“What is this nonsense I hear about you not having a Season again this year?”
“Didn’t you know, Jules?” she answered dryly. “The Gillerfords are stalwart and cling stubbornly to even the most archaic of notions.”
“That makes me wonder if you’re actually a foundling.”
Beth had more sense in her smallest toe than her entire family did combined. “What half-witted notion is your father clinging to this time?”
She picked a flower from an obliging bush. “He won’t allow me a Season until Mary is married.”
Julian eyed her sidelong. “Has he met your sister? You’ll never get a Season.”
“Believe me, I am fully aware of that.” She spun the little yellow flower in her fingers. “I am hatching a plot to abduct an unsuspecting gentleman and force him to wed her.”
He stopped right in the middle of the path. “Is that what this is? You’re walking me to my matrimonial demise?”
“Don’t be dramatic.” She kept walking, leaving him behind.
He hurriedly caught up to her. “You didn’t pick me for Mary?” He was busy enough disabusing Mary of that idea without Beth taking up the same notion.
“Good gracious, no,” she answered. “If you ever set your cap at Mary, I’ll—”
“—run me through with my own sword?” he finished for her.
She shrugged. “More or less.”
Lands, Beth was always vastly fun to spend time with. She deserved her share of Society and diversions.
“Your banishment must be remedied,” he said firmly.
“It’s not banishment so much as forced hermitry.” She sighed, though without any of the theatrics so many young ladies employed. “At times I feel trapped in this house.”
“What would you do if you had London at your feet and the freedom of being out in Society?” He was honestly curious.
“Hatchard’s. Hyde Park. Balls, dinner parties. At this point, I would settle for anything other than these corridors and this back garden.” She held her hands up in helplessness. “I said ‘hermitry,’ and ‘hermitry’ it is.”
“We must find a way of getting you out of this house.” There had to be a solution.
Beth tossed him a lopsided smile. “Are you volunteering to sacrifice one of your friends for Mary’s cause?” Her auburn eyebrow arched doubtfully.
“I have far too few friends to risk losing one in such a drastic fashion. They would all abandon me after that.” He took her hand in his and met her gaze. “I will think of something, Beth. I swear to you, I will.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she warned.
He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “Now, sneak back in and up to your room. I’ll return to the ball after I’m certain you haven’t been spotted.” No point working on her entry into Society if he’d ruined her reputation beforehand. “Dream of a glorious Season, my friend.”
“Or Mary’s untimely demise,” she said.
He grinned. “Whichever brings you the greatest satisfaction.”
He kept to the gardens for a long moment after she slipped away and around the back of the house. It was utterly unfair that she was denied Society and all its enjoyments simply because her older sister was too wretched to be courted.
“I will find a way to help her,” he vowed. “I will.”
Chapter Three
Since Elizabeth was destined to die a lonely old maid with a vast deal too many cats, the ten minutes she had spent with Julian at the ball were likely to be the highlight of her rather pathetic existence. He’d laughed with her, listened to her, swapped ridiculous observations on the absurdities of life. That had been their way for years. It was little wonder, really, that she was so fully in love with the thick-headed man. They were wonderful together, but he thought of her only as little Beth, with whom he’d grown up.
She sat on the window seat in her bedchamber, her stitching lying untouched on her lap. Sewing was possibly her least favorite occupation. She’d much rather read, but Father’s Town library was severely lacking in anything with even the slightest appeal.
Mary stepped abruptly inside. “I need your green bonnet.”
Elizabeth had long since stopped expecting her sister to ask for anything, let alone ask kindly. “You have boxes and boxes of lovely bonnets.”
Mary rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. “But none of them are green. I cannot be seen in my cream carriage dress without a green bonnet. Now, where is it?” she demanded with a stomp of her foot.
I am going to die alone.
Fanny, the lady's maid whom Mary and Elizabeth shared, rushed in. “Miss Gillerford! Miss Gillerford! Mr. Broadwood is here to fetch you already.”
That brought a look of near panic to Mary’s face. “The bonnet, Elizabeth. Give it to me.”
“Mr. Broadwood is insisting that Miss Elizabeth come as well,” Fanny said.
“Elizabeth? Come along on my carriage ride?” Mary’s shout likely carried across the Channel. She flew from the room in an instant.
Elizabeth met Fanny’s eyes. “Has he really invited me along with him?”
She nodded. “And he told Mrs. Gillerford that he’d not take Miss Gillerford unless you came as well. Your mother is in quite a state, I tell you.”
Dear, sweet Julian. “It seems to me that, for the sake of my mother’s health, I had best dress for a carriage ride.”
Fanny was a step ahead; she had Elizabeth’s carriage dress out of the wardrobe already and laid out on the bed. “If we are really quick, you can be downstairs before Miss Gillerford reaches the end of her tantrum.”
“Excellent.”
They had a speed borne of years spent helping Elizabeth dress during the rare few moments Mary wasn’t demanding her maid’s presence. Elizabeth hurried down the stairs just as Mary was storming up them.
“I don’t know how you managed this,” she hissed, “but do not embarrass me.”
Elizabeth ignored the all-too-familiar warning and continued to the front entryway. Julian stood there, gloves still on, hat in his hands. He looked up as she approached, and his perturbed expression melted into a friendly smile.
“I see word has reached you,” he said.
“To quote my beloved sister, ‘I don’t know how you managed this.’” She accepted her wrap from the maid at the front door.
“I simply chose to be stubborn about it,” Julian said. “You being in a carriage with your sister and me— an old family friend— along with a maid, would be quite unexceptional. It isn’t quite a Society function, but at least you will have left the house.”
She tightened the ribbon under her chin. “When I inevitably join a convent, I will make certain to submit your name for sainthood.”
His adorable smile surfaced on the instant. “You? In a convent?” He shook his head and chuckled. “The vow of silence alone would see you expelled.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Then I suppose you’ll simply have to kidnap a husband for me.”
“I thought we were forcing someone to wed Mary.”
“Did I hear my name?” Mary was practically running down the stairs. She held her blue bonnet on her head with one hand and clutched her skirt with the other. “I am ready. We can be on our way now.”
Mary stopped directly beside Julian, perhaps a touch too close for propriety. He held himself stiffly but quite civilly.
“How lovely it will be to make a turn about Hyde Park during the fashionable hour,” Mary said. “Why, simply everyone will be there!” Her eyes darted to Elizabeth, and she added, under her breath, “And I do mean everyone, even those who aren’t wanted.”
Elizabeth ignored her sister. This was her one chance at escape, and she wasn’t going to miss it. She waited patiently at the door, watching Julian expectantly. He flashed her the briefest of smiles, enough to set her heart fluttering about— a sensation she went to great lengths to keep hidden.
“Ladies,” he invited, motioning to the door. “The park awaits.”
I will simply have to savor it.
Julian handed Mary up first. She sat on the forward-facing seat, directly in the middle. Elizabeth was handed up next. As she moved to sit rear facing, Julian spoke up.
“Do make room for your sister, Miss Gillerford,” he said. “Surely you would not insist she ride rear-facing. Such a thing would be unforgivably rude.”
To give someone a forward facing seat was an indication of their importance, or in the matter of gentlemen and ladies, it was an act of chivalry for him to give up that seat to her. Mary clearly would not countenance her younger sister being given as much consideration as herself, lest the two be viewed as equals. Elizabeth knew her sister too well to expect otherwise.
Mary sputtered a moment whilst Elizabeth stood on the top step, unsure where she ought to sit. “But my maid has a sad tendency to grow ill in a carriage if riding rear-facing.” Formulating schemes and half-truths at a moment’s notice was one of Mary’s particular skills. “So Elizabeth simply cannot sit here.”
Mary’s brow assumed a triumphant arch.
But, then, so did Julian’s. What had left him so decidedly pleased?
“I would hate for your maid to be ill,” he said. “Miss Elizabeth, would you kindly assume the rear-facing seat?”
She did. She would have ridden up beside the driver if it meant a few moments out of the house.
Just as gallantly as he’d handed up Elizabeth and her sister, Julian offered Fanny his assistance and saw her situated beside Mary. “That leaves me the place beside Miss Elizabeth. I hope you do not mind.”
“Not in the least.” She managed the response in a tone of only casual interest despite the laughter begging to be released at the sight of Mary’s thunderous expression. She would wager that her sister had only just realized how her fabricated story had cost her the opportunity to sit beside the object of her matrimonial ambitions.
But Mary never was long discouraged. “We may just as easily— I daresay more easily— make this outing without Elizabeth.” Somehow the dismissive remark was made in a tone of utmost sweetness and innocence.
“Perhaps.” Julian took the seat beside Elizabeth and motioned for the driver to set the horses in motion. “But her presence will prevent any unwanted whispers.”
“Whispers?” Mary smiled and swatted in his direction with her hand. “Why, you silly man. What whispers could there possibly be? Our families are neighbors, and our connection is quite well established.”
“Perhaps, but we are not actually related. I would hate for Society to take any notions into their heads that are neither accurate nor welcome.”
Mary shrugged a dainty shoulder. “No one would ever suspect us of anything untoward.”
“I am far more concerned that they would suspect us of courting.”
Mary’s coy smile dropped off quickly, and her demeanor grew more than a touch icy. But she did stop talking, which, Elizabeth would wager, was a welcome change for everyone present. She had never seen anyone handle Mary as neatly as Julian just had. She felt a real urge to applaud.
“Have you ever been in the park during the daily crush?” Julian asked Elizabeth.
“I haven’t, but I have heard a great deal about it. Is the spectacle as ridiculous as I suspect?”
A laugh rumbled deep in his chest. She’d always liked his laugh, even when they were young and it had been more of a giggle. “There is a great deal of the ridiculous about the ritual. Once we reach the park, the carriage will all but come to a stop, perhaps inching forward now and then. Completing a full circuit will require vast swaths of time, far more than it ought.”
“Perhaps the horses should be permitted a brief nap between the sixth and seventh hour,” Elizabeth suggested. “Or a moment’s respite for dinner.”
Again his laugh filled the space between them. A lady could happily spend the rest of her days listening to the sound.
“Does everyone simply arrive at the park, come to a standstill, and then, once darkness falls, inch their way back home?” she asked.
“Nothing as painless as all that, I’m afraid.” His brown eyes lit with mirth. “We will be required to bid good day to every person who passes by— at least to those we ought to consider not too far below our notice.”
“And how does one know which are too lowly or ill-mannered to be acknowledged? Do they wear signs?”
“Signs?” Mary sputtered her way into the conversation at last. “How utterly ridiculous. Little wonder you have never had a Season. You wouldn’t have the first idea how to go about it.”
Julian gave Elizabeth a dry look. “Oh, there are signs, Beth. Irrefutable signs.”
“You are going to make me laugh, and then I will be lectured about being properly demure, and that will ruin this entire outing.”
“Who could possibly disapprove of seeing you laugh?” he asked.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes in perfect unison with Mary’s huff of disapproval before she said, “If you are trying to make me jealous, Julian, you will have to flirt with someone other than Elizabeth. No one could possibly believe a gentleman of your standing would be interested in her.”
Her sister’s barbs had long ago stopped wounding. Julian, however, did not seem immune to the shock of her vitriol.
“And why wouldn’t a gentleman be absolutely enthralled with Miss Elizabeth?” he demanded.
Mary smiled lightly, as though she truly thought Julian’s question was an ironic one. “Even at the slow pace of the park, we’d not have time enough to list all the reasons, now would we?”
The barbs might not have wounded Elizabeth any longer, but she still didn’t enjoy them. “I have complete confidence, dearest sister, in your ability to rattle off as much of the list as you possibly can during the course of this excursion.”
That, apparently, served as an invitation enough for Mary. “You are here as a guest,” she said firmly. “Inserting yourself into the conversation is rather ill-mannered.”
“Reason number one,” Elizabeth mouthed to Julian, holding up a single finger.
“And whispering is rude as well,” Mary added.
Elizabeth added a second finger to the first. Julian seemed to only just hold back a grin. He looked away from them all, waving to someone familiar he saw not far off.
“Here comes Mr. Carson,” Mary said. “He has four thousand a year and is related to some of the first families of England.” She hissed under her breath to Elizabeth. “Do not—”
“—embarrass you,” Elizabeth finished for her. “I know the rules, Mary.”
“You know them, but you do not follow them.”
Elizabeth caught Julian’s eye once more. She held up three fingers, not bothering to hide her amusement.
“We are making remarkable progress, aren’t we?” he whispered. Then, at full voice, he greeted a young gentleman who had just ridden up alongside the carriage. “Damion, I would like to introduce you to someone.”
With a look that could only be described as approaching panic, Mr. Damion Carson said, “I have already made Miss Gillerford’s acquaintance.” He eyed Mary as if she were an owl and he a helpless rodent. It seemed that he really did know Mary.
“I wish to make you known to Miss Elizabeth Gillerford.” Julian proceeded without hesitation. “She has not made her official bows yet, but I assure you, her acquaintance is well worth making.”
Mr. Carson offered a proper inclination of his head. “Miss Elizabeth, it is an honor to meet you at last.”
“At last?” That was an unexpected phrase to hear tagged onto th
e end of a sentence uttered by a gentleman she did not at all know.
“Julian has mentioned you many times before,” he explained.
He had spoken of her to his friend? Her heart picked up at the thought. Perhaps her adoration of him was not so entirely one-sided.
“I understand you two grew up together,” Mr. Carson added.
And with that her heart dropped once more. Had Julian said nothing more about her than merely the fact that they’d grown up together?
“We all grew up together,” Mary interjected.
Mr. Carson kept his gaze on Elizabeth and Julian. “Yes, I understood that as well. And” — he actually seemed to be speaking to Elizabeth now— “I am told you are fond of books and have a similar taste in literature as Julian. I confess that histories and treatises are not entirely to my liking, though I have enjoyed a few.”
So that was the topic of discussion with which she was concerned: her taste in books. How lowering.
“I do read other things, of course.” She had always been plucky, something for which she was particularly thankful at the moment. “I simply have limited to access to anything else. Mr. Broadwood occasionally lends me volumes from his family’s library, but he is often engaged elsewhere during the Season and no longer has time for his childhood friend, more’s the pity.”
Mr. Carson smiled broadly. He struck her as a genuinely happy person, and she was glad of it. Julian would do well having such a friend in his life. “I have seen our Mr. Broadwood at any number of Society events during the Season, and I assure you his time would be far better spent perusing the shelves of a library than inexpertly navigating the social whirl.”
“I look forward to one day watching his ineptitude in action,” Elizabeth said.
“It is a sight to behold. And I hope that when you do have your Season, you will allow me to dance with you, as I find I would very much like to continue building our acquaintance.”
Elizabeth blushed so immediately and so deeply that no one in all of Hyde Park could have failed to notice. “I would like that as well.”
Sarah M. Eden British Isles Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 15) Page 19