by Sandra Heath
Violet bobbed a curtsy, and stood politely aside for him to enter.
The sunlight from the window shone brightly on his hair as he came toward her, and her hand trembled a little as he raised it to his lips.
“Your Grace?” she murmured, drawing her fingers slowly but firmly away because she was already conscious of a slight blush warming her cheeks.
“I trust you are feeling a little better now?”
“Er—yes. Yes, I
am.”
“I’m so glad to hear it. Forgive me for coming to you like this, but my purpose is twofold.”
“Twofold?”
“First, I must return these yet again.” He took something from his pocket and held his hand out to her, dropping her earrings into her palm. “You left them on the breakfast table. I meant to return them earlier, but they slipped my mind.”
“I…I will endeavor to look after them properly from now on,” she said, feeling a little foolish. Then she met his eyes again. “You said your purpose was twofold?”
“Yes. I am also here to persuade you to join us in a while when we sally forth to the montagne Russe. It is ready to be used now, and is really best enjoyed by four people, for it is with four that the sleigh is properly balanced. I sincerely hope that you feel up to indulging a little.”
Her resolve faltered. “Perhaps my presence will be a dampener…”
“I doubt that very much.” He smiled a little. “Maybe I have no right to say anything, but I think that under the circumstances it would be better if you could take the bull by the proverbial horns, for to delay will not achieve anything except to make you feel worse.”
Her face felt dreadfully hot, and she couldn’t meet his eyes. “You are disconcertingly perceptive, sir,” she murmured.
“Where you are concerned, perhaps.” Briefly, oh, so briefly, his hand touched her cheek.
Her gaze flew to his. Where she was concerned?
But he did not explain. “Join us, Mrs. French, and be assured that an excellent time will be had by all. We leave in half an hour, and will await you in the hall.”
Without waiting for her to reply, he bowed and left.
Elizabeth remained where she was, gazing at the door as it closed behind him. She felt as if he understood her more than Alexander ever had, and it was a strange sensation. She hardly knew him, and yet he had invaded her dreams and her daylight hours in a way that scarcely seemed credible. Constance Bannerman was a very fortunate woman…
Shortly afterwards, Elizabeth did indeed take the bull by the horns, and went down to join the others in the hall. She wore her aquamarine cloak and overshoes, and her hood was raised over her hair. Her hands were warm in her muff, and she had put a little rouge on her cheeks in the hope of looking less strained and tense than she felt.
Isobel was again wearing her scarlet cloak, and was seated on one of the chairs arranged around the long table in the center of the floor. Evidently there was something wrong with one of her overshoes, for Alexander was crouching before her, retying the long laces.
Marcus saw Elizabeth first, and came to meet her at the foot of the staircase. “I am so glad that you are able to join us, Mrs. French,” he said, holding his hand out to her.
Hearing this, Alexander rose swiftly to his feet, looking directly toward her. She felt his gaze upon her, but did not meet it. Even now, after all that had been said, he was dancing attendance upon Isobel, and by getting to his feet so sharply and almost guiltily, he had revealed to her that he knew full well he was at fault.
Isobel’s quick green glance moved from Alexander to Elizabeth, and then back to Alexander again, for with her vested interest in how things were between them, she knew that they had had a serious difference. But what about? Whatever it was, they were decidedly cool toward one another, with neither of them displaying any intention of making the first move toward reconciliation.
McPherson came to tell them that the sleigh was waiting outside. Isobel immediately took Alexander’s arm. “Oh, isn’t this exciting?” she breathed, her eyes shining. “I’m looking forward to it so much that I cannot recall when last I felt like this. I believe I must have been about eight or nine, for it really is very childish of me.” She smiled up into his eyes, clinging to his arm as animatedly as if she were anticipating a wonderful treat, but really she was using the moment as an excuse to press home the difference between her and her withdrawn, rather cool cousin. I am fun to be with, she was telling him, whereas Elizabeth is not only very dull but also very difficult. She was rewarded by his quick return of the smile, and by the way he squeezed his arm, the brief pressure detected by her, but invisible to the others.
Marcus had already drawn Elizabeth’s hand over his sleeve. He said nothing, but led her firmly toward the door, and then out into the frostbitten afternoon, where the sun had not made any impression at all upon the snow.
The sleigh was very striking; at the front it was shaped like a swan with half-raised wings that protected the seats inside. There was a golden crown on the swan’s head, and the whole sleigh was painted white with lavish gilding everywhere. The seats were rather oddly arranged in single file, the front one low, the second higher, the third low again, and the one at the back again higher, but it soon became clear why they were placed like that, for Marcus explained that the lower seats were for the ladies, and that the gentlemen were to sit on the higher ones, protecting the lady in front with their arms.
The sleigh was drawn by two horses that would pull it across the park to the ice mountain, where they would be unharnessed and then the sleigh dragged up the slope by a team of men who were waiting in readiness. Then, with its four passengers safely ensconced, it would slide down the long slope at great speed, coming to a halt only when it reached a specially built uphill gradient that would put a natural brake upon its momentum.
As soon as Marcus had finished explaining about the sleigh’s seating, Isobel acted quickly to deny Alexander any opportunity he may have sought to sit with Elizabeth. Taking his hand, she climbed quickly into the front seat, turning her green eyes pleadingly upon him as she did so. “You will hold me tight when we go down the mountain, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” he replied, assisting her to sit down comfortably, and then getting into the high seat immediately behind her.
Elizabeth’s resolve faltered again as she watched them, and she felt deeply hurt that Alexander could so easily ignore her feelings. Was his anger with her sufficient justification for this?
Marcus suddenly placed himself in front of her, so that she could not see the others. “Allow me to help you into your seat, Mrs. French,” he said gently, leading her forward before she could somehow cry off.
Reluctantly she permitted him to help her into the third seat, behind Alexander. There were tears in her eyes, but she blinked them fiercely away. She wouldn’t break down here in front of everyone, she wouldn’t!
Marcus climbed into the seat behind, and slipped his arms gently around her, then nodded to the stableboy who was to lead the horses across the park. As soon as the sleigh began to slide forward, bells on the horses’ harness jingled in time to their action. The boy ran as he led them along a wide cleared pathway, and the sleigh’s runners whined over the layer of hard snow that had been left.
The montagne Russe filled a sloping clearing in a small woodland of pine trees. The clearing was evidently very ancient indeed, for it was edged by the distinctive mounds of prehistoric earthworks. Apart from the tall pine trees, there were many holly bushes, their branches brilliant with scarlet berries that were the same color as Isobel’s cloak, but it was the ice mountain that dominated the surroundings. It rose sharply at the higher end of the clearing, so sharply that its summit could only be reached by climbing a long flight of wooden steps with a handrail. From a flat platform at the top, the slope itself swooped down toward the far end of the clearing, where the special uphill gradient Marcus had mentioned could be clearly seen among the trees. From the plat
form to the end of the slope was about one hundred and fifty yards in length, and it was clear that the sleigh would descend very swiftly indeed.
Isobel’s eyes widened as the sleigh halted and the boy began to unharness the horses. She gazed up at the towering slope, and then looked at Marcus. “Are we really going to descend that?”
“We are, Lady Isobel.”
“But it’s huge!”
“There would be little point in making it small,” he replied with a smile, getting out and assisting Elizabeth.
Isobel put her little hand in Alexander’s, managing to stumble prettily as she alighted, thus giving herself another opportunity to cling to him for a moment. She knew she was being entirely shameless now, taking liberties right in front of Elizabeth, but she simply couldn’t help herself. Her feelings for Alexander had run away with her, and sometimes she was within a heartbeat of putting her arms around him and kissing him. She wanted to force the issue now because she was carried away by the hope that the differences between Elizabeth and him were irreconcilable. She knew that he liked her, and responded to her, and if only she knew once and for all that he no longer loved Elizabeth, then everything would be so simple…
The men who had been waiting for the sleigh’s arrival now came over to drag it up the slope, and the boy led the horses to the side of the clearing, where some blankets had been put to place over them until they were required to take the sleigh back to the house again.
Still claiming Alexander’s attention entirely for herself, Isobel began to climb up the steep wooden steps. She held on tightly to the handrail, and was all aflutter when from time to time she glanced back down and saw how high she was.
Elizabeth stood in the snow watching them, and she gave a start when Marcus spoke close to her. “Shall we go up as well, Mrs. French?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Have you so little enthusiasm?” he inquired.
She continued to look at the others. “How would you be feeling if you were me?” she asked in return.
He was silent for a moment. “Perhaps I would be analyzing my reactions,” he said at last.
She looked quickly at him. “And what conclusion would you reach?”
“That I was perhaps not in love with my official partner after all.”
She stared at him. “Is that really what you think?”
“Yes,” he replied frankly, “Mrs. French, if you loved Alexander, you would have shed more tears than this. Oh, you are shaken, there is no mistaking that, but you are not heartbroken, are you?” He looked deep into her eyes. “There is much more to this than at first meets the eye, but I am not yet quite sure what it is. I cannot for a moment imagine that you have been unfaithful to him, but if you had, then that might explain your conduct.”
“You go too far, sir,” she replied shortly, turning away from him.
“Maybe I do, Mrs. French, but you did ask me what conclusion I would reach,” he pointed out.
“Then I will tell you that I have most certainly not been unfaithful to Alexander, or to anyone else.” She glanced toward the steps. “I think it is time we joined the others, don’t you?” she said, beginning to ascend them.
He remained close behind her throughout the long ascent, catching her arm only once when her overshoe slipped on some ice. They reached the top to find the others ready and waiting in the sleigh, which was being held at the head of the slope by ropes that would be released to allow it to make the swooping descent, the end of which seemed an alarmingly long distance away.
Marcus took her hand to help her into the third seat, and then he resumed his place behind her, placing his arms protectively around her in readiness. His lips were close to her ear as he whispered.
“Maybe you have been all that is actually faithful, Elizabeth, but in your thoughts you have strayed, haven’t you?”
Her breath caught, and her heartbeats quickened guiltily, but then he nodded at the waiting men, who immediately released the ropes.
Isobel squealed as the sleigh leaped forward and began to gather speed down the long incline. Her hood was blown back from her head, and her chestnut hair tugged at its pins. The air was bitterly cold against her face, and the sleigh’s runners whined over the ice.
Elizabeth’s hood was blown back as well, and her hair was less well behaved. Several unruly curls fell free from their pins, and her stomach lurched as the sleigh made the wild descent. She pressed back involuntarily against Marcus, her trembling hands clinging to his arms, and as the tree trunks and holly bushes seemed to hurl themselves toward her, she had to close her eyes to shut everything out.
At last the sleigh’s headlong flight was checked, and the whining of its runners became a mere whisper as it slid to a halt and then fell slowly back down the little gradient at the end.
Isobel’s eyes were bright with excitement, and she gave a half-laugh. “I…I don’t know whether to say I enjoyed it or I was terrified by it,” she declared.
Marcus alighted. “The truth will come from your response to my next question, Lady Isobel. Do you wish to do it again?”
She smiled impishly at him. “Oh, yes, please.”
“Then you enjoyed it well enough.” He turned to Elizabeth. “And what of you, Mrs. French? Does the montagne Russe meet with your approval?”
She thought of how she’d pressed back into his arms, and of how good it had felt. “Yes, sir, it meets with my approval,” she replied. He had told her that she should analyze her reactions, and that was precisely what she had done during those breathless moments of the descent. She had enjoyed being so close to him, enjoyed more than she should the intimacy of having his arms around her, and she had done so because she was moving even closer to falling in love with him.
It had begun in Hanover Square, before she had even known who he was, and it had increased with each subsequent meeting. He was right to tell her that she did not truly love Alexander, for she had herself realized that she felt only a very deep affection for the man she had pledged to marry, but Marcus Sheridan had no right at all to conduct himself toward her as he did. Oh, he had not taken any physical liberties, but verbally he had made a number of advances that went beyond those of a mere friend. Even if he believed that her liaison with Alexander was coming to an end, he was himself far from free to act, for Miss Constance Bannerman awaited him in America. If it was simply seduction that he had in mind, a casual dalliance to amuse himself with while he was in England, then he was guilty of a grave misjudgment. Elizabeth French would never indulge in such an amour, for she had suffered the humiliation of being betrayed, and so would never dream of consigning the absent Miss Bannerman to such hurt. And apart from that, she, Elizabeth, valued herself too highly to stoop to idle liaisons.
As Marcus assisted her from the sleigh, she hoped that she was wrong about him, and that something as disreputable as seduction was far from his thoughts. She did not know him well, and perhaps was simply misreading his manner. She was far from composed at the moment, and was probably too unsettled to be truly sensible on such a matter.
They returned to the other end of the ice mountain, and as they climbed the wooden steps once more, the team of men dragged the sleigh back to the platform at the top of the slope. The second descent wasn’t quite as nerve-wracking as the first, and by the time they made a third, both Isobel and Elizabeth had begun to find it very exhilarating.
They had been enjoying the diversion for nearly an hour when Marcus thought there was something wrong with one of the sleigh’s runners, making it unsafe for hazardous descents of the mountain, but safe to return to the house, and as he and Alexander examined it closely in order to be sure that it was safe, Elizabeth and Isobel adjourned to one of the holly-covered mounds at the edge of the clearing.
The examination of the sleigh took longer than expected, and Isobel began to fidget. She glanced around, pouting a little as she wished the men would hurry so that they could all make another descent. She looked at the tangled holly bush
es nearby, and her attention was drawn to one particular cluster of berries. She tried to count them, and knew that there were at least a dozen, all formed into a perfect ball with two dark green leaves emerging beneath them. She thought how pretty they looked, and how much to advantage they would appear on her muff, for the berries were the very same color as her cloak. Glancing back at the sleigh, she saw that Alexander and Marcus were still deep in examination, and so she stepped through the snow toward the holly spray.
It was higher than she realized, and she had to stretch up to reach it.
At that moment a flock of jackdaws rose from the trees nearby, startled by something farther in the woods. The noise distracted Isobel for a fleeting second, and she lost her balance. The ground dipped sharply away beyond the holly bush, the drop concealed by the spread of the branches, and the clamor of the jackdaws drowned her brief cry as she fell. Then she struck her head on a branch and lost consciousness as she tumbled down through the snow to the foot of the mound.
Elizabeth knew nothing of what had happened, for her attention was on the men by the sleigh, and with the cries of the excited birds echoing all around she did not hear anything else. It wasn’t until something made her turn to say something to her cousin that she knew anything had happened.
“Isobel?” She glanced around in puzzlement. Then she saw the marks in the snow, and the slight scattering of broken holly leaves that told of a fall. “Isobel?” she said again, stepping tentatively toward the disturbed snow.
There was no answer, and Elizabeth began to feel alarmed. The clamor of the birds died away into silence. “Isobel?” she called, glancing around again.
Hearing, Marcus and Alexander straightened and looked toward her.
She continued to cast anxiously around, but Isobel seemed to have vanished. Then she looked down through the tangle of holly, and saw a splash of scarlet against the snow at the foot of the mound. With a dismayed gasp, she scrambled down, hardly noticing the sharp leaves as they scratched at her face.
Isobel was very pale and still, and there was an ugly bruise on her forehead. Elizabeth knelt beside her, taking one of her hands and squeezing it anxiously. “Isobel? Can you hear me?”