by Joyce Alec
12
“Your correspondence, my lord.”
“Thank you,” Luke murmured, his stomach tightening as he took the three letters from the silver tray. “And get me a fresh pot of coffee, will you? I think I will need to drink much more if I am to feel in the least bit refreshed.”
“At once, my lord,” the butler intoned before quitting the room.
Luke looked down at the letters in his hand, unease swirling. It had been two weeks since he had come to his father’s country seat, and still, he had heard nothing from Lady Elizabeth.
His agony grew with each passing day. He could not understand why she had not responded, finding it both puzzling and upsetting. He had been distraught over his father’s accident. Although, thankfully, he was now recovering very well. The fact that Lady Elizabeth appeared not to care about either the marquess or himself, brought him additional pain.
She had appeared to be so sweet, so gentle, so kind-natured, even though he would not say that he knew her particularly well. Perhaps appearances had been deceiving. Perhaps she was not the lady he thought. His heart ached over the possibility, wanting desperately to believe that there had been some kind of mishap that had prevented her from contacting him.
As he thumbed through his three letters, he saw that, yet again, there was no note from his betrothed. His heart sank, and for a moment, he put his head in his hands, the letters fluttering to the floor.
At least his father had regained consciousness, and whilst still quite weak, was improving every day. Luke had to be thankful for that; he had to focus on the fact that his father was not about to die. What a worrying time it had been for him. He had felt drained of energy, hardly sleeping and barely eating, and with no support from anyone other than the butler and his father’s faithful servants. A note from Lady Elizabeth would have been a balm to his soul, knowing that she was thinking of them both, praying for them both.
There had only been silence.
Picking up the letters, Luke opened one after the other, finding nothing of particular interest in the first two. However, the third was from Lord Parke, and this he found to be of particular interest.
‘My dear Lord Mallon,’ he read. ‘I write to ask you how your very dear father is fairing. I apologize that I have not written prior to now, but I was traveling home and ensuring that all was in order when I returned. Rest assured that everything you asked me to do was done before I left. I do hope and pray that the marquess makes a full recovery. Your cousin, Parke.’
Luke read the letter three times before he finally let it drop onto the table in front of him. Parke had said he had done all that Luke had asked, and the most important thing Luke had requested was that Parke hand the note to Lady Elizabeth and no other.
Clearly, he had done just that.
So why had she not written to him at once? Even if she cared nothing for him, the fact that they were betrothed meant that he would expect her to write to him even only a few short lines. But the fact that she had not written a single thing brought him nothing but sadness and confusion.
Lord Parke, at least, was gone from London. That meant that he had nothing to worry about in regard to his London townhouse. The house, the staff, and the like would be waiting for him whenever he decided to return—if he decided to return.
The thought made him frown. He would have to go back at some point and meet Lady Elizabeth again. It was not as though he could simply forget about his betrothed, even if she now appeared to be uncaring and self-centered. The truth was, however, that he did not want to go back, feeling as though the lady he was to marry was not the delightful creature he had believed her to be. The memory of the heated kiss he had shared with her was now tainted. He was now wondering if the passion he had felt from her had been genuine. How much did he really know about her?
Throwing the letters aside, Luke muttered to himself darkly and began to pace up and down the drawing room. He recalled how his father had insisted that Lady Elizabeth be allowed to enjoy the Season before they made the official announcement of their engagement. At the time, he had not thought much of it, but now he began to wonder whether or not Lady Elizabeth wanted to do more than just enjoy the dancing and conversation. What if she sought the attention of as many gentlemen as she could, wanting to be adored and fawned over? Recalling how she had been the first time he had laid eyes on her, hiding in the balcony so as to rest from the crush of the crowd, Luke could not help but think that she had been looking for whichever gentlemen she could next get her claws into.
That would mean she was a very different lady from the one he had thought her to be. She had appeared almost shy, determined to be introduced to him properly, but what if that had all been a façade, a way to draw a gentleman’s attention?
The only way he would know would be to return to London and find out the truth. He might not even let her know that he was returning, using the surprise of his return to catch her in whatever it was she was doing.
That gave him a kind of grim satisfaction, and as he began to slow his pace, Luke determined that this would be his next course of action—just as soon as his father was recovered.
Luke walked quietly into his father’s bedchamber, worried as to what he might see. It had been a fortnight since his father had been taken to the estate after his accident, and he had still yet to rise from his bed.
Much to Luke’s surprise, his father was sitting up in bed, pillows behind him and a large breakfast tray in front of him. He welcomed Luke with a broad smile, his mouth full of scrambled egg.
“Come in, come in!” his father exclaimed, with a firmness to his voice that surprised Luke all the more. “I am feeling a great deal better today.”
Luke hurried towards his father’s bed, a swell of relief rushing through him. “You look much brighter, Father.”
“I feel much brighter,” his father replied with a chuckle. “It is as though I woke this morning with a new-found strength. I cannot quite say how it happened, but I am truly delighted.”
“And the cook has made all your favorite dishes,” Luke said, with a lift of his eyebrow. “She must have known you were hungry.”
His father chuckled. “One of the benefits of coming back from near death, I believe.”
Luke let out a long breath, planting his hands on the side of the bed and dropping his head. His father might be able to joke about such matters, but he had been terrified at the thought of losing him.
“You have been through a great deal,” his father said gently. “I am sorry for that.”
“You need not be sorry!” Luke exclaimed, his head shooting up. “It was not exactly your fault that the carriage tipped.”
His father held his gaze steadily. “And you came as soon as you heard, no doubt.”
Luke frowned. “You do not remember?”
Shaking his head, the marquess’s lips tightened. “I only remember a great deal of pain, and somewhere in the midst of it all, your voice.”
“Then yes, I came the moment I heard,” Luke confirmed. “I had to leave Parke back in London, but he should be gone by now.”
“And your betrothed?”
Luke’s stomach tightened. “I wrote her a note before I left and asked Parke to deliver it. I gave her this address and begged her to write to me. Thus far, I have had no response.”
His father’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, his hand hesitating as he lifted his cup to his mouth. “No response?”
“None,” Luke said firmly. “I have heard nothing from her, and I will admit to being a little disappointed.”
“As you have every right to be,” his father murmured, studying him carefully. “Have you written to her again, since you have been home?”
A little ashamed of his own foolishness, Luke shook his head. “No. I suppose I wanted her to write to me first, so I could be assured of her concern and affections.”
“Her affections?” his father repeated, looking rather surprised. “I did not realize that you had any kind
of feeling for the lady.”
Aware that he had never told his father about his and Elizabeth’s previous meetings, Luke simply shrugged. “There has been something between us, Father. That is all I will say. At least, I thought there was.” He frowned heavily, rubbing one hand over his forehead, as he tried to get his thoughts in order. “I have been caught up in worry about you and concern for Lady Elizabeth’s lack of response. Although, of course, my thoughts have turned mostly to you. Now, however, my concern and upset grows all the more. Why has she not responded to me?”
“Is it possible that she did not receive your note?” his father asked with a small shrug. “Letters do go missing.”
“No, there is no chance of that,” Luke replied firmly. “I gave the note to Parke, and he promised he would deliver it. After what I did for him in getting him out of a tight spot, I have very little doubt that he would do just as I asked.”
His father held Luke’s gaze for a moment. “Then might I suggest that you do what you should have done long ago and write to her again. I have her father’s address in town if you require it.”
Luke shook his head. “It is quite all right; I have it already.”
“Foolish boy,” his father continued, with a tenderness Luke had not expected. “A lady is already allowing your head to spin, and here I was thinking that an arrangement such as this would spare you all that.” He chuckled, patting Luke’s hand. “It seems I was quite wrong.”
Luke could not help but give his father a wry smile, his heart lifting from the despair it had been immersed in for many days. “You are quite right, you know. I shall write to her this very day.” He took in the color in his father’s cheeks, the brightness of his eyes. “Do you think you shall rise out of bed today? Do you have the strength?”
The marquess’s eyes gleamed. “I have every intention of joining you in the drawing room within the hour,” he declared with a determination that had Luke smiling. “Go on with you now. Write that note and have a tea tray and a warm fire waiting for me in the drawing room.”
Squeezing his father’s hand for just a moment, Luke nodded, and with a glad smile at his father’s drastic improvement, he quit the room.
13
“Lady Elizabeth, might I again say just how lovely you appear this afternoon.”
Elizabeth smiled and nodded, accepting the compliment, but finding no rush of heat or any kind of indication that she felt anything for the man calling on her again. It had been some weeks since his first visit, and whilst their acquaintance had continued, she felt nothing for him. Her mother, of course, had been quick to point out that it would be good to continue her association with Lord Parke in order to find out what she could about Lord Mallon, but she had warned Elizabeth to be careful of the man. She had not needed to say that to Elizabeth, who was already more than careful of her reputation.
“Thank you, Lord Parke,” she murmured with a quick smile. “I did have a very enjoyable afternoon.”
They had walked together, along with Elizabeth’s maid, to the bookshop that Lord Parke insisted they visit. Elizabeth had found it dusty and full of old, decrepit books, but that had not prevented her from enjoying the visit. They had also enjoyed a rather intense discussion on the merits of both prose and poetry—and had not yet managed to come to a satisfactory conclusion. Although Elizabeth had found most of what he had said to be very interesting and concise.
Lord Parke was a clever man, well-educated and with an amicability about him that made it very easy for Elizabeth to think of him as a friend. However, the only thing that unsettled her was his continuing compliments, as though he hoped for something more between them when she was still engaged to Lord Mallon. He continued to tell her how wonderful she was, how beautiful she was, and she struggled to find any kind of reply other than to thank him for his compliments.
She did not return them—for fear that he would believe there was an affection for him in her heart when the truth was that there was nothing there of that kind. She was growing appreciative of his company and conversation, but the more she thought of it, the more she wished he would stop admiring her in such an attentive way. Perhaps it had been a mistake to allow him to call on her, for he had done so on three separate occasions before taking her to the bookshop. Never once had he mentioned his cousin. Lord Mallon appeared not to have written to him even a short note during his absence, so Elizabeth still had very little idea of where he had gone.
It was hard not to think nothing but ill thoughts about him, her anger and sadness fighting against one another as to who might get to fill her completely. She often thought about her betrothed in the dark watches of the night, when her tears had dried but her eyes refused to close. It pained her so much it was almost a physical wound, open and seeping as she struggled to comprehend why he had turned his back upon her.
“Lord Mallon has not been in correspondence with you?” she asked, interrupting Lord Parke’s flow of compliments. “Where might he be? Do you have any idea?”
Lord Parke’s smile faded, and a somewhat ugly expression crossed his face. “My dear lady, you must forget Lord Mallon.”
“How can you say such a thing?” Elizabeth asked, as they walked back towards her townhouse. “He is my betrothed and your cousin. Are you not in the least bit concerned over his whereabouts?”
He shrugged. “No, indeed I am not. He is his own man, and a rather foolish one at that, I must say. Turning his back on such a wonderful lady like you, simply to take his own pleasures elsewhere?” Lord Parke snorted, his expression growing disdainful. “I cannot help but be surprised at your loyalty, my lady.”
“I am loyal because it is expected of me,” Elizabeth replied in a soft voice, finding his words a little barbed. “You cannot expect me just to turn my back on the man, especially when there is no explanation as to where he has gone. Perhaps he has been called away on some urgent business and did not have time to explain.”
Elizabeth was aware she was grasping for a good and reasonable explanation for Lord Mallon’s absence, but she found that there was something in her that wanted to defend him, wanted to force herself to believe that he was not simply running away from her and from all they had promised to one another.
In other words, she was being quite ridiculous, her sadness and grief welling up within her all over again.
“My dear Lady Elizabeth, you are much too gracious and generous towards that man,” Lord Parke replied with a slight sniff. “I tell you now that he is not doing anything urgent, but he is doing what he pleases wherever he pleases.”
Elizabeth shook her head, her throat aching. What kind of man was she engaged to? Was this the kind of husband he would be? “My mother has never given me the impression that he was anything but genteel,” she said hoarsely. “I cannot understand why—”
“He has done his very best to hide his nature in such a way from all who might concern themselves with him,” Lord Parke replied coldly. “Give up your thoughts of him and his imminent return, Lady Elizabeth. Perhaps, think of another who might be worth your time and devotion.”
They stopped outside Elizabeth’s home. Confusion reigned in her mind, struggling to even think about breaking her engagement, and yet hating the idea that such a man would be her husband.
“Think about what I have to say, Lady Elizabeth,” he continued with a quick smile, as he bowed over her hand. “I shall call upon you again, in a few days’ time.”
He did not give her the opportunity to either agree or refuse this idea, simply turning away from her side at once and walking back down the street he had come from. Elizabeth, still confused and conflicted, sighed heavily and made her own way inside.
“Ah, Lady Elizabeth,” the butler said at once, as she came in the room. “You have a letter.”
She looked up at him expectantly, her heart suddenly filled with a great hope. “A letter? From whom?”
The butler gave a slight smile. “That would be beyond my powers of deduction, Lady Elizabeth. I
shall bring it to you in the drawing room, shall I?”
Elizabeth nodded, quickly untying her bonnet. “Yes, please. Thank you.”
She hurried up to her bedchamber to change, aware that her mother would not stand to see Elizabeth’s dirty hem in the drawing room. Her heart began to thunder wildly, her stomach tightening as her maid helped her to change, feeling as though she was somewhere between hope and despair.
Once changed and aware that her face was flushed, Elizabeth made her way down to the drawing room, and with a quick nod and smile to her mother, she sat down on the couch and waited expectantly.
The butler appeared almost momentarily, holding out the silver tray whereupon sat the letter. Elizabeth took it with a shaking hand, turning it over and, at once, recognizing the seal.
Lord Mallon.
Was he writing to her so as to break off their engagement? Was this the end of it all? She could not bear to open it, feeling as if she would burst into tears at any moment.
“Elizabeth?”
Her mother’s voice was gentle, and in a moment, Elizabeth felt a presence sit by her as she closed her eyes and fought tears.
“Lord Mallon, I presume?”
Elizabeth nodded, her throat closing.
“Well, it will do you no good to hold it in your hand,” her mother said briskly. “You have been waiting weeks to hear from him, as have I, I might add. Now is your chance to see whether there is truly any heartache to be had.”
Her mother, whilst a stalwart presence these last few weeks, had always been more practical than Elizabeth needed. She wanted her mother to understand her feelings, her aches and hopelessness, but her mother had been entirely fixed on keeping things just as they were, reminding Elizabeth that her betrothal had never become public.
Her father had been much too busy with business to care much about what was going on with his daughter, and he presumed that all was well, much to Elizabeth’s dismay. She had not told him the truth of her worries, nor of Lord Mallon’s absence. At times, she had found his cheerful disposition rather trying. Her mother had promised to speak to him should Lord Mallon remain absent until the end of the Season, which had been some comfort at least.