verge of meeting the same class of female that had inflicted misery and humiliation during her stay at Miss Alderstoke’s Select Seminary for Young Ladies.
Elizabeth’s inner peace and poise were badly shaken with the thought of trying to become friends with this paragon that Asterly so admired. Horse-mad and as reclusive as her husband, Lady Ravenswold’s beauty, arrogance, and unique personality were legendary. Asterly had been specific in his particular wish that she and the countess become bosom friends. Elizabeth didn’t want to think why. The aristocracy had odd ideas about marriage. Her mind veered away from the idea of Asterly and the famous Countess Ravenswold involved in more than friendship.
Elizabeth’s dismay peaked and spilled over into outright horror when the countess rolled up to the front steps driving a perch phaeton. High-spirited, black geldings drew the stylish, precarious conveyance. The horses came to a stop and stood dancing in place, coats gleaming and eyes rolling.
Lord Ravenswold was nowhere in sight. His imperious wife sat alone, holding the reins of the unsuitable team in check, as a tiger jumped down off the back of the phaeton and trotted up to sound the doorknocker.
Aggravation thinned Elizabeth’s lips. Of all the effrontery! To send for her to come out and be delivered up like a parcel. How incomprehensibly rude!
Elizabeth regretted her earlier timidity while she’d waited for the countess by the window. She’d stood here, peering apprehensively down into the street, like a terrified rabbit. She roughly threw aside the drapery she’d been clutching for support and strode across the room.
This is the female Asterly called his dearest friend next to Ravenswold? He even set the countess above Mr. Bates, a friend since school days. It was the outside of enough. Insupportable.
Elizabeth jammed her hands into her gloves and sped down the staircase. Not by so much as a flicker of an eye would she show this person that she felt intimidated. For now, she wasn’t. She was in a flaming rage and banked her fury behind a smooth mask of frigid disinterest.
But when she reached the curb, the horses sensed her feelings; one began to stamp and another kicked out. Vicious animals. This sort of behavior was why she had nothing to do with them.
She waved off the tiger in bottle-green livery and silver buttons. Crimm had sent a footman out with her, and she accepted the assistance of one of her own. There was no graceful way to climb up to the high seat beside the countess. She managed the awkward task with gritted teeth and sat ramrod straight on the padded bench.
Below, the team’s backs glowed in the sunlight. One bucked in place, an outright threat of mischief to come. Elizabeth quelled a streak of alarm. She braced her feet, refusing to weaken or grab for a handhold when the carriage began to move. The carriage pulled away from the curb, wheels rattling over cobblestones as they swept around the square and headed for the street.
The countess spoke first before they entered the busy traffic of the main thoroughfare, her voice low, abrupt and—as Asterly had warned—managing.
“Mrs. Shelton, I ask that you will not mind withholding all conversation until we reach the park. The traffic is particularly bothersome today, and Cromwell, the jittery fellow who kicked out at you, is encouraging his partner to behave as badly. They are young, and this is their first time in town traffic. I hope that you do not mind.”
Elizabeth only shook her head in reply and calmed her breathing. She needed time to collect herself and get her anger and shock under control. The unexpected force of her rage and jealousy shattered her ability to pretend a show of poise. She felt swamped by an overwhelming sense of unreality. This meeting and her wild emotions were so unlike anything she had ever experienced. All the rules were being broken. Nothing was as it should be, excepting her lack of surprise that Lady Ravenswold’s beauty had been understated.
Countess Ravenswold, formerly Cassandra Seyton of Tamer Hall, could not be described as beautiful. The only adjective that came to mind was breathtaking. The brief glimpse Elizabeth had from the window had been blurred by distance and her anger. Seeing the woman in the flesh, so close, created a terrible shock.
Lady Ravenswold’s copper and gold hair had been severely pulled into a simple, twisted braid at the back of her head. She wore a saucy, small, black velvet bonnet set at a jaunty angle. Her amber eyes were large and feline. She seemed to radiate health and vigor. Her complexion, delicately accentuated by the chill breeze, was the most perfect Elizabeth had ever seen.
Seated beside her, Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice that the countess was an unusually tall woman and wore a smart carriage dress without an awareness of its expense or style. Black braid accented its vivid turquoise. Black kid gauntlets matched her masculine topboots. This color combination made a striking contrast against the phaeton, painted shiny black with shimmering brass fittings. Most people wore clothes to improve their appearance. When it came to Lady Ravenswold, she enhanced what she wore.
Elizabeth blinked back the sting of tears. This was impossible! How could Asterly think that she could so easily be friends with a woman he admired?
Lady Ravenswold looked and acted like a character from a fairy tale, combined with a warrior queen. She oozed consequence and unshakable confidence. This was a woman who knew exactly what and who she was—someone with a clear vision of how to acquire whatever she wanted. This sort of goal-oriented manner of thinking was the only trait that Elizabeth could define as similar to herself. In every other feminine way, there could be no comparison.
Elizabeth clenched her teeth and digested the facts. She had to push aside her dread of Asterly comparing her in any way to this extraordinary, gorgeous, fearless creature.
The phaeton flew under a wrought iron and stone archway into Hyde Park, bowling along fashionable Rotten Row at a collected trot. A light rain had fallen during the night. No dust rose to spoil the glistening perfection of the team’s glossy coats. The horses had settled and jogged in precision. It was an altogether perfect day for a drive, if not for her inability to contain her aggravation.
Out of the corner of her eye—for she was determined to stare straight ahead for the entire drive—Elizabeth noticed raised eyebrows and startled expressions. Many beaver hats lifted as Lady Ravenswold’s phaeton swept by. Gloved hands waved and haughty heads nodded. The ravishing countess didn’t bother herself to acknowledge anyone, except one gentleman, who was now very familiar and dear to Elizabeth’s heart.
The team halted beside Sir Harry astride a dainty, white mare. His elegant Arabian mount was tricked out with dark blue ribbons tied to her long, wavy mane and tail. Sir Harry wore traditional black riding jacket and white-topped boots, but his vest was a gold-blue-and-white-striped wonder. Kid gloves had been dyed to match his vest’s blue stripes and he held a black, gold-fringed parasol stiffly upright. Elizabeth was astonished that his flighty mare tolerated the parasol and did not buck or bolt.
Sir Harry took his leave of a bevy of adoring females on the promenade with a bow and engaging smile. Without seeming to give the mare instruction, he backed her glossy rump away from the footpath and directed her pretty head at the phaeton. He inclined his head in greeting.
The elegant mare showed her displeasure by pawing the road with a small oval hoof that had been stained black. Harry spoke to her in French and she quieted.
Lady Ravenswold called down to Harry, “That’s a neatish mare you have under you, Harry. Hot blooded, no doubt.”
Sir Harry laughed, deliberately misconstruing Lady Ravenswold’s remark. “Most definitely a hussy, countess, and very much in love with me. You’ve noticed that she pays no attention to your handsome fellows.”
Lady Ravenswold dipped the tip of her whip in the team’s direction. “They’ve been cut. Pretty but useless.”
“That has nothing to do with it. A lady knows a gentleman of worth when she sees him.
Hello, Sis! This is quite an honor, you know. La Tigresse never allows anyone up beside her, excepting Rave, and he has to whine and plead before she relents. Obstinate as a rock is our Cass, but Perry can talk anyone into anything when he sets his brain box to it. Even Lady Rave!”
The countess scorned his remarks with an unladylike snort. “What rubbish you spout, Harry. I’m honored to be of service to your brother. He’s done many services for me in the past, and Mrs. Shelton is a sensible female. No grabbing and chatting or squealing about a near miss. But then, Peregrine promised me that she would be so.”
Fed up to the teeth with being talked about as if she were not present, Elizabeth piped up. She didn’t care a jot that hurt and jealousy soured her tone.
“Indeed, Sir Harry. I believe all that is needed to insure my consequence with the ton is for me to more perfectly develop a rude stare and attitude of mute superiority.”
Sir Harry winced. “Ouch! You’ve accomplished the superior attitude, Lizzie.”
The titian-haired goddess stared, apparently startled by a show of backbone. She cracked an unexpected and unaffected bark of laughter. “You’ll do! Did you hear that set-down, Harry? By gad, the gel’s got bottom!”
Before he could reply, Elizabeth spoke again, this time through clenched teeth. “I’m vastly pleased that you’ve judged me worthy, ma’am. May we not return to my house? Now.”
A very worried looking Harry begged to be excused. Elizabeth dismissed him with a sharp nod. The mare backed and pivoted, trotting away with her head and tail proudly in the air, causing Elizabeth to wish she had a portion of the horse’s self-assurance.
Lady Ravenswold eyed Elizabeth from under arched brows. “As you wish. We’ve given the gawkers and gossips what they need for today’s on-dit.”
Nothing else was said on the drive back to Cavendish Square. As the phaeton pulled up in front of her house, Elizabeth coldly murmured her “thank you” and moved to step down. A strong grip on her arm stopped Elizabeth’s descent. She pointedly stared down at Lady Ravenswold’s gloved hand then looked up to deliver a visual order to be unhanded.