A Chance Encounter (4 page)

“Then I shall find another family in need of a governess,” she said, “or I shall go home and be maiden aunt to my nephew. John has a son, you know. But whatever I do, it is no affair of yours, my lord.”

“Maiden?” he said softly, looking across at her with one eyebrow raised.

Elizabeth flushed but did not answer. Cecily had emerged into the street, followed by the Prossers. Soon they were all walking back home again, Mr. Prosser with Elizabeth, followed by Hetherington with a lady on each arm. He was oozing charm and good humor again, Elizabeth noticed.

Both Cecily and Mrs. Rowe were ecstatic when the visitors from Ferndale had departed in their phaeton.

“I had hoped that you would make an impression on Mr. Mainwaring, Cecily, my love,” Mrs. Rowe said, “but to have taken the attention of the marquess! Why, he had eyes for no one else. Did you not notice, Miss Rossiter? I declare, it was probably his idea in the first place to come this way and invite Cecily to walk with them.”

“The marquess is such a pleasant man,” Cecily confided to Elizabeth a short while later as they ascended the staircase to their rooms to prepare for dinner. “As soon as we began to walk, I forgot about my shyness and felt quite as if we had been friends for years. His title has not made him a conceited man. He is charming, is he not, Beth? You should know. He was kind enough to walk with you while Mrs. Prosser was choosing ribbons.”

“Oh, yes, he is certainly charming,” Elizabeth conceded. As she went on her way to her own room, she hoped that Cecily would not fall in love with Hetherington. The girl was too young and inexperienced in the ways of the world to fall prey to a man whose own interests always came first, a man who could hurt another apparently without a qualm.

She went through the motions of changing into the gray silk dress and brushing and reknotting her hair while her mind dwelled deeply on the encounter with Hetherington that afternoon. She had known that he could be cruel, that he was basically heartless, but she had never had face-to-face proof of the fact before. The voice and the facial expression that she had witnessed during that walk along the street in Granby had made him a stranger to her. She had never seen him cold, sneering, sarcastic before. He had behaved as if he hated her. But why? She was the one who had been wronged, hurt almost beyond bearing six years before. Was it conscience that had made him turn upon her with such contempt?

Elizabeth had tried to hate him in that first year when the pain had been intense enough to drive her almost out of her mind. But even then she had not been able to. The best she could do eventually was to dull all feeling, so that a mere empty ache would gnaw at her when her mind strayed to that episode in her life. She had trained herself to think of him, if at all, as he was at the beginning of their relationship.

Their friendship had developed through frequent meetings at
ton
events. Always he would seek her out and spend as much time with her as propriety allowed. But at first it had been pure friendship. They had sparked a note of sympathy in each other. They had found it easy to talk about their deepest feelings and dreams. Elizabeth had told him all about her life at home, her dreams of a home of her own in which family ties would be close, in which love would be the ruling spirit. He had told her about his home life, his sense of alienation from his family. He found his father and his brother too stem and joyless, too much attached to the city, with too little love of the land. They considered him a misfit, a nuisance. Both frowned upon his wish to enlist, yet neither could suggest a useful employment for this younger son. They seemed to expect him to be an idle man-about-town although the family had very little money. Living in a style that he considered appropriate to his rank, the marquess had put too much stress on the income from his estates.

Love had taken her quite unawares. They had both been attending a ball, but were not together because they had already shared the regulation two dances. Elizabeth had been wearing new slippers, which pinched her toes so badly that she was convinced that she must have at least one blister. The house belonged to the parents of one of her intimate friends. She had hobbled to the library, hoping that her aunt would not miss her presence for a while. She closed the door quietly behind her and sank into the nearest chair with an audible sigh. Moonlight from the full-length windows sent shafts of dim light across the carpet.

“Can it be that the indefatigable Elizabeth Rossiter is actually fatigued?” a teasing and familiar voice had asked.

Elizabeth, startled, had looked across to see a dim form occupying a wing chair beside the fireplace.

“Robert, how you startled me!” she had said. “And what are you doing here, pray?”

“Sulking because I cannot dance with you again,” he had replied.

Elizabeth had laughed. “What flummery!” she had said lightly. “Anyway, sir, if you really wish to dance with me, you may do so right here. The orchestra can quite plainly be heard. But you must permit me to remove my slippers and allow my blisters some breathing room.”

She had been joking. But he had got up from his chair, come across the room to her, and knelt in front of her chair.

“Poor Elizabeth,” he had teased gently, “smiling politely at all your admirers in the ballroom and secretly nursing two feetful of blisters.” He had lifted her feet one at a time and removed the shoes. She had sighed with exaggerated contentment, and he had laughed.

“Come,” he had said, taking her by the hand, “now you may dance in comfort and I may have the partner of my choice.”

But she had stumbled over the abandoned slippers as she rose to her feet and lurched clumsily against his chest. They had both laughed. And then somehow they were not laughing anymore. Their arms went around each other and his lips had found hers in the darkened room.

It had been a long and sweet kiss, her first. She had been surprised by the warmth and softness of his lips, by the feel of his breath against her cheek, his hands roaming her back, and the strength and firmness of his body against hers. But most of all she had been surprised by the strength of her own reaction. The moment had seemed charged. She had felt as if her body temperature had shot up. Eventually they had pulled apart and gazed at each other, wide-eyed.

“I should not be here with you, Robert,” she had said shakily. “Aunt Matilda will be looking for me.”

“You are right,” he had agreed, and then, anxiously, “Elizabeth, have I offended you? I did not intend to take advantage of our being alone together, I swear.”

“I am not offended,” she had assured him.

He had reached out one hand and run his fingers lightly down one cheek and along her jawline. “I have known for some time that I love you,” he had said. And he had bent his head again and lightly touched his lips to hers. “You must go, my love, before you are discovered here with me.”

And she had gone, after squeezing her feet painfully into the slippers again. She had been dazed, astounded by the discovery that she, too, had loved for some time without realizing it.

Pushing the last pin into the coil of hair at the nape of her neck, Elizabeth again found it difficult to reconcile that memory of a tender, loving Robert with the afternoon's encounter with the cold, unfeeling Marquess of Hetherington.

A
few days later Mrs. Rowe and Cecily ordered out the old, ponderous carriage from the coach house and left to pay an afternoon call at Ferndale. The main purpose of the visit was to issue an invitation to Mr. Mainwaring and his house guests to a dinner party the following week. Mrs. Rowe had pondered long on what entertainment she should organize. Should it be a full-scale ball? Would that be too ostentatious? Should it be an afternoon picnic? Was that too informal on so short an acquaintance? On Elizabeth's advice she finally settled for a dinner party, which had, anyway, been her first idea. As Elizabeth pointed out, a dinner party was free to develop in any direction. Music in the drawing room after dinner, or a few tables of cards, or even an informal dance to the music of the pianoforte could all be arranged with the minimum of fuss, depending upon the mood of the party.

Elizabeth did not accompany the ladies to Ferndale. Instead, she sat down to write her weekly letter to her brother. Although they rarely saw each other and although she steadfastly resisted all his urgings to come home, brother and sister remained very close. From his regular letters Elizabeth felt as if she knew exactly what was happening on the estate and in the neighborhood. She felt well-acquainted with her sister-in-law, whom she had met only twice, and with her nephew, Jeremy, whom she had seen only on the occasion of his christening.

The letter writing was interrupted, though, by the arrival of Ferdie Worthing and his sister, Lucy. Elizabeth was amused to discover that they had come to invite the Rowes and herself to a ball at the squire's home the following week, two days before Mrs. Rowe's dinner party. How chagrined her employer would be! Brother and sister had issued their invitation to Ferndale that morning, and had been accepted.

“I suppose Cec is quite excited by the arrival of the two gentlemen,” Ferdie commented gloomily.

Elizabeth smiled. “She seems pleased with all the visitors,” she replied. “She became quite friendly with Mrs. Prosser when we were out walking a few days ago.”

“Those two men are bound to be dangling after her, though,” Ferdie predicted. “They are both top-of-the-trees, you know. And Cec is the prettiest girl in these parts.”

“You forget your sister and Anne Claridge, to mention only two,” Elizabeth said, amused at the obvious jealousy of the boy.

“Oh, I know I'm no beauty,” Lucy said philosophically. “If Mama would just admit it too, I should be so much more comfortable. She is determined I should make a brilliant match and sees the marquess and Mr. Mainwaring as likely prospects. I shall hate it, Miss Rossiter. I know she will be forever pushing me at them while they are here.”

“I am sure she will not do anything to embarrass you unduly,” Elizabeth soothed. “She must have your own happiness at heart, after all.”

“Ho, you don't know Mama,” Ferdie added.

“I do hope to find a husband during the Season next year,” Lucy added. “But I shall be quite contented with an ordinary man whom I can respect.”

Elizabeth smiled reassuringly and changed the subject. She felt sorry for Lucy Worthing. She was a thin girl, with a narrow, pale face and yellow-blond hair. She would be quite striking if she aimed for elegance in her appearance and if her hair were arranged in a smooth, sophisticated style. Instead, her mother insisted on white or pastel-shaded clothes, with as many bows, frills, and flounces as could be reasonably added to each garment. Her hair was a mass of ringlets. Obviously the mother assumed that the more she decorated her daughter, the greater the appearance of beauty she would give. The opposite was true.

The pair did not stay long. Once Ferdie realized that there was little chance of Cecily's returning within the hour, he was ready to begin the ride back home again. Elizabeth promised to pass on the invitation to the ball, though she had already decided to refuse herself. The less she saw of the Marquess of Hetherington, the happier she would be.

The following week was one of great excitement among the leading families of Granby and the surrounding countryside. Although entertainments were not unusual, they were normally very predictable events. Very rarely was there any stranger to add interest. And now there were five strangers, and all of them fashionable and apparently wealthy. The austere good looks of Mr. Mainwaring and his connection with the neighborhood, and the title, vitality, and charm of the Marquess of Hetherington everywhere set the hearts of hopeful mothers and their daughters fluttering. The haughty beauty of Miss Norris inspired awe and admiration everywhere.

Elizabeth finally met this lady a few days before the ball, when she rode over with the rest of the Femdale party to invite Cecily to walk. Elizabeth was in the rose garden cutting some blooms for the house when they arrived. Mrs. Prosser and her sister walked over to talk to her while they all waited for Cecily to run upstairs for a bonnet and parasol. Elizabeth was very glad that the men went inside the house for some refreshment. She had felt a painful stab of the heart at the sight of Hetherington. Like the other gentlemen, he touched his hat in acknowledgment of her presence. Unlike them, he did not smile.

Mrs. Prosser introduced her sister to Elizabeth as Miss Amelia Norris. Elizabeth did not know why she so condescended. The girl was a handsome brunette, though her beauty was marred by a perpetually haughty expression. She succeeded now somehow in looking down her nose.

“Ah, the companion of dear Cecily,” she commented, making the word
companion
sound like the lowest of menial occupations, and making Cecily sound anything but dear.

Mrs. Prosser was left to maintain a conversation with Elizabeth. “Mrs. Rowe has told me that you are a sister of John Rossiter,” she said kindly. “I knew his wife slightly. She made her come-out in the same year as Amelia. I believe I met him once, too. They made a charming couple.”

“Yes, indeed,” Elizabeth replied, “and now they have a son of whom we are all proud.” She smiled.

“Yes,” Miss Norris added languidly, “Louise was, I believe, one of those girls who feel that they must attach some gentleman during their first Season or they are failures in life.” The implication was that she had far more wisdom and good taste.