“Geoffrey, may I asked you a question?”
He sat down next to her. “Of course.”
“What can you tell me about Mrs. Hightower?”
“Mrs. Hightower?” Geoffrey repeated in surprise. “Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity, that’s all.” With a self-deprecating smile she added, “It’s a failing of mine, you know.”
“There is not much I can tell you,” he said. “She was raised in Manchester and lived there until her marriage.” His face clouded. “As I understand it, she was in love with him at first, God help her. But he treated her very badly. It didn’t take her long to realize that Hightower had only married her to get his hands on her dowry.”
Lizzie felt an immediate empathy for this woman who had also borne the brunt of Freddie’s heartlessness.
“Although I mourn for her, at least she is no longer suffering under the weight of his tyranny.”
“Mourn…?” Lizzie gasped. “Mrs. Hightower is dead?”
He nodded, his brow furrowed. “Mrs. Hightower died under what many people consider to be, well, suspicious circumstances.”
“What happened to her?”
“She was with child, nearly ready for her confinement, when she was found dead at the foot of the staircase. The coroner ruled that her fall was an accident, but there are many unanswered questions.”
A casual onlooker might never imagine Freddie could have caused the death of his own wife. But Lizzie was no casual onlooker. She knew what lay beneath his outward show. “Do you believe Mr. Hightower was somehow responsible for her death?”
“I don’t know. But he had a roving eye, even after marriage. Sometimes he stayed away from home for weeks at a time. It was known among their closest friends that Mrs. Hightower was desperately unhappy. She became prone to dizzy spells and bouts of hysteria. It is rumored that she may have taken her own life. Murder or not, Freddie Hightower has caused nothing but harm to the women unfortunate enough to fall under his power.”
“And what became of the woman he took to Europe?” Lizzie was compelled to ask.
He shook his head. “No one knows. Some think she stayed there. Others believe she returned to London and was taken into one of the houses of prostitution.”
“Prostitution!” How close she had come to utter, irredeemable ruin. She would have died rather than succumb to that.
“It often happens that way in these circumstances.” He spoke so matter-of-factly that Lizzie thought he was dismissing this “shopkeeper’s daughter” with the same disregard that Lady Thornborough had displayed. But he unexpectedly let out a small sigh and added, “Poor girl.”
“Does her fate really trouble you?” Lizzie asked. She desperately wanted to believe in Geoffrey’s compassion, to know that he would be troubled by the fate of a woman unknown to him, that he found the ruin of this one poor soul was a tragedy worth grieving for—even one who had been guilty of such wicked behavior.
She was not disappointed. “Of course it does,” he answered without hesitation. “Now that Hightower has used her and cast her off, who knows what hell her life has become? She can never return to the life she led before.” He scanned the room, and Lizzie followed his gaze as it took in elegant men and women dancing to fine music, jewels glittering in the lamplight, tables laden with sumptuous food and drink. “And even if she could, do you think she would be content to do so after such a taste of wealth and privilege?”
“I think if I were in that position,” Lizzie hazarded, “supposing I truly loved him, I would have been most crushed to discover he had merely been toying with me—that I was not the love of his life he claimed I was.” This was a dangerous admission, and it was as close as Lizzie dared come to telling Geoffrey the truth.
“You would think of that,” Geoffrey said, his expression tightening. “Love always enters into the equation for you, doesn’t it?”
It sounded like an accusation. “Geoffrey, don’t,” she pleaded. Was he about to return to the subject of their first argument, when he had attacked Ria’s actions and Lizzie had accusingly replied, What do you know about love? After the way their hearts had begun to open to each other, such a reversal would be too devastating.
Instead, he surprised her, as he had done so often this evening. “You misunderstand me,” he said. “I did not intend to—” He broke off, shook his head, and began again. “I was wrong to belittle you and Edward. You were blessed to have shared such a love.” He took one of her hands in his. “What must that have been like, I wonder?”
It was not so much a question as an expression of longing. Lizzie wished she could tell him that many a time she had asked herself the same question. The love she’d seen between Ria and Edward was fathomless and enduring, incomprehensible to her. Having only a disastrous and scarred knowledge of love, Lizzie could not summon up the words to express it. She could only stare mutely into Geoffrey’s rich brown eyes and try to stem the tears in her own, leaving him to interpret her silence in his own way.
“Perhaps you will find another love someday,” he said.
There was a moment of quiet in the room just then, a brief lull between dances. The rustle of gowns and the low murmur of voices that filled the void seemed muted, as though coming from a great way off. Geoffrey and Lizzie might have been alone, a delicate thread of need holding them together in the stillness.
But then the orchestra began anew, and the room filled with activity, reminding them that they were not alone. They both seemed to realize at the same moment how deeply they’d fallen into their own world. Geoffrey quietly took his hand from hers and ran it briefly over his face, taking a quick breath as though to regain his composure.
Lizzie blinked away her tears. She’d allowed too much of her own heart to surface this evening. It was time to remember that she was Ria Somerville. “I have had my hour, I’m afraid.” She tried to keep her voice light as she added, “However, I hear that you are at the very door to matrimony.”
Geoffrey shook his head. “Don’t believe the prattling gossip you hear in drawing rooms.”
“Then you are not about to make an offer to Miss… to some fortunate young lady?”
“No,” he said. “Not until love enters the equation.”
Was he being truthful or facetious? His expression was inscrutable. She was strangely relieved that he was not engaged just yet, but she found his answer troubling.
Having no idea how to respond, Lizzie turned away and concentrated on watching the dance. A dozen couples stood in two lines facing each other, moving in patterned steps up and down the dance floor. Instantly her eye was drawn to Freddie. He easily kept pace with the sprightly dance, but his upper body moved very little, and his left arm stayed close to his side. She had not noticed this earlier.
“Is there something the matter with Mr. Hightower’s arm?”
“He was injured about five years ago, not too long before his marriage. Some sort of wound that never healed properly.”
“How was he injured?” Lizzie asked, although she could easily guess the answer.
Geoffrey shrugged. “No one knows for sure. Some say he was shot in a hunting accident, although Hightower was known to be in town at the time. Some say he was in a duel, and that is easy to believe, given his character. He was probably confronted by an angry husband or the father of some young lady he had compromised.”
James led a pretty young lady past Freddie and his partner as the two couples turned down the floor. James called out something to Freddie, and he laughed.
“James might know more about it,” Geoffrey said. “I heard he was there when it happened. But no one has been able to pry a single detail from him.”
Suddenly, a memory of something Tom had told Lizzie rang in her ears. “Another young man was there with him, for his second. A dandy, he was. Not cut out for a manly art like dueling.”
James was in his element now, amid wealth and easy living. Had he been present at that duel? If so, what had he seen on that c
old morning? “When he saw Hightower bleedin’ all over the ground,” Tom had said, “he started yelling all hysterical and panicking. I thought he was a-goin’ to keel over, too.”
Lizzie had the strangest sensation that the room was beginning to tilt again. Geoffrey took hold of her arm gently to steady her. “Has the dizziness returned?” he asked.
His touch was so warm and reassuring that it was all Lizzie could do to keep from confessing everything right then and there. “I’m just trying to imagine James keeping a secret,” she said, forcing a wry smile. “It’s an enormous shock.”
Geoffrey’s eyes crinkled with amusement, and something fluttered in Lizzie stomach. Not for the first time this evening, she’d wished above all else that she could confide in him.
“Ria, let me take you home. Unless you are resolved to stay until the end?”
Out on the dance floor, Freddie circled his partner and was again facing Lizzie, startling her when he met her eye. Silently she berated herself for being caught watching him. She forced her gaze to move from his and scan the room, as though looking at nothing in particular, before turning back to Geoffrey. “Thank you. I would be glad to accept your offer.”
He stood and offered a hand to help her rise. “Would you like to join me now, or wait here while I call for the carriage?”
“I will join you at the door. I must tell Grandmamma that I am leaving.”
Lizzie found Lady Thornborough engrossed in conversation with Mrs. Paddington. Both women eyed Lizzie with concern. “How are you feeling, my dear?” Lady Thornborough asked. “You are looking somewhat peaked.”
“The dizziness has returned. I would like to go home right away, with your permission.”
“But you cannot go now!” Mrs. Paddington cried. “The evening has barely gotten under way.”
“I won’t keep you here if you are unwell,” Lady Thornborough said. “I will arrange for a carriage to take us home.”
“There is no need for you to leave, Grandmamma. I would hate to inconvenience you. Geoffrey has offered to escort me home.”
Mrs. Paddington offered to take Lady Thornborough home later in her carriage, so all was arranged.
As Lizzie walked away, she overheard Mrs. Paddington say, “If only she had married the eldest son, she might be a rich widow now instead of a poor one.”
Lizzie made a pretense of pausing to adjust her gloves, curious to hear how Lady Thornborough would answer this inane remark. “My Ria will never be destitute,” she said. “I will see to that.”
“She is young. Do you think she will marry again?” Mrs. Paddington enquired.
“We mustn’t be premature. She is still mourning the loss of her husband.”
Lizzie was glad Lady Thornborough did not plan to press her into marriage after all. But Mrs. Paddington had more to say on the subject. “How well she danced with Lord Somerville this evening. What a pity she cannot marry him.”
Lizzie found another button on her glove to take her interest while she waited to hear Lady Thornborough’s answer. Only a few days before, James had spoken something similar in jest. But Mrs. Paddington was in earnest.
“It is regrettable,” Lady Thornborough agreed. She had seemed shocked when James voiced the possibility, but now she spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Lord Somerville is a worthy man. I believe he was the most suited of the three to inherit the family title. He will manage everything better than either of his brothers could, rest their souls.”
Lizzie had the same high opinion of Geoffrey, and after the events of tonight she could not deny the idea had a particular resonance. He had surprised her many times tonight. It had, in fact, been a night of surprises and revelations.
Freddie was alive, and Lizzie’s path, which had once seemed clear enough, was now obstructed and filled with danger. It would now be infinitely harder to keep up her charade as Ria, but it was more vital than ever that she do so. If Freddie was ever able to prove her true identity, he would no doubt divulge the details of her scandalous history. How would Lady Thornborough react if she discovered Lizzie was that wanton shop girl who had run off with Freddie?
It would be a relief to leave tonight with Geoffrey. But she reminded herself that she must never depend too much on him either. She was beginning to realize how truly isolated she was.
With all these thoughts weighing oppressively on her mind, Lizzie collected her shawl and made her way to the door.
Chapter 22
Lizzie was unable to find Geoffrey among the crowd of people in the entrance hall. Assuming he was still outside sending for the carriage, Lizzie moved to a quiet spot near a large potted palm to wait.
The strains of another waltz drifted from the ballroom. Lizzie closed her eyes and sank into the music, attempting to assuage her buffeted soul in the gently measured meter. She rocked back and forth, moving instinctively in rhythm with the waltz. Such light and uplifting music, recalling memories of the night in Vienna when she’d heard a full orchestra for the very first time. It was so exuberant and joyful, she’d felt as if she was soaring.
“Mrs. Somerville, may I say again what a pleasure it was to meet you this evening.” Freddie’s unwelcome voice pierced the music and brought her back to the present.
Lizzie’s eyes flew open. “Oh, gracious, Mr. Hightower, you startled me.” She punctuated her statement with a light laugh. “It appears my silly thoughts were wandering elsewhere.”
“I should like to know where they were,” he replied. “Any reasonable thoughts should be ashamed to desert your pretty head.”
His bland compliments did not fool Lizzie, but they must, of course, charm Ria. She tittered again. “Where would you have my thoughts to be, Mr. Hightower?”
His eyes glinted. “I would selfishly have them right here in London—perhaps fondly remembering the new acquaintances you made tonight. I, for one, am glad to have finally met the charming cousin of my good friend Mr. James Simpson.”
Lizzie opened her fan and waived it delicately. “Oh?” she said with the barest hint of disinterest. “I don’t believe he ever mentioned you.”
“Perhaps not,” Freddie allowed. “However, he told me many things about you.” He spoke casually, but he continued to take in every detail of her appearance. “I shall take him to task, however, for failing to do you justice in his descriptions. Perhaps, since he is like a brother to you, he is unable to perceive certain of your more alluring qualities.”
Lizzie gave him a coquettish smile. “I have been informed of your reputation as a ladies’ man, Mr. Hightower. Will you attempt to win me over as well?”
“I could gladly give my life to such an endeavor.”
There was no denying that Freddie was a handsome man. His smile could melt the resistance of even the most hardened female. Lizzie found it too easy to remember how it had once affected her. Opposing memories fought for preeminence in her heart.
“However, it would be unseemly of me to make too many pleasantries,” Freddie said, his look turning sober. “You are, after all, a grieving widow.”
His remark unsettled Lizzie, as it was no doubt intended to do. Had she been flirting too strenuously to be taken for a real widow? Sharply she reminded herself that Freddie was a master at manipulation. “I do grieve,” she said with the air of one who is imparting a confidence to a dear friend. “But it has been two years now, and…” She sighed heavily. “I am resigned to it. My dear grandmamma has encouraged me to look to the future.”
“Very sensible, I am sure,” Freddie said. “Then I shall hold out hope that, at some point in the future, we may share a dance.” With a sly smile he added, “I saw you swaying to the music just now. I see you enjoy the music very much.”
Again, Lizzie easily understood him. Just now he had seen her respond to the music as he had so many times in Vienna. They’d return to their private rooms after a concert, and she would still be in raptures, humming the melody and dancing about blissfully. Lizzie would have to be
careful to control this impulse from now on, and to downplay how much the music meant to her.
“The melody is nice enough, I suppose,” she said in a casually dismissive tone. “However, I have been feeling faint all evening, and I believe that was the cause of my, ah, swaying.”
“Then you mustn’t remain standing here,” he said. “Will you allow me to bring you a chair? Or perhaps take you home? I have a carriage.”
Lizzie knew exactly what happened to women who rode home in Freddie’s carriage. Fortunately, Geoffrey arrived in time to spare her the necessity of declining his offer. “You needn’t concern yourself, Hightower,” he said. “I will be taking Mrs. Somerville home. The carriage is at the door.”
“Lord Somerville, you’ve arrived just in time,” Freddie said with feigned relief. “I am sure Mrs. Somerville will be most grateful for your assistance.”
The two men eyed one another, their mutual dislike easily breaching the thin veneer of polite words.
Freddie looked away first. He bowed to Lizzie. “I shall bid you good evening, Mrs. Somerville. I do hope that we shall meet again soon.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hightower. I look forward to it.”
Her words may have fooled Geoffrey, for she saw him grimace at this remark. But she had no confidence she had fooled Freddie. With a brief nod and an arrogant smile, he turned and walked away.
Geoffrey offered his arm, and Lizzie took it gratefully. They sifted through the crowd in the receiving hall and walked down the steps to the waiting carriage. A cool breeze welcomed them, tingling along Lizzie’s neck and shoulders like a call to freedom. She was making her escape from Freddie.
For now.
She would just have to take each round of trouble as it came.
Geoffrey took the seat opposite her in the carriage as the footman closed the door. When Lizzie was settled, he gave a light tap to the roof with his cane, and the carriage pulled forward.
Through the window Lizzie saw a young woman making her way down the street, wrapping an inadequate shawl around her shoulders, her poorly shod feet slipping on the wet cobblestones. Her heart went out to the girl. That once was me, she thought. She remembered walking down these streets, watching the passing carriages, envying the people within. They had not a care in the world, she had thought then. How wrong she had been.
An Heiress at Heart Page 16