by Julia Quinn
“Oh, and I suppose you know them all personally,” she scoffed.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
She yanked the paper out of his hand, ripping a small corner off in the process. “Oh, please,” she said derisively. “There are two lords and a sir. How could you know all of them?”
“Your brother is a sir,” he reminded her.
“Yes, well, your brother is not,” she shot back.
“You don’t know that.”
Her head jerked up. “Who are you?”
“My brother isn’t a sir,” he said in an annoyed voice. “I don’t even have a brother. I was merely pointing out that you have the unfortunate habit of leaping to assumptions without sorting through your facts.”
“What,” she said, so slowly that he knew her temper was hanging by a frayed thread, “is wrong with these men?”
“Three of them are married.”
Her jaw shook, probably from grinding her teeth together. “What is wrong with the unmarried guests?”
“Well, for one thing, this one”—he pointed to Sir Bertram Fellport—“is a drunk.”
“Are you certain?”
“I could not in all conscience allow you to marry a man who abuses spirits.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Damn, but she was tenacious. “Yes, I’m certain he’s a drunk. And a mean one, at that.”
She looked back down at the torn paper in her hand. “What about Lord Binsby?”
“He gambles.”
“Excessively?”
James nodded, beginning to enjoy himself. “Excessively. And he’s fat.”
She started to point again. “What about—”
“Married, married, and married.”
She looked up sharply. “All three of them?”
He nodded. “One of them even happily.”
“Well, that certainly bucks tradition,” she muttered.
James declined to comment.
Elizabeth let out a long exhale, and he noticed that her sighs were bridging the gap from annoyed to weary. “That still leaves Mr. William Dunford and Captain Cynric Andrien. I suppose one is deformed and the other a simpleton?”
He was sorely tempted to agree with her, but one look at Dunford and the captain and she’d know he’d been bamming her. “They are both considered to be handsome and intelligent,” he admitted.
“Then what is the problem?”
“Dunford’s a rake.”
“So?”
“He’s certain to be unfaithful.”
“I’m hardly a prize, James. I can’t expect perfection.”
His eyes glowed hot. “You should expect fidelity. You should demand it.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “It would be lovely, I’m sure, but it hardly seems as important as—”
“Your husband,” he growled, “will remain faithful to you or he will answer to me.”
Elizabeth’s eyes bugged out, her mouth fell open, and then she collapsed into a fit of giggles.
James crossed his arms and glared at her. He was not accustomed to having his shows of gallantry laughed at.
“Oh, James,” she gasped, “I’m so sorry, and that was very sweet of you. Almost”—she wiped her eye—“sweet enough for me to forgive you for abducting me.”
“I didn’t abduct you,” he said sullenly.
She waved her hand. “How on earth do you expect to defend my honor once I’m married?”
“You’re not marrying Dunford,” he muttered.
“If you say so,” she said, so seriously and so carefully that he knew she was dying to laugh again. “Now, then, why don’t you tell me what is wrong with Captain Andrien?”
There was a long pause. A really long pause. Finally James blurted out, “He stoops.”
Another pause. “You’re ruling him out because he stoops?” she asked incredulously.
“It’s a sign of inner weakness.”
“I see.”
James realized that Andrien was going to have to do more than stoop. “Not to mention,” he added, stalling while he tried to think up a suitable fib, “that I once saw him yell at his mother in public.”
Elizabeth clearly couldn’t manage a reply. Whether that was due to suppressed laughter or utter stupefaction, James didn’t know.
And he wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to find out.
“Er, it was most disrespectful,” he added.
Without warning, she reached out and touched his forehead. “Do you have a fever? I think you have a fever.”
“I don’t have a fever.”
“You’re acting like you have a fever.”
“Are you going to put me to bed and tend to me with loving kindness if I have a fever?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t have a fever.”
She took a step back. “In that case, I had better go.”
James sagged against the wall, utterly worn out. She did this to him, he realized. If he wasn’t grinning like an idiot, he was furious. If he wasn’t furious, he was overcome with lust. If he wasn’t overcome with lust—
Well, that was a moot question, wasn’t it?
He watched her as she swung the door open, mesmerized by the delicate curve of her gloved hand.
“James? James?”
Startled, he lifted his head.
“Are you certain Captain Andrien stoops?”
He nodded, knowing he’d be proven a liar the next day but hoping he could devise another, more clever lie to patch up this one.
She pursed her lips.
His gut clenched, then did a flip.
“Doesn’t that seem odd to you? A military man who stoops?”
He shrugged helplessly. “I told you not to marry him.”
She made a funny little sound from the back of her throat. “I can improve his posture.”
He could only shake his head. “You’re a remarkable woman, Elizabeth Hotchkiss.”
She gave him a nod, then walked out the door. Before she shut it, however, she poked her head back in. “Oh, James?”
He looked up.
“Stand up straight.”
Chapter 14
The following afternoon found Elizabeth skulking near the front gates of Danbury House, cursing at herself first for her idiocy, then for her cowardice, and finally just because.
She’d followed Susan’s advice and left her notebook—the one in which she scribbled all of her household accounts—at Danbury House the day before. Since the notebook was so essential to everyday life, she was required to retrieve it during the garden party.
“There is nothing suspicious about my presence here,” she said to herself. “I forgot my notebook. I need my notebook. I can’t possibly survive until Monday without it.”
Of course that didn’t explain why she had brought the notebook—which had never before left the Hotchkiss cottage—with her in the first place.
She’d waited until nearly four, when the guests would probably be outside enjoying the warm country sunshine. Lady Danbury had mentioned tennis and tea on the south lawn. It wasn’t precisely on the route Elizabeth would need to take in order to retrieve her notebook, but there was no reason that she could not make a special trip to find Lady Danbury to ask her if she’d seen the notebook.
No reason except her pride.
God, Elizabeth hated this. She felt so desperate, so grasping. Every time the wind blew, she was certain it was her parents up in heaven, retching as they watched her debase herself. How horrified they would be to see her this way, making up flimsy excuses just to attend a party to which she had not been invited.
And all this just to make the acquaintance of a man who probably stooped.
She groaned. She’d been standing at the front gate, leaning her head against the bars for twenty minutes. If she waited here much longer, she was liable to slip through and get her head stuck, just like Cedric Danbury at Windsor Castle.
There could be no more putting
it off. Holding her chin up and shoulders back, she marched forward, purposefully skirting the area near James’s cottage. The last thing she needed right now was an audience with him.
She slipped through the front door of Danbury House, her ears perked for party noise, but all she heard was silence. The notebook was in the library, but she was pretending she didn’t know that, so she moved through the house to the French doors leading out to the back terrace.
Sure enough, a dozen or so stylishly clad ladies and gentlemen were milling about on the lawn. A couple of them were holding tennis racquets, some were sipping punch, and they all were laughing and chattering away.
Elizabeth bit her lip. Even their voices sounded elegant.
She nudged out onto the terrace. She had a feeling she looked as timid as a mouse, but that was really of no matter. No one would expect Lady Danbury’s companion to stride brazenly into the party.
Lady D was holding court at the far side of the terrace, sitting in an overstuffed chair that Elizabeth recognized as belonging to the blue room. The velvet-covered monstrosity was the only piece of indoor furniture that had been removed to the terrace, and it definitely played the part of a throne, which Elizabeth imagined was Lady D’s intention. Two ladies and a gentleman sat with her. The ladies were nodding attentively at every word, the gentleman’s eyes were glazed over, and no one seemed to think it odd that Malcolm was lying on Lady D’s lap, belly up with his paws splayed out like an X. He looked like a little kitty corpse, but Lady Danbury had assured Elizabeth time and again that his spine was fantastically flexible and that he actually liked the position.
Elizabeth edged a little closer, trying to make out Lady D’s words so that she could interrupt at the least disruptful moment. It wasn’t very difficult to follow the conversation; it was more of a monologue than anything else, with Lady Danbury as the star player.
She was just about to step forward and try to catch Lady Danbury’s attention when she felt someone grasp her elbow. Whirling around, she found herself face-to-face with the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Golden hair, cerulean eyes—“handsome” was far too rugged an adjective to describe him. This man had the face of an angel.
“More punch, if you please,” he said, handing her his cup.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry, you don’t understand. I—”
“Now.” He smacked her on the rump.
Elizabeth felt her color rise, and she thrust his punch glass back at him. “You are mistaken. If you’ll excuse me.”
The blond man’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Elizabeth felt a wary shiver scoot down her spine. This wasn’t a man to cross—although one had to think that even the most ill-tempered sorts couldn’t get that upset over a glass of punch.
With a little shrug, she dismissed the incident from her mind and made her way to Lady Danbury, who looked up at her in surprise. “Elizabeth!” she exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing here?”
Elizabeth schooled her features into what she hoped was a winsome, apologetic sort of smile. After all, she had an audience. “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, Lady Danbury.”
“Nonsense. What is the matter? Is there a problem at home?”
“No, no, it’s nothing so dreadful.” She stole a glance at the gentleman at Lady Danbury’s side. His coloring was rather like James’s, and they seemed to be of a similar age, but his eyes somehow looked years younger.
James had seen things. Dark things. It was there in his eyes, when he thought she wasn’t watching him.
But she had to stop fantasizing about James. There was nothing wrong with this gentleman here. Looking at him objectively, she had to admit that he was devastatingly handsome. And he definitely didn’t stoop.
He just wasn’t James.
Elizabeth gave her head a mental shake. “I fear I’ve left my notebook here,” she said, looking back at Lady Danbury. “Have you seen it? I do require it before Monday.”
Lady D shook her head as she sank her hand into Malcolm’s copious ecru fur and rubbed his belly. “I cannot say that I have. Are you certain you brought it? I’ve never known you to bring that sort of thing before.”
“I’m certain.” Elizabeth swallowed, wondering why the truth felt so much like a lie.
“I wish I could help you,” Lady Danbury said, “but I do have guests. Perhaps you would like to conduct a search on your own. There cannot be more than five or six rooms where you are likely to find it. And the servants know you have free rein of the house.”
Elizabeth straightened and nodded. She’d been dismissed. “I’ll go look right now.”
Suddenly the man standing next to Lady Danbury jumped forward. “I’d be happy to assist.”
“But you can’t leave,” one of the ladies whined.
Elizabeth watched the tableau with interest. It was clear why the ladies had been so interested in remaining at Lady D’s side.
“Dunford,” Lady Danbury barked, “I was just telling you about my audience with the Russian countess.”
“Oh, I’ve met her already,” he said with a wicked grin.
Elizabeth’s mouth fell open. She’d never met anyone who couldn’t be cowed into submission by Lady Danbury. And that smile—good God, she’d never seen anything like it. This man had clearly broken many hearts.
“Besides,” he continued, “I rather fancy a good treasure hunt.”
Lady Danbury frowned. “I suppose I had better introduce you, then. Mr. Dunford, this is my companion, Miss Hotchkiss. And these two ladies are Miss and Mrs. Corbishley.”
Dunford looped his arm through Elizabeth’s. “Excellent. I’m sure we shall find that errant notebook in no time.”
“You really needn’t—”
“Nonsense. I cannot resist a damsel in distress.”
“It’s hardly distress,” Miss Corbishley said in a waspish voice. “She lost her notebook, for goodness’ sake.”
But Dunford had already whisked Elizabeth away, through the terrace doors and into the house.
Lady Danbury frowned.
Miss Corbishley glared at the terrace doors as if she were trying to set the house on fire.
Mrs. Corbishley, who rarely saw reason to hold her tongue, said, “I’d dismiss that woman, were I you. She’s far too forward.”
Lady Danbury fixed her with a scathing glance. “And on what do you base that assumption?”
“Why, just look at the way—”
“I have known Miss Hotchkiss longer than I have known you, Mrs. Corbishley.”
“Yes,” she replied, the corners of her mouth pinching in a most unattractive manner, “but I am a Corbishley. You know my people.”
“Yes,” Lady Danbury snapped, “and I never liked your people. Hand me my cane.”
Mrs. Corbishley was too shocked to comply, but her daughter had the presence of mind to grab the cane and thrust it into Lady Danbury’s hands.
“Well, I never!” Mrs. Corbishley sputtered.
Thump! Lady Danbury rose to her feet.
“Where are you going?” Miss Corbishley asked.
When Lady Danbury answered, her voice sounded distracted. “I have to talk with someone. I have to talk with someone right away.”
And then she hobbled off, moving faster than she had in years.
“You do realize,” Mr. Dunford said, “that I shall be in your debt until the day I die?”
“That’s a very long promise to make, Mr. Dunford,” Elizabeth replied, her voice tinged with amusement.
“Just Dunford, if you please. I haven’t been called Mister in years.”
She couldn’t help but smile. There was something uncommonly friendly about this man. It had been Elizabeth’s experience that those blessed with amazingly good looks tended to be cursed with amazingly bad temperaments, but Dunford seemed to be the exception that proved the rule. He’d make a fine husband, she decided, if she could get him to ask her.
“Very well, then,” she said. “Just Dunford. And who were you trying to escape? Lady
Danbury?”
“Good God, no. Agatha is always good for an entertaining evening.”
“Miss Corbishley? She did seem interested.…”
Dunford shuddered. “Not half so interested as her mother.”
“Ah.”
He quirked a brow. “I gather you’re acquainted with the type.”
A little burst of horrified laughter escaped her lips. Good God, she was that type.
“I’d give an entire guinea for those thoughts,” Dunford said.
Elizabeth shook her head, not certain whether to continue laughing or dig a hole—and jump in it. “Those thoughts are far too expensive for—” Her head jerked. Was that James’s head she’d seen poking out from the blue room?
Dunford followed her stare. “Is something wrong?”
She waved an impatient hand at him. “Just one moment. I thought I saw—”
“What?” His brown eyes grew sharp. “Or who?”
She shook her head. “I must be mistaken. I thought I saw the estate manager.”
He looked at her with a blank expression. “Is that so very odd?”
Elizabeth gave her head a little shake. There was no way she was even going to try to explain her situation. “I…ah…believe I might have left the notebook in the sitting room. That is where Lady Danbury and I usually spend our days together.”
“Lead on, then, my lady.”
He followed her into the sitting room. Elizabeth made great pretense of opening drawers and the like. “A servant might have confused it with Lady Danbury’s things,” she explained, “and put it away.”
Dunford stood by as she searched, clearly too much of a gentleman to pry too deeply into Lady Danbury’s belongings. It didn’t matter much if he did look, Elizabeth thought wryly. Lady D kept all of her important possessions locked away, and he certainly wasn’t going to find the notebook, which was tucked away in the library.
“Perhaps it’s in another room,” Dunford suggested.
“It might be, although—”
A discreet knock at the open door interrupted her. Elizabeth, who’d had no idea how she was going to finish her sentence, gave swift and silent thanks to the servant standing in the doorway.