An Heiress at Heart

by Jennifer Delamere

  She would remain the grieving widow, and that would be her unassailable protection against any pressure or argument. “Grandmamma, I will never remarry,” she declared. “It would be untrue to Edward’s memory.”

  Lady Thornborough’s expression was kind, but unyielding. “You need to view your circumstances with a clear eye. You know the Rosewood estate is entailed to James. You cannot live there forever.”

  “She can stay there as long as she wants,” James said. “I have no objection. And besides, it is still your home, too.”

  “So you see, the need is not really so pressing,” Lizzie said.

  “I am only speaking of taking the first step. You need time to rebuild your reputation. Your actions ten years ago tarnished the reputations of both our families. You must allow others to see the responsible woman you have become, and that you are living up to your good breeding.”

  Good breeding. The words pierced Lizzie’s heart. “I will think on it,” she said quietly.

  Her attempt at equivocation did not escape Lady Thornborough. “There is no time to waste,” she said. “The season is already half over. If you make some appearances now, you will increase the probability of securing a good match in the future.”

  Lizzie looked at James, trying to judge whether appealing to him might help her cause. He gave her a brief but understanding smile before turning to his aunt. “I must say that all this talk about making matches is beyond tedious.”

  “That would explain why you are five and thirty and not yet wed, I suppose?” Lady Thornborough said dryly.

  “No, it is because I have been pining all these years after Ria.” He took Lizzie’s hand and gave it a gallant kiss. Despite her worries, Lizzie smiled.

  “You may stop your pandering,” Lady Thornborough huffed. “You are fooling no one.”

  “You are right, as always, Aunt,” James said with a playful gleam in his eye. “However, since I can fool no one, I shall almost certainly never marry. It seems there must be a good amount of fooling people in order to make a good match. Isn’t that right, Ria?”

  Lizzie was startled by this. Was James making some kind of veiled reference to her deception? He was giving her a frank appraisal, looking as though he genuinely expected an answer to his rhetorical question. For a long moment she stared at him, unable to speak, wondering if he had somehow worked out that she wasn’t Ria.

  No, she decided. Even James would not speak in such a light and teasing way if he intended something more serious. She touched a finger to her chin, an imitation of one of Ria’s gestures. “I cannot think what you are talking about, James. Eddie and I never kept secrets from one another.”

  The laugh lines around James’s eyes crinkled as he smiled broadly. “Undoubtedly.” His reaction gave Lizzie a measure of relief, although he held her gaze for a moment or two longer than was strictly necessary. He leaned back in his chair. “In any case, I hope I shall never marry. When I enjoy the company of so many ladies, why should I settle for a lifetime with just one?”

  Lizzie reached for her tea, grateful that his words had taken the focus of the conversation off her. Her reprieve was cut short, however, by James’s next remark.

  “Unfortunately, I do not think I would make the best sort of husband for our dear Ria. She needs a man with a title and a good position. A man who can guide her with a firm hand… someone like Geoffrey, for example. In fact, she ought to marry Lord Somerville.”

  Lizzie nearly choked on her tea. She set down her cup, coughing. James gave her a gentle pat on the back.

  Marry Geoffrey? It was unthinkable. The man was cold and hard and took all those ideals of “duty and honor” to the extreme. He blamed her for the death of his brother. More provoking was that he blamed Tom as well.

  And yet…

  Could Lady Thornborough be right—that Geoffrey had only been lashing out in grief and pain? Was he really so intractable as she imagined, or was there a better man beneath that anger?

  Images arose in her mind of the first day she had seen Geoffrey. The way he had carried her, the blood on his shirt, the cool cloth on her forehead that must have been administered by him.

  Lizzie brought her napkin to her mouth, glad her coughing fit gave her the excuse to cover the blush that was slowly spreading up her face.

  Lady Thornborough said, “Don’t be ridiculous, James. She could never marry Lord Somerville. It is against the law.”

  “Against the law?” Lizzie rasped. The blood which had been spreading pink across Lizzie’s cheeks now began to drain from her face. “How so?”

  Lady Thornborough gave her an exasperated look. “You know the law says a widow cannot marry her brother-in-law.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course. I had… forgotten,” she stammered. Forgotten that she was Ria; forgotten that, therefore, Geoffrey was her brother-in-law. How utterly stupid she was to let thoughts of this man put her in such a turbulent state.

  “It seems to me, Aunt,” said James, “that the law is contrary to biblical precepts.”

  If Lady Thornborough had not been such a woman of unflappable poise, her jaw might well have dropped upon hearing this pronouncement by her nephew. She looked sternly at him. “And what, pray tell, do you know of biblical precepts?”

  “I’m no scholar, like Geoffrey, of course,” James acknowledged. “But every week he takes me to lunch and tries to convert me to better ways. At the same time, I try to subvert him to more wicked ways. We both enjoy ourselves immensely, although neither of us is likely to attain our objective.” He picked up his toast and began to spread orange marmalade on it. “Nevertheless, dining with him every week has caused me to learn a few things. I distinctly remember a passage about marrying one’s brother’s widow and raising up seed.”

  “Don’t be vulgar, James.”

  James allowed a sly grin to cross his face. “It’s biblical, Aunt. How can it be vulgar?”

  Lady Thornborough had no answer to this.

  James passed the toast under his nose and inhaled gently, taking in the tart fragrance of the marmalade in a way that struck Lizzie as almost sensual. He popped the toast into his mouth and chewed it with undisguised satisfaction.

  Lizzie could see why Ria had adored her cousin. He approached everything in life with humor and zest. He had the same lighthearted playfulness that she had adored in Ria. Wouldn’t it be wonderful, she thought, if she could tell James the story of how she and Ria had met? He would take immense pleasure in the sheer improbability of it. She regretted that she would never be able to fully confide in him.

  “Of course, the idea of marrying someone out of obligation is simply not appealing,” James went on. “Even if it were our charming Ria. I shall wait until perfect love falls upon me. Or knocks me over.”

  “Do not wait too long,” Lady Thornborough advised. “You have a duty to marry and produce an heir.”

  “I suppose I shall have to give in sometime,” he replied with an exaggerated sigh. He lifted his cup as though raising a wineglass for a toast. “In the meantime, I propose that we live in the present and make ourselves merry, rather than worrying about whom we shall marry.”

  Lizzie found herself trying to hide her smile from Lady Thornborough’s disapproving eyes.

  James drained his cup with a flourish. A serving girl instantly came forward to refill it. He smiled his thanks to her and she blushed. This girl might be serving him, but he had her eating out of his hand.

  Lady Thornborough shot an expression of severe disapproval at the girl, and she bowed her head and withdrew quickly. James saw it, too, but he must have known better than to try his aunt’s patience too far. He gave Lady Thornborough a conciliatory smile. Then he turned to Lizzie and said, “I am afraid, cousin, that we have come full circle, right back to what Aunt has been urging. You must attend Lord Beauchamp’s ball.”

  Lady Thornborough’s eyes narrowed at his abrupt change in tactic. “You agree with me?”

  “Oh, yes.” James nodded at Lizzie, as if
to verify the truth of what he was saying. “I’m sure it is a trial to move forward, dearest, but you must make the effort. I believe it will do you good.”

  “So even you are against me, James?”

  “No, I am completely on your side.” His bright blue eyes held hers. “I will help you in every way I can.”

  Once again Lizzie wondered whether James was communicating more than his words held at face value.

  “And just how do you plan to help her?” Lady Thornborough asked.

  “To begin with, I’m taking her on a walk in the park. She could use some fresh air, I think.”

  “How can you be so energetic? You were not in bed until a very late hour.”

  “Oh, no,” he corrected her. “It was not late when I went to bed.” Seeing his aunt’s incredulous expression, he clarified, “It was early. Early this morning. I believe I passed the flower men on their way to Covent Garden as I was making my way home.”

  “You will not be young forever,” Lady Thornborough warned him. “One day your riotous living will catch up with you.”

  “No, I shall keep running very hard. It will never be able to catch up.” He turned to Lizzie. “How about it, my dear? Shall we take a turn together in Hyde Park?”

  His enthusiasm was contagious. “I would like that,” said Lizzie. “However, do we have time? If I’m to go on morning calls with Grandmamma…”

  Lady Thornborough laughed. “Gracious, you have been too long out of society. We won’t leave until two o’clock.”

  Lizzie bit her lip. Another blunder. She was glad the woman was attributing it to her years away. She rose from the table and said to James, “I can be ready in a quarter of an hour.”

  Chapter 11

  Geoffrey strolled down the path beside the twisting lake in Hyde Park known as the Serpentine. He breathed deeply of the fresh morning air, which today was thankfully crisp and clean. A stiff breeze the day before had blown much of the smoke away from London. He knew it was only temporary, but he was glad for the reprieve.

  It was a far cry from his morning walks in the little seaside town in northern Devonshire, where he had lived for five years tending to the needs of his parishioners. The rocky track that followed the rough coastline was steep and sometimes treacherous, but the views of the ocean from the high cliffs were staggeringly beautiful. He had done some of his best thinking there, as he picked his way along those narrow paths. He’d planned his sermons or contemplated ways to help his people with problems they were facing, both great and small.

  His family estate where he would now be spending most of his time was far away to the southeast, in Kent. The place was beautiful, to be sure—a stately mansion surrounded by manicured lawns and gardens, situated among gently rolling hills and lush hedgerows. But Geoffrey would miss the unencumbered feeling of the untamed landscapes and the constantly changing sea.

  A group of about twenty men and women hurried past him, walking three abreast in a line. They were chatting excitedly to one another, and he could tell from their accents that they were not from London. Under normal circumstances, the park would have very few people in it at this hour. One might perhaps see workmen tending to the shrubs, or nannies watching their young charges at play. The society people came out in the late afternoons to parade their finery and well-appointed carriages along a popular path known as Rotten Row.

  The recent opening of the Great Exhibition of the Industry of All Nations had changed all that. London had become the center of the world. Like the group that had just passed him, people had been drawn here from all over England and from too many foreign countries to count. They were on their way to view the astounding show of items housed in a giant building made of glass and steel, the likes of which had never been seen before. It was so magnificent that the newspapers had dubbed it the Crystal Palace.

  Across the Serpentine, the park was filled with activity as men, women, and children made their way to the Exhibition. Today was one of the cheapest admission days, when entrance cost only a shilling.

  Only a shilling.

  Geoffrey smiled, amused to catch himself thinking that way. A shilling was not so much to him now, but not too long ago he had just as great a need to watch over every penny. He thought back to the people of his parish, many of whom were in poorer circumstances than he had been. They were farm laborers and factory workers—much like the people who filled Hyde Park today. One shilling represented a good part of their weekly income.

  The “better classes” had feared that the influx of so many “common” folk in London would lead to riots and increased crime. But nothing like that had occurred. Everyone was on their best behavior. Here on a Tuesday morning they were dressed in their Sunday best, laughing and chatting among themselves as they hurried toward the Crystal Palace. Many carried small baskets filled with food and drink, prepared to spend the day inside that grand building.

  Geoffrey tried to set his thoughts on the duties of the day. He had promised to see Lord Ashley, the chairman of the Society for Improving the Condition of the Labouring Classes, and he had also been asked to meet that afternoon with two potential patrons for the next charitable building project.

  Somehow he had to find time to call upon Ria. Yesterday’s meeting had been disastrous. He had allowed his anger and hurt to get the better of him. Perhaps a bit of pride, too. And yet she had been goading him with her single-minded insistence that love was more important than family duty and honor. Her intense devotion to Edward was touching, to be sure. It might have been a good thing, if it could have led them down more honorable paths. His opinions on that subject had not changed, but he vowed to himself that today he would keep his emotions tightly in check. He must find a way for them to reach some kind of peace.

  *

  Lizzie and James walked arm in arm at a comfortable pace along the Serpentine.

  “I must say that despite your recent illness, you are much more vigorous than you used to be,” James remarked.

  “Oh?” Lizzie shortened her stride and slowed her steps.

  “No, no, it’s a good thing!” James assured her with a laugh. “When we used to walk in the park, you would hang back and complain that your shoes would get ruined.”

  Lizzie raised one foot a few inches off the ground for their mutual inspection. The well-worn black leather boot looked very much at odds with the soft folds of her heavy silk gown. “Perhaps it’s because I have learned to wear something more practical than satin slippers when going for a walk in the park.”

  “I see,” said James. “You are older and wiser now.”

  “Older, certainly. As for wiser…” Lizzie shrugged, and James grinned.

  “Nevertheless, those boots are hideous,” James admonished. “I cannot believe you are willing to be seen with them in public.”

  “I’m getting fitted for new shoes tomorrow. Grandmamma has arranged that.”

  As they rounded a bend in the path, they saw an elderly couple tottering slowly toward them. “It’s old Mr. Walburton and his wrinkly wife,” said James. “Do you remember them, Ria?”

  Lizzie murmured something noncommittal as she watched the approaching pair. The man stooped heavily over his walking cane, and his wife clung to his arm for support. Their clothes, though well cared for, had gone out of fashion years ago. Lizzie and James nodded to the couple as they passed. They returned the greeting cordially, their wrinkled faces opening to vague smiles, giving no indication that they truly recognized either Lizzie or James.

  When they were out of earshot, James said, “Those two have been old since the beginning of time. You used to call them Mr. and Mrs. Prune, do you remember?”

  “Did I? James, you must not hold me to all the things I said back then.”

  “But you always used to say the most delightfully silly things. If you are old and wiser, I shall find you quite dull.”

  Since James appeared to be in a mood to discuss childhood memories, Lizzie considered this a perfect opportunity to ask him
some questions. Ria had only a few clues as to what might have happened between Sir Herbert and Lizzie’s mother. One such clue concerned some information that James had shared with her once years ago.

  Not wanting to arouse his suspicion, Lizzie thought it best to approach the subject in a roundabout manner. “Tell me, James, what do you remember most fondly about our childhood?”

  James looked pleased at the question, and took a few moments to consider it. “I loved the way you would pout when Auntie would not let you eat all the tea cakes.” He turned to look at her, as though admiring her bonnet, and studied the line of blond hair that showed from underneath it. He lightly touched one of her curls with his gloved hand. “I loved how it was so vitally important that the ringlets around your face be arranged just right.”

  Those things did indeed sound like Ria. Lizzie chuckled, her mind filled with sweet, sad thoughts of her dear friend. “Was I really so vain?”

  “Oh yes, truly,” James affirmed. “But you were so beautiful that your vanity was understandable, and so of course we all forgave you for it.”

  They were approaching two nannies seated on a park bench. Each had a perambulator in front of her and would peer into it from time to time, ensuring that the baby inside was still sleeping comfortably. One of the nannies looked old enough to have brought up several sets of children, but the other looked younger than Lizzie. She kept stealing glances at Lizzie as she and James approached. She was not staring openly—she was too well trained for that—but Lizzie saw her surreptitiously studying her gown and bonnet.

  James lifted his top hat. “Good morning, ladies.”

  The younger nanny’s eyes opened wide at being thus acknowledged by a gentleman. She gave a half smile and blushed deeply, then dropped her eyes as the elder woman whispered something to her—probably chastening her for allowing her feelings to show.

  James replaced his hat and they moved on. “Do you remember,” he said to Lizzie in an offhand manner, “how you and I used to make up stories about what the servants did on their days off? How we used to discuss whether or not they had any actual feelings?”