“If you cannot manage a horse, you should not be riding,” he said.
Elizabeth concentrated on her reins. Miss Lacey had been managing the horse extremely competently. It had not escaped Elizabeth’s notice that she only lost control of the animal when she was close to Lord Runthorne. Just because Elizabeth did not play the game did not mean she did not know the rules.
Or the tactics.
Elizabeth turned her head away, ashamed at her unkind thoughts, and saw Charles watching her.
“She will not impress him with that behaviour,” he said.
Elizabeth decided it would be wise not to comment. “How is it that you are here?”
Miss Lacey, now positioned between Lord Runthorne and a speechless Mr Compton, nudged her horse into a slow walk. Elizabeth and Charles fell in behind.
“Miss Lacey informed me it was my gravest duty to accompany her.” Charles gave a wry smile. “I am Runthorne’s friend, after all, so I must dance attendance on his betrothed.”
Elizabeth glanced at him. “You do not sound best pleased,” she said.
“Elizabeth, your powers of perception are amazing.”
She frowned. Charles was usually the most amiable of men, willing to indulge even the silliest of females. It was unlike him to sound so bitter. “Charles, forgive me if I am prying, but what has happened?”
Charles shook his head. “My apologies, Elizabeth. I am a little annoyed, I admit but it is nothing.” He grinned, suddenly. “I had rather hoped for a more peaceful morning. Miss Granger had promised to show me the library.”
Elizabeth nodded, understanding. Charles was renowned for his love of books, an odd diversion for a soldier many thought. Indeed, some had called it an affectation, but Elizabeth knew that he had a real appetite for books. However, Miss Lacey’s demands for attention, whilst irritating, would not normally have annoyed Charles to such an extent.
“If Mary is too busy, perhaps I can show the library to you later today,” she said, “I think you will like it. Captain Maybourne has quite a collection.”
“I shall look forward to seeing it,” Charles said, but he did not sound as enthusiastic as Elizabeth would have expected.
“Well, at least Miss Lacey seems happy now,” Elizabeth said. Ahead Lord Runthorne rode silently whilst Mr Compton had revived enough to entertain the Beauty. Some people always seemed to get exactly what they wanted out of life and Elizabeth rather thought Miss Lacey was one of them. She hoped Lord Runthorne would not be made miserable in the process.
***
Runthorne cast a glance over his shoulder. Next to him Aurelia chatted and laughed, dividing her attention equally between him and Mr Compton. To his annoyance, she ignored both Charles and Elizabeth. It was the height of bad manners to cut both her hostess’ niece and his friend so pointedly.
Despite this the journey back to the house passed quickly and, almost before he knew it, he was passing his reins to a groom and handing his betrothed down from her mount.
“Walk with me, Runthorne,” she said.
“I am at your command, Aurelia.” He slipped her hand over his arm and guided her away from the house.
A rolling lawn led down to a lake and a dark maze loomed to their left. He turned away from it. There was something about mazes that made him uncomfortable. For a few moments he and Aurelia walked in silence with only distant birdsong for company.
“What did you wish to discuss,” he said, after a while.
“It is hard,” Aurelia sighed, “I am trying to find the right words. I do not wish to cause offence, you understand?”
Runthorne forced a smile. “Come, my dear, I am sure nothing you could say would offend me. Please speak frankly.”
Aurelia removed her hand from his arm. A small frown marred her wide brow as she re-arranged her cumbersome riding skirt over her arm, smoothing the heavy folds. Something about her behaviour struck him as artful and he felt his temper rise.
“Perhaps I will return at a later date, when you have decided whether to speak or not.” He bowed then turned on his heel.
“Do not be unreasonable, Runthorne,” she said. He heard her take a deep breath and when she spoke again, her tone was so natural, he wondered if he had imagined the pout in her voice.
“Please, Runthorne, I am truly trying not to upset you.”
He glanced down at her beautiful face. “I do not wish to play games, Aurelia,” he said.
She gazed at him with eyes that were so wide and innocent that he could not bring himself to doubt her. He softened. “Please say what is on your mind, my dear.”
Her smile was tremulous. “Please understand, Runthorne that this is hard for me to say. I hope you will listen and think before you say anything.”
She took another deep breath. “It has been brought to my attention that you and Miss Hampton have a prior relationship. I do not know exactly what you were to each other,” she lifted one delicate hand, “nor do I wish to know. That is in the past and my one concern is for our future.” She darted him a quick glance from under her lashes.
“Forgive me if I do not quite believe you, Aurelia. My prior relationship, as you call it, with Miss Hampton is hardly a secret. I remember that you thought the situation ‘horrid’.”
Aurelia had the grace to blush. “Truly, Runthorne, I do not wish to pry, but I hope you appreciate the delicateness of the current state of affairs.”
“It is none of your concern, madam.”
Perfect tears sprang to Aurelia’s eyes. Unlike most women, tears did nothing to diminish her appearance. They merely emphasised her porcelain beauty.
“Please do not be unkind, Runthorne, I am not worried for myself. Think how it must seem for Miss Hampton to be so much in your company. Alone. It can only damage her reputation and she has suffered so much.” She dabbed at her eyes, removing all trace of her tears. “Surely she deserves the chance of happiness?”
Despite the hot sun, he felt a chill. “I do not follow you.”
“But how is it that you do not?” Aurelia tilted her head to one side. “You must see how…” she hesitated, “drawn Miss Hampton is to your friend. And Captain Fitzalan certainly seems fond of her.”
He laughed. “Charles? That is ridiculous, they are merely friends.”
“Can you be so certain of that?” she said. “They deal very well together.” She blushed delicately and lowered her eyes. “Perhaps it is just that, as a lady in love, I can see that which is not so evident to a gentleman.”
He frowned. “Do not flatter me, Aurelia. You do not love me.”
Aurelia bit her lip, but continued as though he had not spoken. “However, Captain Fitzalan is your friend and I do not think he will push his suit if he thinks you still harbour a kindness for Miss Hampton.”
“You are wrong. Miss Hampton and Charles are friends, nothing more.”
Aurelia fluttered her fingers. “You know them better than I, of course, but it seems to me that you are doing Miss Hampton no kindness by paying so much attention to her. After all, you are not free to honour any expectations you might raise.”
She smiled. “Captain Fitzalan is.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Well, Miss Hampton,” Mr Compton said. “As I appear to be here, I shall pay my respects to Mrs Maybourne.”
Elizabeth dragged her eyes away from Lord Runthorne and Miss Lacey making their way across the Park. They seemed to be in deep conversation and Elizabeth could not suppress the small pang she felt at their obvious accord.
“Of course,” she said and led Mr Compton into the house. Charles had already disappeared.
The hall was dark, cool after the bright sunshine outside and Elizabeth paused, blinking to accustom her eyes. A clock chimed in the distance. It was eleven o’ clock which meant Aunt Edina would be found in the large parlour.
“Please follow me,” she said to Mr Compton, “I shall take you to her myself, before I change.” She brushed at a dust spot on her riding skirt before settling the h
eavy folds more comfortably over her arm.
Their boot heels rang against the marble floor as they strode through the hall, dulling to a deeper echo when they passed onto the wooden floors leading to the formal rooms.
They quickly came to the large parlour where Aunt Edina entertained in the mornings. Just before Elizabeth reached the door it swung open and a little maid appeared, dwarfed by the huge tray she carried. Plates, empty but for a few crumbs, were piled high, along with cups and a huge silver teapot.
Startled, the little maid bobbed a curtsey and the over laden tray began to slide towards the floor.
“Oh, Miss.” The little maid’s eyes were round with horror.
Elizabeth reached out to save the china. Before she could prevent the impending catastrophe, Mr Compton’s long, rather gangly, arm snaked past her and balanced the tray.
“Gosh,” he chuckled, “do not want to lose that, do we? It would be a crashing bore.” He laughed at his own wit and the little maid smiled, her gratitude shining out of her eyes.
“Oh, no, sir,” she gasped. “Thank you, sir.”
“Did you hear that, Miss Hampton,” Mr Compton continued. “A crashing bore. Ha.”
Mr Compton’s good humour was infectious and Elizabeth chuckled. “Thank you, Mr Compton,” she said.
He brushed aside her thanks. “Well, no harm done, and a good laugh had by all.”
Still smiling, Elizabeth turned back to the little maid. “Is Mrs Maybourne here?”
“Yes, Miss,” she said, curtseying a little more cautiously. “And Lady Delphine and all,” she added.
“Very good. Please would you ask Cook for more of her delicious refreshments? I am sure Mr Compton will wish for something to eat. If she has any of her macaroons put by, perhaps she might add some to the tray.” Elizabeth hesitated. “Ask one of the other maids to help you.”
“Thank you, Miss, I will.” Resting the edge of the tray against her thin chest the maid tried to free a hand. “I’ll just open the door for you.”
“No.” Elizabeth and Mr Compton said together. “I think you should just take the tray away. Carefully,” Elizabeth said. “We shall announce ourselves.”
“You were very kind, Mr Compton,” Elizabeth said when the maid had departed.
He gave a one shouldered shrug. “Gosh, it was nothing,” he said, flushing.
Elizabeth smiled. Mr Compton had always struck her as empty-headed and self-absorbed, his obsession with fashion certainly encouraged that impression, but she realised she had only seen his surface.
“Thank you, nonetheless,” she said.
Mr Compton’s blush deepened. Elizabeth did not wish to embarrass him further, so she opened the door and preceded him into the room.
It was not a large room but it was pretty with lovely views of the Park. Elizabeth found the soft, cream and white décor extremely restful and the perfect foil to her aunt’s gentle good looks.
Today, however, a jarring note had been added to the room. Lady Delphine dominated the company, her heavy, puce satin gown and matching turban making Aunt Edina, in her more restrained green silk, fade into the background.
Small groups of ladies, their chaperones in discreet attendance, graced the room. A few gentlemen, those who were not indulging in the more masculine activities Captain Maybourne had arranged, were also present. The general murmur of conversation dimmed as Elizabeth and Mr Compton entered.
“I do declare, Edina,” Lady Delphine said with no discernible effort to modulate her voice in the sudden silence, “I do think this room is lacking in warmth or personality. You must allow me to send you my own decorator. He is a quite adorable little man. French of course, but one must not hold that against him when he is such a genius with colour.”
In the corner, as far from his wife as it was possible to be whilst remaining in the same room, Mr Lacey shuddered behind his newspaper.
Elizabeth led Mr Compton, weaving their way through the small gathering to her aunt’s side.
“Elizabeth, my dear, here you are.” Aunt Edina smiled with just a tinge of relief in her eyes. “How kind of you to call on me, Mr Compton,” she added, giving him her hand. Her soft voice was almost drowned by Lady Delphine’s boom.
“Mr Compton, you say?”
Mr Compton bowed with a flourish and Aunt Edina made the introductions, allowing Elizabeth to retreat to the door. If she was quick she would be able to wash her face and change into something more appropriate for her aunt’s parlour. However, before she could make her escape, Lady Delphine called to her.
“A moment of your time, if you please,” she called. Elizabeth turned back, conscious that she was now the focus of more than a dozen pairs of eyes.
“I quite understand that you have been out of polite company for some years,” Lady Delphine continued, “but I cannot believe you think it acceptable to appear in your aunt’s parlour in such disarray.”
There was a general giggle of amusement from a group of girls by the fireplace and Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm. She opened her mouth to defend herself but seeing her aunt’s distressed face, realised that anything she said would give Lady Delphine more ammunition. Instead, she donned her dignity like a cloak, raising her chin.
“I do apologise, Lady Delphine,” she said. “If you would excuse me, I will remedy the situation.” She was rewarded with the sight of Lady Delphine’s jaw dropping. Elizabeth was not certain, but she thought she heard a snort of laughter coming from behind Mr Lacey’s newspaper.
Elizabeth’s victory was short lived, however. At that moment, the door opened and Miss Lacey glided into the room. Although Elizabeth had last seen her disappear into the Park with Lord Runthorne, she had, somehow, found the time to wash the dust from her face, change into a pretty leaf green muslin gown and rearrange her hair into a deceptively simple coil. She looked like a delicate wood nymph. In contrast Elizabeth felt like an unkempt hobgoblin.
“And here is my angel,” Lady Delphine said. “Aurelia, my dear, you always look so lovely.”
Elizabeth felt the betraying flush rising again but, keeping her head high, she dropped a slight curtsey to the company and turned to leave. The door swung open again and Lord Runthorne entered, followed by Charles. They, too, had found the time to discard their riding clothes in favour of attire more suited to a lady’s parlour. Elizabeth was sure she saw his eyes flick from her dishevelled appearance to Miss Lacey’s immaculate vision.
She narrowed her eyes, silently daring him to comment and she saw his lips twitch.
“Allow me,” he murmured, holding the door for her.
Elizabeth smiled through gritted teeth. “You are entirely too kind, my lord,” she said. As she swept past with as much dignity as she could muster, she distinctly heard his low chuckle and knew she had been right to distrust his smile.
Once in the relative privacy of the hall, Elizabeth allowed her mask to slip.
He was laughing at you. That hurts, admit it.
Elizabeth blinked rapidly. She would not cry.
She lifted her chin, just as she had been taught and strode towards the stairs, her boot heels ringing, staccato, on the floor.
One of the household tabbies had escaped the heat of the kitchen and was draped on the lowest step, her belly flat to the cool surface.
“Come on, puss,” Elizabeth said, bending to stroke the rough fur. “Out of my way.”
The cat did not move, merely staring at her with superior green eyes.
“Please?”
The end of the cat’s tail twitched, but it did not move. Elizabeth tapped her foot. It was ridiculous to be thwarted by a cat. She slid her hands around the cat’s full belly and tried to lift. It was like trying to move a dead weight.
Worse, it was like trying to move a boneless dead weight that flowed through her hands. Not since she was six years old had Elizabeth felt such an overwhelming desire to stamp her foot. Instead she rearranged her heavy riding skirt and lifted her foot to step over the unhelpful cat.
“Perhaps Captain Maybourne would buy a dog,” she said. The cat chose that moment to jump to its feet and weave around her ankle, almost toppling her, before streaking away. “A big dog.”
“Who are you talking to, Elizabeth?” Mary stood above her on the stairs.
Elizabeth smiled, a little embarrassed. “One of the kitchen tabbies,” she said. “You seem different, my love.”
Mary blushed and ducked her head, for a moment reverting to her schoolroom self, but then she lifted her head and smiled. There was a confidence about her, a maturity that had been lacking until now. “Oh, I have just arranged my hair a little differently. Captain Fitzalan was kind enough to tell me that it is the latest style in London.”
“Charles is good that way,” Elizabeth said. Mary shot her a sharp glance as though she knew she was being humoured. Then she frowned.
“You, however, are not looking at all happy, Elizabeth,” she said, coming down the stairs and taking Elizabeth’s hands. “Whatever is the matter?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I am being a little silly, I think,” she said and explained what had happened in her aunt’s parlour.
Mary listened, her head tilted to one side, her eyes narrowed in thought.
“So,” she said, after a pause, “you feel that Aurelia is deliberately making you appear dowdy by dressing well, whilst Lady Delphine undermines you at every turn and Lord Runthorne is somehow complicit in all this?”
Elizabeth gaped at this summation. “Well, put like that, of course not,” she said.
“How would you put it?”
“Well, I…” Elizabeth stopped, unable to find the words.
Mary dropped her hands. “Well, if you would like to know what I think,” she said with a hint of sadness in her voice, “I think you are a touch jealous.”
“Mary.”
“I am sorry, Elizabeth, but yes, I do. Oh, not in a nasty way,” Mary said, touching Elizabeth’s arm, “but think about it. Aurelia is so beautiful that it is natural to be envious. She is also popular and wealthy, just as you were. Perhaps you are missing, just a little,” she held up her finger and thumb a fraction apart, “being rich and popular yourself.”
Lord Runthorne's Dilemma: A Regency Romance Page 6