A Chance Encounter

by Mary Balogh

  "Oh, God," Elizabeth said, sinking into a chair and staring, mesmerized, at her brother.

  "Finally I could stand the mystery no longer," John said. "I journeyed to London to consult the man of business that Papa patronized whenever he could afford to. The man traced the source of the money. It had been paid to my father in lump sum by Horace Denning six weeks after the date of your marriage."

  "Papa!" Elizabeth whispered.

  With one hand John was stroking the feather of a quill pen across the palm of his other hand.

  Elizabeth rose to her feet. "John," she said, "you knew this two years ago. Why did you not tell me? I thought you were my true friend. But you made yourself part of the conspiracy against me."

  "No!" he cried, flinging down the pen and upsetting his chair in his haste to come to her. "No, love. I did not tell you because I believed Denning had acted for his nephew. I have believed for two years that not only was Hetherington heartless enough to turn you off in order to satisfy his pride but that he had paid our father to keep you away from him. Elizabeth, are you sure he did not? He is a man of considerable charm. Are you sure that he has not decided after all that he wants you and is trying to raise himself in your estimation by making his uncle the scapegoat?"

  "Yes, I am sure," she said. "I know that he meant what he said, John. He truly believed that I had abandoned him for money."

  He took her by the shoulders and looked down into her eyes. "And does it still matter to you, love, whether he is guilty or not?"

  She looked back through the tears that filled her eyes. "Yes," she answered. "Yes. I love him as much as I did on the day I married him."

  He pushed her down onto her chair again and sat on the edge of his desk, arms folded, looking down at her.

  "John," she asked, her eyes on her hands, "did you ever read the letters that Papa received from Robert?"

  "No," he said. "He never showed them to me. When I asked, once, to see them, he said that he had burned them in a fit of anger."

  "The letters did not exist, then," she said.

  "It would seem not."

  "Why?" she asked. "Why would he do such a thing? Did he not love me, John?"

  He did not answer for a while. "I believe he was a sick and unhappy man, love. You know that he used to talk incessantly about money and about the necessity of our marrying wealth. The chance of earning ten thousand pounds as a kind of reverse dowry for you must have been irresistible, especially if he really believed that Hetherington would divorce you and you would still have the chance to make an advantageous marriage."

  "Did he really believe that I had been divorced, do you think?"

  "Probably not," John said, considering. "He did not make any attempt to make a match for you before his death, did he? One would have thought that he might have done so had he really believed that you were free."

  "John, I have to go to Robert," she said. "I have to tell him. Will you come with me?"

  He thought before answering. "It would not be good form," he said. "Your best course, love, would be to write inviting him here. You could explain perhaps that you wish to share with him some discoveries you have made concerning what happened at that time. If he is interested, if he truly wishes to know exactly what happened, he will come."

  "But I cannot bear to wait here doing nothing," she said.

  "He will be here within three days, you may be sure," he said firmly. "It is the best way, believe me. It would look most strange for a lady to arrive at Hetherington Manor asking for him. Remember that his household staff probably knows nothing of your existence."

  Elizabeth was forced to agree, though reluctantly, that his advice was good. She went immediately to the drawing room and wrote six letters before she was satisfied that she had said enough to whet Robert's appetite, yet not enough to appease his curiosity. She took the finished letter immediately to John, who assured her that it would be on the evening's mail coach, and began the feverish wait.

  Although John had said three days, she had convinced herself that it would be four days before she could reasonably expect to see Hetherington, even five if he had any immediate engagements that he felt he could not avoid. She would hope for him on the fourth day, she decided, but expect him on the fifth. It was a very sensible decision, but she found that she started to watch the driveway, at hourly intervals, the same evening as the letter was sent.

  Elizabeth was very tired of watching, therefore, when the fifth day came. Louise and John had both done their best to entertain her, and she had tried to cooperate. She had played with the baby; helped Louise go through all his baby clothes and decide what would be needed for the new arrival; helped outfit a new bedroom for Jeremy, as the baby would be needing the nursery within a few months; and played endless games of cards. In the few intervals when she was left to herself, she wrote letters to the Rowes in Bath and to the Worthings and the Claridges in Granby. She sewed herself new gowns for the approaching autumn. But she refused to leave the grounds of her brother's house. When Louise went shopping or visiting, Elizabeth stayed at home. When John and Louise dined out one evening, she stayed at home, although she too had been invited. And always, even against her will, her feet would take her to a window that commanded a view of the driveway.

  On the first four days she had consoled herself with the assurance that he would come on the fifth day. But when that day came, she was far from certain. A dread formed somewhere in the pit of her stomach and she knew that the watch was hopeless. He would not come. Why should he? He had been hurt by her once. He had been quite convinced of her guilt. Why should he come now just because she had written to tell him that she had more information concerning that episode in their lives?

  Louise had made a point of staying home on that day. After luncheon she and Elizabeth took Jeremy out onto the lawn. She was tactful enough not to suggest that they go anywhere out of sight of the driveway or the main door. Louise sat down on a bench while Elizabeth rolled a ball to Jeremy and helped him run after it when it rolled too far.

  "Oh, I wish I might get up and join in the game," Louise called to a flushed and breathless Elizabeth. "But John has made me promise not to undergo any exercise more strenuous than a walk." She pulled a face. "I am not that bulky yet, am I?" She patted a thickened waistline.

  "No," Elizabeth replied, "but you know you delight in pleasing John even when he is being just a mother hen. Besides," she added, puffing and seating herself beside her sister-in-law, "keeping up with a toddler is a little much, even for my energy."

  They sat watching Jeremy as he toddled across the lawn and finally sat down with a plop amid a crowd of daisies and began systematically pulling the heads off them.

  "He is not going to come," Elizabeth said tensely.

  Louise did not pretend to misunderstand. "Give him time, love," she said. "You do not know what he was occupied with when your letter arrived. Perhaps he was not even at home. He will come, never fear."

  "What makes you so sure?" Elizabeth asked.

  Her sister-in-law was firm. "I did not know you six years ago," she said, "and although I heard the story from John, perhaps I can see things more objectively than either you or he can. When I met the Marquess of Hetherington when Jeremy was so ill, I was fully prepared to dislike, even hate him. But I could not, Elizabeth. He has a charm that is not all of the surface. He was genuinely concerned about the baby and about my health. And you may not believe this, love, but I could see that he was very concerned about you. I know he disliked your working for a living and dressing like a governess. But it was more than that. I suspected that he loved you. I told John so, but of course he would not have it, either. But I have hoped ever since that somehow you would resolve your differences. I have even schemed for ways of bringing the two of you together again. He will come, Elizabeth, I know it. Even if it is not today or tomorrow," she added.

  Jeremy had tired of the daisies and was headed for the trees that led to the lake. Elizabeth was forced to chase him an
d then to devise a game that would head him back toward his mother. The topic of conversation was changed, by tacit agreement, when they did rejoin Louise. The three of them went inside for tea.

  The following two nights and the day in between were torture for Elizabeth. She wanted to take comfort from what Louise had said. She wanted to believe what her own senses had told her at her last meeting with Robert. In her heart she was convinced that he would want to hear what she had to say. But her head told her that she could watch that driveway until she was old and gray, but that Hether-ington would never ride along it toward her.

  She sat at her window on that second night, unable to sleep, unwilling to wait like this any longer. Notwithstanding John's advice, she was going to have to go to Hetherington Manor herself. Surely he would not refuse to see her if she came. Even if he rejected her story, even if he refused to believe that she had known nothing of the agreement between her father and his uncle, she would have the satisfaction of knowing that she had done all she could. And at least then she would be certain. If rejection was to be her fate again, she could at least then begin the dreary task of piecing together a meaningless life. Anything was better than this endless waiting. Perhaps even, as Louise had suggested, Robert was away from home. Although she would still then have to await his return home, she would be able to do so with some renewal of hope. Tomorrow, after breakfast, she would talk to John. She was sure that he would not refuse to accompany her.

  Elizabeth slept for the rest of the night, somewhat comforted by her decision to do something.

  Her plans were disrupted the following morning, however, by the arrival of a letter from Hetherington Manor. Elizabeth knew as soon as John came into the breakfast room and handed it to her, that it was not from Robert. But she broke the seal feverishly and spread the letter out on the table. It was a short, terse note from his secretary, telling her that his lordship wished to inform Miss Rossiter that he was extremely busy at present and was unable either to answer her letter or to pay the requested visit, but that he would do the former when he found himself at more leisure.

  Elizabeth sat, stunned, reading the note over three or four times without realizing that she did so. John came up quietly behind her and read it over her shoulder. He reached down and took it, folded it, and put it away in his pocket.

  "Perhaps you were right," he said wearily, seating himself beside her at the table. "Perhaps I should have taken you to Hetherington. Maybe the message in your letter was not clear enough. What do you wish to do, love? I am entirely at your disposal."

  When Elizabeth looked up at him, her face was flushed and her eyes flashing. "What do I wish to do?" she repeated. "Nothing! Nothing more, John. I would not speak to the Marquess of Hetherington now if he came through those doors at this moment on his knees. I must give him audience whenever it is his gracious pleasure. I was forced to allow him to bring me here when Jeremy was sick; I had no choice in the fact that he stayed here for days disturbing my peace; I was forced to speak with him and suffer his insults and his unwelcome advances after William had gone to him. I must suffer all these things because I am merely a wife. Yet when I request a meeting with him on a very important matter, I do not even merit a reply in his own hand. He gives me a set-down by way of a secretary. No more, John. I have done with that man."

  "Steady, love," he said soothingly, laying a hand on her arm. "Let us be very sure this time. I shall go to see him. He will hear my explanation, I warrant you."

  "If you take one step in his direction, I will never speak to you again," his sister cried, pushing back her chair and getting to her feet. "I would be most obliged, John, if I never hear his name in this house again."

  She swept out of the room, leaving her brother scratching his head in perplexity. A visit to his wife's bedroom, where he shared her breakfast and a lengthy consultation, did nothing to solve the problem. After six years of misunderstanding and bitter hard feelings, it seemed that this marriage was not going to be easily resurrected.

  Elizabeth, meanwhile, had gone to the drawing room, taken paper, ink, and pens from the desk there, and returned to her own room, where she was soon busy drafting a notice to several London newspapers offering her services as a governess. She would personally see that the notices went out with that day's mail, she decided, so that they would appear in print in two days' time. She resolved to take the first post offered, especially if it was far away from London.

  ---

  Five days later Louise was still watching the driveway for Hetherington and looking through the day's mail for a letter from him. She was convinced that the other letter had been a mistake, that somehow he would come and allow Elizabeth to tell her story. She was convinced that love would triumph in the end.

  For his part, John was still in a quandary. He felt he owed it to his sister this time to help her, to find out Hetherington and explain to him what her letter must have only hinted at. Surely the man would want to come himself to see her if he knew the truth. On the other hand, Elizabeth had very specifically begged him not to have any contact at all with her husband.

  Elizabeth was the only one who was not troubled. Since the morning when the letter had arrived, she had blocked Hetherington from her mind and her heart. With a cheerfulness that alarmed her brother and sister-in-law, she helped Louise with household duties, played with Jeremy, and prepared for her own return to service. She had bought several yards of gray wool material and was making herself some serviceable gowns. Although it would be several months before her hair would be long enough to be forced into its old, severe style, she found that she was able to coil the curls at the back so that her appearance became somewhat less frivolous.

  Five days after she had sent her advertisement to the newspapers, Elizabeth began to look for a reply. She had none by the morning post, but a messenger in the early afternoon brought word that a Mr. Chatsworth was at the local inn and would be pleased to interview Miss Rossiter that same afternoon for a position as governess.

  "Pray do not go, Elizabeth," Louise begged when she was shown the letter, "or send word that your services are no longer available. Indeed, we need you here and we love you."

  John was white-faced. "Indeed, love," he said, "Louise is right. We know you are wretchedly unhappy and we cannot do much to ease the pain. But at least here you know that you are with loved ones."

  "I am not at all unhappy," Elizabeth replied brightly. "On the contrary, I look on this as a new adventure. Unknown people, an unknown place. It is what I need. I thank you both for your concern, but it really is unnecessary. This is your home, but it is mine no longer. I have to find my own place."

  They were forced to let her go. She declined even to let John accompany her to the inn, but drove herself in the gig. She wore her best governess clothes, the gray silk covered with a gray cloak to ward off the chill breeze, and a matching bonnet.

  Mr. Chatsworth was lodged in the only private parlor the inn boasted, a tiny, smoke-blackened room, usually used by the landlord's more-favored patrons for their gambling card games. Elizabeth knocked on the door and closed it behind her when she was called inside.

  Her prospective employer was a tall man, portly, fashionably dressed, his hair curled high at the front. He leaned with studied casualness against the mantel and studied her minutely from head to foot through a quizzing glass.

  "Mr. Chatsworth?" she asked.

  He inclined his head. "Miss Rossiter?"

  She dropped him a curtsy.

  He waved her to a chair beside the table and began the interview. His home was in Yorkshire, Elizabeth learned, where his invalid wife and two young sons lived. He was a mill owner and wished to give his sons all the advantages that he had not had as a child: a governess for a few years, public school after that.

  It would not be an easy job, Elizabeth knew. She judged the man to be conceited, with a grudge against the noble class who had birth and breeding even if they did not have his wealth. He would be the sort of man who wo
uld treat his servants as inferiors in order to convince himself of his own superiority. She had also been uncomfortably aware all the time they talked of his eyes roving over her body. She judged that at some time in the not-too-distant future she would have to repulse his lecherous advances.

  Yet when Mr. Chatsworth made her a firm offer of employment at the end of a half-hour, Elizabeth accepted. What was the point of waiting for a more pleasant post? There was no such thing as pleasure in life for her anymore.

  "I wish to leave here before ten o' clock tomorrow morning," Mr. Chatsworth announced. "May I expect you to be ready, Miss Rossiter?"

  "I shall be here by then, sir," she assured him.

  "I shall look forward to furthering our acquaintance on our journey," he said, taking her hand in his plump and moist one and squeezing it rather hard.

  Elizabeth refused to think during the drive home. Yorkshire would suit her fine. She would be far away from all the places and people she had ever known. She knew that she should be uneasy about making a journey of a few days alone with a stranger. John and Louise would probably try to insist on sending a maid with her. Perhaps she would even allow herself to be persuaded if it would make them feel better. She really did not care. Not anymore. It was safer not to care. Already she felt better than she had felt for several months.

  The butler was in the hall when Elizabeth let herself into the house.

  "Are Mr. and Mrs. Rossiter indoors?" she asked him, removing her bonnet and throwing it down on a table.

  "In the drawing room, ma'am, taking tea," he said. "And, er…"

  "That is all right," she said. "I shall join them there."

  Elizabeth donned the mask of cheerfulness that she had worn at home now for five days and opened the double doors of the drawing room.

  John and Louise, one at either side of the unlit fireplace, Louise looking bright-eyed, John acutely embarrassed, were indeed taking tea. But the Marquess of Hetherington was not. He was standing very much as Mr. Chatsworth had stood when she had walked in on him earlier, except that his stance looked genuinely relaxed. He had one elbow propped on the mantel and one booted leg crossed over the other.