by Mary Balogh
She set her hand in his and he raised it to his lips.
“I do it because you care,” she said. “You could so easily be arrogant, Colin. You have everything from which arrogance often springs. But you care for others. Even, I think, your mother. You cannot simply ride roughshod over her and impose your will now that you are able, can you? Instead, you look for a solution that will suit everyone, your mother and your future wife included.”
“I suppose it really cannot be done, can it?” he said ruefully. “Are some problems just without solution, Elizabeth?”
“I do not know,” she said. “That is too hard a question. Thank you for the walk. Thank you for listening. Colin . . .” She hesitated. “Choose someone you can really care for. Someone you can love. Not just someone you believe capable of filling the role of baroness.”
“And yet,” he said, smiling at her, “you would choose with your head only and no reference to your heart.”
“My case is different from yours,” she told him.
“Because you are elderly and past the age for love and romance?” he asked.
She laughed softly. “Something like that,” she said.
“You can be so foolish sometimes,” he said, “despite your experience and superior wisdom. You are not elderly or even close. And you were made for love. And probably even romance.”
“And laughter and joy?” she said, and he remembered using those two words with her at the Dunmore ball.
“Yes, and those too,” he said. “Please do not do something you will forever regret just because you believe life has passed you by.”
Surely she would regret marrying Codaire. He was a dry old stick, to say the least. Though perhaps he was just the man for her. What did he know? All he did know was that he wanted her to find and experience all the good things life had to offer. If he were Codaire, he would spread the moon and stars and everything that was bright in the universe beneath her feet.
He kissed the back of her hand again and took his leave of her. He waited until she had been admitted to the house and then made his way back along the street. If Overfield were still alive, he thought, it would give him the greatest pleasure to confront him. His uncontrollable drinking had been a sickness, Elizabeth believed. Perhaps it had. But she was too kind in her judgment. Nothing—nothing—could excuse him for his abuse of his wife. Nothing could excuse him for killing her two children while they were still in her womb.
Good God almighty. Elizabeth!
He was not worthy to kiss the hem of her garments.
* * *
• • •
“I was unfortunately mistaken,” Lord Ede said, flicking open the lid of his snuffbox and preparing to take a pinch. “I was off by one day.”
“Wrong is wrong, Ede,” Lady Hodges said, her sweet voice sounding a little petulant. “And now I will have to go out two days in a row. It is very inconvenient. And it will be remarked upon.”
“But of course it will. The ton will be in raptures,” he said. “How often are you seen twice in as many days?”
She gestured away with a slender white hand the fan one young gentleman was wafting before her face. “You are quite sure it is tomorrow, Ede?”
“Quite,” he said. “Weather permitting, I daresay. The delectable Miss Dunmore. At the fashionable hour. In his curricle.”
“Is she delectable?” she asked. “Quite flawlessly beautiful? The most sought-after beauty of the Season?”
“It is being said,” he told her, one hand hovering over his snuffbox while he appeared to concentrate upon its contents, “that she is more lovely than anyone else this Season or last Season or indeed any Season all the way back to . . . When was it you made your own come-out?”
“A few years ago,” she said.
“All the way back to a few years ago, then,” he said before setting a pinch of snuff on the back of his hand and sniffing it up each nostril.
“Everyone said when I made my come-out that my beauty was unsurpassed in living memory,” she said. “Some said it would remain unsurpassed for many years to come.”
Lord Ede sneezed into his handkerchief. “They were right,” he told her.
The young man with the fan and the one on the other side of her chair who held her lace-edged handkerchief lest she have need of it murmured agreement.
“But she is beautiful, this Miss Dunmore?” she asked. “And he has been seen paying court to her a number of times? And is to take her driving in the park tomorrow? And he really, truly is in search of a bride, Ede?”
“Let me see,” Lord Ede said. “Four questions, all with the same answer. A simple yes. Would I make a mistake or tell a lie?”
“You were mistaken today,” she reminded him. “He was in the park. I caught a glimpse of him. Did I not, Blanche? But not with anyone who could possibly have been Miss Dunmore or any other eligible young lady. I recognized her. She was that faded creature. Riverdale’s sister. Blanche?”
“Lady Overfield, Mother,” Blanche said.
“Lady Overfield,” Lady Hodges repeated. “Why would he so waste his time when he is in search of a bride?” She drummed the perfectly manicured fingers of one hand on the pink velvet arm of her pink velvet chair and looked about her pink-hued drawing room with dissatisfaction. “No company today when there might have been after all. And now tomorrow’s gathering will have to be canceled. Because my son is choosing a bride and must be steered in the right direction. He must pick the most beautiful girl there is. I can allow no less. It would be too lowering. And after he marries her, Blanche, we will be a trio of beauties and hold court here and at Roxingley. I daresay we will be famous.”
“You must mean more famous,” Lord Ede said. ‘‘If that is possible.”
“I daresay I do,” Lady Hodges agreed sweetly. “And I suppose people will flatter me, as they always do, and pretend to believe that Miss Dunmore must be my sister.”
“Indeed,” his lordship agreed.
“Your older sister,” the young man with the handkerchief murmured.
“And my dearest Colin will be back in the fold at last,” she said, her eyes dreamy. “He was always more handsome than Justin. But more wayward. I have given him rein, but now he will return. How lovely it is going to be. A late spring wedding at St. George’s and a grand summer house party at Roxingley.”
“Are they not all grand?” Lord Ede asked. “With you presiding?”
“Grander,” she said. “This will be a party everyone will talk about for years, Ede, and everyone will know it in advance and clamor for invitations.”
“It is to be hoped,” he said, “that I will be the recipient of one of them without having to clamor?”
“You ought not,” she said, turning her eyes upon him and looking at him critically. “You are growing old, Ede—lined face, white hair. I wish you would color your hair and use some discreet cosmetics. However, you are still handsome. Distinguished is the word I believe people use.”
“We are not all ageless as you are ageless,” he said, making her a mock bow.
“True,” she said. “You must go away now. I am tired of you. And I must go and rest before dinner. I would not wish to look hagged even though I am not entertaining tonight.”
“Hagged?” The young gentleman with the handkerchief sounded shocked.
“Impossible,” his counterpart with the fan muttered.
Lord Ede took his leave.
Nine
Sir Geoffrey Codaire was attentive whenever he and Elizabeth met. Sometimes they did so by chance, as on Bond Street one afternoon when she and her mother were shopping and he persuaded them to join him for tea and cakes at a nearby tearoom. Sometimes they met by design, as when he escorted her to a dinner one evening with a neighbor of his from the country who was in town for a few days with his wife. He was at all the balls she attended and danced wi
th her at each.
Elizabeth always found him courteous, and predictable. He never made a nuisance of himself. He did not keep her and her mother longer than half an hour at the tearoom, since he knew they had more shopping to do before they returned home. He came for her promptly on the evening of the dinner and returned her at a timely hour. He never asked for a second dance at a ball, though sometimes he came to stand with her when she was not dancing with someone else. More and more she felt that marrying him would be the sensible thing to do if he asked again.
She did meet someone else. One evening Aunt Lilian, her mother’s sister-in-law, introduced her to Mr. Franck at a private concert, and he sat by her and engaged her in conversation between performances. He fetched her refreshments during the intermission while her mother and aunt went to talk with mutual friends on the other side of the room. He was a widower of three years with two boys away at school. The younger had joined his brother there just this year, leaving his father feeling restless. Hence his decision to spend a month or two in London, something he had not done for a number of years. He was a pleasant-looking man about her own age, Elizabeth estimated, with an amiable disposition and an unassuming air.
He called on her two afternoons later, the day after she went walking with Colin. Mr. and Mrs. Latchwick, neighbors from Kent, were there too, and Mr. Franck made himself agreeable to them all until Sir Geoffrey Codaire was announced. Soon after that Mr. Franck rose to take his leave after inquiring if Lady Overfield intended being at Lady Arbinger’s ball that evening and asking, when she had replied in the affirmative, if she would do him the honor of reserving the opening set for him.
Sir Geoffrey took tea before asking Elizabeth if she would drive in the park with him later, during the fashionable hour. She hesitated, as there was the ball during the evening and it had already been a bit of a busy afternoon. But it was a beautiful day again and she had not set foot out of doors all day.
“That would be pleasant,” she said. “Thank you.”
He returned promptly at the appointed hour and handed her up into his curricle outside her door.
“What a lovely day it is,” she said as they set out for the park close by.
“It is,” he agreed. “The Latchwicks appear to be an amiable couple.”
“They are,” she told him. “We are very fortunate in all our neighbors at Riddings Park.”
“Having friendly neighbors is indeed important,” he said. “I am also fortunate in that regard. Franck seems a pleasant enough fellow too. I understand he has been lonely since the death of his wife and is a bit fragile.”
“Fragile?” She raised her eyebrows.
“It is the very word with which he was described to me by the wife of an acquaintance of mine,” he told her. “It would be regrettable if any lady were to toy with his feelings, since he fancies himself in need of a new wife. The lady who spoke of him is of the firm belief, however, that he is not ready for remarriage yet, if he ever will be, poor man. Apparently he doted upon his wife.”
Elizabeth frowned as they drove toward Hyde Park and turned between the gates. Why had he said that? As a warning? So that she would not hurt Mr. Franck? So that she would guard against his hurting her since he did not have a whole heart to offer? So that she would not marry another man and leave him disappointed?
He turned his head and looked sharply at her, perhaps alerted by her silence. “I have just been listening to the echo of my own words,” he said. “They made me sound like a jealous fool. I do beg your pardon. I am no such thing. At least, I am not jealous. You must decide if I am a fool.”
“That is the last word by which I would describe you,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said. “That is a relief to hear.”
She laughed.
They spent the next twenty minutes or so driving slowly about the circuit that was always crowded with carriages and horses and pedestrians at this time of day, greeting acquaintances and friends, stopping to exchange more than just a few words with some of them, listening to tidbits of news and gossip. Elizabeth promised two more sets for the evening’s ball.
“If I do not speak up promptly,” Sir Geoffrey said as he drew his curricle away from the crowds, “I may discover this evening that your card is too full to accommodate me. Will you keep the first waltz for me, Lady Overfield?”
She hesitated for only a moment. “I am afraid I promised it a while ago,” she said.
“Ah,” he said. “The second, then?”
“Yes,” she said. “I shall certainly reserve that one for you and will look forward to it.”
He sighed. “I wish I did not always have to come second even in waiting to waltz with you,” he said. “Is it to young Hodges you have promised the first tonight? He seems to enjoy waltzing with you. I suppose there are not enough young ladies who have been approved to dance it.”
But he was distracted at that moment, and she was rather startled to see the distinctive white coach and horses with the black outriders approaching. Sir Geoffrey was forced to pull his curricle almost right off the roadway. Elizabeth caught a glimpse of the white-veiled figure of Lady Hodges. What? Two days in a row?
“For one moment,” Sir Geoffrey said when the carriage and its entourage had passed, “I thought it must be the prince regent approaching.”
“No,” she said. “Just Lady Hodges.”
“Ah,” he said. “The famous eccentric. And mother of Lady Riverdale. And Lord Hodges.”
“Yes,” she said.
He turned the curricle onto a quieter avenue, though she was in a bit of a hurry to get home with the ball to prepare for this evening. He slowed his pace and she understood what was coming. She was not sure she was ready. But when would she be if not now?
“I asked you last year if I might still dare hope,” he said. “You did not answer me then and I chose to believe that I could hope. Tell me now if you would prefer me not to continue.”
The time had come, then, and there could be no more procrastinating. If she did indeed tell him she would prefer that he said no more, she must also add that her answer would never change. She could not keep him dangling forever. It would be vastly unfair to him. He deserved better.
And she had reasoned this out with herself all winter and more recently here in London after seeing him again and spending some time in his company. She could not do better. He was all she could ever ask for in a husband—except that there was no spark of romance in their relationship. No romantic love. There had been both in her first marriage, but look where that had got her.
You can be so foolish sometimes . . . you were made for love . . . do not do something you will forever regret. She could almost hear Colin say those words to her just yesterday.
“I shall not tell you not to continue,” she said.
He turned to look into her face. “I may proceed, then?” he asked her. “Will you marry me? I have been devoted to you all these long years. I will remain devoted for the rest of my life.”
It was the most ardent he had ever sounded, and Elizabeth felt a moment’s panic. But she had gone too far now to retreat. And she knew that when she had time to think about it later, she would be satisfied that she had done the right thing. Her future would be settled. She would soon be a married lady again with her own home and the hope of a child of her own. Perhaps children. Life was offering her a second chance and she would be foolish indeed not to take it. And this time she would not be rushing into it, stars in her eyes and foolishness in her heart—despite what Colin had said.
“I will,” she said. “I would be honored to be your wife, Sir Geoffrey.”
He continued to gaze at her. It was a good thing the roadway ahead of them was deserted.
“You will not be sorry,” he said. “You will be mine, and I will take good care of you, Elizabeth. May I have the privilege of calling you that?”
&nb
sp; “Of course.” She smiled at him. “And I shall take care of you . . . Geoffrey.”
“I believe,” he said, “we ought to return to South Audley Street without further ado to seek your mother’s blessing. Will she give it, do you believe?”
“I do,” she said. “She thinks well of you.”
“And Riverdale?” he asked. “Will he give his blessing?”
She was not sure Alex would be delighted. He had a romantic soul. He had almost found himself having to renounce that a year ago when circumstances seemed to be compelling him to seek a wealthy bride at the cost of love. Fortunately—very fortunately—he had found both wealth and love with Wren.
Well, she too had had her chance at love and it had not served her well. Alex knew that. He would be pleased, she believed, that this time she would be assured of being treated well and would know security and contentment.
“Of course he will,” she said. “He will trust the wisdom of my choice.”
“Then I am the happiest of men,” he said, seizing the first opportunity to change direction in order to take her home. “Even if I cannot have the first waltz with you this evening.”
It was the closest she could ever remember his coming to making a joke. It endeared him to her.
But she hated the way her heart ached a little bit when she thought of the man with whom she would share that dance.
* * *
• • •
Colin had just driven into the park and joined the circuit, Miss Dunmore beside him, when he saw Codaire’s curricle drive away in the opposite direction. Elizabeth was with him, and Colin regretted missing paying his respects to her. However, if she was at tonight’s ball he would waltz with her and find out if he had seriously discomposed her by drawing out those confidences yesterday about the loss of her children. He had certainly discomposed himself. He had had bizarre dreams and even a few nightmares last night.
He drew himself back to the present in order to give his attention to his companion. They had come where they would see and be seen while they nodded and chatted with friends and acquaintances, and he was perhaps taking one step closer to making his choice. Perhaps it was just as well. Perhaps he needed a nudge in the right direction. The only trouble was—what was the right direction?