A Hasty Betrothal

by Jessica Nelson

  “This is not squabbling. It is communication, though perhaps a tad incomplete.” She pressed her heels into her mount and sprang forward.

  When they arrived at the cottage, Elizabeth amazed him. In his mind, he had painted a picture of her that did not exist. With the tenants, she was gracious and courteous. Though soft-spoken and wont to say little, she listened to them, offering to help in different ways. She left a basket of goodies on their table. A surprising sense of pride undulated through him as he watched her act every inch the lady of the estate.

  Who was this Elizabeth? How had he not known she existed? After promising Annie’s son that she’d gather some of the other men together to patch his roof, Elizabeth said her goodbyes and followed Miles out of doors. Though the small cottage had smelled like spiced cider and yeast, the vastness of the outdoors brought relief from his aversion to closed spaces.

  It was not an overly bothersome paranoia, but at times he began to feel caged and longed for a wide-open space in which to breathe.

  “Are you well, Miles?” Elizabeth asked after he’d helped her mount and they began the journey home.

  “I was beginning to feel the press of the walls,” he admitted without thinking.

  She was quiet for a moment.

  The wind had picked up, carrying with it the sultry musk of impending rain. He thought of his mill workers, of the coughs that plagued those in the Littleshire factory, the fatigue. If the windows did not ease the burden, he might have to look into reconstructing the layout. Breathing in fibers every day posed a significant threat to their health.

  “Is that why you avoid the library?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

  Startled, he glanced over to find her brow quizzical and her expression compassionate. He measured the comment, searching for traces of truth. “Perhaps when I have been confined too long is when I yearn for the openness of the outdoors.” He let out a short laugh as a memory surfaced. “I was locked in a trunk once, you see.”

  Elizabeth gasped.

  “Do not alarm yourself. It was only a few minutes but it felt like eternity. Thankfully your brother found me. We’d been playing hide and seek, and I had it in my head that a trunk was the perfect place to hide.”

  “How terrible!”

  “I remember the odor to this day. Rotting wood and mothballs.” He shrugged. “Ever since, too long in a room and I get itchy.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I am certainly glad John found you, else I would have no one to argue with.”

  Her smile warmed him, as bright and cheerful as the day was not.

  “That would be a sad loss indeed.”

  “I owe you an apology. Not for anything I said,” she rushed on, “but for making you feel as though I think poorly of you. For making you feel as though you are deficient.”

  He cringed. “An apology is unnecessary. My ego is intact despite your disapproval of my ways.”

  “But that is just the thing, Miles...” And her lips curved in that dreamy way she had about her. “You are a lovely man, full of many fine qualities, and I shall be proud to be your wife.”

  Was she jesting? “Just last night you said I was the last person you’d ever choose,” he pointed out carefully.

  “I spoke hastily.” Her head bent. “Since I am being forced to marry, you are my best choice. Despite your overbearing, superficial ways, you have a sweet disposition and truly care about me.”

  “Is this a compliment or an underhanded way of insulting me?” He could not even find the will to tease her. Not one person of his acquaintance had ever referred to him as overbearing. And superficial? He nudged his mare closer to her. “How is it that I’m superficial, Elizabeth Wayland?”

  “It’s not necessary to argue over trivial matters.” She picked her head up and stared straight ahead, toward the estate, which loomed before them.

  “I am merely asking you to provide evidence for your suppositions.”

  “And that is why you’re overbearing.”

  Miles clenched the reins. She was maddening, simply maddening. “If we are to have any kind of comfortable marriage, perhaps we should find a way to overcome this squabbling.”

  She shot him a glare. “You may call this a squabble, but I feel that it is a fair indicator of our lack of compatibility in almost every way. If our marriage is to be a contractual agreement and nothing more, do you not feel that we should stop bothering with needless niceties? I have no desire to be a part of your world or to engage with you on a daily basis. The agreement is that I shall be available and able to play the part of hostess when you are in need. Other than that, I believed myself to be free to live how I want. Even if that means taking care of my grandmother. There is no reason to live with you after our marriage. I was truly shocked when you practically ordered me to do so last night.”

  Forceful words, and they cut him to the bone. “I see my affection for you has blinded me to the coldness in your character.”

  “Oh, yes, I’m well aware of how little you value my person. You are constantly reminding me of all the ways in which I am failing. Every time I see you, I must bear your unconscionable comments about my person and my hobbies.”

  “That is not true.”

  To his surprise, her chin quivered. She glanced away, drawing her reins closer as if to shield herself.

  He set his jaw. “You cannot go around protecting yourself from life. You must be involved. You must reach out to others. I only say these things because of my deep affection for you. I only wish to see you happy.”

  “Am I not happy with my books? My life is fulfilling as it is, and it is your incessant desire to change me that wears on me.”

  “Change you?” Miles edged closer to her, ignoring her mare’s nervous prancing. He grabbed Elizabeth’s arm, gently yet firmly, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You are just right the way you are, and I regret ever making you feel as though you are not.”

  He hesitated, feeling the heat of Bitt’s skin through her broadcloth sleeve. Her eyes were on him, wide, surprised, but she did not shrug away. And somehow their horses had stopped moving to nibble at the grass. It was the two of them on a sloping hill, sunlight and flowers their sweet companions. Beneath his sternum, his heart pulsated in quick, staccato beats.

  “I know what it is to never be enough,” he said quietly. The thing he most adored about Bitt was her capacity to listen. Not in a normal conversation. No, in those she flitted away like a delicate butterfly, lost in her dreams the way a monarch lost itself in a bouquet of lilacs. But when someone spoke to her of important matters, she listened with her whole self.

  He saw that gift of hers now. The line of her vision did not waver from his. He found himself clutching her arm because memories spiraled through him in angry circuits, a long algorithm of mathematical codes that all ended with the same conclusion: he had never been enough.

  “Miles, please tell me.” Her fingers skimmed his hand, lightly, each stroke resting on his knuckles, as though comforting him.

  And strangely enough, he had need of comfort, for he had never spoken of his marriage to anyone. But if Bitt was to be his wife, she should know something of what he’d gone through. He owed her that, at the very least.

  “Anastasia was a great beauty,” he began. Creaking words crowded his throat. Having never been spoken, perhaps they had rusted within, tarnishing him in ways he had not anticipated. “Her laugh, it was said, was reminiscent of the tinkling bells played at Hyde Park during winter months. Her eyes the sparkling blue of a clear lake, and her form comely in every way. She came from an impoverished earl’s family. It was said that she had little dowry. No one in the ton cared. Perhaps you were too young to remember?”

  “I was in the schoolroom still, but I heard of her. She came to a house party once, perhaps when you two were married, though you were not
with her.”

  Miles winced. “I should have been with her more.”

  “Were you not working, providing for your family?”

  She had been expensive, he thought, remembering the first time he’d received the bill for her clothing expenditures. But he’d believed he was making her happy.

  “There is more to marriage than building a comfortable nest. Anastasia had needs I couldn’t meet, and as bright as her smiles were, her frowns were far deeper and darker. I did not have the skill nor the knowledge to make her happy.”

  Bitt’s eyes turned glossy. Her fingers crept around his until their hands were clasped. “I had no idea, and I am deeply distressed to hear you speak thus.”

  “I only speak so for a reason.” He brought her hand to his mouth. He pressed his lips lightly against her glove, letting the touch linger. When he let her hand go, he saw that her mouth was parted. “It is never my intent to cause you harm, nor to imply that you are lacking in any way. In my eyes, you are wonderfully you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  In my eyes, you are wonderfully you.

  The words played with Elizabeth’s emotions, weaving in and out of her every thought the following morn. While she ate breakfast, she thought of Miles. When she tried to read, he interrupted the story, his intense gray eyes teasing her memories. He had spoken so fiercely, as though he truly meant what he said.

  She frowned at her breakfast plate. They were to leave for London in an hour, and she could not relieve herself of these intrusive, disturbing thoughts. If only she could shoo them away as easily as she swatted a fly.

  Not that she swatted flies often. Why, she never even went into the barn except for making visits to the tenants or to check on their houses. She always walked to Littleshire. The barn smelled of mold, animal droppings and a broken heart.

  What a fanciful notion. She wanted to swish it away, too, but it buzzed at the back of her mind, reminding her of feelings she wanted to forget, memories of unkindness better left in the darkness of a stable corner.

  Groaning, she pushed her plate away and stood. Her things should be packed by now and all that remained was to bid farewell to her grandmother.

  A servant entered, head down, and set the mail plate on the table.

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth paused, realizing she did not know the girl’s name. It really wasn’t so horrible to be unfamiliar with the lesser housemaids, but seeing how Miles treated everyone as an equal stirred uncomfortable guilt. The maid turned to leave, so Elizabeth touched her shoulder. The girl’s face crumpled and then quickly settled into a mask as she looked down at the floor.

  Elizabeth dropped her hand to her side. It was easy to forget that this girl was raised to believe her livelihood depended on her employer’s goodwill. A perfectly valid belief, for it did.

  “I apologize for startling you. I simply wish...to know your name. You may look up.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The hesitant words followed an even more reluctant action. “My name is Sara.” A swift curtsy followed. Head down again.

  Frustration simmered, but Elizabeth tamped it down. After all, how often had she chosen to speak to the staff? Not often at all. In fact, she only addressed Stockton, the head housemaid, White, and the most senior maid in her office twice a week. Every Monday she conferred with Cook about the menu. Except when she’d been in London. In that case, they had planned ahead.

  “Sara, thank you for bringing the post.”

  Her eyes flew upward, dark brown orbs wide with apprehension and perhaps a touch of disgust? They flittered across Elizabeth’s birthmark. She steeled herself to remain facing the young maid when all her instincts begged her to duck her face. Thankfully, Sara did not look too long upon the mark, returning her gaze to the floor instead.

  “You’re welcome but it is my duty, my lady,” she said. “I carry the post in every morning.”

  Wonderful. Now she felt even more the dunce. “Well, you do a marvelous job. I shall mention so to Ms. White.”

  At the mention of their head housemaid’s name, Sara’s face colored. “Thank—thank you.”

  Annoyed that Sara found her so fearsome, Elizabeth waved her hand in dismissal, and the maid scurried off.

  Sighing, she turned to the silver salver that Sara had forgotten on the table. How was it that she struck fear into the staff? She frowned, scooping up the multiple letters on the table to take to Grandmother. The duchess spent a goodly amount of time each day composing missives to her London friends, and perhaps friends in other places.

  Elizabeth had never quite paid attention to her grandmother’s communications, but now she wondered if she ought to have done so. Delved a little deeper, expressed interest. She found her Grandmother in the garden room, talking to a plant covered with fiery orange blooms.

  “There, my love, you have performed marvelously. I knew that you would, of course, being an expert in all matters of horticulture. Why, dear Lindon told me to give you a bit more sunlight, just enough to warm your leaves, and he was right. The old sod.” Grandmother giggled, completely unaware of Elizabeth.

  She did not usually like to interrupt Grandmother, as her garden room was to her as the library was to Elizabeth, but Grandmother adored her letters. And as she planned to leave soon, now was as good a time as any to say farewell.

  She set the salver on a small table near the doorway. Grandmother turned, her outfit a frothy concoction of purple frills and pink ruffles. She looked like a pretty flower herself.

  “Is that the post?” Grandmother rubbed her hands together and shuffled over. Though spry, sometimes she moved stiffly due to rheumatism in her knees. “I have been waiting for the latest on-dit regarding the princess. She is so shockingly impolite. Though I must say that Prinny deserves her crassness, after all he’s put her through.” Her grandmother clucked her tongue.

  “I know not, only that a maid—” She caught herself. “Sara, brought the post to me.”

  “To you?” Grandmother’s brows crinkled. “Whatever for, if the mail is mine?”

  “A pertinent point,” Elizabeth murmured.

  “And to leave the salver with you, how perfectly uncouth and ill trained. I shall have a word with White about this Sara. It is not your job to deliver the post, do you understand me, Elizabeth? We pay staff to perform these duties.”

  Her throat closed. “Please do not say a word to White. Sara was perfectly well mannered. I took the salver of my own accord, because I wanted to see you before I leave for London.”

  Grandmother set down the paper she’d been holding. “Leave? Why, you only just arrived!”

  “I know, but I have been planning our betrothal ball, and I am also to visit Drury Lane next week. It will be a boon for Miles and me to be seen together before the house party. The staff will need time to prepare. It is still acceptable to hold it here?” She’d spoken with Grandmother about the event yesterday, but it did not hurt to check again.

  “Of course, you will have the party here. I have invited a few friends myself.” Grandmother sniffed, lifting her nose. “I must say, I’m perturbed at the manner in which Mr. Hawthorne is stealing you away from me.”

  “You wanted me to marry,” she pointed out gently, ignoring the tight ball growing in her stomach.

  “I simply did not think the process through.” Grandmother let out a long, shuddering sigh. “At least I shall have my flowers to keep me company. But who shall plan the menu? And direct the cleaning?”

  Elizabeth stepped forward, drawing her grandmother into a hug, breathing in her familiar scent of talcum powder and lavender. “I shall help in whatever ways possible. Why, it is probable that I shall even be living here after my marriage.”

  Grandmother’s eyebrows snapped together so fiercely that she startled Elizabeth. “Bah! I should think not. I expect grandchildren.”
<
br />   The knot that had been forming constricted, making her feel positively ill. “There will be no children, Grandmother. I do not dare pass on my blemish.”

  “My dear girl, that is hogwash of the silliest sort. There is nothing a touch of rouge or powder can’t lighten. My sister had one, you know, and she was a great force in society.” Grandmother lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “She turned down a prince, you see, all for the sake of true love.”

  True love... Elizabeth had lost her own chance for that. Regret curled through her, strong and viscous. Oh, why had she gone out to that gazebo? Why couldn’t she have braved the ball instead of placing her reputation on the line? If she could only go back...but alas, the deed had been done and Lord Wrottesley had seen to it that she was compromised.

  Blinking hard, she handed Grandmother the mail she still clutched, wishing desperately to be curled on her bed with a good book. Her grandmother took the stack, saying nothing though a knowing gleam lit her eyes.

  “This is for you, dearie.” She held out a parchment stamped with a crest Elizabeth did not recognize.

  She took the missive. The paper was of fine quality, thick and stiff. Prying the letter open, she scanned the contents and then, to be sure, she read it again. Her heart crashed to her stomach, or so it felt. The strength left her legs and she moved quickly to the small couch Grandmother had set up near a potted fern. Sinking down, she closed her eyes as apprehension scuttled through her on pointed toes, piercing every nerve and bringing her breaths to quick inhalations.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Grandmother glided over, concern in every syllable. “Elizabeth Wayland, you are as white as a sheet.”

  “I have had an invitation,” she said painfully. All these years of writing articles, and now this...

  “From?”

  “The Society of Scientific Minds wants me to speak to them of my experiences with a telescope.”

  “The who?” Grandmother shook her head. “And the what? Speak English, my dear. Does this have to do with those articles you write?”