A Chance Encounter

by Mary Balogh

  She was horrified at her own inability to resist such inappropriate levity. How dare he push his way into such an intimate family scene and proceed to laugh at everyone! She fumed inwardly as she sobbed on his shoulder and leaned into the warm strength of his body. She felt deep resentment against the arms that encircled her and stroked comfortingly over her back. But her anger was all on the surface when she felt him kiss the top of her head. She jerked her head back and glared at him.

  Before she could say a word, he had laid a finger to his lips. His eyes were still brimming with laughter. "This is not the time or the place," he said softly.

  And she watched him have the great impertinence to turn back to John and Louise and proceed to take charge of the situation. Before any of them could have the presence of mind to realize that he had no right to give orders in that house, Louise had been packed off to bed, John had been sent to rouse the nurse in the next room, the housekeeper had been woken to prepare warm milk to send to her mistress's room and chocolate to send to everyone else's, and John and Elizabeth were also retiring meekly to their rooms.

  "You are going to bed too, Hetherington?" John asked in a feeble attempt to have the last word.

  "Oh, most certainly," his guest replied. "If I do not have my sleep, I am quite hagged the next day, you know."

  Elizabeth hoped that her displeasure showed in her stiff bearing as she walked to her own room. The amusement in Hetherington's eyes as he bade her good night suggested to her that it did.

  For the following two days the baby bounced back to health with all the resiliency of childhood. By the afternoon of the second day the nurse was expending all her energy on confining the child to the nursery. Louise and John, too, seemed to recover quickly from the strain of the few days and nights when their son had hovered on the brink of death.

  Louise seemed convinced that Hetherington was somehow responsible for the miracle of Jeremy's recovery. She told Elizabeth so as the two of them sat on the terrace on the second morning, soaking up the morning sunshine.

  "I really do not know how we should have managed without his cheerfulness and his strength to keep us sane," she said, "and without your devotion during the nights, Elizabeth. John and I were very close to the breaking point when you arrived."

  Elizabeth was outraged. "I consider his behavior to have been most inappropriate in the nursery," she said primly. "He was laughing, Louise!"

  "Yes, of course, dear, and the rest of us were crying," Louise answered cheerfully. "Neither reaction was suitable to the occasion. But both tears and laughter are ways of letting out emotion when it becomes too powerful to bear."

  Elizabeth tutted. "You are very wise," she said, "but I cannot think the Marquess of Hetherington capable of deep emotion."

  "Oh, there you are quite out," her sister-in-law assured her. "Your marquess cares very much, Elizabeth. He stayed here in this house of gloom, did he not, when he could have gone riding back to his friends? And he was sitting up with Jeremy when his fever broke. And he spent an hour with him yesterday. Nurse said he allowed Jeremy to play with his quizzing glass and to pull his hair, and to leave a wet patch on his breeches. No, dear, I do not know exactly what passed between the two of you when you wed, but I must believe that there is some explanation for his behavior."

  "How can there possibly be an explanation?" Elizabeth cried. "He would not see me, Louise, would not answer my letters. And then he divorced me."

  "But he did not, dear," Louise reminded her. "And if you have been mistaken about the one thing, perhaps you have been mistaken about the whole. Why do you not confront him now that you have the opportunity? Ask him what happened. The worst that can come of it is that you will find that you have been right all along."

  "I would not condescend to show him that it matters to me," Elizabeth replied.

  Her sister-in-law gave her a despairing glance.

  John too was concerned about the relationship between his sister and her husband. He saw her walking past his office later the same morning, called her inside, and closed the door.

  "I cannot but feel the awkwardness of your situation," he said. "It goes very much against the grain with me to offer hospitality to the fellow when I have always despised myself for not calling him out all those years ago for the suffering he made you endure. Shall I send him packing, Elizabeth?"

  "I am not sure he would go," she said wryly. "He seems to be quite thick-skinned when it comes to insults."

  "It is so deuced awkward," he said, exasperated. "The fellow has been a model guest. He has treated Louise with great courtesy. Jeremy really took to him, I understand. And he has been of great assistance to me, riding for the doctor early yesterday morning and back again to the apothecary later. I would find it hard now to summon the nerve to tell him that he is no longer welcome in this house."

  "Then say nothing," Elizabeth said, smiling. "I am sure that he will leave of his own accord within the next day or two. I cannot think that life here has enough of excitement for him."

  "And he is your husband still," John added, troubled. "I am not sure that I have the legal right to order him away from you."

  ---

  In the following two days there was no sign that Elizabeth was right. Hetherington showed no symptoms of boredom or restlessness. It seemed that he was planning to stay. Elizabeth avoided him as much as she could by staying close to Louise. She spent time in the nursery with her sister-in-law and went visiting and shopping with her.

  The two of them spent time in Elizabeth's room trying to find clothes suitable for her to wear. She had brought with her only the gray cotton dress that she had been wearing. There were numerous dresses in her wardrobe, but all of them were from six or seven years before, all to a lesser or greater degree out of fashion and some of them quite unsuitable to a woman of six and twenty, Elizabeth believed.

  Louise convinced her, however, that several of the dresses would be quite unexceptionable with a few minor alterations. That particular evening saw Elizabeth descending to dinner in a pale-green silk gown whose puffy sleeves had been narrowed, and whose plunging neckline had been disguised with a delicate lace inset. She was self-conscious. As a consequence, her hair had been swept back into its bun with extra severity.

  Hetherington and Louise were in the drawing room when she entered. "Oh, you look so lovely, Elizabeth!" Louise exclaimed. "I wish I might throw away that dreadful gray. Perhaps I should instruct one of the maids to burn a hole in it with the iron. An unfortunate accident, of course."

  "I have a better idea," Hetherington added, grinning. "Elizabeth should wear it into the nursery when Jeremy is eating bread and jam. It would be ruined beyond repair."

  Elizabeth glared.

  Louise became flustered. "I am so sorry about your neckcloth, Robert," she said. "But I am sure they will be able to wash the jam out of it belowstairs."

  He laughed. "If I had children of my own," he said, "I should probably have learned long since not to snatch an infant into the air when he is in the process of eating his tea. It was my fault entirely, Louise."

  If he had children of his own! Elizabeth's fingers itched to slap him. She could recall now the stinging satisfaction she had had from doing so on a previous occasion. And since when had he and her sister-in-law been on first-name terms?

  When the butler finally announced dinner a few minutes after John arrived in the drawing room, Hetherington offered Elizabeth his arm with exaggerated politeness.

  "I liked it better without the lace," he said quietly to her, his eyes hovering at the level of her breasts.

  She shot him a startled look.

  "Almack's," he said. "You wore it there one evening. I seethed with indignation while you waltzed with old Ponsonby, because his eyes were definitely not on your face, nor his mind on his dancing, I believe."

  "Oh!" Elizabeth said, lost for words.

  "Of course," he added, eyeing her hairdo with distaste, "on that occasion you had some curls to cover some of t
he bare flesh."

  "You are insufferable, my lord," she seethed.

  He grinned as he held back her chair while she seated herself. "Yes, my lady, I know," he said.

  It was the following day that Elizabeth decided that she must confront Hetherington and ask what intentions he had for staying on at her brother's home. She had reached the end of her tether.

  Louise had decided on that day that it was time for Jeremy to have an outing. John decided that he would join them and invited Elizabeth. They would not go far. There was a small lake just half a mile distant through the trees. It was shady there and the baby had always enjoyed playing on the grass beside the water. They would take a ball with them to amuse the child, and a picnic tea.

  Elizabeth looked forward to the outing. She was enjoying the holiday with her family and felt that she could have relaxed entirely were it not for the disturbing presence of Hetherington. Soon she would have to make plans to return to her position. She had had a letter from Mrs. Rowe just that morning, in fact, telling her that she was missed and that she was very welcome to return if that was the life she had chosen for herself. But she would have one afternoon just to spend with John and his family. Hetherington had ridden off somewhere immediately after luncheon; she had chosen not to ask anyone where.

  Elizabeth, dressed in a sprigged muslin dress from which she and Louise had removed the ribbons and flounces, allowed a few loose curls to soften the severity of her hair knot, and tied the ribbons of a large-brimmed straw bonnet beneath her chin. She went along to the nursery, where Louise was struggling to dress her son, who was bursting with energy and mischief.

  "Oh, may I carry him for you?" Elizabeth asked, and Louise shot her a grateful smile.

  "Indeed, he is getting heavy," she admitted, "and the doctor and John have both forbidden me to carry any loads."

  They went downstairs to find John. He was in the hallway, a small picnic basket at his feet, talking to Hetherington.

  "Robert, I am so glad you arrived back in time," Louise called cheerfully from behind Elizabeth. "Our party would not be complete without you."

  He bowed his head and smiled in her direction. "I would not have missed your picnic for worlds," he said.

  All the sunshine went out of the afternoon for Elizabeth. Now she would have to be prim and self-conscious again. Louise had clearly invited him. She was being quite excessively courteous. And why had he accepted? Of what possible interest could a family outing with a baby be to him?

  Hetherington picked up the picnic basket and retained his hold on it even when John protested. "Your wife will have need of your arm, Rossiter," he said. "Mine does not. She already has her hands full."

  They set out across the lawn and through the trees. Jeremy was contented for a few minutes, then decided that his new uncle would be a more exciting person with whom to travel. He gurgled, chattered in unintelligible baby talk, and held out his arms to Hetherington so that Elizabeth had to fight to keep her hold of him.

  "Put him up on my shoulders," Hetherington said. "He can hold on to my hair."

  Elizabeth ignored him until she could no longer control the child's struggles. She glared as Hetherington stepped in front of her and stooped down so that she could seat Jeremy astride his shoulders.

  "Let me take the basket," she said.

  He turned a laughing face toward her. "Why do you not just relax, Elizabeth?" he advised. "This is a pleasure outing."

  "How can it be a pleasure when I can never get away from you?" she cried, and watched the smile fade from his face.

  He turned away without another word to her. "Come on, Jeremy," he said. "Let's make this old horse gallop." And he trotted away, the child chuckling and then shrieking with delight as he held to his perch with firm fistfuls of fair hair.

  It was at that point that Elizabeth decided that she would have to have a confrontation with Hetherington. They stayed carefully apart from each other for the rest of the afternoon, but she watched bitterly as even John seemed to warm to Hetherington's high spirits and obvious success with the baby. Tomorrow she would talk to him.

  As it turned out, Elizabeth did not have to put her resolve into effect. Hetherington joined her and Louise at the breakfast table the following morning. He helped himself to food at the sideboard, sat down, and smiled at Louise.

  "I have just been in conversation with your husband, Louise," he said. "I have been taking my leave of him. I leave for London today."

  Louise's cup clattered back into the saucer. Elizabeth felt her heart begin to hammer uncomfortably. She laid down her fork as quickly as possible before her hand could begin to shake. She did not look up from her plate.

  "You are leaving?" Louise said. "Oh, Robert, I had no idea."

  "I have already been here longer than I ought," he replied. "I had planned to stay only while I felt that Elizabeth needed my support. With Jeremy in such bouncing health, I cannot pretend that there is still a crisis in the house."

  "But you do not have to have a reason to be here," Louise protested, glancing uneasily at Elizabeth. She seemed about to say more but changed her mind.

  "I really have quite pressing business in town," he said gently. "But I do thank you for your hospitality. I have been very happy to make your acquaintance at last, ma'am."

  Louise was speechless for a while. "Jeremy will miss you," she said at last.

  He smiled. "And I shall miss him," he replied. He held her eyes and raised his eyebrows, casting a quick glance at Elizabeth's lowered head.

  Louise jumped to her feet. "And speaking of Jeremy," she said brightly, "I must see if he had a peaceful night after his outing yesterday. Shall I see you before you leave, Robert?"

  "I shall come to the nursery soon," he said.

  Left alone, Elizabeth and Hetherington sat in silence for a while. She had not touched any food or drink since he had spoken his first words.

  "You finally have your wish, Elizabeth," he said quietly at last.

  "Yes."

  "You will be free to relax with your family when I am gone."

  "Yes."

  There was another tense silence.

  "What will you do now?" he asked. "Will you stay here? I believe you are needed. And you are certainly loved."

  "I shall go back to my position," she replied. "This is merely a holiday."

  "You do not belong there," he protested.

  She looked up at him for the first time since he had come into the room. "It is not for you to say where I belong," she said firmly. "I shall do with my life as I please, my lord."

  He got impatiently to his feet and strode to the French windows that faced out onto the terrace. He stood there with his back to her. "You do not like being dependent on your brother, is that it?" he asked. "You need not be, you know. You are still my wife. I am able and willing to support you in any manner you choose. If you wish to set up your own establishment, Elizabeth, you may send the bills to me. Or I shall make you an allowance so that you do not have constantly to apply to me. Would you prefer that?"

  Elizabeth's chair scraped back and she was across the room at his side almost before he had finished speaking, her cheeks flaming, her eyes blazing.

  "How dare you insult me so!" she hissed at him. "Have I not suffered enough humiliation at your hands, without this? I would not take a farthing from you, Robert Denning, if I were destitute on the streets and you my only hope of avoiding starvation."

  His face had paled and he had flinched when she began to speak as if she had struck him a physical blow. The sneer had returned by the time she finished.

  "You have changed, my dear," he said. "There was a time when money meant more to you than all else. Or perhaps you are no different now. William Mainwaring will be in residence alone when you return to your employment. He is clearly besotted with you. And I am sure you are clever enough to spin him a yarn that will overcome his disappointment in finding you a married woman. I would wish you good fortune, ma'am, if I did not feel that the ma
n deserves better of life."

  Elizabeth's hands were clenched at her sides. "Do not let me delay you, my lord," she said sweetly. "I am sure you wish to reach London before night falls."

  He stared at her blankly, then held out his hand. "I am glad that events turned out well for your family here," he said.

  She placed her own hand hesitantly in his. "I thank you for bringing me home," she said. "It was kind of you to cut short your visit to Ferndale."

  He looked into her eyes, a half-smile on his lips. "Good-bye, Elizabeth," he said. "I wish things might have been different for you and me."

  She willed herself to show no emotion. She steeled herself for the kiss on the hand that she half expected. She came near to crumbling when he kissed her instead, very gently, on the lips. Had he not gone immediately, in fact, without even stopping to look into her face again, he would have seen the tears spring to her eyes; he would have heard the sobs that felt as if they would tear her ribs apart.

  But he had gone.

  Chapter 12

  Elizabeth stayed home for only one more week. It was blissful, she thought, to be alone with John and Louise and the baby, not to be constantly looking over her shoulder for Hetherington or half-expecting to find him inside every room that she entered. After a few days she could not understand why she was so bored and restless. John was busy for much of each day; Louise was frequently tired and had to rest; Jeremy could not be played with all day long. It was time to go back. At least she was usually kept busy at the Rowes'.

  Louise made life uncomfortable for her by refusing to let the topic of Hetherington drop. She had become genuinely fond of him and was convinced that he could not be quite the villain that she had previously thought.

  "No one who loves children as he does can be a cruel man," she told Elizabeth on one occasion. "And did you notice how much Jeremy loved him? Depend upon it, children always know who can be trusted. Their instincts never err."