by Mary Balogh
She crossed the room to her usual chair as she spoke and seated herself. Everyone else, who had risen to greet the new arrivals, resumed their seats. All except Elizabeth, who stood in the middle of the floor feeling very conspicuous indeed.
“You missed Colin,” Wren said. “We all did. He spoke to Elizabeth and then dashed off on some urgent errand. I wonder why he came at all. Did he say, Elizabeth?”
“Yes,” she said. “He came to persuade me to marry him.”
“Again?” Alexander frowned. “Can he not accept that he is in no way responsible for any of what has been happening? Must he keep on torturing himself with the conviction that he did something to compromise you when he waltzed with you? I hope you set him right this time, Lizzie.”
“I said yes,” she said.
There was a beat of silence in the room.
“Well, bless my soul,” Matilda said, the first to break it. “You have followed your heart, Elizabeth.”
“Matilda!” Cousin Louise said scornfully. “What utter nonsense you speak. There must be all of ten years between them.”
“Nine,” Elizabeth said.
“Elizabeth.” Wren had a hand over her heart. Josephine was on her father’s lap, trying without much success to get his quizzing glass into her mouth. “Oh no. No. I can understand his offering. But you cannot—Oh, surely you cannot have accepted.”
“My love,” Elizabeth’s mother said, hurrying toward her and setting an arm about her waist. “You have been horribly upset, and I hold Sir Geoffrey Codaire entirely to blame whether he has had any hand in this ugly campaign against you or not. I feel desperately sorry for Lord Hodges, for everything started while he was dancing and conversing with you. But for the two of you to marry . . . It is preposterous, as you will see when you are in a calmer frame of mind. You are four years older than Alex, Lizzie, and he is older than Wren, and she is four years older than Lord Hodges.”
Yes. Nine years.
“We will send for him to call here later,” Alexander said, getting to his feet and coming toward her. “We will settle this matter once and for all. We will persuade Colin that he does not owe you marriage, and in the meantime we will assure you, Lizzie—all of us will—that trying to set his mind at rest by marrying him is not the answer to anything. You would have a lifetime enmeshed together in a mismatch.”
He drew her into his arms, and her mother’s arm fell to her side.
“I am so sorry about all this,” he told her. “I wish I could do more to protect you. Sometimes one feels so helpless. But I do agree with—”
“Not all of us will try to persuade Elizabeth to change her mind,” Matilda said, interrupting. “Not all of us were blind over Christmas or have remained blind this spring. Nine years are nothing when the heart is involved.”
“The heart!” her sister said impatiently. “Have some sense, Matilda. And what do you mean about Christmas? I suppose you sensed a budding romance that simply was not there. And you cannot romanticize what is happening here. Lord Hodges and Elizabeth, both acting with the best of intentions, are trying to console each other. It is quite admirable of them. But it would be a disaster if they tried to do it by marrying. You must not do it, Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth.” The languid voice of Avery silenced them all. He had given his daughter his watch to play with. “Must you? Must you marry Hodges?”
It was not an admonishment. It was a question.
“No,” she said. “There is no compulsion for either of us to marry the other. We have agreed to it because it is what we both want.”
“Quite so,” he murmured.
Anna, sitting on the arm of his chair and smoothing a hand over Josephine’s very blond hair, smiled. “Then all has been said and nothing further needs to be added,” she said. “Except heartfelt wishes for your happiness, Elizabeth.”
“Nothing needs to be added?” Cousin Mildred said. “With all due respect, Anna, everything needs to be said. You must consider, Elizabeth—”
But there was another tap on the door, and Aunt Lilian and Uncle Richard stepped in with Susan and Alvin, and the whole thing started again.
“Lord Hodges came here a while ago,” Jessica told them before anyone else could. “He offered Elizabeth marriage again, and this time she said yes.”
Elizabeth pulled on the bell rope for the tea tray to be brought in while the room erupted into sound about her and everyone weighed in on whether she ought to do it or not. And, in the case of the naysayers, what she ought to do instead and how she would extricate herself from the situation without hurting Lord Hodges’s feelings. It would really be a shame to hurt them, they were agreed. He was such a pleasant young man with a tender conscience, though of course there was no need for his conscience to be feeling tender or otherwise over what was happening. He was as innocent as Elizabeth herself was.
“We will definitely have Colin here this evening,” Alexander said, silencing the voices before the tray arrived. “Perhaps you will send a note around to his rooms, Wren. We will talk this over and persuade him that marrying Lizzie would not only be unnecessary but would also be the wrong thing to do—for both of them. You must not worry, Lizzie, about already having—”
“It is too late,” she said, and everyone’s attention turned her way. “He hurried off to make sure he could get the notice of our betrothal into the morning papers.”
For a few moments only two persons moved. Josephine, who was standing on Avery’s lap while he had a firm hold on her waist, bounced and beamed at him. Matilda, who was standing beside her mother’s chair, clasped her hands to her bosom and beamed at Elizabeth.
* * *
• • •
Colin was in time to stop the announcement of his betrothal to Miss Dunmore, though only just. And it was not easy to convince the editor with whom he spoke that it should be withdrawn when he was not the one who had paid to have it published. However, when Colin explained that he was the one who would pay a lawyer to sue the paper for publishing information they knew to be false about himself, he was given no more argument. And his own announcement was accepted meekly in exchange.
He was not sure as he walked away from the newspaper offices whether it was relief he felt or panic. There was probably a bit of both. If all had progressed as it had been progressing a week or so ago, he might well have ended up marrying Miss Dunmore and living a reasonably happy life with her. But he certainly would not have been happy at being forced prematurely into marriage by his mother and hers, especially as his mother would without any doubt have proceeded to dominate her.
But—was his marriage to Elizabeth any less forced? Had he given himself, and her, time to properly consider what they were doing? It was all very well to have told her quite truthfully that he had offered because he wanted to marry her and for her to tell him that she had accepted because she wanted to marry him. But what did that mean?
Were they about to make the biggest mistake of their lives?
It was too late now, though, to do anything about it. And there was some relief in that thought too. He hated making decisions—the momentous ones that changed one’s life when it was impossible to know if the change was going to be for the better or the worse.
Besides, the thought of actually being married to Elizabeth really was a bit dizzying. More than a bit.
He had planned to return to the house on South Audley Street during the evening since there was much to discuss with Elizabeth—with his betrothed. He did not doubt that her mother and Wren and Alex were going to have plenty to say to him. But he found his steps taking him that way as soon as he had finished his business.
He was curious to see if they had come again, her family, and was not at all surprised to see three carriages drawn up outside the house. The Westcotts and the Radleys were nothing if not predictable. Endearingly so in many ways. They really cared for one another.
They would not have gathered to gloat. They would have come to comfort and support and to offer solutions.
Poor Elizabeth. He wondered how they were reacting to her news. Provided she had had the courage to give it, that was, but he would wager she had.
Dash it all, he ought not to have walked this way. Having done so, he would consider himself cowardly if he did not rap on the door knocker. Besides, these people would have to be confronted sooner or later. Another thing about the Westcotts and Radleys was that they did not go away.
Two minutes later he was being announced and admitted to the drawing room. Upon entering he was stared at for a silent moment.
“Colin,” Elizabeth said then, looking quite her old self, poised and serene and smiling a warm welcome. She crossed the room toward him and slid an arm through his. “I am so pleased you were able to return so soon. Do come and sit down. I will pour you a cup of tea. It will still be hot. Everyone does know.”
He could see Elizabeth’s manner for what it was, a sort of armor that hid what was quite possibly a massive vulnerability. And he marveled that he had got to know her well enough since last Christmas to understand that about her more and more. Her serenity was self-imposed and held in place by willpower and the determination not to be at the mercy of her feelings—or other people’s.
Everyone had recovered from any shock they must have felt. Wren came and hugged him wordlessly. Alexander wrung his hand and looked hard at him while he offered congratulations. Mrs. Westcott hugged him too and informed him that she was going to call him Colin since he was soon to be her real son-in-law rather than just an honorary one. Anna, Duchess of Netherby, hugged him as did—surprisingly enough—Lady Matilda Westcott. Everyone else offered words of congratulation and handshakes in the case of the men. Lady Josephine Archer blew a bubble at him.
And he sat on the love seat beside Elizabeth and wondered how they had all reacted when she told them. It was cowardly of him not to have stayed to face it with her, though he really had had a good reason for leaving.
“Mrs. Radley was just asking Elizabeth when,” Lady Molenor said to him, “and where. She had not had a chance to answer before you walked in.”
When and where?
“The wedding,” she added.
Ah. If he had his way, they would simply go off and do it, the two of them, as the Duke and Duchess of Netherby had apparently done a few years ago, taking only Elizabeth and the duke’s secretary with them as witnesses. He just wanted to be married to her. He wanted the nonsense over and done with.
“We have not decided,” Elizabeth said, her voice as calm as usual. “Colin had to rush away earlier. We will need to talk about it.” In private, her tone seemed to suggest, though no one else seemed to notice that.
Everyone proceeded to discuss the matter. It ought to be soon, some of them believed. As soon as the banns could be called. There was no hurry at all, others felt. It would be better, in fact, to wait until all the unpleasantness had blown over—and remember that it was going to be added to tomorrow with this new announcement appearing in the paper. And it took time to plan just the sort of wedding one wanted.
There was more division on the question of where. A quiet church in London, Lord Molenor suggested while others agreed—perhaps the very one where Anna and Avery had married three years ago; Brambledean, Alexander thought; Riddings Park, his mother believed; Roxingley, Lord Hodges’s own home, would be splendid according to Lady Matilda.
Colin was growing a bit tired of being managed. Of feeling that control over his own life was slipping from him.
“There will be no banns,” he said, and everyone stopped talking to pay attention to him, almost as though they had only just realized that the prospective groom was there in their midst. He glanced at Elizabeth beside him. “We will marry by special license within the next week or two.” Not at Roxingley. Or at Brambledean or Withington either. Or at Riddings Park. “Here in London.”
“At St. George’s on Hanover Square,” Elizabeth added just when he was about to take up the idea of the small church where the Netherbys had married. He looked at her in some surprise and saw that her chin was raised a little higher than usual.
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Radley said. “Are you quite sure, Lizzie? Will you not feel very much exposed to public view there?”
“Of course she is sure,” the dowager countess said. “They both are. They certainly don’t want it to look as if they feel they are creeping off to do something clandestine and a bit shameful. Of course it must be St. George’s. And the whole of the ton must be invited. Nothing else will do.”
No. Not any of the people who were reveling in the cruel stories about her this week. “Friends will be invited,” Colin said.
“And family,” Elizabeth added. “On both sides.”
His eyes were still on her. Her chin was still up. There was what looked distinctly like a martial gleam in her eye. Surely she was not thinking of . . . But when she turned her head to look back at him, he knew that she had indeed used that term on both sides deliberately.
It would be madness.
“The wedding breakfast will be held here,” Wren said. “In the ballroom.”
Colin was still looking at Elizabeth, and she was still looking back at him. He smiled suddenly. Indeed, he would have laughed outright if they had been alone.
She obviously felt no such inhibition. She laughed.
And suddenly she was the Elizabeth of Christmastime, a bright, merry star, a gleam of pure mischief in her eyes, a flush on her cheeks.
And he laughed with her.
“I have just had a very comical thought,” Lady Jessica Archer said. “Aunt Viola and the marquess are on their way here with Abby and Estelle and Bertrand. They are coming for Cousin Elizabeth’s wedding. And now they will be here in time for—Cousin Elizabeth’s wedding.” She laughed gleefully.
“They are going to be unspeakably confused when they arrive,” Alvin Cole said with a guffaw of merriment. “They will wonder if they misread the name of the bridegroom.”
Some of the laughter had gone from Elizabeth’s face. Colin touched the back of her hand with his fingertips and she smiled just for him.
Good God, he was betrothed. To this woman, whom he respected, even revered above all others. She was going to be his wife. His lifelong companion and friend. Perhaps the mother of his children.
What the devil had he done?
* * *
• • •
Elizabeth was seated at the escritoire in the morning room again, quill pen in hand, when Colin was admitted the following morning. Her mother and Aunt Lilian had gone shopping, and Wren and Alexander had taken Nathan in his perambulator for an airing in the park. She smiled, feeling all the strangeness of the fact that they were betrothed. It was official now. The notice had appeared in the morning papers. He strode across the room and bent over her to kiss her on the lips.
How lovely, she thought. How absolutely lovely. His blue eyes gazed into hers when he raised his head. She set down her pen carefully without wiping off the nib.
“You saw it?” he asked.
“The notice?” she said. “Yes, I did.”
He looked boyish and eager. “I am glad it is settled,” he said. “I am glad you cannot have second thoughts.”
Or was he glad that he could not? She had lain awake half the night in a cold sweat of panic. The only thing that had calmed her in the end and allowed her at least a few hours of sleep was the fact that it was too late to do anything about it. She could hardly end two betrothals within a week, could she?
“What is amusing you?” he asked.
“The thought that even the notorious Elizabeth Overfield could not call off two betrothals within one week,” she said.
“Have you been tempted?” he asked.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Well, not tempted. But I have w
ondered what I would do if I had not so fully committed myself.”
“And did you decide?” he asked. He straightened up, a curious half smile on his lips.
“Yes,” she said. “I decided that I can only move forward in the conviction that I made the right decision. And that you did too.”
“You did.” He nodded slowly. “And I did. But I have interrupted you. Again. Are you still writing to the same person as you were yesterday?”
“Araminta Scott?” she said. “No, I finished that last evening. She is my closest friend, a neighbor from Kent. I have invited her to come to London for our wedding. I am writing now to Camille to invite her and Joel to come if they can gather their family together in time and have no other commitments they cannot break.” She remembered something suddenly. “Oh, I had a letter this morning from Sir Geoffrey Codaire.”
“Did you indeed?” He folded his arms and leaned against the side of the escritoire. He crossed one booted foot over the other. “An apology?”
“Yes,” she said. “A thorough and humble one. I found it a bit touching. He even admits that possessiveness and jealousy drove him on that evening and assures me he will cast them firmly and permanently aside if I will but forgive him and agree to resume our betrothal. He promises to do all in his power to restore my reputation, which he fears he may have tarnished quite unjustly.”
“May have?” He took the letter she was holding out toward him and glanced quickly through it.
“If he returned home,” she said, “I daresay he does not know just how badly my reputation has been tarnished.”
“You are touched by this?” he asked, replacing the letter on the desk and recrossing his arms.
Everyone made mistakes. No one was perfect. But not all people were prepared to say they were sorry, to beg forgiveness and ask for another chance. Not everyone was willing to commit to a change of behavior and attitude. “I feel badly for him,” she said.