Mary’s smile faltered. “Charles has not approached him yet.”
“But, why not?” Elizabeth glanced back at Charles.
“I will not let him. Not yet,” she said, quickly. “You see, Captain Maybourne has been so good to me and I know he wants me to make a great marriage. He wants me to marry someone with a title and lands. I do not think I could bear it if he refused Charles’ offer.”
“He will not,” Elizabeth said. “Charles may not be a lord but he loves you and his expectations are good. He will be able to keep you in comfort, at the very least.”
“What do I care for comfort?”
Elizabeth smiled at her friend’s fervour. “Love in a cottage, Mary? No, I have no doubt that Captain Maybourne has your best interests at heart. When he sees how much you care for each other he will be happy for you.”
“You do not understand, Elizabeth. Captain Maybourne promised my father that he would ensure I made the best marriage possible. A title, an estate. Oh, I do not know.” Mary pulled at the ribbons on her gown, mangling them. “Please, do not say anything, Elizabeth. Let me have this time with Charles.” She sighed. “I will let him speak to Captain Maybourne when the time is right.”
Elizabeth steered her friend towards the rose garden. “Of course I will not say anything to him if that is what you wish, my love, but if you and Charles love each other then I am sure Captain Maybourne will not stand in your way.”
Mary lifted her chin. Elizabeth had never seen such determination in her gentle friend’s eyes. “If he does,” she said, her voice adamant, “we will elope.”
***
He may have made up his mind to forget Elizabeth and settle with Aurelia, but that did not stop Runthorne feeling as though a black cloud had descended. Decision making was supposed to make him feel strong and confident, not as though he was sinking into a quagmire. His choice was the right one, it had to be.
Elizabeth’s cool apology should have allayed any doubts about that.
After leaving her, instead of seeking out Aurelia, he had retreated to his room. He had hoped a little solitude would help him find some perspective, but as with all his plans these days, that had failed.
Her words ran through his head. “I do hope you will forgive me.” It was as though she had forgotten a trifling appointment. How could he have ever thought she loved him?
Had she changed? Had he?
Runthorne took another, restless turn around the room and stopped at the window. The sun was still high and he glared at the clear blue sky.
“Damnit,” he swore and brought his fist down on the window ledge. Wallowing would not make him feel better, what he needed was action. In the absence of anything better, he would take a stroll in the gardens. At least it would stop him wearing a track in his host’s carpet. He would wear it in the grass instead.
This time he took a moment to change his footwear. It would be far more satisfying to stomp in boots than shoes.
He strode along the corridor, his boot-heels loud against the polished wooden floor, and down the wide stairs, the thuds echoing, then across the hall.
By the time he had stormed down the steps into the garden, he was harbouring a fierce pleasure in the noise. He ground the gravel of the path beneath his feet, almost as though he were grinding his teeth. He snatched a leaf from a bush and rolled it between his fingers, destroying it and releasing the pungent, peppery aroma.
He inhaled deeply, the scent twining around his senses, calming him, easing the tense bands that had felt so tight around his chest.
He stood for a moment with his eyes closed enjoying the warmth of the sun. It relaxed him further and, at last, the tension left his jaw and his lips softened.
“Gosh, old chap, whatever are you doing?”
Runthorne’s eyes snapped open and he turned sharply. “Mr Compton,” he said and bowed. “I did not know you were still here.”
Despite the other man’s overwhelming jollity, he did not dislike Mr Compton. There did not appear to be a malicious bone in his body.
Mr Compton waved a hand, vaguely. “Miss Lacey has requested that I attend every rehearsal of her theatricals. I am such a noodle that I cannot seem to remember what she wants me to say, or where to stand.” He laughed.
“I thought she had taken over Mrs Maybourne’s folly for her rehearsals,” he said.
“Oh, indeed, indeed. It is a capital place. A neat little folly, you know. Some goddess of love, I dare say. Might have one built myself.” Mr Compton contemplated the top of his cane.
“Aphrodite, I understand,” Runthorne said into the pensive silence.
“What? Oh, yes I dare say, I dare say,” Mr Compton said. “Well, the dear lady sent me away. Miss Lacey that is, not the love goddess. To take the air, she said but I am sure the air is no different here than up there.” Mr Compton waved in the direction of the folly. He then leaned forward.
“She is such a clever little thing. I am sure I must be driving her to distraction with my idiocy.”
Runthorne thought it better to not answer. Instead he smiled and bowed before turning away.
Mr Compton, however, matched his steps.
They walked in silence for a few moments. Bees, fat with pollen, buzzed industriously amongst the flowers. He relaxed further.
“I say, my lord,” Mr Compton said, breaking the silence, “I understand congratulations are in order.” He smiled, oddly. “Your engagement to Miss Lacey,” he added, when Runthorne said nothing.
“It is still a private matter. No announcement has been sent, yet.”
“Ah, I see. I see.”
Runthorne glanced at his companion. Mr Compton seemed peculiarly satisfied with that answer. He hesitated before deciding not to pursue that particular hare. Not at this time. “I must find Captain Fitzalan,” he said, instead, preparing to take his leave.
“I saw him not five minutes ago,” Mr Compton said, with a vague gesture towards the rose garden.
“Then if you will excuse me?” Runthorne left Mr Compton humming under his breath.
It was just a step into the walled rose garden. Sheltered from even the smallest of breezes it was filled with the intense scent of hot flowers.
Climbing roses covered the trellises dividing the garden into distinct areas and lavender bushes edged the sinuous paths. It was like walking through a maze of flowers. He bent his steps towards the pool of water at the centre of the garden, hoping for a little relief from the oppression.
Stone benches circled the pool, positioned to gain maximum benefit from the coolness of the water. Charles stood by one, his booted foot resting on the seat. He was gazing pensively at the ladies sitting on the other side of the pool.
Elizabeth and Miss Granger seemed pretty and cool in their fragile gowns. They made a charming picture. From his expression, Charles agreed.
“Hello, Charles.”
Charles jumped. “Damnit, Runthorne, do not sneak up on a fellow.” His habitual grin flashed briefly. “You move like a cat.”
“I could have been trumpeting like an elephant for all the notice you would have taken.” He glanced over at the two ladies. “You seemed lost in thought.”
Charles shrugged but did not answer.
“Whatever possessed you to come to this devilish place,” Runthorne said his eyes still on Elizabeth. She waved a hand, idly, brushing aside an inquisitive butterfly.
Charles dragged his own eyes away from the ladies. “Elizabeth suggested it,” he said, confirming Runthorne’s suspicions.
She was clever, he thought, trying to ignore the ice he felt in his veins. There was nothing improper in Charles accompanying her and Miss Granger, but the younger girl would prove an inadequate chaperone, should Elizabeth wish it. His lips twisted in a facsimile of a smile. He had to know.
“Forgive me for asking, Charles, but do you love her?” He nodded towards Elizabeth, whose head was bent towards Miss Granger’s, intent on her friend’s words.
Charles started, a gui
lty flush staining his cheeks. “What makes you say that?”
“It is not hard to see. The way you speak about her, watch her.” He sighed. “Charles, I cannot blame you.”
“She wishes to keep it secret for a time, until she has spoken to the Captain.”
“I see.” His chest tightened, but if that was what Elizabeth wanted, he would not stand in her way. “I wish you both every happiness,” he said, the words like ashes in his mouth.
He turned away, missing Charles’ puzzled look. “Thank you,” his friend said, as Runthorne retraced his steps.
With every stride, he felt his heart dragged from his chest. He had spoken only the truth. He did not blame Charles for loving Elizabeth. Not when he did so himself. Perhaps Aurelia was right. At least Charles was in a position to offer Elizabeth an honourable future.
He grimaced. As for himself, he had better resign himself to a future with Aurelia, because at this moment he could see no way out of the marriage without mortifying her.
That he would not do.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Elizabeth stared out of the window. The lawn was dark with shadows thrown by the setting sun. Behind her candles blazed, reflected in the glass, and brightly dressed ladies chattered. There was a cacophony of laughter.
But Elizabeth might as well have been alone. She was so confused.
What did Lord Runthorne think he was doing?
Her conscience stirred. What concern is it of yours?
Elizabeth shook her head. It was her concern. When she and Mary had returned from the garden he had appeared as though he had been lying in wait for her. Yet, he had said nothing to any purpose before hurrying away.
Then, at lunch, he had apparently ignored her completely, but Elizabeth had felt his eyes on her whenever she looked away. She shivered. It was unnatural to be so aware of another.
It was torture.
Later he had approached her as she gathered windfall in the orchard. Only the servants usually went there so she had thought it safe to hide there for a time, to regain her composure. It was the last place she had expected to see him.
Nevertheless, he had accused her of following him.
It was unfathomable. Surely she had done enough to convince him that he no longer haunted her dreams.
She turned away from the window. The ladies fluttered like so many exotic birds and their chatter was as bright as the jewels flashing at their throats. Dinner was long over and the gentlemen began to arrive, refreshed by their port.
Captain Maybourne and Mr Lacey were immediately engaged by their wives in a game of whist. It was one that required a great deal of intense discussion.
Here and there, there were areas of stillness. In one corner a young lady and gentleman indulged in a little serious flirtation under the watchful eye of her chaperone. There by a table, Charles and Mary looked with apparent intensity at a book of paintings, their fingers brushing as they turned the pages. Finally, his shoulder propped against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other was Lord Runthorne.
He was watching her.
Again.
Elizabeth glared at him, but he had already turned away. Suddenly restless, she walked further into the room. A group of ladies fluttered and scattered in front of her.
“Why, Miss Hampton, I have barely had a chance to speak with you this age,” a young lady Elizabeth hardly knew intercepted her. “How do you do?” Without waiting for an answer the young lady continued to gush, whilst Elizabeth wracked her memory for a name.
“I had quite thought to renew our acquaintance during dear Aurelia’s theatrical rehearsals.”
“I have no taste for playacting, Miss Richardson,” Elizabeth said, the lady’s name finally coming to her.
Miss Richardson gave a tinkling laugh. “Oh, Miss Hampton, you must not use that as an excuse, why Aurelia can entice the best of performances out of even the greatest dullard. Why even that fool, Mr Compton is becoming almost competent under her tutelage. Of course, she is giving him a great deal of her attention.” Miss Richardson’s eyes sparkled, maliciously.
Elizabeth suddenly remembered why she did not care for the other lady. “If you would excuse me, Miss Richardson, I see my aunt needs me.”
“Do you think so, Miss Hampton? She appears quite happy. However, you are probably right. It would not do for you to neglect your benefactress.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, ignoring Miss Richardson’s nasty laugh, and made her escape.
Approximately half way along the wall there was a small couch, nestling in a shallow alcove. During the day it was well lit by the light that streamed in to the room and it was an excellent retreat for a young lady who wished to read quietly and unobserved.
Now, however, it was deep in shadow. There was no room for a table that might bear a candle. Elizabeth sank down on the soft seat.
Now she could see Miss Lacey, leaning against the pianoforte, her slender fingers idly playing over the keys. The soft candlelight burnished her hair and gilded her bare arms, giving her a soft, warm glow. Her long gloves were crumpled to her wrists. Wrists that Elizabeth noticed were bare of the sapphire bangles Lord Runthorne had given her.
Miss Lacey’s head was tilted a little as she gazed up at Mr Compton and her lips were parted slightly. Elizabeth wondered what he was saying that proved so fascinating.
Next to Mr Compton, she seemed even more ethereal. Mr Compton was flushed, smiling in a faintly dazed manner. He looked as though he had been given the keys to the gates of heaven. Miss Lacey laughed at something he said and waved her finger. Elizabeth grimaced and glanced away.
“She is becoming very accomplished.”
Elizabeth jumped a little. Lord Runthorne sat down beside her, without permission. His shoulder brushed hers and Elizabeth could feel the warmth of his long thigh through her skirts. She ran a nervous tongue over her suddenly dry lips
“She is certainly beautiful,” she said.
“Yes, a prize amongst women.”
Now Elizabeth turned and glanced at him, surprised at the bitterness in his tone.
“She is young,” she said, not quite sure why she was defending his betrothed.
He gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Yes,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. For all that they were surrounded by people the alcove hid them from view, giving them the illusion of privacy.
Elizabeth’s eyes dropped to his mouth. She half raised her hand. Whether it was to hold him off or to draw him in, she could not have said.
What are you doing?
Despite all her resolve, a moment alone in his company and he was slipping under her defences. Aunt Edina would condemn her as a halfwit.
She would be right to do so, her conscience said.
Their eyes met and held for a long moment.
With a low growl, he surged to his feet so abruptly that Elizabeth almost fell. “Charles is a good man,” he said.
Elizabeth blinked. “Yes, he is,” she said.
“You should go to him.”
As abruptly as he had arrived, Lord Runthorne departed, leaving Elizabeth bereft and not a little annoyed.
***
Elizabeth spent a restless night. Lord Runthorne’s actions had seemed inexplicable but, tossing and turning through the night, Elizabeth could not help remembering Miss Lacey’s behaviour. By the time the sun rose, Elizabeth thought she had solved the riddle and she finally slept.
She did not sleep long, however. She had never been one for lying in bed and even a sleepless night did not break that habit. She dressed quickly, choosing a simple gown she could fasten without the help of a maid, and slipped from her room.
She had to speak to Miss Lacey.
It was going to be another beautiful day. Dust motes danced in the sunlight that streamed in through the windows and tickled Elizabeth’s nose. In the distance the great hall clock struck the quarter after nine.
Miss Lacey, like most of the female guests, rarely rose early. It amazed Elizabeth th
at anyone would be happy to miss such a beautiful morning. Despite everything, she smiled and felt her tiredness ease.
It did not take long for Elizabeth to reach Miss Lacey’s room. At the door she hesitated a moment. Elizabeth did not know her that well and the younger woman could, probably would, take extreme umbrage at Elizabeth interfering in her business. Elizabeth bit her lip. Then, in her mind’s eye, she saw his face.
He had already been jilted once. That lay at her door. She would not let that happen again. Her resolve stiffened, Elizabeth knocked on the door.
A surprised maid opened the door.
“Is your mistress awake?”
“Yes, Miss.” The maid dropped a belated curtsey.
“I should like to see her.”
The maid glanced over her shoulder. “I am sorry, Miss, but Miss Lacey does not like to be disturbed before she has dressed.”
Elizabeth patted the maid on the shoulder. “I shall be sure to tell her that you tried to stop me,” she said, slipping into the room.
Elizabeth sighed. Miss Lacey was one of those extremely fortunate ladies who were beautiful even when they had just woken. Elizabeth was all too aware that she resembled a scarecrow first thing in the morning.
Miss Lacey gazed at her, her pansy eyes wide in surprise. A delicate lace cap adorned her blond curls and was tied with a jaunty bow under her left ear. Her cheeks were still lightly flushed from sleep and her skin was smooth. There was not a single pillow crease on her cheek. It was so unfair.
She probably even snores prettily.
Miss Lacey raised her cup of chocolate and took a sip. “What can I do for you, Miss Hampton,” she said. Her voice was still husky from sleep.
She might be young but she had the confidence of a mature woman and Elizabeth decided to do her the honour of not prevaricating. “You do yourself a disservice by flirting with Mr Compton,” she said.
The younger lady licked the corner of her mouth with the pointed tip of her tongue. “I see,” she said.
“I do not think you do,” Elizabeth said. “You are engaged to Lord Runthorne.”
“I am aware of that.” Miss Lacey’s tone was mild, as though she was humouring a child. Elizabeth felt her temper rise.
Lord Runthorne's Dilemma: A Regency Romance Page 9