by Sophia Nash
“And he loves Sarah,” Elizabeth whispered. “He sees all the goodness in her.”
“Yes,” Ata said softly. “He does.”
“And he will take care of her.”
“Yes.”
“He will make her smile again.”
Ata was silent.
“She used to smile all the time. Not like she smiles now. She used to smile when her husband was alive, and it would light up an entire room.”
“I’m sure he will make her smile like that again, Elizabeth,” Ata murmured. “Actually, it is you whom I am most worried about. Are you going to go through with this marriage to General Pymm or not?”
Elizabeth nodded, unable to speak.
“I’m afraid we’ve all been cowards in broaching the subject,” Ata said quietly. “Indeed, I’ve never seen Luc so on edge. You know it’s not too late to cry off. It is never too late—even if General Pymm’s attachment to you exceeds Lord Wymith’s to Sarah.”
She looked down to examine the hem of her green walking gown. She did not want to discuss it. It was going to be difficult enough to go through with it. And Ata had such piercing dark eyes.
She was so tired of lying to everyone. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Of course, I’m going to marry him. I would not have allowed this insanity”—she indicated the elegant gowns now decorating the backs of every chair and chaise in Ata’s chamber—“to continue unchecked if I had not decided.”
Oh, she would make an attempt to recover the letters, but that was simply a gambit to try and remove the thing Pymm would hold over her head for the rest of her life. But her chance of success was next to nil. And she had taken her decision to marry Pymm the day Lefroy had told her the truth.
This was the only way to eliminate Pymm’s threats to her and to ensure the financial security of Manning’s stable. It was obvious she was the root cause of Pymm’s animosity toward Rowland. And the race at Ascot had caused more harm than good, in the end.
Ata said something and Elizabeth was lifted from her reverie.
“Elizabeth?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I asked about Mr. Manning.”
“Yes?”
“You will not speak of him, then?” Ata was unable to keep the curiosity from her voice. “Well, I’m sorry for it, but I must ask you to help me choose a gift for the audacious man—for recovering my Pip. Will you not help me? What would he most delight in, I wonder?”
It was her inherent unhappiness that led to black humor. “Food. Delicacies of any kind. Especially gingerbread.”
“Really?”
“Yes. That or a lot of money.” She arched a brow.
Ata chortled. “Do you think if I give him enough, he might let me try one of his horses?”
Elizabeth’s smile faded as she caught sight of the heavy, honey-colored gown the modiste had left on the chaise. “Ata, Luc would worry so if you…And Mr. Brown…”
“Oh, pish. Who cares about Mr. Brown? He wouldn’t even take notice if I broke my neck now.” All the good humor on the petite elderly lady’s face fled.
Elizabeth felt a tug of guilt on her heartstrings. With her future in such a precarious state, she had not been the confidante to the dowager that she should have been. “Has the countess’s house party broken up yet?”
Ata appeared miserable. “He’s returned to Scotland. He did not even bother to take his leave of Luc. I’ve…I’ve even driven him away from all of our mutual friends.”
“Oh, Ata…but surely he’ll—”
“He even refused Quinn,” Ata interrupted. “He actually declined Quinn’s request to oversee affairs at Ellesmere House for just a week or so until Georgiana is safely delivered.” Ata paused, and it became evident she desired to put an end to all discussion about Mr. Brown. “None of us had wanted to tell you, Elizabeth, for you’ve so much to worry you, but Quinn is distraught. He’s terrified Georgiana’s accident of long ago will hamper the birth.”
They had all of them been anxious since the day Georgiana had announced that she was with child. “I must go to her. Today,” Elizabeth said firmly.
“No, you will not. You’ve far too much to contend with. Rosamunde and Grace are with her, distracting her every day. They try to keep Quinn from hovering.”
Elizabeth studied the dowager duchess for a long moment. “Does it not feel like all of us are hanging on a precipice? Is this how life goes, then, Ata? Are there never moments of profound peace?”
“Rarely, my dear. There are peaks and valleys. But you’ve had a particularly difficult time—as has Georgiana. But you’ve managed so well despite the pressure of so many people following your every movement, and repeating your every word. And then there is that other distraction…”
Elizabeth darted a glance at her.
“Well, if last night is any indication…”
She could feel a blush mounting her cheeks. “Last night?”
“The head gardener informed me this morning that there is not a single bloom left on the climbing roses. The ones on the trellis outside your window.”
“Ata…”
“No, you do not have to say a word. I realize you do not want to unburden your heart to me. Or, really, to anyone. And I recently decided I would stop pressing everyone to confide in me. In fact, I’ve decided to give up many things. ’Tis long past due.”
Elizabeth rushed to comfort the dowager. “Oh, Ata. Do not say that. You’ve been my savior these last eighteen months. Like the mother or grandmother I never had. In so many ways you are very like a guardian angel to me. I think that is why I do not want to burden you. You have done so much for me already. For all of us.”
“No, you misunderstand. This has nothing to do with you, dearest. You see, it has to do with me. The problem with old age is that one finally has no choice but to accept the sad truth.” Ata glanced away. “Dreams of youth are not always granted, you see. Indeed, they are rarely fulfilled. Not everyone can find happiness in the end. And I suspect that you, of all of us, know that very well.”
Elizabeth refused to pretend. “Perhaps. But one should never give up. To give up is to ensure defeat.”
“Says the daughter of an army captain.”
“No. Says the woman who lost that father,” she said softly. “But, you are right. I would dishonor him by thinking anything else.”
Ata closed the gap between them, hugging Elizabeth to her. “You know, all this time I was determined to impart my many years of wisdom and my considerable resources to teach and help all of you find the happiness you each deserved. And yet, you are the ones who taught me.” She leaned back to rearrange Elizabeth’s fichu. “And you, without a single doubt, have taught me the most of all.”
“That cannot be so.”
“No. Not one of us has your courage…your determination…indeed, your ability to persevere despite the discontent you hide so well from almost everyone. Oh, Elizabeth, promise me you will be happy. Promise me you’re not making a grave mistake by marrying this general who is so besotted with you.” Ata paused for a moment. “You know I will require a companion if all of you leave me. I cannot remain in my grandson’s household forever. And I refuse to become the doddering old biddy who mumbles while eating her porridge. Would you not like to retire to Cornwall with me? Without Luc to spy on us we could ride the cliffs of Perran Sands every day.”
Elizabeth smiled. “You do know how to tempt me. But you vastly overestimate my character, Ata. I’m not nearly as courageous—”
At the sound of the door opening, Ata and Elizabeth shifted their gazes to find Sarah, color high on her cheeks, rush through the door.
All three of them spoke at once. Sarah grasped their hands. “Oh. I—I’ve done something quite, quite impossible.”
Ata tried to speak but Elizabeth’s words resonated. “Lord Wymith offered for you?”
It was as if Sarah could not hear her. “He is so good. And I—I’ve caused him such pain. I never deserved his admiration, never—”
/>
“You refused him?” Elizabeth whispered as she squeezed Sarah’s hand.
Sarah met her gaze—her gray eyes lost and dull with pain. “It was as if someone else, not I, were speaking to him—answering his heartfelt plea…hurting him.”
“But why, Sarah?” Ata’s face was filled with amazement. “Why would you refuse him?”
“I-I don’t know.” She dropped their hands and walked to the window and gazed outside. The light reflected off her delicate, ethereal face. “Oh, I do know. I’m a pathetic wretch. I just cannot forget Pierce. I will never forget him.”
“But no one is asking you to forget your husband,” Ata said, now behind her.
Elizabeth joined them at the window. “Sarah, this is my fault. I should have encouraged you more. I’ve been selfish, living on memories of long ago—and wishing they were still with us. But Pierce would be disappointed in me for not telling you to go on with your life. He would want you to be happy with the earl.”
Sarah turned around slowly. “No. It wouldn’t be fair to Lord Wymith. And he agreed when I explained it to him.”
“What did you say?” Ata handed her a handkerchief.
She buried her face in her hands. “When he pressed me, I finally admitted that I still dream of Pierce. He comes to me in my sleep, and he comforts me. Wraps me in his embrace, and there is such love and hope in his eyes. I would rather live the rest of my life with my memories—my dreams—than make another life with someone else. It would not be fair if I could not come to a man with my whole heart.”
“Why did you not tell me, Sarah?” Elizabeth’s eyes burned with emotion.
“Why have you not told me the real reason you’ve agreed to give yourself to a man who you dislike?”
Elizabeth held her gaze. “I thought you had changed your mind about the general. I thought you approved of him.”
“I did not say that. I said that perhaps you were wrong to think he might be a murderer. I said it to suggest we stop running.”
Ata touched her hand. “Are you hiding something from all of us, Elizabeth? Surely you can tell us if something is wrong.”
Elizabeth shook her head. There was absolutely nothing they could do. And if she told them, they would only suffer from the knowledge. And so she took a breath and continued the lie. “You’ve misread everything. You must see that I’ve willingly chosen my future. You were right, Sarah. I was wrong before. And I’ve embraced my decision with my whole heart. I hope you will do me the honor of wishing me happy.”
Sarah and Ata exchanged glances and then uttered the meaningless words. As soon as she could, she disengaged herself from her friends.
She had a letter to write. And a visit to make to the Pulteney Hotel.
After their brief meeting, Rowland escorted the Duke of Helston to the grand entryway of his enterprise. Gratitude reared its uncomfortable head. He had not had to deal with it very often. “I must thank you, Helston. I’d not expected…”
The duke waved his hand in that way all aristocrats knew instinctively from birth. “The mare was worth twice the price.”
Rowland could not form a reply for they both knew the duke was lying, and so he cleared his throat instead.
“I would ask that you come to Helston House on occasion to ride Vespers when my wife and I are at our seat in Cornwall,” the duke said gruffly.
Something cold and hard knotted in his gut. This first step toward dismantling his kingdom was bound to be the worst. He thought about Elizabeth’s beautiful face the last time he’d been with her and forced a smile to his lips. This money would help both of them begin new lives.
“As I said,” Helston continued. “I’m determined to see the mare race at Ascot again next summer. You will oversee her training the four months prior. Agreed?”
Rowland looked down to see Helston’s hand extended toward him. It was the first time any member of the peerage had ever offered the gesture.
He clasped the duke’s hand. “Agreed. Vespers will be delivered to your mews within the week.”
The duke did not release his hand. “Manning…what in hell is going on?”
Rowland tried to disengage his fingers, without success. “What do you mean?” he said offhandedly.
The duke stared at him, a myriad of thoughts coursing his expression. “I think you know very well what I’m asking.”
“Uh. You may let go of my hand now.”
The barest hint of a smile appeared at the corners of Helston’s mouth. “Of course. Once you tell me what you’re planning.”
“I’m not telling you a bloody thing—even if you want to hold hands all night.”
The duke raised his brows. It was to be a standoff.
“Bloody hell.” For the first time in two decades, Rowland chose to trust someone other than himself. “If I’d known you felt this way, I’d have signed your dance card long ago. Well, since you’re so determined to waltz, I have a favor to ask.”
The duke released his hand. “Another favor?” Helston’s eyelids lowered to half mast. “It’s not going to cost as much as the mare, is it?”
Rowland bit back a smile. “No—but if you would like to buy another—”
“What do you want?” The duke’s words were as guarded as his own.
“Immediately after Prinny bestows the duchy on Pymm at Carlton House, I would ask you to watch Elizabeth closely. She might be foolish enough to try and make an announcement—despite her promises to the contrary.”
“Exactly what would be the nature of this possible announcement?”
He ignored the duke’s question. “She would need at least one gentleman of good ton to stand by her if she speaks out. A bastard will not suffice. While she is not aware of it, I intend to be nearby—in the Music Room. But, I will not show myself. It would only compound speculation later.” He could not fully explain to Helston without causing a thousand more infuriating questions. He could not risk an appearance, as further gossip would only tie him to Elizabeth when he meant to secrete her away in France.
Helston smiled, and scratched his jaw. “Well, I suppose I should be grateful you have enough sense not to try and stir up a royal fray again after that spectacle in St. George’s. Very good. There is only this left then.” The duke extracted a letter from his coat.
“What is it?”
“A letter from Elizabeth Ashburton, soon to be Elizabeth Pymm, the Duchess of Darlington in case you have not been paying attention. I promised that I would put this in your hands today.”
Helston’s eyes scrutinized him and Rowland returned the favor before sliding his thumb under the seal of the letter.
Chapter 16
The day played out exactly as Elizabeth had known it would. A sense of calm invaded her as she dismissed the two maids Ata had sent to attend to her. She had been sewn into the gown, just as securely as a Tudor bride. Only her husband would wield the scissors to extract her from this prison of jeweled silks tonight. But for some spectacularly odd reason, she did not fear it now.
She had so much for which to be grateful. She would avoid Newgate or worse, secure the future of the man she loved, release her friends from the worry and cost of supporting her for the rest of her life, gain a house and living for Sarah, and would, with any luck, have a child to love. A family, of sorts, again.
The cost was exorbitant, true.
She would have to spend the rest of her life with a pompous, awful man she neither liked nor trusted. And he might very well be far worse. But she tried desperately to remember that there were so many women who had experienced more gruesome fates.
She tried very hard to not think of Rowland and how he would react upon learning what she had done. She prayed he would understand in time. Her spirits depressed, she could not bear to have even Sarah or Ata with her these last moments.
Her efforts had failed—as she had known they would.
Pymm’s servants at the Pulteney had been surprised by her appearance, but had granted her access to the apart
ments that would be hers. She had made use of the connecting door, and searched his apartments, her heart in her throat.
There had not been a single letter or locked chest in evidence, anywhere. And so she had had her maid hastily arrange a few personal effects in what was soon to become her temporary chambers at the famous hotel, and finally decamped to Helston House to be quickly sewn into her gown.
Of course there was still some small hope. She would have a lifetime to find the letters. It gave her something for which to strive.
Everyone needed something on which to pin one’s hopes. She stared at the small looking glass, and almost did not recognize herself. She looked far older than her years—like a queen—in the overly ornate golden gown. A seductive queen, with a bodice cut far too provocatively. Pymm’s gift of heavy emeralds—given to her last evening—nearly choked her neck.
She heard a commotion beyond her door and knew her time was up. The Prince Regent had insisted on sending two royal carriages to convey all of the Portman Square guests to Carlton House.
The short journey passed in a blur. For the life of her she would never remember what was said to her or what she replied. The only thing she would remember was the anxiety on her friends’ faces.
All too soon they arrived at the Prince Regent’s vast residence on the south side of Pall Mall. She glanced longingly toward St. James Park, now shadowy in the gloaming hour. As she entered the hexastyle portico of Corinthian columns, liveried royal footmen bowed in her wake as did the awed guests in attendance. It was ironic. For so long she had hoped to make her father proud by being accepted by the aristocracy, who had always ostracized her for her hoydenish ways. Now she would have given just about anything to be anywhere but here.
She entered the octagonal room flanked with Ionic columns of yellow marble; the elegant, courtly crowd parted. She turned slightly, only to find the Duke of Helston standing shoulder to shoulder with the Marquis of Ellesmere and the Earl of Wallace. None of their wives was present. Georgiana was still confined, and Rosamunde and Grace had agreed to Elizabeth’s request that they not leave Georgiana’s side. Only Ata and Sarah were to attend tonight.