by Lavinia Kent
“I didn’t realize I needed to ask.” And he hadn’t. It was an awful thought. He’d been so busy thinking about what he was doing that he had not once stopped to ask about his wife. He had been happy in his delusion that he had been her prince—she’d called him that four years ago, her sweet prince. He’d laughed at the time and said he was only an earl. She’d insisted he was her Prince Charming. She’d called him her prince earlier this night, but her tone had been very different.
“You didn’t realize you needed to ask? I should be surprised, but I am not. Clearly, you are not quite as intelligent as I thought.”
He ran a hand through his hair. He really should get it cut. What had been fine during his travels would not work in London. “I fear you may be right.”
Elizabeth clearly had more to say. He could tell by the way her left toe tapped impatiently against the floor. Despite hardly knowing her, he found her surprisingly easy to read. Maybe it was all those months observing the animals of the Galapagos Islands. Her body language was also similar to the Red Howler monkeys he’d spotted high in the trees in Trinidad. They twitched their feet in just that way when they were trying to send messages to each other.
“Why are you staring at my feet?”
“You are tapping your toes.”
“So?”
“I don’t know. I find it interesting.”
He heard her pull in a deep breath and hold it. His eyes drifted to her bosom, which was pressed against her gown in a most becoming way—no, becoming didn’t even begin to describe the way her dainty curves rose above the red fabric. He wondered what she’d do if he reached out and pushed her dress down, cupping her breasts in his hands.
“And those are not my toes you are staring at.”
He forced his gaze up to her face. “Yes, but they are interesting too.”
“Damn you. Why can’t you just behave?”
Before he could answer, another voice, an American voice, called from the door. “I cannot believe it. I saw the cartoon and it was clear that Lucille had drawn it. I don’t know why my sister would have behaved in such away. Will you ever forgive her? Forgive me?”
CHAPTER THREE
William turned and watched as a very pretty and curvaceous blonde, attired in rather tight yellow silk, strode into the room. She was followed by both the Duchess of Harrington, carrying a large, beaded reticule, and a slight, friendly-looking brunette he thought he remembered from several years before. His wife was keeping high company.
“It is quite unbelievable.” The Duchess of Harrington greeted Elizabeth and then stopped, seeing him. “So you are back? I heard you were spotted at Stonebridge’s.”
“Yes, I am. And, yes, I was.” Stating the obvious was getting tiresome.
The duchess merely pursed her lips and studied his wrinkled coat and windswept hair.
“It was not Lucille’s fault, Annabelle.” Elizabeth turned to the blonde, holding out her hand.
“Of course it was. Although, how she knew who he was I do not know.” The blonde, Annabelle, shrugged at him, and then turned back to Elizabeth, taking the hand and clasping it tight.
His wife’s glance moved between Annabelle and himself. “Annabelle, I must introduce you to Lord Westhampton.” She did not call him her husband. “Westhampton, I believe you are already acquainted with the other ladies, the Duchess of Harrington and Lady Richard Tenant.”
“I am pleased to meet you, my lord.” Annabelle did not sound pleased. “I believe you may have known my husband when you were a boy.”
“Your husband?” he asked.
A clock chimed. Elizabeth released Annabelle’s hand after a final squeeze. “Annabelle is married to Lord Tattingstong.”
“John Nettingsly? I thought he married the Hyde girl.”
Annabelle frowned.
Elizabeth again stepped into the conversation. “I didn’t realize that you didn’t know. John died a couple of years ago. Annabelle is married to the younger brother, Thomas.”
William remained quiet for a moment. He had only known John slightly, but it was always hard to hear of a death. “I did know Thomas quite well. That does make more sense. He left for America when we were hardly more than boys. I think he helped inspire my desire for adventure.” He looked at Elizabeth, hoping she would understand how little his departure had had to do with her.
“We are straying from the subject.” It was the brunette who spoke. She glanced about the room and then went to sit on a small settee. “What are we going to do about Lucille? I cannot believe she has drawn such an awful cartoon. Do forgive me for feeling this way, Annabelle. I know she is your sister and you love her.”
Elizabeth walked over to a small writing desk, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a folded piece of cheap paper. The paper crinkled as she opened it, revealing what appeared to be a pen-and-ink sketch. “Do not worry about Lucille. I do not mind this cartoon at all. I think she did a superb job of showing my strengths.”
“It is true you do look well in it,” the brunette, Lady Richard Tennant admitted. Annie, that was her given her name—she’d been Miss Annie Westers when he’d known her—although if she was now Lady Richard Tennant her husband was brother to the Duke of Hargrove.
“Yes, I do.” Elizabeth stared down at the paper and made no move to show it to him.
After a moment his curiosity got the better of him. “What is it you are looking at?”
Elizabeth looked up, met his glance, and then with only the slightest hesitation handed it over to him.
He looked down. She was right. Her beauty and strength leapt off the page. Even in black and white he could see the vibrancy of the green gown she’d been wearing at the ball the other evening. She looked like a queen commanding her subjects. Yet, at the same time, there was a wistful quality about her. A single rose—it must be the deepest of reds—lay across one palm, and he could sense her desire for something more. It was the very quality that had made him notice her all those years before, made him want to offer her that something. For a moment, he simply stared, enjoyed . . . remembered. Then slowly the rest of the drawing came into focus.
Kneeling beside her, his hands catching at her skirt, a figure that could only be meant to be him looked up at her, his face needy and wanting—yet also vulgar. The man was shown in the most ill-fitting of coats, brambles caught in his hair, his boots dirty and unpolished—but, again, it was the expression that caught him, a look of such unbridled longing, a look that said I will lick your foot for even the chance of a smile. “Is this thought to be funny? And where did you get it?” He ran his thumb across it. The ink was flatter and more even than it would have been if it had been freshly drawn. Was it a print? But who would make a print of such a thing?
The Duchess of Harrington pulled off her gloves and stuffed them in her reticule. “It is good to see you, William. You will forgive me if I call you by your Christian name. I do remember how kind, if distracted, you were at my coming out, and I can never forget some of the pranks you played with my brothers when you were all much younger. It is good to have you returned.” Her eyes shifted to Elizabeth and then back to him. “At least I hope it is good. But enough of that. You asked about the cartoon. It can be purchased at almost any apothecary or tobacco shop. There has been a plague of these cartoons over the past weeks—and nobody seems to know who is responsible for some of them. This is only the latest example.” She went and sat down beside Annie. It was amazing how comfortable the women all were together. It made him feel quite the outsider. He went and perched on the edge of the corner writing desk, trying to look like he belonged. He kept the cartoon tight his in hand.
“Not quite the latest.” Indecision marked his wife’s face and then she walked back to the desk and, glaring at him for being in the way, pulled out another folded sheet. Wrinkles marked this one. It looked as if it had been crunched into a ball and then flattened again. Green lines also marked it. Had it been stomped into the lawn?
Elizabeth reach
ed out and handed it, not to him—despite his proximity—but to Annabelle, if he remembered her name correctly.
Annabelle peered at it for a moment, paled, then walked across the room and passed it to the duchesses—Kathryn, if he remembered her name correctly. She examined it and then, pressing her lips together, she handed it to Annie. The woman clenched it tight, looked up at Elizabeth, and then passed it back to Annabelle.
The American looked stoic. “Lucille would never have done this. Never.” Her gaze rose to Elizabeth, anxiety clear within it.
“No, I don’t think she did,” Elizabeth answered. “She actually visited earlier, worried that I might think she had. I was quite confused for a while, thinking she was referring to the other drawing.”
Annabelle walked over and patted his wife’s shoulder. “I am so glad you feel that way. I would hate it if you believed this over her. Did she say she hadn’t done the first one as well? I am afraid that one does look like her work, but she promised that she would not draw any more of them.”
Was that a faint blush traveling up his wife’s cheeks? He wished one of them would show him the second print. It was quite exasperating, trying to guess what it showed. But then, this whole thing was exasperating. Again he felt that this group of women clearly had a bond between them, a bond that did not encompass him. His very presence seemed an annoyance to them. He’d rarely felt so much the outsider, even when he’d been the only white face in a sea of brown ones. “May I see it?”
Slightly to his surprise, an unreadable look passed between the women. Then Elizabeth walked over to Annabelle and took the drawing from her. She held it out, just beyond his reach. “I trust you will like this one better.”
He kept his gaze on her face instead of on the paper that she finally handed him. She was biting at her lower lip, something he’d never seen her do, even when she’d been a scared little mouse hiding from her uncle. He held her eye for a moment, attempting to look reassuring.
Then he looked down.
And looked again.
It was true he looked much better in the cartoon. He stood in front, a heroic figure. He thought the drawing might have been modeled on a statue he’d once seen of Columbus, one foot forward, ready to discover the world. He did rather like the image. He’d often pictured himself that way in his most secret of thoughts.
But Elizabeth, she looked almost like she had when he’d first seen her, defeated by life but begging for more. Her hands clutched at him, grabbing, pinching. And her eyes held a distinct leer, a sluttish quality that he’d never seen in the real woman. Even that night, three nights after their wedding when she’d come to him, almost begging, he’d never seen that look.
The sound of her breath caught him, a soft sound, followed by a long silence, and then another breath. She was holding her breath as she watched him. Lowering the paper, he looked up. She was thinking of that night too. Was that night the true reason for the bitterness that still held her? “You have never looked like that, acted like that. Never.”
Still, the doubt remained in her face. He could feel her anguish as if it were his own. He’d done the right thing that night. He still believed that deep in his heart, but now there was a twinge of doubt.
“I don’t suppose you know anything about these cartoons?” Kathryn stood and strode over to peer at the paper again, breaking the moment of emotional intimacy between Elizabeth and himself. “Why would anybody choose to champion you in such a way?”
“I doubt it has anything to do with me.” He spoke with complete honesty. “Nobody in town knew I was returning. I hadn’t expected to be seen by anyone until I heard my wife was at Stonebridge’s ball. I wished to see her before I left for Beaconhill. It seems far more likely that somebody had a desire to hurt you, my dear.” He nodded at Elizabeth, his eyes filled with consideration. Despite his best intentions the remnants of anger—and jealousy—burned in his gut. The words slipped out. “One of your past lovers perhaps? Just who have you offended recently?”
She could not believe he had just said that. It might be true that she’d implied she had lovers, but for him to mention it in front of her friends? He truly was uncouth. At least the other women didn’t seem shocked. Rumors of her affairs had begun the year after her husband had left and she’d never done anything to suppress them. “I doubt that. I’ve never given anyone reason to dislike me with such fervor. In truth I cannot imagine any motivation for such a cartoon.”
“Linnette?” Annabelle mouthed the name.
“I can’t believe that she would do such a thing,” Kathryn spoke up.
“You know that she still believes I am responsible for the cartoon of her and Doveshire. Perhaps she thought this was the perfect revenge.” Elizabeth hoped she was wrong.
“I believe she thought jumping in the lake was her revenge. And you know she doesn’t really believe it anymore—or at least she is not sure.” Kathryn wavered only a little.
Annie reached over and patted Kathryn’s arm. “I can’t think of anyone else who would have done it, but it doesn’t seem possible. Now that she’s reconciled with Doveshire, I don’t believe she’s even thinking about the cartoons anymore.”
“You know that’s not true.” Elizabeth went to stare up at the painting over the mantel. It truly was an ugly thing—her greatest masterpiece. She’d hung it a fit of fury when William had first left, determined to vent her anger on his home if she could not take it out on him. She’d quickly come to her senses and instead had turned the house into the home she’d always dreamed of, but the painting had remained, a reminder of her own foolishness in trusting William. “We are all wondering about the cartoons. It is impossible to think of who would want to hurt us all in this way.”
“Particularly as we did not know each other when it all began,” Annabelle said.
“What are you all talking about?” William’s deep voice commanded her attention. “Have there been other cartoons that were aimed at hurting you?”
“No, not me.” She looked at her friends and then quickly explained the series of cartoons that had caused scandals in all their lives. She refrained from mentioning the part Annabelle’s younger sister, Lucille, had played in all of it.
“There hasn’t been a cartoon with me, but I am just waiting,” Annie said. “I do hope that my husband and his brother, the Duke of Hargrove, are not too displeased if there is one. Hargrove is quite opposed to scandal.”
“It all sounds quite strange,” William replied. “You are sure there is nobody that you have all angered?”
“No.” Kathryn sounded quite firm. “Each one of us might have enemies but nobody would want to hurt us all. It makes no sense.”
“Unless there was another motive,” William spoke again. “Distraction, perhaps? Maybe there is an even greater scandal and somebody wants to keep it a secret by diverting attention elsewhere.”
“That is a possibility.” Kathryn tapped a finger to her chin. “There hasn’t been a truly juicy scandal for quite awhile. I think the last one was when Jonathan Masters was caught in the library with Clara, Lady Westington. Now that was a story that lasted for weeks.”
“I did feel so sorry for Clara. She did not deserve that,” Annie said.
Annabelle looked confused. “What is so scandalous about being together in the library?”
Elizabeth turned to Annabelle and raised a single eyebrow.
It took a moment but then Annabelle blushed red. “You don’t mean? Oh, you do. I can’t even imagine . . .”
“Enough of that.” Kathryn spoke to them all. “William’s theory is of interest, but I’ve heard no hint of any other scandal. Have any of you?”
One by one they shook their heads.
“That doesn’t mean there couldn’t be one,” William insisted. “It may only prove the distraction is working.
“I’ll ask Lady Smythe-Burke. If anybody knows it would be her, but I do fear it seems unlikely,” Annie said, shifting her position on the settee.
William looked serious. “Could there be anything else?”
Elizabeth wished she could think of something, but she’d been wracking her brain for weeks, and that was before there had been a nasty cartoon about her. “I don’t think so. We’ve all thought about it.”
“Well, there must be something.” His gaze met hers and Elizabeth could see all the questions behind his eyes. He was still not convinced it was not one of her rumored lovers. If only he knew.
“We really should be leaving,” Kathryn said, as if sensing the exchange. “Perhaps we can stop by Lady Smythe-Burke’s and make some inquiries. And then I must be home. My puppy gets upset if I am not there to walk her, and nobody is happy if Fifi is not.”
“You allow your dog to control your life?” William sounded surprised.
“Don’t even ask,” Elizabeth tried to whisper back.
Kathryn laughed. “My Fifi is quite something. Perhaps I’ll bring her with me on my next visit.”
Elizabeth could only shudder at the thought. Fifi was sweet but no home could survive a visit from the six-month-old Russian wolfhound. “That sounds delightful.”
Pressing her lips tight to suppress further laughter, Kathryn said her farewells. Annie and Annabelle followed, each stopping to whisper good luck to her, their eyes fixed on William. Elizabeth knew she would be questioned closely the next time all the women were together.
“Well, that was interesting,” he said once they were alone.
She looked across at the second cartoon that was still clutched in one of his hands. “Did you find it so? I am afraid I was merely putting a good face on my humiliation.”
Her humiliation? William followed her gaze to the paper clutched in his hand. “This? You’re really worried about a stupid cartoon?”
“Yes, I am. I’ve had my whole life governed by rumor once. I have no wish to do so again.”