by Head, Gail
Pushing the distracting thoughts of that encounter out of her mind, she moved to the viscount's chair and began her search. If Mr. Darcy was right and Lord Grissholm did indeed possess all Lydia's letters, then it was reasonable to assume they would be here among his papers.
Starting with the neatly arranged stacks lying on the desktop, Elizabeth sifted through a variety of contracts, bills, and social invitations, careful to leave everything exactly as she had found it. As expected, they were not there. It was not likely he would leave them out in plain sight, but she was not leaving anything to chance. Moving to the drawers next, she began a methodical search, exploring each one thoroughly. It was not until the third drawer that she found what she was looking for. Lifting a tightly-wrapped bundle which bore the single inscription of “Lord Robert Grissholm” in the familiar scrawl of Wickham's hand, she knew it had to be the letters.
She quickly set the package on the desktop, anxiously working at the knot in the string until it loosened and fell away. Swallowing hard, she hesitated only a moment before slowly peeling back the outer cover. A stunned gasp of amazement flew from her lips as she stared at the dozen or more missives – all addressed to George Wickham in Lydia's familiar, hand – lying in front of her.
So, it was true! Lord Grissholm had recovered them all! Elizabeth could only stare in awe at the sheer number of her sister's ruinous letters. Mr. Darcy's words sprang to her mind. '…he has never been inclined to further anything but his own interests.' Lord Grissholm's interests were clearly not the same as hers; not when he allowed scandalous rumors to go unanswered and deliberately delayed her return home.
All at once, her eyes widened in a flash of revelation, the shock of it striking her mind with a sudden, horrifying comprehension. If the viscount had lied about the rumors and the letters – what else was he lying about? Was anything true?
She glared at the letters, anger and mortification welling up within her. “This is impossible! Lord Grissholm is expecting a favorable outcome to his proposal, and he is now proving to be worse than Mr. Wickham ever was! The only one who has shown himself to be an honorable gentleman is Mr. Darcy. So honorable that he would go to such trouble and expense for the sake of salvaging my family's reputation, righting the wrong he has done in separating his friend from dear Jane! Oh, this is wretched! Can I ever trust my own judgment again?”
Elizabeth shook herself from her unhappy reverie and straightened with renewed determination. She didn't know how she had allowed herself to become so blinded, but it was all very clear now and she would not suffer another day in this house! She had the letters now. All she needed to do was burn them so that they would never be a threat to anyone again. Then she would return to Hertfordshire and contradict Mrs. Younge's spiteful rumor. She had no means to travel, but she had a friend in Mr. Darcy and he would see her safely home.
Quickly gathering the letters together, she re-wrapped the package, holding it tightly to her chest as she double-checked the desktop for any tell-tale signs of her search. Satisfied all was in order, she turned to put her plan into action. Her footsteps and her heart stopped suddenly at the sight of Lord Grissholm leaning comfortably against the door-case.
“My lord, I did not see you there!”
“I think that is rather obvious, my dear. It seems you have been busy in my absence.” He came forward, slowly shutting the door behind him. Without speaking, he measured her with a shrewd, calculating gaze.
Elizabeth stiffened defiantly at his intimidating manner. “It seems you have been busy yourself, my lord. I see that all of my sister's letters have been recovered. How long have you had them?”
“A while, I must admit,” he remarked with a maddening complacency.
“And just how long were you going to wait before you told me of them?”
“As long as it took.”
“Took for what?”
“For you to accept my proposal – formally, that is. Am I to gather you are ready to do that?”
Elizabeth stared in disbelief. “You cannot be serious!”
“Quite serious, my dear.”
“Then you are a madman!”
“Oh, but I shall be a very happy madman, I am certain.”
He came nearer, his menacing smile forcing Elizabeth to draw from a deeper reserve of courage.
“I will never enter a marriage based on lies, deceit, and blackmail! These letters change everything – these and the fact that you knew all about Ann Younge's malicious rumors!” She held the letters out accusingly and edged away as he stepped closer. “There is no engagement and there certainly shall be no marriage!”
“Very clever of you to have figured out the source of the rumors, I must say; but it makes no difference. It comes down to this, sweet Elizabeth – ” His hand shot out, claiming her arm in a bruising grip. The anguished gasp that filled the room had no effect on him as he roughly drew her close. “Ah, do not struggle so, my dear,” he whispered into her hair. “I can be reasonable. You may have half the letters as soon as our engagement is announced and – ”
“Half?!” she cried in angry surprise.
“Yes, of course,” he murmured softly, sending a loose tendril of hair dancing around her ear. “Do you think I would let you go back to Hertfordshire without sufficient inducement for your swift return? The remaining letters will be my wedding gift to you.”
“Never!” she breathed furiously, struggling to break free of his powerful grasp. “Let go of me!”
“As you wish, my dear,” he replied lightly. Calmly pulling the packet of letters from her fingers, he released her. “You have only to ask.”
She glared at him, backing away and rubbing gingerly at her arm. There was a throbbing rush of blood where his fingers had gripped her.
“However, you may want to reconsider your reluctance to wed,” he continued casually. “If a mere rumor has produced so much trouble for your family, imagine what damage an actual letter could do in the hands of a few neighbors.”
“No! You cannot!”
“I can and I will if you choose to fight me on this. It is your choice, Elizabeth.”
Calmly and deliberately, Grissholm trailed the packet of letters lightly down her arm and smiled at the fiercely defiant lift of her chin. Returning the letters to the drawer, he sat back into his chair with smug satisfaction. “Perhaps you would like a few days to think on it.”
“Why?” Elizabeth demanded. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I wish it. I think you have lived in my house long enough to know that I am a man accustomed to having his wishes obeyed without the need of any explanation.”
“Surely you know this changes everything. You cannot possibly want a wife who does not love you, who has not the slightest affection for you.”
“Oh, but I am confident that you will – in time. I have no doubt. You are too sensible a woman to live your life in misery. Sooner or later, you will learn your duty and fulfill it admirably.”
* * * *
Staring into the gathering gloom outside her window, Elizabeth saw nothing, felt nothing but the shroud of desolate anger that had settled over her since leaving Lord Grissholm's study more than an hour before. The small, painful throbbing in her arm, evidence of the viscount's brute force, pushed its way into her mind, bringing back an unwelcome reminder of the encounter.
Elizabeth had left with her head held high, but her bravado only lasted as long as it took to get to her room where her furious tears had flowed unchecked. The tears were now spent, but the discovery of Lord Grissholm's treachery and the horrifying incident that followed continued to play in her mind. He had set every nerve in her body on edge and she could not calm them. Gently rubbing at the soreness in her arm, Elizabeth paced from the window to the bed and back again, trying to shake his menacing memory.
She must leave! She had to get away as soon as possible, but how? She was still penniless, she didn't know how to find Mr. Darcy, and more importantly, she had to escape without
Lord Grissholm's knowledge. Troubling visions of the young woman in Lord Grissholm's past haunted her. Had Catherine Monroe refused him as well? Elizabeth anxiously considered her own circumstance. If she provoked him, would she too disappear without a trace, never to be heard of again?
Her tortured mind conjured every imaginable misery that would befall her and her family if she refused Lord Grissholm, yet what misery would be suffered should she marry such a heartless, overbearing man? Pushing back the agony that threatened to take her sanity, she forced herself to take deep, even breaths. She just needed a little time to settle down and then she could think clearly enough to consider her options.
It was some time later, after she had finally stopped pacing and took refuge in the chair near the fire, that Molly came into the room. Elizabeth watched the girl working for a few minutes before sitting up and stretching the stiffness from her muscles.
“What time is it?”
“Lord, bless me! I didn't see you there, Miss Bennet! Are you ill?”
“No, Molly, I was just resting and lost track of the time. Is it very late?”
“Yes, Miss. It's nearly time to dress for dinner.”
“I will not be going down for dinner tonight. I am not the least bit hungry,” she answered flatly. “Will you please give Lord Grissholm my regrets.”
Molly cleared her throat nervously, carefully avoiding Elizabeth's eyes. “His lordship gave me particular instructions that you were to join him for dinner, Miss. He said if you were wanting to stay in your room, I was to tell you he won't allow it. If you don't go down, he will come for you himself.”
Elizabeth's jaw tightened with a new wave of frustration. “Very well then, I suppose I shall be dressing after all.”
Rising from the chair, she stepped reluctantly to the dressing table and turned for Molly to help her out of her wrinkled frock. The last thing Elizabeth wanted was to give Lord Grissholm another reason to forcibly impose his will.
It was a moment before she realized Molly was staring at her, eyes wide with alarm.
“What is it?” Elizabeth asked, following the girl's gaze to her arm. There were five oblong, purple-red bruises rising on her arm where the viscount had held her. Looking back at Molly's distressed face, she gave a determined smile. “I am fine – really. Help me with the dress, now. You know how particular his lordship is about punctuality.”
The girl hurried over and began removing the dress. Elizabeth submitted absentmindedly, her mind turned to the challenge of escaping Peyton House.
“Molly, how did you receive the message you delivered from Mr. Darcy?”
“His valet, Mr. Denham, told it to me. I visit my sister in Newberry Street every Sunday and I was on my way there when he approached me.”
“Did he?” Elizabeth murmured, thinking once more of what trouble Mr. Darcy had gone to on her behalf.
“He did. At first, I thought the man was bold as brass; but he put my mind at ease straight away when he said it was Mr. Darcy that sent him.”
Suddenly Elizabeth frowned, her mind diverted from the subject when Molly held out a striking, emerald green evening gown for her to put on.
“Molly, did I not ask you to lay out my blue silk round for tonight?”
“Yes…well, Lord Grissholm…he…”
“You do not have to say any more. He gave particular instructions?”
“Yes, he did. I'm sorry.”
“That is quite all right, Molly. You are only fulfilling your duty.” Just as he thinks I will, no doubt; but he is in for a rude awakening if he thinks he can command me as he does his servants! she silently retorted.
“It's a very good thing your gown has long sleeves, Miss.”
“Yes, it is. His lordship thinks of everything,” Elizabeth agreed curtly, then curbed her annoyance so that she could return to the more pressing subject on her mind. “Molly, do you have a way of finding him again? Mr. Denham, I mean.”
“Well, he did say that if you were ever in need of Mr. Darcy, I should leave word at Mr. Thomason's shop and he would get it.”
“Excellent! Do you think you could do that without drawing attention?”
Molly hesitated, and then dropped her eyes apologetically. “The master wouldn't like it. If he found out, it would cost me my place here for sure. I would be turned out on the street in the blink of an eye. With no recommendation, I would never get another position.”
“I understand,” Elizabeth replied kindly, touching her arm, “and I would not wish to cause trouble for you. Is there anyone in the house whom I could trust to carry such a message?”
Molly had been surprised at Lizzy's gentle reply, and her cheeks flushed with shame. She glanced at Elizabeth's arm where the sleeve of dark green satin now covered the vivid bruises. “None that you can trust to go against the master's wishes,” she whispered and then drew a ragged breath. “I'll carry the message for you.”
“No, I cannot ask you to risk your livelihood for me, Molly. I will find another way.”
“There is no other way,” the girl argued. “The staff has been put on notice and his lordship will know at once if you try to leave the house. You won't find another servant willing to go against the master's wishes after what he said. But I'll do it. Give me the message tonight, and I'll carry it first thing in the morning.”
The sound of the dinner bell in the main hall checked any further discussion and Molly hurried Elizabeth towards the door. Elizabeth paused a moment to ensure she was in command of the anxiety churning in her stomach, then made her way down the stairs to face Lord Grissholm. She hoped she would be able to get through the evening without giving herself away. As with his instructions to the staff, the viscount had made clear to her his feelings about Mr. Darcy, and if he were to discover any hint of what she was asking Molly to do, she was certain his displeasure would be extreme. After her experience earlier this afternoon, she was afraid to even guess how extreme it would be.
As she entered the dining room, Elizabeth was more than a little annoyed to find Lord Grissholm's greeting extremely pleasant and attentive. She was further infuriated to find him acting as if the encounter in his study had never happened. Thus, the ordeal of his company the remainder of the evening had been an arduous exercise in restraint and affected pleasantries, made worse when he refused to let her retire after dinner, insisting she play for him until late into the evening.
The following day, she fared no better. As promised, he had accompanied her to check on Rebecca's music, and then insisted they visit several other shops before returning to Peyton House. All through the day, he had found reasons to stay near her side, and she had the uneasy feeling his attentions were more to keep an eye on her rather than any real desire for her company.
* * * *
Now anxiously pacing her room, Elizabeth waited for the sounds of the retiring household to die away. Soon she would be gone from this place, never to return. It cannot be soon enough for me! she thought irritably. The difficulties of the day passed through her mind and she shuddered.
Being careful to avoid any suspicion of her anticipated flight, Elizabeth had spent the day acting the part of an obliging companion, stoically enduring the curls of nausea that swirled in her stomach each time Lord Grissholm looked at her. It had taken a special effort to keep the smile on her face and not snatch her hand away when he bid her goodnight; bending over her hand, the soft, warm touch of his lips lingering on her skin much longer than she wanted. When he straightened, his look had been arrogantly confident. How could such a pleasing countenance hide such a cruel character?
Pushing the unpleasant thoughts aside, she re-checked the small portmanteau at her feet. It contained only what was absolutely necessary. She wore the same pale yellow day dress that she had worn on her arrival at Everton Manor. The rest of what had been given her by Lord Grissholm was left behind. She wanted no reminders of her time with him.
Nearly an hour after the house had finally fallen silent, the door to Elizabeth's
dressing room swung noiselessly open. As soon as Molly appeared, Elizabeth donned her warmest pelisse and picked up the small leather bag.
“Are you ready, Miss?” Molly's whisper seemed loud in the stillness.
“Yes. I have left a letter for Miss Ballard on my dressing table. Will you see that she gets it after I am gone?”
“I promise I'll give it to her as soon as I am able. We'd best hurry now. I've come later than I thought to. That new footman took forever to finish his rounds.”
“Very well then, shall we go?” With a nervous breath, Elizabeth looked around the room one last time. Her only regret was leaving Rebecca, but there was nothing she could do for the girl now. She could only hope that there would be someone kinder than Lord Grissholm when it came time for her to marry.
Trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach, she quietly followed Molly though the dressing room and down the maze of servants' stairs used to access the rooms of the house. Their descent ended at the head of a wide hallway near the kitchens.
“Wait here. I shall be right back,” Elizabeth instructed, her voice barely audible.
Molly only nodded, her wide eyes looking around with apprehension as Elizabeth disappeared down the long hall that led to the front of the house.
It did not take long for Elizabeth to find her way to Lord Grissholm's study. She entered noiselessly, closing the door quickly behind her and paused to get her bearings. It was darker than she had thought it would be. A moonless night gaped blackly at the windows, the darkness broken only by a smoldering glow coming from a pile of dying embers in the hearth.
Moving as swiftly as she could in the darkness, she crossed the room to the massive desk and felt her way down to the third drawer. She tugged gently once, then again with a little more force, but the drawer did not move. Locked! She scowled in the darkness. Of course Lord Grissholm would not be foolish enough to leave the letters so accessible a second time. Now what? I cannot leave without them!
She tried the other drawers, even though she already knew they would all be locked – and they were. Desperate to have the letters, she quietly searched the desktop and the surrounding furniture, hoping for a miracle that would give her a key to the drawer, but she was disappointed. After another quick search, she reluctantly gave up. She had no more time. Molly would be starting to worry. She would just have to find another way of getting the letters once she was out of Lord Grissholm's reach.