No. No. Her soul howled.
“One more kiss?” she begged in desperation.
When his gaze met hers, his answer was clear.
“All right,” she said on broken words. “Go then. Just go.” She whirled around, showing him her back. She couldn’t bear it either. It was far too heartbreaking.
She held her breath, waiting to hear the door. She did not, but she did feel a warmth well behind her and the sweet kiss of his breath as he whispered, “I will always remember you.”
And then, he left.
Elizabeth crumpled to the carpet and wept as though her world had ended.
Because it had.
* * *
“Hello there.”
Hamish whipped around, nearly dropping the pile of clothes he was packing. He hadn’t been expecting visitors. Especially in his private room. Especially Mary.
“Ah, Lady Mary.” Really, what else could he say?
“I need to talk to you.”
Hamish nodded to his bags. “I’m busy.”
“This is important.”
Honestly. Nothing was more important than getting packed and getting the hell out of this house. His soul couldn’t take much more. That one conversation with Elizabeth had nearly destroyed him. She’d looked nearly as miserable as he was.
Yet there was nothing he could do to save either of them. And that was the worst part about this whole catastrophe.
“I have an idea.”
Hamish sighed. Obviously she was not going to go away. He dropped onto his bed and massaged the bridge of his nose. “All right.”
“I know Elizabeth is sacrificing herself for us—”
“How on earth do you know that?”
“She told me.”
To his consternation, Mary sat on the bed beside him. Absolutely inappropriate, but he didn’t have it in him to protest. “She told you?”
“She didn’t mean to, of course. It just slipped out, don’t you know.”
“I see.”
“I don’t want her to marry Twiggenberry if it will make her unhappy. And it does seem to.”
“I can imagine.”
Her button nose wrinkled. “He does . . . smell.” This last bit she whispered conspiratorially.
“I had noticed.”
“Anne doesn’t want to marry.”
“Aye?” His brow quirked, not sure how this signified.
“Victoria is in love with Peter Ross.”
Hamish nodded. He’d noticed the mutual interest the two seemed to have for each other, and after a conversation with Duncan, Peter’s new brother-in-law and guardian, all Hamish’s concerns about the boy’s previous wildness had been laid to rest. “And?” he prompted when Mary did not seem inclined to continue.
“And . . .” She grinned. “That leaves me.”
Suddenly, he understood.
What a sweet, sweet lass. She was talking about the barriers keeping Elizabeth locked into a betrothal she did not want. What a pity her clever plotting would be for naught.
“What about you?” he had to ask.
“I couldn’t care less about a society wedding,” she said. “In fact, I have much . . . simpler tastes.”
Simpler tastes? He had no idea what she was alluding to, but judging from her expression, she assumed he was following.
“What if I ran away? Say, with a footman?”
He blanched. “Doona even jest about that.”
“It could help.”
“It will no’ help.”
“Of course it could. If Elizabeth’s indiscretion could ruin my reputation, then my indiscretion could ruin hers. Twiggenberry would have to toss her aside.”
“Not necessarily.”
“But she could refuse him then, couldn’t she? If she were not trying to protect us? Her sisters? Three women who neither want nor need such protection?”
Was he mad, or was she starting to make sense? Or was his rising hope engulfing his reason?
“There is still the duke’s reputation to consider,” he found himself saying. “You owe better to a man who took you in on trust. We all owe it to him to honor his reputation.”
She peered at him as though she could see far too much of his soul.
“What do you owe the duke?” she asked.
“Everything.” He’d saved Hamish’s life and livelihood.
Mary put out a lip and kicked her feet, making her look very young indeed. “You know him. Do you think he would care so much what high society thought of his relatives?”
Hamish nearly laughed. Lachlan would probably like them better if they did mutiny. But he could hardly say that to this child. She was far too volatile. “I canna, in good conscience, advise you to ruin your life with such folly.”
“Pfft. You know I don’t give a fig.”
“Nae doubt your aunt would.”
Mary smiled. It was a horrifying smile for a man to see because he had no idea what it meant, but it made little skitters dance up his spine. “She would forgive me.” Then she patted him on the hand, hopped to her feet, and quit the room. But not before smiling again and saying, “Thank you for the talk.”
He wasn’t sure if he’d made things better or worse.
But if he were a betting man, he’d go for worse.
* * *
He fully intended to relay the conversation to Ranald and ask for his take on it, but when he came over from Ross House the next morning, the household was in an uproar.
Mary, it seemed, was as good as her word.
She had, indeed, run away.
And Jamison, the handsome young footman without two farthings to rub together, had gone with her.
Chapter Nineteen
“I knew she was planning something.” Elizabeth honked into a handkerchief. Since she’d gone to wake Mary and discovered her closet in a riot—with key items missing—she hadn’t been able to stop crying. “This is all my fault.”
“It is not your fault,” Victoria insisted. “We all know how impulsive Mary is.”
Elizabeth gaped at her. “She ran away. With a footman!”
“My point exactly. And incidentally, she is in love with Jamison.”
Esmeralda, looking haggard and cod-like this morning, whimpered. “One does not simply fall in love with a footman. I don’t think it’s physically possible.”
“Of course it is,” Anne said, spearing a sausage with her fork. They didn’t often take breakfast together in the parlor, but this morning was different. In oh so many ways.
For one thing, Mary was not here. Elizabeth snuffled again. “Oh, where could she be?”
“She’s probably on a coach for Gretna Green,” Victoria suggested.
Aunt Esmeralda clutched her pearls, but it was probably just an instinctive reaction, because she wasn’t wearing any. “I think I shall be ill.”
“I’m sure she’s perfectly safe,” Anne said soothingly. “She’s a sensible girl.”
Elizabeth and Victoria sent her an incredulous look. Victoria mouthed the word Mary?
Fortunately, Anne’s reassurance was enough to calm their aunt, though she still wheezed now and again, and when she reached for her teacup, it shook decidedly.
The parlor door opened and the baron strode in.
“There you are!” Esmeralda bellowed, though there was no call to yowl. She leaped to her feet. “What have you found?”
Bower grimaced. “Not much. It appears they’d been planning this a while.”
“They?” Esmeralda boggled.
“A while?” Elizabeth wailed.
“One of the grooms said he knew Jamison had been saving money for something important, and . . .”
“And what? Oh, just blurt it out. My heart can take it, I swear.”
Hah. And Esmeralda had thought Mary the melodramatic one.
“There is a horse missing.”
“A horse?” Their aunt glanced at him with a befuddled expression, as though she wasn’t quite certain she’d ever heard of one
.
“Aye.” Bower set his hands on his hips and sighed. “As soon as Hamish gets here, we’ll head out after them.”
“Oh thank God. I cannot bear to think of that child in danger.”
Anne stood and moved toward Bower, leaning in to say, “Mary will expect you to follow her.”
“Aye. She will.”
“She’ll have some plan in place.”
He scrubbed his face. “Nae doubt.”
Anne drew in a deep breath and glanced at Aunt Esmeralda. “I know her better than anyone. I should go with them.”
At once, a chorus erupted.
“Unthinkable!”
“I know her better than you!”
“I’m the one trapped in a betrothal I don’t want. I should go.”
Their aunt glared them all down and repeated, “Unthinkable, Anne. You would be ruined.”
“Aren’t we all?” Victoria said in far too complacent a tone. When everyone stared at her she shrugged and said, “Well, aren’t we?” She pinned Elizabeth with a wicked smile and waggled her brows.
Elizabeth took her meaning at once. What a horrifying thought. “I cannot countenance Mary throwing away her life for me!”
“Funny,” Anne said. “She felt the same about you.”
Oh, dear, sweet, misguided Mary! “I cannot carry that weight. I can’t.”
“It’s not your fault,” Esmeralda barked. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I should have seen. I should have noticed. A footman, for pity’s sake.”
“He is very handsome.” Victoria merely smiled when her aunt glared at her again.
“I knew she was planning something,” Elizabeth murmured. “I should have said something.”
Anne sighed. “No one could have expected it. I certainly didn’t.”
“There’s no good in guilt or worry,” Bower said. “We need to focus on bringing her home.”
“And keeping this from the ton,” Esmeralda said.
Bower blanched. “That . . . ah . . . may be difficult.”
Esmeralda looked up so fast her neck cracked. “What do you mean?”
“I, ah . . .” He tugged at his collar. “One of the neighbor’s maids told one of our maids that Mary might have been seen leaving with Jamison.”
Esmeralda collapsed into her chair. “Egads. This is awful. The worst.”
“It’s not so bad,” Anne assured her. “We can think of something to put the gossips off.”
But there was no time to plan. Because then the locusts descended.
Word was out, apparently.
Mary was ruined.
And with her, her sisters were scandalized.
And everyone in the ton wanted to come and have a look.
* * *
It was a horrific morning, one Elizabeth never wanted to repeat. On top of her worry about Mary, there was the fact that when Hamish arrived, she was not able to speak to him—or even say goodbye when he, Bower, and Anne took the carriage and headed north.
Beyond that, she, Esmeralda, and Victoria had their hands full dealing with calls.
Esmeralda stalwartly insisted nothing was awry, that Lady Prentiss had been mistaken when she’d seen a girl of Mary’s coloring mounting a horse behind a footman—and the sisters both followed suit, averring Mary—and Anne, for that matter—had gone off to Kent to visit an ailing relative. And thank God Esmeralda had plenty of ailing relatives living in virtual obscurity.
It was patently obvious some of the esteemed visitors didn’t believe a word, especially when Sally Albright looked pointedly around the room and asked, “And where are your Scotsmen, may I ask?”
Esmeralda set her lips together and frowned at her. A thinking woman would have left the room. Sally was not that wise.
“Well?”
Victoria smiled sweetly and refilled Sally’s teacup. “Oh, they asked not to attend morning calls anymore,” she said.
“Why ever not?” Sally said, tittering to Belinda Battersby.
“They find the company . . . banal,” Esmeralda murmured.
“I think they said vulgar,” Victoria corrected her.
Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. “I believe the word brash was bandied about.”
Sally paled. “I say . . .” she sputtered.
Lady Callinda’s chins quivered. “They’re Scotsmen,” she said in an outraged whisper.
Esmeralda smiled coldly. “Yes. They are aware of that.”
“It’s been difficult for them, don’t you know.” Elizabeth leaned in. “Coming down a step. Socially.”
Victoria took a sip of her tea. “I think they’ve done well, though.”
“They’ve been very patient.” Esmeralda nodded.
“Quite.”
Oh. It was fun watching these vipers squirm.
And now that they were all utterly ruined, it didn’t matter in the least what these creatures thought. Elizabeth found the prospect quite freeing.
What a pity they all came to their feet, stiltedly made their farewells, and left.
As the door closed on their persons, Victoria sighed. “And here I was just warming up.”
“I wasn’t,” Esmeralda said. “I’m boiling.”
Victoria patted her hand. “No doubt that is the change.”
To which her aunt scowled.
“Let’s hope we don’t have any more visitors,” Elizabeth offered in an attempt to turn the topic.
“I shall tell Henley to take down the knocker.” But before she could ring the bell, Henley scratched on the door once more.
Esmeralda growled, Victoria sighed, and Elizabeth flinched. There was no one she really wanted to see.
But when Henley announced the Duchess of Moncrieff, they had to admit her. For one thing, she was a duchess. For another, she was nice.
It was, in fact, a pleasure having her. She swept into the room and gathered Esmeralda into a hug. “I heard,” she said. “I thought you could use some support.”
“Mary and Anne have gone to Kent to visit an ailing relative,” Victoria announced.
Kaitlin glanced at her. “Of course they have, and may I say I do hope dear . . .” She glanced at Esmeralda. “Who is ill?”
“Um . . . Aunt Hortense.”
“Of course. I do hope dear Hortense feels better soon.”
“She will probably die,” Elizabeth muttered, and the others pretended they didn’t hear. It hardly signified. Hortense was a wraith as it was.
“I hope you don’t mind. I brought Helena, Countess of Darlington, and Eleanor, Lady Pennington.” She ushered the others forward.
“Of course not. Come in. Come in,” Esmeralda said with a hint of relief in her tone. With this company, and the standing of the duchess, any newcomers would, perforce, make their regrets and leave. “Henley! More tea!” she called as Henley wheeled in a fresh tray.
Tea with the duchess and her friends was lovely. There were no awkward conversations or sly looks and—given the circumstances—there was a fair amount of laughter.
Elizabeth reflected again how very much she liked these women.
She had just settled in for the afternoon, relieved to not have to carry a conversation, when a ruckus sounded in the foyer.
“Oh dear,” Esmeralda said . . . just as the door burst open and Twiggenberry, with Henley on his heels, barged into the room.
“I will not be turned away. I shall see Elizabeth and I shall see her now.”
He stopped short as he took in the company and had the good manners to pale. “I . . . ah . . . beg your pardon, Your Grace.” He bowed. “I’ve just come to see my betrothed.”
The duchess tipped up her chin, just ever so slightly, and looked down her nose at Twiggenberry, which, considering the fact she was in a seated position, was a feat.
She pulled it off beautifully.
“Lord Twiggenberry. We are having tea.”
Elizabeth shuddered. She probably should take notes. She’d never realized a voice so beautiful could be so . . . terr
ifying.
“I am sorry, Your Grace. I need to speak to Elizabeth for just a moment in private. May I?”
The duchess stared at him.
He shifted from one foot to the other.
“May I?”
“You may not.”
Elizabeth could have hugged her. It must be wonderful having so much power.
Twiggenberry gaped at her and then sputtered, “I must insist.”
The temperature in the room dropped noticeably. “Must you?”
Realizing he was not getting what he desired, he turned his attention. “Elizabeth, I heard about your sister.”
Victoria smiled, widely. “Mary and Anne have gone to Kent to visit an ailing relative.”
“Dear Aunt Hortense,” the duchess added.
“Dear thing,” the countess said mournfully.
“Dear sweet thing,” Victoria added.
Twiggenberry snorted rudely. “Whatever. I’ve heard. And I want you to know that I don’t give a fig about that. I have the special license. We shall be married tomorrow.”
Elizabeth gaped at him. Her stomach lurched. “I cannot possibly marry you tomorrow.”
His eyes narrowed. “You can and will. I’ve had enough of your games, girl. By tomorrow evening, you will be my wife and there is nothing you can do to stop it.”
Oh horrors.
To her surprise, Aunt Esmeralda stood. “There is, actually. As her guardian, in lieu of the duke, I can withdraw my permission.” When his face went purple, she said, in a conciliatory tone, “You cannot rush such a thing as a wedding.”
“Especially a society wedding,” the duchess murmured with a smile.
Twiggenberry’s expression went hard. He stared at them for a long moment and then he cleared his throat and rocked back on his feet. “We shall see.”
“We shall,” Esmeralda agreed, which did not appear to please Twiggenberry in the least. A vein on his forehead began to throb.
“I shall consult with the prince directly.” His gaze sharpened on Elizabeth. “I do have his ear, you know. And if he orders an immediate wedding, it shall be done.”
With that he spun from the room.
Despite his threats, Elizabeth was happy to see him gone.
“Oh, I don’t know why he doesn’t find a wife who wants to marry him,” Victoria grumbled.
“Would that be possible?” Lady Pennington quipped.
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