by Jackie Ivie
ELISE
Jackie Ivie
Dedication
To Glenn, who never stopped believing in me.
Chapter 1
AD1876
There really was such a thing as one secret too many. Elise wouldn’t have guessed it earlier. There was only one thing to do about it, too: give it up to its rightful owner. It wasn’t her secret, anyway. It never had been.
Elise looked over the assemblage below, keeping the emotion well hidden beneath the cool, polished exterior that was all anybody ever saw on her face. She was so used to it, it was easy. For if coldness, conceit, and vanity were desirable traits, then Elise, the Dowager Duchess of Wynd, was a very desirable woman. She turned from contemplation of her own image in the mirrored disk at her wrist and looked at the staircase she was about to descend. Lady Elise always made an entrance. She always stopped what was happening, as others looked at her to see what outrageous, expensive, and scandalous ensemble she was wearing. It wasn’t working at the moment, but she didn’t have to look far for the cause.
His dais was directly across from her, where he could host a vast number of society peerages, all lined up in a meandering band, like a misguided snake. Elise didn’t falter. She pasted her society smile into place on her face, smoothed any stray hairs that might have escaped her coiffure back into place, and stepped onto the stairs.
She could have used her status and been introduced anytime she wanted. With as much, or as little, notice as she wished. That was against her creed. She was known for causing rumors, adding innuendo, and creating whispers. Standing in that long queue was guaranteed to do that. Elise checked the throng to see if there was anyone known for their love of gossip. She spotted a few. Her lips moved a bit at that and she stopped the motion.
Elise’s entrance wasn’t going unnoticed, however. There was little for those waiting to concentrate on, except the new arrivals. She reached the dance floor to an almost audible sigh of relief and ignored the room-sized mirror placed at the bottom. This ensemble had cost her more than her entire hunting wardrobe of last season, but it was worth it.
As a young dowager duchess in a long line of plain-faced and large-boned women, Elise had taken it upon herself to be different. Gracing every social occasion with stunning, original gowns and remarkable jewels was the easy part. Elise walked, with her special sashay-style movement, to the end of the receiving line, aware of the froth of silver petticoats moving with each step. Diamond dust appeared to have been sprinkled throughout the material, and judging by the price, it probably was. She tilted her chin a bit and ignored the whispering about her.
She knew what they were probably saying, anyway. Scandalous. Spoiled. Emotionless. Daring. Heartless. Icy. She knew how she was described, because she’d worked long and hard at that very thing.
The line moved, and Elise moved with it. Then she saw Sir Roald Easton on the stairs and very nearly gave vent to frustration as he crossed the floor to reach her.
“Lady Elise! How pleasant to see you again. I vow, you grow lovelier with each passing moment. You’re a more breathtaking sight than a mere mortal can absorb.” He’d started the effusive greeting before he’d reached her side, and he ended it with her hand raised to his lips. Elise listened to the increased whispering and longed to snatch her hand away. “I shall perish if you don’t dance with me. Now. At once.”
“I’m in the receiving line, Roald,” Elise replied coldly.
“Why, so you are ... which is highly unusual, if you don’t mind me remarking on it.”
“I do,” she replied.
He tucked her hand beneath his elbow and turned them toward the dais. “Then allow me to escort you. Who is it we are meeting?”
“The new Duke of MacGowan, of course.”
“The Scotsman? Good heavens, why? He’s a heathen.”
“Because it sounded amusing, and I could use a bit of that.”
“Amusement? Well, if that’s the case, I want you to know I’ve got the freshest cartload of peonies spread all over my home.”
Elise’s interest was perked. She tilted her head and looked up at him. “Peonies?” she asked.
He nodded. He really was devilishly handsome, she decided, not for the first time. “Peonies. Blossoms only, no stems.”
“Why would you spread peonies all over your home?” she asked.
“To watch you wallow in. What else?”
Her gasp wasn’t heard over those around them. Elise swallowed any reply, maneuvered her hand from his grasp, and practiced at a patience she was far from feeling. Tonight wasn’t to be the night she told it, after all. It was almost a relief, until the weight of it started up again. Secrets had a way of gaining volume to them, and the one she had for MacGowan was a heavy one.
“That’s a lovely dress, darling. I’ve not seen it before. New?”
“All my dresses are new, Roald. I wouldn’t be caught in public in one I’d worn before. Imagine the lampooning I’d get,” Elise replied.
“Imagine the ones you already get. Forgive me. Slight touch of envy. Cost much? Or just look like it?”
“Roald, your attendance on me is rapidly palling,” Elise replied.
“Good. Otherwise, I’d think you bored. So, was it?”
“Was it what?” Elise asked, moving forward again with the line’s movement.
“Frightfully expensive.”
Elise watched as he looked her over. She could only hope the others about her weren’t doing the same. Like the other ladies there, Elise’s gown tightly followed her ribcage, but then it was split down the front to the floor. With the skirt’s excess material, her designer had fashioned a small bustle at the small of her back. The man had then filled the gap in front with petticoats. This particular dress was made of a purple-hued taffeta, resembling the color of a storm-filled sky. She’d found the perfect amethysts to go with it, too.
“What do you think?” she asked, when he’d finished his perusal and returned to looking her in the eye.
“It’s worth every quid. Double,” he said finally.
It really was a shame. He was a very handsome man. Soulless, but handsome. They were a perfect pair. She ducked her head. It wasn’t due to any shyness, it was to hide her expression. She may have been wearing the most beautiful, costly, and daring ensemble, but it didn’t match her heart. There wasn’t a material black enough.
“So . . . now that we’ve solved that riddle, answer me another. Why are we standing about, wasting this delightful evening, dancing attendance on a Scot’s duke, rather than the waltz? Hmmn?”
“You don’t have to accompany me, Roald,” Elise answered. The line moved and she moved with it.
“Oh, that’s the way of it. You’re determined to mystify. Well, consider me properly intrigued. A Scot’s duke? Fair enough. There must be a reason. Is he plump in the pockets?”
“He’s the new Duke of MacGowan, Roald. You know very well he’s rich. You read the papers.”
“As a potentate. I know. Lucky bastard.”
Sir Roald’s voice was full of jealousy. Elise knew the cause. Everyone did. Sir Roald hadn’t much money to his name, and what he did get, he foolishly gambled away.
She smiled slightly and looked away, as if disinterested.
“I’ve heard he’s in the market for a bride,” Roald leaned over to whisper.
“So?” Elise asked.
“You thinking of putting yourself in the running? This is news.”
“I have nothing to say to such nonsense, Roald. Pray find a different subject to bore me with, or find someone else to address your presence to, someone who actually wants it there.”
“Ouch,” he replied.
“You still here?” Elise asked sweetly.
There were more twitters of amusement about them and
more whispering. She ignored it. Roald’s jaw tightened.
“It’s a very good thing you’re beautiful, Elise, because you have the tongue of a serpent and the warmth of an iceberg.”
“Careful, Roald, your flattery is slipping,” Elise said, with a cool nod and smile to an acquaintance walking past. The line moved again. She noted they were halfway there.
“Oh, forgive me. I lost my mind for a moment. The beam of your presence shadowed everything else into insignificance. It’s always the case when near a goddess wrapped in earthy tones.”
“Too effusive,” Elise commented.
He cleared his throat “All right, then, your radiance transcends Mount Olympus.”
“Better,” she replied, moving again.
He grinned, showing the dimples everyone ranted over. A lady could do worse than Sir Roald Easton for an escort, much worse. He was a wit, and he dressed in the epitome of fashion, from his dark coat to the exquisitely tied cravat at his chin. She’d hate to know how much he must owe his tailor this time.
“And all reason flees my mind when in the presence of one such as you. I vow, no mere man can keep his sanity and his words when faced with being near, let alone speaking with, you.”
Elise pantomimed a yawn.
“It will never work between you two, Elise. I just told you he’s looking for a maiden wife, and you ... well ... ahem.”
Elise turned her head again. “And how would you know?” she asked.
He guffawed, catching more attention. “How do I know his wants? Or how do I know you’re not maidenly?”
“Either,” Elise answered stiffly.
“We belong to the same club. It’s on the bet sheet. White’s. I’m not entirely a pup, you know.”
“White’s?” Elise asked, then took a half step forward, although the line hadn’t moved.
“Oh, yes. White’s. They even allow me in. Fancy that.”
“They must not expect payment up front, then.” Elise had to keep her mouth from showing any gratification at such a reply. He deserved it after his maiden comment.
“I don’t know why I stay at your side and put up with such abuse, Elise. Truly, I don’t.”
“Oh yes, you do, Roald. It’s because I’ve got the widow’s portion of the Wynd fortune at my beck and call.”
“So?”
“And you don’t,” she finished.
“You’re a very beautiful woman, Elise Wyndham. Very beautiful.”
“Are we back to that again?” Elise asked. This time the line moved more than a few steps. She didn’t bother to reason the cause. They were almost to the dais that the new duke and his retinue had been seated atop.
“I was just getting to the skin-deep part,” he finished.
Elise’s mouth twisted. “Your regard warms my heart, Roald.”
“Impossible,” he replied, “you haven’t got one.”
“I certainly hope, with a remark like that, you don’t expect to ask for a loan toward your creditors from me again.”
“Oh, bother!” he replied, beneath his breath. “What I said earlier about losing my wits? Well, it’s true.”
“How much this time?” she asked.
“Well, at least allow me to earn it first.”
The gasps about them were more audible than before. Elise turned toward him. The dimples were out in force and the humor had extended to his eyes. Sir Roald Easton fancied himself a poet and a ready wit. He also had gray eyes, which, when he turned on the charm, warmed to the shade of gun-metal. Elise looked him over dispassionately.
“And how do you propose to do that, pray tell?” she asked.
His eyebrows went up and down several times. “With peonies?” he asked hopefully.
“Not a chance,” she replied.
“Hmmn. A waltz, then. Maybe two?”
“I’m not interested in dancing tonight. I think my foot hurts. If I allow you to step on it, I’m sure it will.” Elise kept her eyes on the dais in front of the couple before them.
“I’m a devilishly good dancer, and you know it.”
“Careful. Your temper’s showing,” she reminded him.
“Oh, let me see ... there’s tea. That’s it. Tea.”
“Tea?” she asked.
“Will you be receiving at tea tomorrow?” he asked. “I’ll be there. We’ll drink a few cups. What do you say to inviting me?”
Elise had already decided this entire conversation was probably going to be a cartoon passed out on the streets tomorrow morn. She took a deep breath. She didn’t let it bother her, much. She was used to being lampooned. It went hand in hand with being ostracized
“I’m not entertaining for tea, Roald. I never do. There’s so much better uses for my divan. You know that much.”
He sighed, exaggeratedly. “Oh, very well. It will have to be with information. What do you want to know?”
“MacGowan. He wants a bride? Why?”
“The slick shard of your heart twists deeply into my own, Elise. I want you to know this beforehand.”
“I never said I wanted the position, Roald.”
He brightened. “Oh, well, then. Our erstwhile duke has been spending his time until now with his regiment in India. Of course, he had to resign his commission upon the news, lucky chap.”
The couple before them stepped up onto the dais and started the introductions. Elise picked up her skirt with one hand and held to the railing with the other. She couldn’t see the new duke from where they were standing, but the retinue about him had the bearing of army officers, to be sure.
“He’s definitely not your type, Elise,” Sir Roald hissed into her ear. “And, don’t forget, he’s in mourning.”
“Mourning?”
“For his brothers. Drowning accident. Surely you read about it?”
“I must have missed it,” she replied.
She wasn’t fooling him, but she didn’t care. Her heart was giving her more trouble than she’d own up to, and her throat was dry. She felt like a girl of fifteen again.
“The Lady Elise Wyndham, Dowager Duchess of Wynd. Allow me to introduce you to His Grace, Colin MacPherson Rory MacGowan, Sixth Duke of Gowan, and Laird of MacGowan.”
Elise heard her name and title and took the step up onto the dais. She held out her hand but had to let it drop when he didn’t take it. She looked up; then everything in her head went right out of it. The new duke was enormous, he wasn’t wearing anything that looked remotely Scottish, and he was looking at her with something akin to dislike. She hadn’t counted on that.
He turned his head to one of his assistants. “This one does na’ have much meat to her,” he remarked.
Elise’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened, and that was the only part she’d admit to. There wasn’t a thing she could do about the flush taking over her entire body.
“I beg your pardon.” Elise managed to find her voice.
He waved, and an unseen hand took hold of her elbow and guided her. From somewhere she heard Sir Easton being announced. Then she was back on the ballroom floor, trying to find her legs beneath her. She did the only thing she could. She put her society smile back on her face and waited for her escort.
Chapter 2
Elise didn’t sleep. She tried. Visions of her own mortification played with memories of the same, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw that great hulking barbarian announcing that she didn’t have enough meat to her. And she was angry. Not with The MacGowan; he was a Scotsman and was supposed to be barbaric. She was angry with the fact that her wits and her tongue had completely deserted her when she needed them the most.
She was up, and almost wearing her riding habit, before dawn broke. Her maid, Daisy, would have to finish hooking up her stays, and promptly at the first sight of the sun, Elise rang for her. She didn’t care if it was an ungodly hour to be out and riding. She had to escape any more time alone with her thoughts.
The Dowager Duchess of Wynd always rode in Hyde Park during the Season. It was one of
the few pleasures none of her so-called friends shared. She needed the fresh air and the wind on her face. Elise found herself running the steps, and she had to stop to take a breath.
A groom awaited her at the front step, his hand gentling a pure Arabian mare. Elise ignored his touch about her waist as he assisted her into the sidesaddle.
She’d grabbed the first thing in her wardrobe to wear and grimaced down at her newest habit, which was made of vivid blue satin with black piping. Seated atop her nephew’s mare in such a color, she’d be impossible to miss. She was grateful it was early morn.
Elise actually owned nothing. Her late husband’s nephew, Archibald Wyndham, owned the title and all the wealth being Duke of Wynd brought. Elise wasn’t slighted, however. She had a stipend on her for life. It was something her father had been most insistent on when he’d, in effect, sold her.
Elise gathered the reins and set off, her mind still riding the morbid train of her thoughts, and that’s why she didn’t see what awaited her the moment she and her groom entered the park.
Good Lord! She thought it the moment she saw the seven men astride seven horses. He’s even larger on horseback.
The man bearing down on her from across the park could be none other than MacGowan. Elise tipped her head back, barely avoiding making any sort of a sound as he neared. She didn’t question that he was racing to see her. There wasn’t anyone else in the park.
She watched the hooves of the beast he was riding; they churned up sod with the way he halted it in, and she couldn’t help but be impressed. Colin MacGowan had chestnut hair, nearly the same shade as his horse; his hair was thick and wavy and fell to his shoulders, if the muscled expanse inside his jacket was shoulders. Elise eyed the width of him while his horse breathed across on her and waited.
“Are you the woman known as The Ice Goddess?”
He held up a crumpled piece of paper in his gloved hand as he asked it. Actually, Elise had to rephrase it.
He wasn’t asking anything, he was demanding to know. In his next sentence, she knew it.