The Further Observations of Lady Whistledown

by Julia Quinn

  He tightened his arms about Liza, and she buried her face against his neck. He welcomed the warmth of her breath, holding her as her trembling subsided. Moments passed, the clock ticking away each second.

  After a long moment, Liza sighed and pulled away. She peeped up at him with an uncertain smile that stole his heart all over again. “I believe I understand your fascination for this state,” she said in a husky voice.

  He lifted up on his arm and looked down at her, aware of a rush of unusual feelings that made him want to hold her tightly and never let go. “You have only begun to understand the wonderment.”

  A noise sounded in the hallway, and Liza sat upright. “Oh dear! That will be Poole.”

  Royce didn’t question, but helped her to her feet. Once there, they stood awkwardly for a moment, then Liza managed a brittle smile as she began to adjust her clothing. Royce helped her silently, feeling the need to say something, but too full of feelings to give voice to his thoughts. Once she was back to normal, he began to adjust his own clothing. He was a little startled when she reached up and straightened his cravat.

  In all the times he’d made love to women, none of them had ever helped him to dress. He looked down at her though all he could see was the top of her head as she smoothed his lapels in place.

  “There!” she said brightly, stepping away. She didn’t meet his gaze, but stood there, looking adorably embarrassed, her hair still falling about her shoulders.

  He retrieved some of her missing hairpins from the rug and handed them to her. “I didn’t know you could turn so many shades of red.”

  Her blush deepened, and he impulsively bent and kissed her lips. “Put your hair up. We’ve things to do.”

  “Oh. Yes. The dance lessons—”

  “Why do you need to learn how to dance now? You should send a note to Durham as soon as possible.”

  She slid the last hairpin into place. “And tell him what?”

  “That you aren’t going to marry him.”

  Her luminous gaze darkened. “Then who am I going to marry?”

  For a stunned second, he couldn’t think. But then, from the very depths of his heart came the answer. Me. He wanted her to marry no one else. The words echoed in his head, growing louder by the second. But somehow, he couldn’t say them. This was Liza, the one woman above all others that he cherished, cared for…loved.

  Wait a minute, he told his stunned mind. He cared for Liza, of course he did. But love? Real love?

  Good God, he did love her. The realization left him reeling, and he found the settee with a groping gesture. Something seemed to be wrong with his knees, for they no longer supported him. He loved Liza with all his heart. But love was one thing…marriage—that was something else altogether.

  Wasn’t it? He struggled to make his mouth work. “Liza, I—you…you can’t marry Durham.”

  A glimmer of something flashed in her eyes. “Royce, I want to marry someone who is kind. And considerate. Someone with a steady character. Someone who will always be there for me, and with me. A partner. That’s what I want.”

  Royce tried to digest this. He was many things…but kind? Considerate? When he thought of the way he’d used Liza in the past—confiding in her on so many unsavory topics—he could not find it in himself to call his behavior either kind or considerate. As for being steady in character…A sick feeling clenched his stomach, and he realized in that instant why he’d never attempted to secure Liza’s interest in all the years he’d known her—he wasn’t good enough.

  He never had been.

  She looked away, her lashes shadowing her eyes. “You…you aren’t speaking.”

  He swallowed, drowning beneath so many unfamiliar feelings. “I—I can’t…” He shook his head, his throat closed. She deserved so much more than he was capable of being.

  After a strained silence, she gave a soft, painful laugh. “Silence is an answer of a sort, I suppose.”

  Royce raked a hand through his hair. He loved her, he really did. But…could he make her happy? What if he failed? Disappointed her in some way? He didn’t think he could bear it.

  “Royce, don’t—” Her voice broke, and she bit her lip, closing her eyes tightly. She stepped away, swiping angrily at her eyes with the back of her hand. “You cannot come to see me anymore.”

  “Liza, I—”

  “If Durham proposes, I am going to accept. I hope you will wish me well.” She walked toward the door unsteadily. She placed her hand on the knob, then turned to look at him with tear-bright eyes. “Whatever happens…wherever you go, I wish you well.”

  She ducked her head, then left, shutting the door almost silently.

  Royce stared blankly ahead. It was almost too much to grasp. How long had he loved Liza? Days? Months? Or had it been years? Had he not been silently comparing every woman he knew to her? It was as if she’d always been in his heart, tucked away in a safe corner, waiting for the right time to reveal her true beauty.

  But now that she had, he was caught…was he the man for her? All the years of protecting her came to the fore, and he realized that he was exactly the type of man he’d always warned her about. The realization did little to ease the questions pounding through his mind. All he knew for certain was that he loved her and couldn’t live without her.

  He raked a hand through his hair and wondered dismally what the hell he was supposed to do next.

  Chapter 8

  There is so much to report from Lady Shelbourne’s Valentine’s Day ball that This Author scarcely knows where to begin. But do not worry if you were not present (or not invited.) There is no need to feel that one is not au courant when This Author takes such splendid notes.

  Ah, Gentle Reader, read on….

  LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 16 FEBRUARY 1814

  The Shelbourne Valentine’s ball exceeded even Meg’s wildest expectations. By ten o’clock, waiting carriages lined the avenue in front of the house for almost a mile. Liza stayed with Meg for a short time in the front hall, issuing orders to servants and doing what she could to help. Of course, Meg was beside herself with excitement, especially since Shelbourne’s cousin Susannah had married the Earl of Renminster earlier that week in a surprising move that had shocked them all.

  “Oh Liza,” Meg said for the hundredth time, “the Shelbourne name is set! Not only will it be a horrid squeeze, but I will have the felicity of being the first hostess to introduce Renminster and his new bride!”

  “How lovely,” Liza said absently, thankful Royce hadn’t yet appeared. By relying on Lord Durham’s constant presence, she’d successfully avoided Royce since their last “lesson.” Oh, he’d tried to see her, but Liza had thought it best if she maintained a safe distance. Her heart could not take another beating. Besides, she was sure that, in time, Royce would forget all about her. He forgot about all his other “loves.”

  The thought was so deflating that Liza had to blink back tears.

  “Look, here’s Lord Durham yet again,” Meg said, glancing over her shoulder where the gentleman hovered. “He’s anxious to have you to himself.”

  As soon as he caught Meg’s gaze, Durham approached. Dressed with tiresome gallantry in a black coat and a sober brown waistcoat, he bowed over Meg’s hand. “Lady Shelbourne, you look lovely this evening!”

  Meg simpered. “So you’ve told me twice now. I begin to think you are flirting with me.”

  “I never flirt,” he said somberly. “Especially not with a married woman.”

  Meg’s smile disappeared. “Oh. Well. Lord Durham, why don’t you take Liza into the ballroom and try some of the cake? I heard the cake at the Prudhomme ball was somewhat stale, and I was determined that would not be the case here.”

  Lord Durham looked inquiringly at Liza. All she wanted to do was go home and sip a cup of tea before her fireplace, confide all her woes to George, and perhaps indulge in a nice, refreshing spate of tears. But she could see that that was not to be.

  “Along with you both!�
�� Meg said, shooing them away.

  Liza didn’t want to sit, and she didn’t want any cake. But apparently what she wanted was of no moment, for she soon found herself cozily installed in a chair near the refreshment table, a piece of cake before her.

  Lord Durham sat beside her, talking of this and that, eventually trailing off into silence. He stared into the distance as if contemplating a weighty matter.

  Liza watched him with some trepidation. He was going to ask to marry her, she just knew it. Dread weighted her shoulders, and she found she couldn’t think of a thing to say to stall off the inevitable.

  The silence increased until even Durham noticed it. He shifted uneasily, then said, “I, ah, I meant to say that you look ravishing tonight.”

  “Ravishing? In this gown?” She was wearing the pink atrocity that Meg had chosen simply because she’d been too disheartened to order another. The reason she was so distraught crept back into her thoughts and she had to blink back tears.

  Durham pulled back a little. “It’s a truly lovely gown,” he said earnestly. “And you do look wonderful.”

  No, she didn’t. Royce had been right; it was too frilly and the color was unattractive, at best. “What about my hair? Do you like it?” Meg’s French maid had specially prepared her coiffure. It was twisted and pinned until she felt as if her eyes had been pulled back a full inch on each side.

  “It is perfect,” he said without really looking. “Liza, I wanted to talk to you—”

  “Do you think we’ll get more snow?” Liza said in a rushed voice. Anything to keep him from saying the words she dreaded. “Poor George has just recovered from one cold. If he gets sick again, I fear it could be fatal.”

  Lord Durham smoothed his hands on the knees of his breeches. “You are quite fond of George, are you not?”

  “Some people treat their dogs and cats as children. I suppose, in a way, that is what George is to me: a very sweet, noisy child.”

  Lord Durham blinked. Once. Twice. He stood so suddenly Liza jumped. “It’s quite hot in here. I’ll fetch some orgeat.”

  He was gone before Liza could say anything, which might have been his intent.

  Disconsolate, Liza placed her piece of cake on his empty chair and looked about the ballroom. Meg had outdone herself. The whole chamber was draped in swathes of red and pink silk. And she must have ordered two or three thousand red candles that burned brightly on a number of tables, all of which were covered in white lace. The effect was magical.

  Everything was perfect. Except that Liza was quite certain her heart was completely broken. She tried to tell herself it was her own fault. After all, she’d known a dalliance with Royce would lead to nothing but heartache. It was just that he was so damnably delectable that it was quite easy to forget that fact once he was near.

  Not that she had any regrets. She didn’t. But having been in Royce’s arms, she was finding it very difficult to fall into Lord Durham’s. Worse, she found that she missed Royce’s arms almost every moment of the day.

  She supposed that at some time, she was going to have to face him. It would be difficult, but she’d do it. She’d force herself to act normal, as if nothing had happened. And it would cost her dearly.

  Durham returned at that moment and sat down beside her, a faint sheen of perspiration on his upper lip. “Here you are!” he said, handing her a small glass.

  She hated orgeat. And it was just like Durham to bring her a drink that she disliked. Still, she supposed she should thank him. “Lord Durham, I appreciate—” Her gaze fell on the edge of his chair, where a bit of napkin stuck out from beneath his bottom. An unexpected burble of laughter tickled the back of Liza’s throat. Lord Durham had sat on her piece of cake.

  Her strained nerves didn’t help, and a horrified giggle caught in Liza’s throat. It was probably squashed flatter than a piece of foolscap. She looked at Durham again and bit her lip. Strange that she hadn’t realized it before, but he was just the tiniest bit pudgy, quite unlike Royce, who was ideally fit. “Lord Durham—I—you—”

  “Liza, I must say something.”

  Good Lord, he was going to propose right now, this very second. Liza shook her head desperately. “Lord Durham, please. Before you say anything, you should know—”

  “No. Let me speak first.” He wiped his brow with an unsteady hand. “I’ve made it no secret that I came to London to find a bride. I flatter myself that I’m a bit more sophisticated than the average landowner, and it seemed only fitting that I attain a higher level of wife than most. After much consideration, I have realized—”

  “Please, Lord Durham, do not say another—”

  “—I cannot ask you to marry me.”

  She froze. “Cannot?”

  He nodded.

  Relief flooded through her, and she pressed a hand to her heart. There was a God, after all.

  “I can see you are upset,” Durham said gravely. “I want you to know there is nothing in your person that I find repulsive. Indeed, I believe you are a very charming woman.”

  “Thank you,” she managed, wondering if Meg would notice if she slipped out now. She could go home this moment, throw this horrid dress into the fireplace, and slip into bed. All she wanted was to pull the sheets over her head and forget she had ever met a man named Royce Pemberley. A man she couldn’t have, but couldn’t seem to live without, either.

  Durham took her limp hand and held it between his. “I don’t mean to offend you, Liza, but after spending time with you, it has become apparent that you are more of a…a monkey person.”

  She blinked, wondering if she’d heard correctly. “I beg your pardon. Did you…did you just say I was a ‘monkey person’?”

  His cheeks bloomed a rich red. “I’ve noticed how you dote on that animal, while I cannot abide the creature.”

  Liza tugged her hand free. Every bit of her discontent rushed to the fore, and, combined with her aching heart, led her to say with some asperity, “My monkey is very well behaved. Better, I daresay, than your cows!”

  He stiffened, his neck turning a mottled red. “My cows do not bite! Furthermore, no matter how well behaved George is in the city, he would not be so agreeable in the country. That would be another matter all together.”

  “Why would George be different in the country?”

  “Because monkeys dislike cows. And if he were to bite one of them—”

  “George bite a cow? Who on earth told you such a shocking whopper?”

  “Why…I believe Sir Royce mentioned it at the theater, though I’ve been asking various persons and it seems quite common knowledge that monkeys can be quite aggressive. Lord Casterland almost lost his thumb to one.”

  “Only because he poked it and scared the poor creature half to death.”

  “Yes, well, I cannot risk the health of my herd.” He frowned. “Liza, it’s more than the monkey. I’ve enjoyed your company, but I feel as if perhaps…perhaps your heart is not available.”

  None of her was available. Not to Durham, anyway. Liza’s irritation faded, and instead, she felt nothing but relief.

  Her reaction must have been obvious, for Durham managed a weak grin. She eyed him for a long moment where he sat beside her, sweating in his stiff evening clothes, an apologetic smile on his broad face, a piece of cake squashed on his rump. For some reason, all those horrid facts made him seem very dear. “Lord Durham, you are right. We wouldn’t suit at all, but I do hope we can be friends.”

  “Of course. Liza, it has been a pleasure, but I believe my time in London is done. I’m returning home tomorrow.”

  “Your mother will be glad to see you.”

  A wide grin crossed his face. “Yes, she will.” He patted Liza’s hand one last time, then stood.

  Liza’s gaze was immediately drawn to the chair Durham had just vacated. There, sitting in solitary splendor, was her empty napkin. She leaned to one side and glanced at the floor behind him, looking for some sign that perhaps the cake was somewhere other than stuck to
Durham’s slightly too tight pants. The floor was completely clean. “Lord Durham, you should perhaps—”

  “There you are!” Meg stood before them, beaming brightly. “I left Shelbourne to tend the receiving line. Can you believe how many people have already arrived? Everything is going so well! The Duke of Devonshire specifically complimented me on the orchestra, and Lady Birlington said the cake was the best she’d ever had.”

  “I personally can attest to the cake,” Lord Durham said gravely. “It was very light and airy.”

  “I don’t know about airy,” Liza said with a dubious glance at the empty napkin. “Lord Durham, before you leave, I must tell you that you have ca—”

  “Liza, please,” he said, holding up a hand. “We’ve said all there is to say. Let’s not make this any more difficult than it already is.” He gave her a very meaningful glance, then turned to Meg. “Good evening, Lady Shelbourne. I am sorry to inform you that I must leave your delightful party and return home with all possible haste.”

  “Oh dear. Right this instant?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Meg glanced at Liza, who managed an encouraging smile. “I see.”

  Durham bowed deeply, took Liza’s hand, and gave it a significant squeeze, and then he left, making his way through the crowd.

  Meg frowned after him. “What has happened? And what on earth is that on his breeches? It looks as if—oh! There’s Royce!”

  Liza leaped to her feet and saw Royce crossing the room, his dark blue gaze locked on her. He looked devastatingly handsome in his evening attire. Handsome and determined.

  Liza’s breath shortened. She didn’t want to speak with him now. Not until she had time to shore up the weak banks of her own traitorous heart. It would take at least a bottle of brandy and perhaps an entire cake, maybe two.

  “Liza, what’s wrong?” Meg asked, alarm on her face. “You look as if—”

  “Might I have the pleasure of an introduction?” came a smooth masculine voice.