Lord Satan

by Judith Laik

  The new year, 1810, brought no promise of any betterment of her life. Mama seemed unlikely to regain her former vigor.

  Libbetty’s heart went out to many of the local families who also fell upon hard times. The Murchisons, whose son would never fully recover from his accident, suffered through his inability to help and struggled through the winter. Other families facing problems looked to the Bishops for practical and spiritual aid.

  She had not realized how much her mother did. In place of the vicar’s wife, she strove to fulfill her duties, organizing the community to donate food and warm clothing to needy families. Mrs. Berkfield helped her prepare the baskets of foods and nostrums for each needy family. Sometimes one of her younger sisters accompanied her on her rounds.

  After the new year, the Hogwoods returned from their sojourn in London. No mention was made of a match for Edwina. Her former friend seemed prepared to step back into their previous relationship. Libbetty would not cut her friend but could not regain her regard for her, either. Her busy schedule kept her from spending time gossiping or discussing books and fashions.

  During the early days, Libbetty had no time for reflection. However, when she no longer needed to nurse her mother, thoughts of Lord Neil preyed upon her. After her sisters had fallen asleep, she lay awake for hours, wondering what he was doing—wishing she could be with him. Wishing he wanted her to be with him.

  She scolded herself for purposely seeking the ache these thoughts brought. It availed nothing, for she could not force her mind from remembrance of the few moments they had shared. At times their minds had seemed so attuned, and she could not doubt he had felt some attraction to her—the kisses showed her that. He did not love her, though. If he did, he could not have left her as he did, with nothing concluded between them.

  *

  Neil went back to his routine in London.

  He had no official government position, nor any ambition for such a role. His place was working behind the scenes.

  He called on various members of Parliament to promote sufficient funds to prosecute the war in the Peninsula, and performed a few favors for friends in the government.

  He went to ton parties, to his club, participated in his usual sporting events—boxing and racing. He gambled, just a little, as he had been wont to do. He even attempted to take up again with the widow who had been his mistress before he accompanied Trevor to Peasebotham. He quickly dismissed her for good.

  He had little heart for the activities that had once occupied him. The only matter that engaged his wholehearted interest was exerting pressure on those with power and influence to keep the supplies steadily moving to the Peninsula, a frustrating and thankless business, but an essential one.

  Frequently, in the midst of his daily rounds, he would find himself dwelling on Miss Elizabeth Bishop. She appeared to him in her various guises: soaking wet, holding a wriggling fish; disheveled, with her hair all undone in the woods; finely gowned in what passed for elegance in that rural village; togged out in her brother’s clothing and trying not to look nauseated at the cockfight—and, the picture that gave him the most pain, worn out, and wounded by his cool treatment at their last meeting. It did not appease his culpability that he had acted to save her greater pain in the future.

  He could see her instinctive, unselfish concern for others; picture her gazing back at him in sensuous appeal; remembered her unsure of herself and bristling with defiance. She was as much quicksilver as the fish they had both taken a ducking to capture, and his heart would never recover.

  Then he damned himself for a fool and a coward for not making her his while he had the chance. Knowledge of the events in Peasebotham had circulated in London. No one seemed to suspect him of ill-wishing his nephew. All his arguments against becoming involved had vanished, as had all the joy in his life.

  She will have forgotten her feelings for you by now. She attends the assemblies in Crossfield, may have fallen in love with someone more nearly her own age or repledged herself to her farmer. He tried to ignore the pain such thoughts gave him.

  As winter wore on, he was no closer to putting her out of his mind. Spring brought him new resolution. He could not relinquish her without an attempt to regain her affections.

  This time he intended to forswear nobility and make her his.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Spring, 1810

  Slowly, winter gave way to spring, and Libbetty’s spirits lightened with the lightening of the earth. Like long unused muscles stretching, she sensed the strength she had attained.

  A strength that was hard-won, through pain and loss and love unrequited. She loved Lord Neil; she always would, but the winter had taught her she would survive without him.

  Mrs. Bishop underwent a renewal as well. At the onset of warmer weather, she was able to go outside. With periods of rest and assistance from Libbetty and the children, she cultivated her garden and assumed part of the household responsibilities again.

  On a warm spring day, Libbetty called upon Mrs. Chambliss, accompanied by Isobel. She often brought one of her sisters with her these days, to give them a respite from their duties at home, leaving the other one to mind the younger children.

  Her visits to the elderly woman always gladdened Libbetty. She often thought she gained more from her favorite villager than she gave. Mrs. Chambliss was a tiny woman who still sported a mass of black hair, sparkling dark brown eyes, and a disposition that remained cheery despite her withered nether limbs.

  As Libbetty unloaded her basket of foodstuffs among the meager supplies on the mantel, Mrs. Chambliss, said, “My, what a day of excitement I have had. Two sets of callers in one day—such a surprise. Lord Neil came to see me this morning.”

  Libbetty’s heart seemed to stumble, to resume beating with a thundering in her ears. She hoped neither Mrs. Chambliss nor Isobel noticed how her cheeks had flamed. “Oh, I did not know he had returned,” she said, as casually as she could manage.

  Her attempt at nonchalance was unequal to her inner turmoil, and she cut short her call on Mrs. Chambliss. Her hard-won peace fled with the need to steel herself for the inevitable meeting.

  In the next days, she heard from others of his presence in the village, but she looked in vain for him on her outings. His failing to call at the vicarage told her, even if her practical mind would not, that he had not come back for her.

  Did he have guests with him? Perhaps the woman he intended to marry? Libbetty could not meet his betrothed so soon. But no other company was mentioned, so she slowly released that fear.

  A week later, she drove the pony cart on her rounds, accompanied by Catherine. She came face to face with Lord Neil, mounted on Camisard, a short distance out of Peasebotham.

  “Miss Bishop. And Miss Catherine, isn’t it? I planned to call at the vicarage. How is your mother?” Libbetty couldn’t read the emotion she saw in his eyes. Was he glad to see her? Her own blood rushed to her head.

  “Mother is almost her old self again. She still must rest each day, but we are grateful she has recovered so well.” She paused, but her compulsion to know overcame her caution. “What brings you back to our village, Lord Neil?”

  He patted his horse’s neck, seeming not to have heard. Then he glanced at Catherine before giving his attention to Libbetty. “Last year Trevor and I learned, thanks in part to you, Miss Bishop, that a landowner must appear and discover for himself how his properties fare. Since Trevor cannot come, I represent him.”

  It was the expected answer, but pain made it hard to speak with him. Civility made her inquire, “How is Lord Cauldreigh?”

  “Oh, he is quite the hero. His letters are infrequent, but he seems to thrive at the center of action.”

  Libbetty could not believe how stiff and insipid was the conversation—as if they hardly knew one another. Of course, all things considered, they scarcely did know each other. Last year they had a stronger connection than this formal speech implied.

  She must move on before her emot
ions gave way and she exposed her folly. She gathered the ribbons, and Lord Neil said, “I will call upon your father tomorrow if I may.”

  She nodded as she signaled the horse to move on. It could only be parish business he wished to discuss with her father. She must not allow impossible hope to stir that he intended to discuss her when she knew he did not share her feelings.

  *

  Neil watched Elizabeth drive away, unsure how to interpret the light in her eyes. He had lied to her just now. Perhaps his doubts would have kept him silent in any case, but he could not make a declaration to her with her sister sitting beside her.

  Her appearance surprised him. From others in Peasebotham, he knew of her circumstances in the months past. Instead of the gaiety he had imagined her finding without him, she had faced adult duties. The results showed in her air of determination and confidence. She was no longer the heedless girl who had provoked him and yet aroused his caution about their compatibility.

  He felt a leap of optimism. Perhaps he had not thrown away his chances when he left last fall.

  When Neil arrived at the vicarage the next day, Elizabeth sat with her mother in the garden. He came out to pay his respects. Despite the warnings he had been given by other villagers, Mrs. Bishop’s appearance shocked him. Her face had lost its rounded contours, and she lacked the animation he had seen in her before. Her listless manner drove home to him as nothing else did how close she had come to death.

  “It is good to see you back here, Lord Neil,” she said. “I hope it means you intend regular visits to your ancestral home.”

  He glanced at Elizabeth. “Indeed, it is my plan.”

  His little love had nothing to say. He caught a worried expression on her face. Was she dismayed by his assertion that he planned to spend more time here? The thought struck a blow at his hopes. Still, it would do no good to delay his mission.

  He excused himself and went in search of Elizabeth’s father.

  Mr. Bishop sat in his office, his Bible opened on the desk. As Neil responded to his invitation to enter, the vicar made a note on the much scribbled-over sheet of paper in front of him, then looked up. “Lord Neil, come in. What may I do for you?”

  Neil had prepared for this moment. Expecting Mr. Bishop’s bluntness, he intended to come straight to the point. His plans did not include the unexpected butterflies that took up residence in his innards, or the sweat that broke out on his brow. The vicar’s study was so warm, the window tightly shut, no doubt against the sounds of children playing in the yard just outside.

  “I wish to marry your daughter,” Neil blurted.

  “Elizabeth?” The man had not expected this. The surprise in his voice rang true. “Why should you wish to marry her?”

  Neil resisted the urge to pace. The room was too small, and such action would show his tenseness, put him at a disadvantage. He stood stock-still. “I care most deeply for her.” He could not say the word “love” before this stiff, prim man. “I am very well able to support her. I will, of course, fully discuss any financial arrangements with you before any agreement is made.”

  Mr. Bishop waved aside this irrelevancy, frowning. “Have you spoken of this to Elizabeth?”

  “No. However, I believe she is not indifferent to me.”

  The vicar’s frown deepened. “On what do you base this conclusion?”

  Neil decided not to tell him about Elizabeth’s response to their kiss. “There have been indications—a look in her eyes. She has a most expressive face, you know.”

  A brief, tender smile crossed Mr. Bishop’s face, but the frown returned instantly. “You are not what I hoped for her.”

  “Whom did you expect to find for her to marry?”

  His beloved’s father waved this aside again. “Elizabeth has a distressing tendency toward worldliness. I hoped she would find someone with whom she would overcome … “

  “Poverty provides no warranty of virtue.” Neil wiped a hand across his sweating brow and tugged at his neckcloth.

  “True.” A fleeting smile twitched across the vicar’s face.

  “I could make life a little easier for your family.”

  Mr. Bishop puffed up. “I can provide for my family.”

  “I only speak of helping to ease your sons’ way into careers. I have influential friends. Elizabeth could help launch your other daughters, find them suitable husbands. I’d provide help for Mrs. Bishop. I would not like Elizabeth’s decision whether to marry influenced by her fear that her mother would suffer by her absence.” Neil walked to the window and stared out, hoping for some hint of coolness through the glass.

  “I assure you, it is not necessary for you to offer such an inducement,” the other man said stiffly.

  “Despite my reputation, I am not truly the devil, you know.” Neil turned to look at Mr. Bishop in irritation.

  The vicar cracked a genuine smile. “I know that. My own pride prevents me from accepting your offer, not fear for my soul.” He came to the window himself then, raising the sash a little. The voices of the children came through more clearly.

  Neil realized that whenever he passed the vicarage in recent days, he had not once seen Elizabeth outside enjoying herself with her siblings. He should be glad her immaturity was past, but instead it saddened him. If they married, he would substitute other forms of pleasure to make up for the loss.

  “I must pray about this, talk to Mrs. Bishop, and to Elizabeth herself. I cannot give you an answer now.”

  “When will you know your answer?”

  “Come back tomorrow.”

  *

  The afternoon sun became too warm for Mrs. Bishop, and Libbetty accompanied her to the drawing room. Isobel also came inside, and played for her mother on the pianoforte. A little while later, Mrs. Green over down with Michaela. Lately, she had left her with Mrs. Bishop for a few hours each day while she went about her duties at home. With the spring planting season, she had plenty to occupy her and welcomed a break from caring for an infant.

  Libbetty waited for Lord Neil to finish his discussion with her father. They stayed in Mr. Bishop’s study for what seemed a very long time.

  She hardly dared hope he had come to discuss her, but she burned to know what they talked about. The way he had studied her when he said he would call on the vicar, as if his words had significance for her. Oh, even though she had no evidence he cared anything for her, her mind called up little things that seemed to say otherwise.

  If she were not the reason he called, she would not be able to bear the disappointment.

  She received no alleviation of her suspense, however, for when he finished his interview with Mr. Bishop, he left, not coming to speak any further with Libbetty.

  Her mother went up to her bedchamber to rest, and Mrs. Green returned for Michaela. The other children came in, and she read the boys a story and played games with them until the boys had their supper and retired for the night.

  After the evening meal, Mr. Bishop called Libbetty into his study. “I had a visit with Lord Neil today,” he told her.

  Libbetty nodded, too nervous to say anything.

  “He asked permission to pay his addresses to you.” Papa paused and gazed narrowly at Libbetty, as if to ascertain whether this announcement surprised her.

  She jumped up and took a turn around the room to prevent herself from some other precipitate action—bursting into tears or screaming with joy. She managed to work her face into what she hoped was a look of polite inquiry.

  “I personally do not favor Lord Neil as a husband for you, but I told him you would decide for yourself, that I would not forbid the match if you wished to marry him.” He paused, waiting for her response, but Libbetty still felt too overcome to speak. “Well, what do you say?”

  “Oh, yes, Papa, I do wish to marry him.”

  “In worldly considerations, it would be advantageous. He has indicated his circumstances to me. You would be comfortably fixed.” He sighed. “He returns tomorrow to hear your answer.�
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  “Thank you, Papa.” Libbetty returned to her bedchamber. Her sisters were asleep, so she could not dance, jump—or give way to a bout of tears. What did Neil truly feel for her? If only she could talk to him now instead of this interminable wait for her chance to discuss it all with him. Could she marry him if he did not love her? She had an obligation to do so. It answered the worries she had about her sisters’ futures. But how could she bear to live with him if he did not care for her? Why had he not told her of his feelings?

  She lay sleepless most of the night. The next morning she dressed in the pale yellow muslin that Mrs. Slidell had made for her the previous year. Examining herself in the mirror she concluded her restless night had affected her appearance. She did not possess any cosmetics to enhance her shadowed eyes. Shrugging away her unusual bout of vanity, she went downstairs.

  After performing her morning tasks, she paced impatiently in her chamber as she waited for Lord Neil. At last, in the late morning, she heard him arrive, and hurried down to the drawing room where he sat with Mrs. Bishop.

  He arose at her entrance. His face was pale, and she sensed his tension in the stiffness of his posture. Her mother showed no inclination to leave them alone. Lord Neil sat on the settee next to Libbetty and said, “Your father told you what was discussed between us?”

  She nodded. He took her hands in his and said, “Can you give me an answer?”

  Her hands tingled at his touch, and she pulled them away and jumped up. “No, I can’t answer you now. I need …” She stalked around the room, almost overcome by the urge to cry.

  Lord Neil turned to Libbetty’s mother. “Mrs. Bishop, would you leave us for a few minutes?”

  “Is that what you wish, Elizabeth?”

  “Yes, please, Mama.”