He cackled at that, as Elizabeth stood up in anger. “You’re lying!” she said, her hands by her sides in fists.
“I am not,” he said, holding his head high, obviously pleased to see that he had finally managed to anger Elizabeth. “Ask him yourself if you’d like. I know he is a well-practiced liar, but at some point, he must admit to what he has done. It isn’t as though he would indeed marry you. Or… oh no, you poor thing. You thought he actually would?”
He began to laugh at that, not a low chuckle this time, but a long laugh. Elizabeth felt as though she were ready to explode, and all she could do now was raise her arm and point her finger to the door of the gardens.
“Get. Out.”
“Elizabeth…”
“Get out, right now,” she seethed. “Before I find a footman and have you thrown out. Go right to the front door, march yourself down those steps, and do not return here. Ever. Do you understand me?”
“I—”
“I said, do you understand me?”
Her words were now low and threatening, and Henry visibly blanched, providing Elizabeth with a moment of slight satisfaction.
“Very well.”
He sniffed, turned, and let himself out the door, but not before he sent a small, knowing, smug smile over his shoulder toward Elizabeth. It grated on her to admit it, but he had achieved his goal.
For the moment he was out of sight and out of hearing, she collapsed back onto the bench, laid her head in her arms, and began to weep.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It had been over four days since Gabriel had asked Elizabeth to marry him—for the second time in their lives. He had been understanding, he felt, the first day. Patient the second. Slightly frustrated the third, the day she had promised to provide her answer. And now, four days later, he decided he was no longer waiting. Surely by now, she knew what she wanted. At the very least, she owed him a response of some sort.
It was a matter of principle, he attempted to reason. A man of his stature could not be so affected by a woman.
But as he crossed the threshold of the bank, nodding to Anderson, he sighed. He had allowed Elizabeth into his being. It was more than physical. He was tied to her, connected in a way he couldn’t explain, and he didn’t want to let her go. He wouldn’t.
He climbed the stairs determinedly, surprised for a moment when he found that the anteroom outside of her office was now filled with a desk, a young man sitting behind it.
“Good afternoon,” Gabriel said, as he walked past the man to Elizabeth’s door beyond.
The young man looked up at him, stood hastily, and began to tap his fingertips nervously on the table. “Your grace, good afternoon,” he said, bowing slightly to Gabriel, which caused him to smile. Such circumstance.
Seeing that Gabriel was about to enter Elizabeth’s office, the man rushed from behind his desk to stand between Gabriel and the door. There wasn’t much room, and Gabriel raised an eyebrow at him, not pleased with his close proximity.
“Ah…” the lad, who looked as though he had only recently reached his twentieth year, stuttered with a sheepish smile, “M-my apologies, your grace, but ah, Lady Elizabeth is not accepting visitors at the moment.”
As much as he wanted to, Gabriel didn’t step back, attempting to cower the man to allow him to pass.
“She will accept me.”
A bead of sweat broke out on the man’s brow.
“Unfortunately, Lady Elizabeth asked that no one enter—in-including you.”
“I see,” Gabriel said, stepping back slightly, feeling the rejection as though Elizabeth had physically pushed him away. Not that he would allow this man to see how it had affected him. “Well, please tell Lady Elizabeth that I was here. And that I will be expecting to speak with her very soon.”
A storm beginning to rage inside of him, Gabriel turned on his heel and strode back down the corridor. If she was anyone else, Gabriel wouldn’t waste another moment of his time. But this was Elizabeth, and damn it all, he couldn’t leave her be.
*
Which is how he found himself, two hours later, sitting in the drawing room of Elizabeth’s home, having tea with her grandmother. Apparently, Elizabeth hadn’t extended her ban of his presence as far as her residence, or at the very least, she hadn’t informed her grandmother of the fact. Mrs. Clarke was as lovely as ever, asking after his family and questioning him about his days in Parliament and with what other activities he was keeping busy.
It was clear where Elizabeth had received her intellect from, that was for certain. In her grandmother, Gabriel could see Elizabeth’s identity fifty years in the future.
They spent nearly an hour in companionable conversation until Gabriel finally heard the opening of the door down the corridor at the front of the house. The beat of his heart picked up, likely due to the amount of tea he had drunk in the last hour. For surely, surely a woman’s footsteps couldn’t cause it to be so?
But of course, they were. Gabriel had to admit that he was both aching in anticipation to see Elizabeth, and also nervous about what the confrontation may bring. Would this be the last of their meetings? Would she tell him she wanted nothing to do with him any longer, that she was turning down his proposal of marriage? For why else would she have no wish to speak with him any further?
The frustration that had simmered down low through his conversation with Justine began to rise as Elizabeth’s footsteps grew ever louder, and Gabriel took a breath to calm himself.
Perhaps he should have gone to her father first to ask for her hand in marriage. Was that why she was concerned? No, he chastised himself. What a stupid thought. A woman like Elizabeth would want to have the opportunity to choose herself, and she and her father hardly got along as it was.
Gabriel had no idea who this contrary, unsure of himself person in his head was. If this was what it meant to be in love with a woman, he wanted nothing to do with it.
Love? He hadn’t meant in love with her. Interested in her, perhaps.
But before he had time to contemplate the frightening idea any further, Elizabeth stepped into the room. Gabriel could feel the tension radiating off of her as her eyes came to rest upon him first. She stared at him, hard, her gaze unreadable, though she was nearly trembling with the emotion coursing through her—emotion she was attempting to hide, of course.
Mrs. Clarke stood, looking between the two of them.
“Good afternoon, Elizabeth,” she said, and Elizabeth finally turned and saw her, a clearly forced smiling emerging.
“Good afternoon, Grandmother,” she said. “You look lovely as always.”
“Thank you, my dear,” Mrs. Clarke said, walking over and placing a hand upon Elizabeth’s arm. “I have to see to some correspondence, so I shall leave the two of you for a moment. I won’t be far.”
Elizabeth nodded, then took the seat her grandmother had vacated. She gripped the arms of the chair as though she were holding onto the edge of a boat to keep from drowning, though she sat as tall and regally as any queen ever had before.
She was dressed in a deep purple gown, the color so dark and the fabric so stiff that it almost looked as though she were in mourning. Perhaps she was.
“Elizabeth—” he began, but she cut him off.
“No more speeches,” she said, her words clipped. “No more fancy words, nor lies, nor stories from your lips. I have a question for you, and I ask you to answer it truthfully.”
He nodded, sitting back in his chair, rather stunned. Her lips were pressed tight together, her face so pale it was nearly white.
“Did you collude against me with my cousin?”
Gabriel’s mouth dropped open in shock. Damn Henry. Damn him and his big mouth and his slippery ways. He couldn’t imagine what the man might have said to Elizabeth, but he knew it wouldn’t have been anything good.
“No.”
She tilted her head, as though she could read what he was actually thinking.
“I know Henry is as disho
nest as they come. But I am also aware that you look very uneasy, and you, Gabriel, are never uneasy. Please, please do not lie to me.”
“I never actually colluded with him,” Gabriel said reluctantly, his gaze upon her, seeking out her eyes as he needed her to understand.
“Did you agree to help him in any way? Is there any truth to what he told me?”
Gabriel sighed.
“Yes, but—”
She stood then, walking to the door, holding it open.
“You can leave.”
“Elizabeth—”
“Please,” she said, her voice and her expression desperate now, and he knew she was on the brink of losing control of her emotions, which he actually wanted, needed her to do.
“I am not leaving until you listen to what I have to say,” he continued, standing himself as he walked over and looked down at her. “I told him I would agree to his schemes, but only so that he would leave you alone. I thought if he was of the impression that I would partake in his collusion against you, that he would leave you be. Clearly, I was wrong.”
“Clearly. He is certainly of the impression that you have helped create my downfall, which also includes the downfall of the bank—of which you are a partner. You should only be trying to build it up.”
“Elizabeth, I was trying to help the bank.”
“How could helping Henry possibly help the bank?”
“I would never do anything that Henry requested.”
“I don’t understand—”
“Elizabeth, can we please sit down and discuss this, instead of standing here as you hurl accusations and I attempt to defend them? Come, you are smarter than this. You know your cousin, know the lengths he will go to in order to cause discord.”
He could see her fists clenching and then unclenching at her sides, and she looked away from him, over his shoulder to the other side of the room.
“Gabriel,” she said, her head dropping now to look down to the floor, her shoulders sagging in defeat. “I’m tired. Yes,” she said holding up a hand when he began to speak, to protest that it was partially her own fault for taking it all on her own. But apparently, she already knew what he was going to say. “I know, I should share my burden. But at the moment, what is most tiring is the fact that I do not know who I can turn to and who is against me. I am tired of your manipulations, Gabriel. You become interested in the bank, interested in me, at the same time. Whether it was or is a game to you, I have no idea, but this is not just a game. This is my life. And if you marry me, it is forever. Sure, I may provide you stimulating conversation, but marriage is more than that. It’s a pact to be together, with only one another and no one else. You’ve made your promises, I know that, but it is hard to know what to believe when it seems like everywhere I turn there is one lie and then another. Yes, at the moment you are interested in the bank, in me, but what happens when that interest wanes? Do you turn to another scheme, another business, another woman?”
Gabriel could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly at her words, at the emotions roiling within him.
“There is no other woman like you,” he said, but she was too far within herself to listen any longer.
“For now,” she said, her hands falling to her sides. “Gabriel, five years ago, you promised me a life together. A marriage to the man I loved. I could hardly believe that a future duke wanted me, though the fact of your title had nothing to do with it. It was you, the man, Gabriel Lockridge, who I wanted. You were the man every woman wanted, though for different reasons than I. And I thought that you chose me. When I saw you with Lady Pomfret, I could hardly believe my eyes. I wanted to deny it, to tell myself that I was seeing someone else, something else, but of course, it was you. You knew how much loyalty meant to me, that I could never be with a man who took anyone else. You broke me then, and just when it seems that trust is beginning to heal, it is called into question once more.”
“So what, then?” he asked, angry with her refusal to listen to him, for not having any faith in him, for not realizing that he was a different man than he had been five years ago, for her hold on past hurts and past sins. “That’s it? We are to go our separate ways?”
“I suppose so,” she said her voice small, and Gabriel was filled with a feeling of despondency like nothing he had ever experienced before.
He had known, from the moment he had asked her to marry him, that this was a potential outcome, but never had he thought that the result could have such an effect upon him. Part of him—his heart, he realized, longed for him to keep fighting, to beg her to reconsider, to listen to him, to allow him to prove to her the man that he was.
But the other part—his ducal mind, his pride, his very being—would not allow him to do so. That would be admitting defeat, which Gabriel would never, ever do.
“Are you sure that is what you want—what you really want?” he asked one last time, hearing the harshness in his voice but unable to prevent it.
“I… think so.”
“Well, you better be sure, Elizabeth, because I will not be asking you to marry me a third time. So answer me, and answer me now. Is your final answer to my proposal a no?”
She finally looked up at him, and when she did, a glaze of tears covered her eyes.
“I can hardly agree to marriage in such circumstances!”
“A no then,” he said, hardening his heart in an attempt to protect it from the pain that was currently coursing through it. “Very well. Goodbye, Elizabeth. I hope your ledgers keep you warm at night.”
And with that, he brushed past her and out the door, refusing to take even one glance behind him as he stormed out of the house.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Elizabeth gave herself one day. One day in which she stayed at home, lay in bed, moped around the house and ate far too many sweets. At first, the despair was nearly overwhelming, encompassing her to the point that she was nearly incapable of doing anything else. When it threatened to overtake her, she set her jaw and determined that she would not give in.
Instead, she let the misery simmer, and in pushing away the grief, it began to turn, to take shape as something else entirely.
It began with anger. All of the frustrations that had been building inside Elizabeth, that she had refused to acknowledge or discuss, burned inside of her, to the point that the fire threatened to consume her. She didn’t wholly blame Gabriel—her own stubbornness, her life’s circumstances, her fickle heart was as much to blame.
And so, she decided to do something about it.
After her day of melancholy, Elizabeth woke with purpose. That morning she dressed in brilliant green silk, so unlike the somber, careful colors she had selected until now so as not to stand out or garner any particular attention as a woman. No, today she had much to see to, and she would use her femininity to her advantage.
She strode through the doors of the bank with purpose, climbing the stairs, saying her hellos, but with less of a smile than usual. When she found her office, she nearly jumped in surprise, as she had almost forgotten about Mr. Brant, who she had moved from downstairs to be her secretary. Her primary goal for his appointment had been to keep away unwanted visitors, but on his first day, he had proven quite resourceful.
“Good morning, Lady Elizabeth,” he said, jumping up from the desk, an eager smile on his youthful face. “I trust you had a lovely day yesterday?”
It was difficult to keep from responding to his enthusiasm, and Elizabeth returned his smile despite her mood.
“It was a necessary day, Mr. Brant, that much I can say.”
He seemed confused but nodded.
“I have correspondence awaiting you on your desk. I was unsure of whether or not I should open it, but I am happy to respond to anything you would like me to. There are a few urgent memos regarding clients of the bank who wish to speak to you.
“Thank you, Mr. Brant. Can you please arrange a meeting for me with Mr. Bates and the senior clerks for later this afternoon?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Thank you.”
The correspondence, fortunately, was primarily good news, until she came to the last letter. Another client had chosen to leave the bank. Elizabeth sighed and placed her head in her hands. She hated to admit it, but Henry might be right. She may not be the best leader of this bank after all or, perhaps she needed to start doing business differently—or else she may allow it to fall to ruin. Her grandfather would be so disappointed.
Elizabeth heaved a sigh, drumming her fingertips on the tabletop. Perhaps she should find someone else to take her place. But it certainly wouldn’t be Henry.
Later that afternoon, she sat at the table with Mr. Bates and the senior clerks in front of her. It wasn’t a particularly strange ask to have them all meet with her, though typically she provided them with more notice.
“Thank you all for coming here today,” she said. “I have a question to pose to you, and I would ask that you keep our conversation here confidential.” At their nods, she continued. “I wish to confirm that as the senior partner, I have the power to confirm, deny, or replace any other partner of the bank.”
Shocked expressions stared back at her. Whether or not it was within her ability was one thing—the fact that she was actually considering such a thing was clearly another.
Mr. Bates was the first to regain his voice.
“Certainly, you have the power to do so, Lady Elizabeth,” he said. “You may name or remove any partner you like. When your grandfather named the Duke of Clarence partner, he used his own authority to do so, though I cannot recall what the outcome was, nor did he ever tell me which partner was in question. He did, however, discuss the possibility of termination.”
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 113