“I do believe I asked you a question,” he growled and Elizabeth felt a hand reach up to seize her waist. She stepped back, shocked that he would be so bold when so many people stood near. Elizabeth reasoned that his liquor intake had much to do with his dishonorable actions. She gritted her teeth together before managing a taut smile.
“Forgive me, Lord Cooke. I did not hear you,” she fibbed. “Do ask me again.”
She fixed her eyes upon him, in hopes that her flat stare would sober him well enough to bring him to his senses as it had the last time. It did not.
“I said,” he slurred. “Do you prefer the company of dukes to the company of lowly lords?”
Once more, his palm rested against her waist and Elizabeth knew he would not go quietly. She did not wish to create a scene in such a festive circumstance, particularly not where the cousin of the bride was involved but Lord Cooke was leaving her with little other option. Once again, Lord Cooke had underestimated her as a meek woman. She weighed her options closely, debating her next move with careful deliberation but before she could shove his roaming hand from her dainty dress, a voice boomed out with force.
“Good heavens, Cooke, have you no shame, speaking with a lady in that state? I imagine the mere smell of your breath will get everyone drunk for yards about! Do step away from Miss Elizabeth and sleep off your debauchery before your cousin is shamed by her poor relations at her own nuptials.”
Elizabeth did not raise her head for she knew already who spoke. She sensed that she would oft hear that voice in her dreams. Even without looking, she felt the Duke’s eyes on her. Lord Cooke sneered but removed his hand from Elizabeth’s waist.
“Are you not betrothed, Your Grace?” Lord Cooke mumbled, jutting his chin out defiantly as he spoke. “Have you not other matters with which to worry yourself?”
“You need not worry about my schedule, Cooke. I have broad shoulders to carry a great load. You should worry about where you put your hands and how you behave among the ladies. I realize you are ape-drunk at the moment but I suggest you walk away before you regret your actions in the morning.”
Elizabeth was left to wonder if the morning was the only time which Lord Cooke might be faced with regrets. The look of ire in the Duke’s eyes was quite nearly of murder. She hoped he would not act impulsively and strike Lord Cooke, regardless of how much he might deserve such a blow.
Lord Cooke glowered and for a terrifying moment, Elizabeth was certain he would be the first to throw a punch. She cast him a sidelong look but the Duke of Pembroke held the lord’s gaze steadily until the fire dimmed from Cooke’s eyes. He must have realized the match was not even and that instigating a fight in his inebriated state would not end well.
“You must learn the art of accepting rejection,” the Duke continued, smiling pleasantly when Lord Cooke turned away. The lord muttered something unintelligible but Elizabeth was unbothered by whatever it was he cursed. The moment of awkwardness had passed and violence would not ensue, not that evening. Elizabeth exhaled in a long, swooping breath.
“Are you well?” the Duke asked when Lord Cooke had stumbled away. “Did he harm you before I arrived?”
“I am unharmed. Thank you, Your Grace.”
Elizabeth darted her eyes about, unsure of where to look. While she was grateful to him for intervening, she also did not want to grant him a smile, lest she encourage his blatantly flirtatious behavior. She could not forget the lady who had interrupted them earlier. Yet as she felt his eyes continue to bore into her, Elizabeth was unable to resist and she lifted her chin to meet his eyes. There was a sincere concern glittering against the emerald of his irises.
“Are you certain, Miss Elizabeth?” His tone was demanding, anger creeping in like he meant to go to blows with Lord Cooke if he had dared hurt her in some way.
What does he want from me? She wondered and shook her head at the ridiculousness of the question. It did not matter what he wanted. She could give him nothing while he was betrothed to another. Perhaps her innermost thoughts attracted the loud blonde lady whom the Duke called his fiancée for before she could speak, Miss Priscilla appeared again.
“Your Grace! How do I manage to lose you when you are the most dashing man in the room?” she cooed but her blue eyes were fixed on Elizabeth, her meaning unmistakable.
“Good night,” Elizabeth muttered and turned to collect the morsels of food she had found for Lucy.
“Miss Elizabeth!” the Duke called out but she did not turn. It did not matter what he said or what kind of strange attraction she reasoned they shared, he was not to be trusted.
Elizabeth darted up the stairwell once more, grateful that she did not encounter anyone else she knew. She had had more than enough interaction for one day and there was a far more pressing matter waiting in her bedchambers.
She allowed herself back inside and saw, to her horror, that Lucy remained standing in the same spot she had left her.
“Sit down!” Elizabeth exclaimed, noting the pale of the girl’s cheeks. She was amazed Lucy had not swooned in her absence as the maid appeared ready to fall with a second’s notice.
“Miss Elizabeth?” Lucy asked in confusion. “Where would you like me to sit?”
“Anywhere that suits you. I have brought you something to eat. I did not mean for you to stand in wait for me,” Elizabeth sighed. In her household, she would not have needed to explain such thing to the servants. Elizabeth handed the girl the linen but Lucy’s mouth formed a fine line and she refused to accept it.
“What is the issue?” Elizabeth demanded. “Do you not fancy cheese? Bread? Fruit?”
Tears welled in Lucy’s dark eyes.
“Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth,” she breathed. “I am not permitted to accept gifts from the guests.”
“This is not a gift!” Elizabeth insisted. “This is nourishment. There is a grave difference. You must eat if you wish to work!”
Lucy peered up at her and Elizabeth sighed. She moved the girl toward a high-back chair and gently sat her down.
“Please,” she insisted, her tone softer as she recognized the fear in Lucy’s eyes. “I will not breathe a word of this to a living soul, I swear it on my honor.”
Lucy’s eyes darkened dramatically and a thin, sardonic smile formed on her lips. The expression caused Elizabeth’s blood to run cold. It was clear the servant girl did not have high regard for the words which Elizabeth had uttered.
“What is it?” she murmured and placed the food on the table at Lucy’s side. “You may be frank with me.”
Lucy hesitated, her smile faltering slightly and uncertainty colored her eyes.
“Is there honor in noble blood?” she whispered. The maid’s voice was so quiet, Elizabeth strained to hear her. The question made her pensive.
“It should be that way,” she offered by the way of an answer but even as she spoke, her mind moved toward Lord Cooke and the Duke of Pembroke.
Lord Cooke certainly did not act with any great honor this evening, Elizabeth reminded herself. Albeit, he was quite drunk.
She wondered if that was merely an excuse but she brushed aside the question and focussed fully on Lucy who continued her thought.
“I do not think it is blood which makes you honorable, Miss Elizabeth,” Lucy sighed. Tentatively, she reached for a piece of cheese and hungrily gobbled it down her gullet. A small look of relief crossed her face and Elizabeth felt the same sensation in her chest. Watching the girl eat made her feel much better about how the evening had progressed. In the end, something good had happened, lightening her heart considerably.
“Where do you believe honor is formed, if not in the blood?” Elizabeth asked but it was not so much a question for the servant as it was to ponder for herself.
“I cannot say where it is formed, Miss Elizabeth but I do believe it resides in the heart.”
Elizabeth grinned at the romanticism of it but her skepticism was tinged with melancholy.
“I do hope my heart contains honor
, Lucy,” she replied.
“Miss Elizabeth, you may be the only honorable soul in this house full of nobles.”
Elizabeth eyed her but Lucy was far too consumed with eating to pay her any mind. She had been right—the girl was closed to starving and Elizabeth watched with shame and anger as she devoured the bits of food she had been given. The servant’s words had affected her more than she wished to admit. She could see the girl had been terribly mistreated by the Baron of Fife but that did not mean other noblemen were cruel also, did it? Surely Lord Fife was an exception and not the rule.
Dear God, Elizabeth thought worriedly, her mind unavoidably turning to the Duke of Pembroke once more. I do hope so.
Chapter 7
Leonard rose before dawn on the morning of the wedding, determined to find Elizabeth and speak with her alone. It had been impossible with Priscilla attached to his side the previous evening, although Leonard had suspected that Elizabeth was purposely avoiding him. Priscilla had become a leaden weight, particularly when she had laid eyes upon Elizabeth. Not for the first time, Priscilla had displayed her propensity for jealousy, clinging to Leonard with more force than usual. It was not difficult to understand his fiancée’s fears. They were founded in this instance; Leonard was undeniably smitten with Elizabeth.
The household and guests were asleep, the night still resting over the horizon but a shot of grey waved through the sky, the promise of morning nigh. Servants already bustled through the manor, silently but busily.
“May I get you a cup of tea, Your Grace,” one boy asked and Leonard nodded.
“If you would. On the terrace—or have you a conservatory?”
“Indeed, Your Grace, to the east of the property. Shall I bring it there?”
“Please,” Leonard replied. He watched the boy scurry off and for the second time in two days, he noticed how young and thin was the household staff.
I daresay, if my servants were without meat on their bones, I would insist they eat more, he thought wryly and made his way through the grand house toward the conservatory. He found it without incident but when he entered, he found he was not alone. It was surprising to find another nobleman awake at such an hour on what promised to be such a festive day. After two days of activity, all else were deep in slumber, likely dreaming of the wedding to follow that morning.
“Pardon me,” the Duke said cordially when he chanced upon another man inside. “I do not mean to intrude. Would you rather be alone?”
The man spun from where he admired a row of blooming flowers and cast Leonard a charming smile. He gestured grandly with his arms outstretched, inviting the Duke closer with the movement.
“Nonsense,” he replied. “You are hardly an intruder. Please, come and join me. Shall I send for tea?”
“No need,” Leonard replied. “I have a cup on its way.”
He wandered closer to the older man, his brow furrowing. Instantly, he realized with whom he shared the space. The resemblance was uncanny.
“Lord Gordon, I presume?” he asked, arching a dark blonde eyebrow. The Viscount was surprised by the recognition.
“Indeed,” Lord Gordon replied, his own brow knitting into a V-shape. “Forgive me but I cannot seem to place you. Albeit I did imbibe more than my limit last eve. Even so, I find it difficult to believe I would have forgotten such a distinguished gentleman.”
Leonard shook his head, a broad smile forming to show a row a dazzling ivory teeth.
“We have not met—at least not to my recollection. I am Leonard, Duke of Pembroke,” he replied. “I had occasion to meet your children last evening. You must be very proud of your brood.”
Several emotions appeared to flash through Lord Gordon’s face but he did settle on stoicism. Leonard wondered what else ventured through the older man’s mind and whether Elizabeth had mentioned him to her father. He was not sure if he rather she did or did not. Leonard could not imagine what the young lady might have said.
“Indeed,” the Viscount murmured. The door to the conservatory opened and the servant entered with Leonard’s tea.
“Breakfast will be served in one hour,” the boy announced. “If you desire something before that, I will bring it forth at your request.”
“Thank you,” Leonard said pleasantly. “I shall wait. Lord Gordon?”
He did not notice the look of surprise either man gave him but the Viscount waved the servant away dismissively without responding. He fixed his eyes back on the Duke with seemingly renewed curiosity.
“I have not been to Pembroke in many years,” Lord Gordon said, reaching to sip his tea. He sat at a small table and indicated for the Duke to do the same.
“But I did know your father briefly. He was a wise and prosperous man. I wish I had better opportunity to spend time in his company.”
“Indeed he was those things,” Leonard agreed, ignoring the pang of wistfulness he felt in his chest. It was not an uncommon feeling he had whenever the late Duke was mentioned and Leonard had come to accept the pain as something which would remain. He decided, instead, to focus his mind on better thoughts.
“I appreciate you saying so, Lord Gordon. Do you have much opportunity to come my way? It would be my great honor to host you and your family should the wind chase you toward me.”
Lord Gordon’s hazel eyes brightened and Leonard was again struck by how many features he shared with his son and Elizabeth. Frances must have taken after her mother in appearance, although Leonard could also see the resemblance to the Viscount in the oldest woman’s face.
“How very generous of you, Duke. I daresay I will entertain your offer quite seriously,” Percival chuckled but there was a knowing tone to his voice as though he suspected Leonard’s invitation was not made idly.
“You should come soon,” Leonard urged. “Autumn in Pembroke is most lovely.”
Understanding lit the Viscount’s eyes and an amused smile broadened his lips. He replaced his cup upon its saucer and leaned forward conspiratorially. Instinctively, Leonard did the same.
“You fancy my daughter, Elizabeth, do you not?” the Viscount asked with unabashed frankness. Leonard feigned a look of surprise, despite the forwardness of the query but he knew he fooled no one with the gesture.
“I fear I do not know Miss Elizabeth well enough to make that assessment,” he fibbed. The mere sound of her name in his ears caused his pulse to race through his veins.
“You are a dashing fellow, Duke, and I do mean that with all the respect due to your title.”
“Thank you, Lord Gordon but I sense there is a caveat to your compliment.”
The Viscount’s smile grew and he nodded.
“I see you also have good wits. Your father was also a sound man. It is unsurprising you share his mind.”
“You need not brace me for bad news with compliments, Lord Gordon. I can sense you are attempting to cushion the blow with your flattery. What is it you wish to say about Miss Elizabeth?”
Lord Gordon did not seem off-put by being brought to the point. If anything, appreciation glittered in his eyes but he did cease with the complimentary speaking and say his mind.
“Elizabeth is not easily taken by charms and sweet words. I fear she is not much like her peers in many ways, oftentimes to my chagrin. Ladies her age are apt to be obsessed with fashion and husbands. My Elizabeth, well, she is much more serious-minded, although one would not know it to look at her.”
“That does not necessarily need to be a bad thing, Lord Gordon. I find women with high minds to be fascinating.”
Leonard tried to think of three such women he had known in his life. The older he got, the more the fairer sex seemed to be like Priscilla—insipid and insufferable. The Viscount scoffed.
“It is easy for an outsider to make that observation but quite another matter when she is one’s daughter. Nevertheless, there is a reason I speak out of school and tell you this.”
Leonard waited expectantly, his bright eyes eager for any additional information he might
learn about the man’s beautiful daughter.
“If you wish to win her heart, Duke, she will not be swayed by the usual methods, I am afraid. Many men have tried and failed. I dare not broach the subject of marriage for she grows defensive.”
Leonard’s beam widened, the challenge attempting to taunt him.
“Ah, Lord Gordon. You mistake me for other men. I assure you I am not.”
“I have a distinct impression about you, Duke. I daresay I am rarely wrong when my instinct is involved. It is what makes me such a prolific hunter.” Leonard caught the note of pride in his voice and seized the opportunity to pounce himself.
“Do you hunt?” Leonard asked casually. “Pembroke does offer fine hunting. More the reason for you to join me at my estate…if the desire should strike you, of course.”
The Curious Life of the Unfortunate Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 7