A Chance Encounter (7 page)

The ladies retired to the drawing room a full half-hour before they were joined by the gentlemen. Amelia Norris seated herself at the pianoforte.

“Do come over here, Bertha, and sing,” she said shrilly to her sister.

Mrs. Prosser did not move for the moment. “Perhaps Miss Rowe sings or plays,” she suggested politely.

“Oh, but, please, you must favor us with a few pieces,” Mrs. Rowe begged. “I am quite sure that with London singing masters, your style and repertoire will be superior.”

Amelia began to play, a self-satisfied look on her face. She accompanied her sister for a while and then they changed places. Amelia was leaning against the pianoforte singing “Robin Adair,” making a thoroughly pretty picture, when the gentlemen entered the room. She was facing slightly away from the door and pretended to have been unaware of their arrival, because she completed the song and affected great surprise at the applause that succeeded it.

Elizabeth, seated in her favorite window seat, smiled with great amusement. She watched as Hetherington stepped forward and kissed the beauty's hand.

“Very nice, Amelia,” he said smoothly, smiling charmingly at her. “Shall we move away now so that our hosts can decide the entertainment for the evening?”

Very well done, Robert, Elizabeth thought ironically. His charm had worked on Miss Norris as it always had on her. The girl did not even seem to realize that she had been given a mild set-down.

It was decided that the carpet would be rolled up and an informal dance would be held. Mrs. Claridge was recruited to play the pianoforte. Hetherington danced first with Cecily, Mr. Mainwaring with Lucy. Elizabeth watched both couples closely. Robert was using all his charm on the young girl, there was no doubt about it, and she was glowing with high spirits. Lucy looked as if she was making an effort to draw her partner into conversation. Was she asking him questions? Elizabeth wondered. She seemed not to be making much of an impression. His manner was stiff and solemn. Elizabeth noticed that Amelia Norris was smiling brightly, her face flushed, as she danced with Ferdie Worthing.

Mrs. Claridge began to play a waltz next. Elizabeth was watching Ferdie make a determined effort to reach Cecily before any other man did.

“May I have the honor, ma'am?” a rich voice asked close beside her, and she looked up, startled, to find Mr. Mainwaring looking into her eyes, his hand outstretched.

“Me, sir?” she asked foolishly, a hand at her throat. “You wish to dance with me?”

“Yes, Miss Rossiter, I wish to dance with you,” he said gravely. “Will you, ma'am?”

Elizabeth got to her feet, feeling self-conscious in her plain gray silk. She had not waltzed for six years.

Mr. Mainwaring was a good dancer. He held her firmly and provided a lead that she could easily follow. But she wondered why he had asked her to dance.

“How do you take to your new home, sir?” she asked, looking up, and found herself gazing into velvet brown eyes.

“Very well, ma'am, I thank you,” he said. “My friends and I have certainly been given a warm welcome.”

“Ah, that is because you provide novelty and entertainment to a neighborhood that is normally dull, sir,” she said, smiling impishly up at him.

His eyebrows rose. “I am devastated, ma'am,” he replied. “And I thought they were responding to my own fair self.”

Elizabeth laughed outright. “Well, the fact that you are quite personable and, so we hear, rich, certainly helps,” she commented.

“Ah,” he said, and came very close to smiling, “it is a shame I do not have my friend's title too, is it not? I should take the place by storm.”

Elizabeth chuckled again and glanced across the room at that friend, who was dancing with his betrothed, but he was glaring, tight-lipped, straight at Elizabeth! Her eyes dropped in confusion for a moment. Then she glared back defiantly. She was not going to be made ashamed just because he obviously disapproved of a servant—and one dressed drably in gray—dancing with his friend. If he did not like it, let him leave. She turned back to her partner.

“You are a very good dancer, sir,” she commented. “I have not waltzed for many years and you have contrived to keep your feet from landing beneath mine.”

“A very unwise comment, ma'am,” he said gravely. “The music has not finished yet.”

Alone in the window seat again a few minutes later, Elizabeth mused on the one major surprise of the evening.

Mr. Mainwaring was certainly not the top-lofty, stern man that she had labeled him. Stiff and quiet as he appeared on the outside, he had a sense of humor. Which was more than could be said of the Marquess of Hetherington.

“Ah, Miss Rossiter,” Mr. Rowe said the next morning when he met her outside the breakfast room, “I was beginning to think that Prince Charming was going to ruin our fantasy by refusing to show up. But could he be disguised in the person of William Mainwaring? He seemed quite attentive last evening.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Indeed not, sir,” she said. “The conquest of a mere ‘mister' would not be near startling enough. No, no, I wait for someone of more exalted rank.”

She would have swept past him with an arch look, but he was not finished. “Ah,” he said, “the Marquess of Hetherington, perhaps? He seems quite the Prince Charming. He has the looks, wealth, and rank.”

Elizabeth tried to keep her tone light. “He has one missing attribute,” she said, pretending to consider. “He refuses to recognize me as Cinderella.”

“Foolish man,” commented Mr. Rowe. “But I am glad of it. I cannot like the man's attentions to Cecily. He has made her the target of his gallantry, but I cannot fathom why. He treats her much as he would a child. I wonder if he is not trying to make Miss Norris jealous. There seems to be some attachment between the two, though I would guess it is more on her side than on his. Which now makes me wonder, why would he try to make her jealous? My wife always tells me, Miss Rossiter, that one should never try to think before luncheon. I begin to appreciate the wisdom of the lady.”

Elizabeth smiled and again would have moved into the breakfast room. He again detained her.

“Miss Rossiter, will you watch Cecily very closely?” he asked. “She is a silly little chit in many ways, but she has a good heart and I should hate to see it hurt.”

“Believe me, sir,” Elizabeth replied gravely, “I have a deep affection, too, for your daughter, and I take my position seriously. She shall not be taken advantage of if I have anything to say in the matter.”

Mr. Rowe nodded vaguely and moved off in the direction of his office.

Mrs. Rowe, meanwhile, was a different story altogether. When she joined Elizabeth at the table, she was bubbling with high spirits.

“Do you not agree that everyone enjoyed last evening excessively, Miss Rossiter?” she began. “Such friendly, informal entertainment, such agreeable company, such stimulating conversation.”

“Indeed, ma'am, it appeared to me that your efforts had met with great success,” Elizabeth agreed kindly.

“Elva Hendrickson assured me that the evening was a far greater success than the Worthing ball was. Insipid, she called that.”

Elizabeth murmured a diplomatic comment.

“I do believe the Marquess of Hetherington is smitten with Cecily, do you not agree, Miss Rossiter?” Mrs. Rowe continued. “He is so particular in his attentions to her. It would be such a splendid match for her. I can hardly wait to see Maria Worthing's face if he should offer for her.”

Elizabeth felt that her opinion was being called for. “His lordship is a very charming man,” she said carefully, “and of course, he is taken with Cecily's prettiness. I am not sure, though, ma'am, that his behavior amounts to more than gallantry. I believe I have heard that he is something of a rake.” Elizabeth had heard no such thing, in fact, but it seemed likely to be true, she assured herself guiltily.

“A rake?” Mrs. Rowe repeated incredulously. “Surely not, my dear. Such a charming man! But I certainly do not like that sharp-tongued Miss Norris, who seems forever to be hanging on his sleeve. She sets her cap at him altogether too openly.”

“I believe they may have an understanding,” Elizabeth said hesitantly. “She hinted as much when she was introduced to me.”

“Indeed!.” the other lady said sharply. “Then perhaps it may be a good idea to keep a close eye on Cecily at tomorrow's picnic, Miss Rossiter. I do not want the girl to be hurt or made to look foolish.”

“I shall do all in my power to prevent either, ma'am,” Elizabeth replied calmly.

And so, if Elizabeth had not gone to the picnic as a result of Hetherington's dare, she would certainly have gone as a result of the express concern of Cecily's parents.

It had been decided that the old church should be the site of the picnic. Hetherington had taken on the role of host. All the members of the Ferndale party were to be present, and in addition he had invited Cecily and Elizabeth, Ferdie and Lucy Worthing, Anne Claridge, and Mr. Dowling. The party was to assemble at Ferndale at eleven in the morning and travel together by horse or barouche.

After much animated discussion, it was decided that the gentlemen would ride and also Amelia Norris and Lucy Worthing, who was an excellent horsewoman. The remaining four ladies were handed into the barouche by a smiling, high-spirited Hetherington. When it came to Elizabeth's turn, she gathered her skirts together and would have stepped into the conveyance unassisted. But his outstretched hand did not waver. She had to accept his assistance or appear rude in front of an audience.

And so she placed her hand in his and he gripped it firmly. She was touching him again after six long years. For a moment she forgot time and occasion. It could be no one else's hand: warm, broad, capable. She had once thought she could put her whole life in it and be safe. She looked up wide-eyed into his face. His blue eyes looked steadily—and blankly—back into hers.

“Ma'am?” he said politely, and she stepped into the barouche and released his hand.

Once the picnic site had been established, the party broke up into two groups. The picnic blankets were laid at the foot of the small hill, at the only spot that was well sheltered by a clump of trees. And they would need that shelter later on, they all agreed. The sun was already blazing down on them with all its summer heat.

Several of the party decided to stroll beside the stream that meandered around the base of the hill. Hetherington insisted that Cecily show him the old church that she had dragged them all there to see. Amelia Norris, Ferdie, and Elizabeth, for reasons of their own, tagged along too. So did Mr. Mainwaring.

Cecily clung to Hetherington's arm as they climbed the grassy slope. Amelia strode ahead. She was staring scornfully at a half-ruined stone church when the rest of the group came up with her.

“Look at this, Robert,” she said shrilly. “It is nothing but a pile of rubble. I told you that we should picnic at the river, as you originally suggested.”

“So you did, Amelia,” he agreed, “but I consider this an interesting pile of rubble. Tell us about it, Miss Rowe.”

Cecily and Ferdie between them told about how the church had deteriorated from lack of use after the town of Granby grew up three miles away.

“The bell was taken to the town church about fifty years ago,” Cecily explained, “and that seemed to be really the end. It seems such a shame. This would make a splendid setting for a Christmas evensong or for a wedding, would it not?”

All the while the small group had been tramping around the church through the overgrown grass and weeds.

“Do you remember, Cec, how we used to come up here every chance we could and try to piece together the shattered stained glass from the back window?” Ferdie asked.

“Oh, I say, yes,” Cecily replied, her face lighting up with pleasure. “And didn't we have a thundering scold that afternoon of the storm when we sheltered for hours and no one knew where we were?”

“I got more than a thundering scold,” he said dryly.

“You also caught cold, did you not, Ferdie?” Cecily asked. “And it was all because you lent me your coat to keep me warm.”

“Let's go inside and see if any of the glass is left,” Ferdie suggested.

“Oh, yes, do let's,” she agreed, and they scampered for the empty doorway like a couple of schoolchildren.

“I am hot and thirsty,” Amelia announced. “Escort me back down this hill, Robert.”

Hetherington smiled ruefully at the pair disappearing inside the ruins and led away his angry betrothed.

“What is at the other side of the hill?” Mr. Mainwaring asked.

“Oh, merely more grass and trees, sir,” Elizabeth replied. “If you wish, we may walk down there and follow the stream around the base of the hill until we reach the picnic site.”

“That sounds pleasant,” he said. “Shall we go, Miss Rossiter?” He held his arm for her support.

More than half an hour passed before they came in sight of the rest of the party, who were already assembled on the blankets and surrounded by the contents of the picnic hampers. Elizabeth had enjoyed the stroll. Close to the stream and beneath the shelter of the trees that grew on either side of it, they were shaded from the heat of the sun.