by Tuft, Karen
“Sorry about that, my lord.” Jack wiped away a spot of lather from Kit’s earlobe. “It’s just that Sal and the others, they heard the duchess complaining day after day, about what a cold fish Lady Elizabeth had turned into and if she’d only tried harder, she could have brought either of the Lord Halfords to heel, and they wouldn’t be in the dire situation they were in. But Sal said Lady Elizabeth wasn’t a cold fish when you and Lady Walmsley showed up or ever since. Tip your head back, my lord, so I can get this tricky spot under your chin.”
Kit tipped his head back, pondering Jack’s words.
It could mean nothing, this gossip Jack had shared. But Kit had also seen Elizabeth’s warmth emerge and grow since he and Lady Walmsley had gone to Surrey to extricate her from Marwood Manor—until today, when she’d needed all her old defenses to face the Ashworths.
Servants frequently saw and heard a great deal more than an estate’s genteel occupants often did.
The gossip was something to consider.
***
Elizabeth had just completed her letter to the Duke of Aylesham and had sealed it when there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” she called.
A maid she remembered from her visit last year entered the room.
“Hello, Mary,” Elizabeth said. “What is it?”
“I’ve been sent to tell you that tea is ready now, my lady. In the yellow sitting room, my lady.”
“Thank you, Mary. I shall be down presently.”
The maid curtsied and left.
Elizabeth checked her appearance in the mirror and then chided herself. She should have taken the time to change into a clean gown after their dusty travels this morning, but there wasn’t time for it now. She brushed off her skirts the best she could, picked up the letter for the duke, and made her way downstairs. She wanted the letter posted as soon as possible and hoped she would encounter the Ashworth butler, Buxton, or even a footman before she arrived at the yellow sitting room.
Fortunately, she was able to spot Buxton speaking to Mrs. Shaw, the housekeeper, off to the side of the entry hall, just outside the main parlor. When she approached them, they both turned to look at her. Mrs. Shaw curtsied, and Buxton bowed, as they had always done last summer.
“Mrs. Shaw, how good to see you again,” Elizabeth said. Goodness, but she knew the servants at Ashworth Park nearly as well as she knew the servants at Marwood Manor—the servants who, sadly, were there no longer.
“Thank you, my lady,” Mrs. Shaw said.
“Buxton, I have a letter I’d like to have posted,” Elizabeth said, handing it to him. “When is the soonest it can happen?”
“The post has already gone out today, my lady, but I can have a footman take it into the village this afternoon, if you’d like,” Buxton said.
“That won’t be necessary,” Elizabeth said. “I’m sure tomorrow will be soon enough.” She definitely didn’t want to add any additional burden on the household during her stay.
He glanced at the letter in his hand, undoubtedly noting that it was addressed to the Duke of Aylesham. “It will be no problem, Lady Elizabeth.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Good afternoon to you both.” She nodded to them and made her way toward the yellow sitting room.
Now that she’d handed over the letter, she had doubts. Drawing another person, especially someone of consequence, like the Duke of Aylesham, deeper into her troubles felt unseemly. And yet, staying at Ashworth Park, despite the welcome she’d received, felt wrong as well.
Having her life directed so completely by her parents had stifled her. It had made her weak. It had made her vulnerable, for now she was inadequately prepared to face the simplest of decisions. She hated the feeling. She would add “feeling vulnerable” and “inability to make decisions” to her list of things she didn’t like. It sounded like a silly schoolgirl’s game now, writing lists, and yet it provided clarity and held a purpose for her at present. She would continue to keep adding to her lists. There. She’d made a decision.
And perhaps writing to the Duke of Aylesham had been a mistake—or perhaps it had not been a mistake. But she had made that decision too, had carried it out, and the consequences remained to be seen. She’d dealt with bad consequences before. This one certainly couldn’t be worse than any of the others.
A footman standing outside the yellow sitting room opened the door for her to enter.
“Ah, there you are!” Aunt Margaret said. Lady Ashworth was there as well.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” Elizabeth said, taking a seat in the chair opposite Lady Ashworth. The room was as she remembered it—decorated in light and airy colors, with floral upholstered furniture. It was Lady Ashworth’s favorite room.
“Not at all,” Lady Ashworth said. “Cream or lemon? Oh, I remember; you prefer lemon.”
“I do, thank you,” Elizabeth said, touched that Lady Ashworth actually remembered that detail about her.
“I was just telling Lady Ashworth of some of the adventures you and I have shared recently,” Aunt Margaret said while Lady Ashworth added lemon to Elizabeth’s cup and handed it to her. “That violinist at Lady Bledsoe’s musicale!” She planted her hand over her bosom. “Mr. Cudmore was his name. Such a talent as you’ve never heard, Eleanor, and Elizabeth will vouch for it as well.”
“Truly, he was remarkable,” Elizabeth said before taking a sip of tea.
“Cudmore. I believe I’ve heard of him. Young man, if I’m recalling correctly,” Lady Ashworth said.
“Yes, that’s the one. So gifted.” Aunt Margaret took a nibble of her biscuit.
“Margaret tells me that she and Lord Cantwell traveled to Surrey in order for you to join her in Town,” Lady Ashworth said.
“That is true,” Elizabeth said.
“I had no idea you and she were on such friendly terms,” Lady Ashworth said. She took a sip of her tea.
“We became acquainted here, you know. Last summer,” Aunt Margaret explained. “What a joy young people are to have around, wouldn’t you agree, Eleanor? Dear Elizabeth has been a godsend to me since coming to London. I feel much younger in my heart.”
Elizabeth sipped her tea and said nothing.
“I’m glad to hear it. And how is your mother, Lady Elizabeth?” Lady Ashworth asked.
“Please, call me Elizabeth.” The family had called her Elizabeth for years—until last summer. “Mama is well enough, under the circumstances. Thank you for inquiring.”
“She is in mourning, as I presume are you,” Lady Ashworth said, glancing at Elizabeth’s dress.
“Tsk,” Aunt Margaret said, waving her hand in dismissal. “The girl has been in mourning for a year already, Eleanor. I told her that she had mourned long enough, and it was time to get on with living her life. Her mama”—she stopped midsentence to take a sip of tea, which created a dramatic pause—“may do as she likes when it comes to mourning the recently deceased Duke of Marwood.”
Elizabeth tipped her head and sipped her tea long and slow.
“I see,” was all Lady Ashworth said in response.
Elizabeth could feel the marchioness’s eyes on her.
“And how, truly, is my great-niece faring, Eleanor?” Aunt Margaret asked. “I am anxious to see her and judge for myself, but in the meantime, I must know. Please tell me what you can.”
Lady Ashworth sighed. “She is well enough, Margaret, all things considered. When it seemed the baby was intent on making an early arrival, we sent for Doctor Samuels, who examined her and ordered her to bed.” Elizabeth remembered old Doctor Samuels. He’d taken care of Lord Ashworth last summer when he’d been so ill. “The midwife comes to check on Amelia every morning,” Lady Ashworth continued. “And so we pray every day for one more day and one more after that. But the child is still lively, and that is a good sign.”
“That
is music to my ears!” Aunt Margaret said.
“She has awakened from her nap and has been informed of your arrival. She looks forward to seeing you after you’ve had your tea.”
“I have had as much tea as I care to, then,” Aunt Margaret declared, setting her cup and saucer back on the tea tray.
“There is no need to rush,” Lady Ashworth said.
“I have been in a rush ever since receiving your letter, Eleanor. There will always be tea to be had. But there is only now when I can go to my dear great-niece and be flesh-and-blood family for her.”
Lady Ashworth smiled. “We are her family, you know, and think of her as though she is our flesh and blood. But I take your point, my friend. Let us go visit her and set your mind at ease.”
“I, um,” Elizabeth said. She simply couldn’t interfere in this intimate moment between aunt and niece.
“Yes?” Lady Ashworth said.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Elizabeth began, trying again, “I believe I will show myself out into the gardens and walk while you visit Amelia. My presence here is unexpected, and I don’t wish to impose myself upon Amelia so suddenly, although I would like to offer her my best wishes eventually. She was exceptionally kind to me last summer . . .”
Aunt Margaret looked sternly at her. “Now, Elizabeth, you needn’t—”
“I think it’s for the best, Aunt Marg—” Elizabeth stopped herself, but it was too late. She’d let the name slip out, and Lady Ashworth’s eyes were as big as saucers. “I mean, Lady Walmsley.”
“I believe you are undoubtedly right,” Lady Ashworth said, the tone in her voice different now. “Come, then, Margaret, let us go see Amelia.”
All three women rose, and Aunt Margaret, ignoring Lady Ashworth’s reaction, gave Elizabeth a swift hug. “Are you sure you will be all right on your own?” she whispered.
“Oh, yes,” Elizabeth answered as cheerily as she could. “I am well acquainted with Ashworth Park, you know. And Kit will be here to keep me company at four o’clock. You are not to concern yourself on my account. Spend as much time with Amelia as you and she can. And give her my best regards.”
Aunt Margaret studied her face. “I am not entirely convinced by your answer, my dear, but I will trust you this once.”
Elizabeth nodded reassuringly at her, using all the poise she had developed over her lifetime. “I shall see you at supper, then.” She looked at Lady Ashworth, who was watching the two of them closely, and nodded to her as well.
“You are free to enjoy the house and the grounds as you always have,” Lady Ashworth said. “Please make yourself at home.”
“Thank you, I shall. You are very kind.”
The two ladies excused themselves and left. Elizabeth finished her tea and returned to her room before setting out for the front of the house. It was nearly four already, and she wanted to meet Kit as soon as he arrived. But she had decided during tea that she wanted—needed—to get away from Ashworth Park, even if only temporarily. As Kit had been her companion and accomplice in other such situations, she was hopeful he would be agreeable to it again.
Luckily, Sally was in the room, unpacking her belongings, when she got there. “Sally,” Elizabeth said. “I’d like to change clothes for my plans this afternoon.”
“Certainly, my lady,” Sally said. “What might those plans be?”
“Walking,” Elizabeth said. “But in the countryside and not at Ashworth Park, I hope.”
***
Elizabeth was outside in the courtyard, standing near the fountain that stood at its center, when Kit rode up on his horse. She had changed clothes from what she’d worn on their journey this morning. Now she wore a dress printed with flowers and a matching pale-green pelisse and a straw bonnet. She looked like summer.
She began walking toward him when she saw him on the lane leading up to the courtyard. “I didn’t expect to meet you so informally when I returned this afternoon,” Kit said, doffing his hat in greeting. “Shall I be flattered that you were so impatient to see me that you couldn’t remain indoors?” He should not have spoken so boldly, perhaps, but the words of his valet still rang in his mind.
“You may feel flattered if you like,” she replied.
“I can sense disappointment coming,” he said. “Don’t break my heart so soon upon my arrival.”
She smiled the tiniest bit, and it felt like sunshine to his heart. “I know we agreed to go walking this afternoon . . .”
“Yes?”
“But I wish to be away from Ashworth Park—just for a little while. They deserve time to adjust to my presence here, and I need to give it to them.”
“And you need to adjust to your presence here as well.”
She sighed. “Yes.”
“So, what are you suggesting?” he asked. “Never mind. If what you wish is to be away from here for a while, then our first objective is to leave. Place your foot on my boot and give me your hand.” He reached for her, half expecting her to demur.
She surprised him. She reached for his hand and set her foot on his boot as he’d instructed, and with very little effort, he boosted her up in front of him crossways on the saddle, both of her legs on one side of the horse, owing to the style of her dress. “I take it you ride,” he said after observing the ease with which she mounted in front of him. He nudged his horse to a walk, and they started back down the lane toward the road.
“I am competent. Papa was never keen on having me be too accomplished of a horsewoman. He preferred me to be more . . . delicate, I suppose . . . in my demeanor. Riding horses, in his view, was not feminine enough.”
“We shall have to discover if you like riding or not, then,” Kit said, “so you may add it to one list or another.”
“Are you poking fun at me?”
“Not at all. And if you eventually find you do like riding, we should remedy your level of skill. There will be opportunities to do that over the next several days, if you like. But only if it makes it onto your list of likes.”
“Hmm,” she said.
He had one arm around her waist and, since he held the reins in the other, he found he must hold her securely to him, which he didn’t mind one bit. “There are a few wilderness paths on my estate we could walk, if you’re interested. I haven’t been there yet this year, so it would be a worthwhile endeavor for me, and it might be just what you’re looking for.”
“Lead on,” she said.
He turned the horse onto a lesser-used road that was part of the boundary between Cantwell Hall and Ashworth Park. It was primarily used by the gamekeepers of both estates and would hardly be noticeable by anyone passing who was not looking for it. Neither Kit’s father nor Lord Ashworth had ever worried unduly over the precise boundary, however, and both families had always freely used the entire wilderness area for hunting and fishing.
Kit wasn’t sure why he’d suggested the wilderness area in the first place, and telling Elizabeth he’d not visited the place “this year” had been a bit of an untruth, for he had let his steward and gamekeeper tend to the wilderness themselves and hadn’t visited the area at all the past two years.
He was acutely aware of the woman sitting sideways in front of him and was able to study her profile closely, intimately, at this distance. She was holding on to the arm he had wrapped around her middle with one hand and to the pommel with her other. Her skin may seem smooth and marble-like from a distance, but up close, it was the color of rich cream. There was a small scar barely discernible near her left eye and three or four light freckles on the bridge of her nose he’d never noticed before and found delightful. Her hair, now that he was so close to her, was not merely blonde but was an entire array of shades ranging from white to gold. Her eyelashes were long and a shade darker than her hair and fringed the bluest of eyes.
Since she was seated crossways in front of him, he kept the horse at
a steady gait. He wanted no surprises, no startled reactions from his horse, who was well trained but could be spirited at times. They rode in silence, Kit taking in the sights around them, simply savoring having Elizabeth in his arms. “I am glad you brought me here,” Elizabeth said. “This was exactly what I needed this afternoon. Thank you.”
It had seemed the right choice to Kit too. He missed this place. But there were memories here too—bitter ones.
A couple of squirrels chattered near the trunk of a tree and then raced up into its branches. Kit could hear sparrows singing, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, its whispering sounds making him oddly restless. Could a person experience joy and despondency at the same time? For that was how he was beginning to feel.
“You’re very quiet,” Elizabeth said. “Although, I suppose I can understand it. These woods feel special. I imagine there are many woods and fields and meadows . . . and mountains and streams and lakes and, oh, lots of places that feel special, as all of God’s creations are special. I loved the woodlands at Marwood Manor. They gave me solace when there was none to be found elsewhere.”
They were making their way through a denser part of the woods and approaching a clearing that rose at a slight incline. Daisies grew among the grasses there, and their white faces looked upward toward the sun, as though all was well with the world.
Elizabeth spotted them too. “Oh, look! Daisies! I love roses, you know—they are so elegant and smell heavenly. But I admire daisies; they are cheerful and resilient.”
“Yes,” Kit said. The daisies had been blooming two years ago too.
She turned in her seat and began studying his face too closely, so he reined in the horse and stopped. “It was here, wasn’t it? Where it happened,” she said softly.
He swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “On the other side of that rise.”
“Is that why you brought me here?” she asked.
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t know. You wanted to go somewhere else, and I—I don’t know. It seemed right.” He looked out over the rise, the clearing covered in summer grass and sunny daisies, as if a horrible tragedy hadn’t occurred here at all. It had seemed the right place to come when he’d turned the horse down the lane. But it had been wrong to bring her here; he saw that now. “My apologies, Elizabeth. I shouldn’t have brought you here. You just lost your father, and you still love Alex and grieve for him, and . . . I should have thought about that before—”