An Heiress at Heart (16 page)

L
ady Thornborough looked up from her writing desk as Lizzie entered the drawing room. “Goodness, child, where have you been? I was beginning to worry.”

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Lizzie gave her a kiss on the cheek. As she did so, she noticed that the writing desk was covered with invitations. Lady Thornborough was probably arranging a dinner party—with Lizzie as the guest of honor. “I was with Geoffrey. Did James not send word?”

“No, he did not. That’s just like him. He probably went to his club and didn’t give it another thought.” She set her quill into its stand. “You were with Lord Somerville, did you say?”

“Yes.” Seeing the multitude of questions in the woman’s eyes, Lizzie turned away. She was not ready to answer them. The memory of what had passed between her and Geoffrey in the carriage was still too fresh. The surprising jolt of pleasure she’d felt at his touch still coursed through her. He’d caught her and held her close, steadying her feet but unsteadying her heart.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the fireplace and saw that her face glowed pink. This fact did not escape Lady Thornborough either. “Are you well, my dear?” She rose from the desk and rang for the butler.

“I am tired,” Lizzie admitted. She sank slowly into a chair. Her legs were dangerously wobbly.

“I have ordered more of Cook’s special broth for luncheon. That should help you recover from your exertions.”

Lizzie did her best to keep from making a sour face. It was possible to have too much of a good thing, she decided. Cook’s broth was proof of that.

Harding entered. His gaze rested for only the briefest of moments on Lizzie, but she was sure he had missed nothing. He had heard her farewells with Geoffrey on the front steps, seen the look on her face that most likely belied her formal words. She did not have a “poker face,” as Tom had called it. A term he had learned from the Americans who had come to Sydney.

“Harding, you may tell Cook that we are ready for luncheon,” Lady Thornborough informed the butler.

“Right away, madam.”

Harding withdrew and closed the door, and Lizzie found herself breathing a sigh of relief. He managed to bring about the same kind of schoolmaster’s terror in Lizzie that Ria had suffered.

Lady Thornborough turned her attention back to Lizzie. “Did things go well with you and Lord Somerville today?”

Lizzie carefully smoothed her gown. “Of course.”

“Are you on amicable terms, then?”

“You could say that.” Lizzie did not aim to be coy
with her, but the powerful reaction she’d had to Geoffrey was not something she could divulge. She continued to move her hands slowly over her gown, attempting to draw strength from its silky coolness.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Lady Thornborough said. “I am glad you took my advice to heart. We are all family now, after all.”

Family.
Lizzie had come back to England in search of her family, and she’d certainly found one in Lady Thornborough and James. Her feelings toward Geoffrey were harder to define. It had been too easy today to forget that he was supposed to be her brother-in-law. “He’s going to call again tomorrow,” she said. Geoffrey wanted to see her again, and no matter the reason for it, she was undeniably glad.

“Excellent,” Lady Thornborough said with satisfaction. “I believe it will be a good thing for you to spend time together.” She laid a cool hand on Lizzie’s hot cheek. “Are you sure you are up to making calls with me today?”

Lizzie took a deep breath, hoping it would settle the quick, shallow beats of her heart. “Of course. Cook’s broth is bound to give me all the strength I need.”

*

“It’s incredibly exciting,” Lady Cardington declared, her voice filling the ornate and overstuffed drawing room. The other women who were present nodded in agreement.

This visit to the home of Lady Cardington was the last call Lizzie and Lady Thornborough would make today, and Lizzie was counting the minutes until they could leave. It was a tedious business, getting in and
out of carriages, being led upstairs into drawing rooms, being announced, and making introductions—all for the sake of a trivial fifteen-minute conversation.

The only relief for Lizzie was that she was not the primary topic of interest after all. It was Geoffrey who could claim that honor. Everywhere they went, the talk was the same: society matrons and their daughters vigorously discussed Lord Somerville and how he was the unexpected bounty of the season. Somewhat of an oddity, to be sure, but undeniably the biggest and best catch nonetheless.

Hearing Geoffrey reduced time and time again to a mere prize to be won was sorely trying to Lizzie’s nerves. Surely he was more than that. During their time together this morning, she began to see the man beneath the labels that had been heaped upon him. She realized she’d been just as guilty of shallow assumptions as everyone else. He was not the critical clergyman she had initially thought him to be; neither was he simply the most eligible peer in this season’s marriage market. Lizzie was beginning to suspect he’d make a fine husband, although not for the reasons she’d heard bandied about thus far.

Geoffrey had told her at their first meeting that he did not take pleasure in titles. She believed that now. He’d been forced to change his life’s plans, to fulfill a role he’d never prepared for. He must be struggling under a load of pressure. Perhaps they could help each other, as Lord Ashley had said. Her position as his sister-in-law would allow them to spend a lot of time together if they wished. Lizzie found she was happy at this prospect. She might just have to guard against caring for him
too
much.

“My husband is of the opinion that Lord Somerville
intends to marry as soon as possible,” said one of the ladies, who had been introduced to Lizzie as Mrs. Paddington. She was a tall, slender woman who wore a gown with a garish red-and-green tartan design. Lizzie had learned during an earlier house call that plaids were all the rage this season. Her eyes were nearly crossed from the varieties of plaid she had been subjected to this afternoon.

“My husband spoke to Lord Somerville at the club last week,” Mrs. Paddington related with a superior smile. “Of course, he badgered the poor man for the particulars—you know how my husband is such an incorrigible gossip!” Several women tittered at this remark. “But even my Stanley could get no details out of him.”

“He has been very careful not to show a preference for any particular lady,” Lady Cardington said with a knowing air. “But I can tell where his eye is heading…” She let her voice trail off dramatically as she looked pointedly toward Lucinda, her eldest daughter.

Lady Cardington was in a position to speak candidly. All the women present, except for her two daughters, were either elderly or already married. Or out of the running, Lizzie amended to herself, thinking of her own situation. Lizzie thought wryly of the previous visits they had paid that day. In those drawing rooms there were other women who had been just as sure where Geoffrey would be casting his favor—and it was not at the eldest Miss Cardington.

“We anticipate his offer any day,” Lady Cardington said. “I’m quivering all over, as though I were sitting on pins and needles.” She made several sharp movements up and down in her chair to dramatize this pronouncement.

Lady Cardington was the wrong person to imagine quivering all over. Lizzie quickly turned her eyes away, hoping she could prevent the image from lodging in her head. As she did so, she found herself staring right into the large brown eyes of Lucinda Cardington.

She proffered the teapot in Lizzie’s direction. “More tea, Mrs. Somerville?”

Having never
actually
been married, Lizzie was finding that to be continually addressed as Mrs. Somerville was unnerving. She told herself she would get used to it in time—the way a callus grows over skin that is repeatedly chafed. She extended her cup. “Yes, thank you.”

Lucinda’s eyebrows knit together as she concentrated on pouring the tea. When the cup was full, she turned just as carefully to lower the teapot onto a small table in front of them. Despite her efforts, the teapot clattered loudly as the china made jarring contact with the silver tray, causing the poor girl to wince in embarrassment.

She seemed to have a difficult time controlling her movements. Lizzie was still trying to sort out whether this was her natural tendency or if she grew awkward only in the presence of guests. Perhaps it was her own presence that was making Lucinda so nervous. She was, after all, the sister-in-law of London’s
most eligible bachelor
. Perhaps Lucinda was desperate to make a good impression so Lizzie would give a good word to Geoffrey for her. It was not a scenario Lizzie cared to contemplate.

She did seem a good sort of person, however. Honest and kind, and reasonably well educated. She had even managed some interesting conversation when she was not fretting herself into knots about the tea service. Lizzie sympathized with her on that account; like
Lucinda, Lizzie was not comfortable with the stiff formalities of society. Unfortunately, it was nothing she could confess to Lucinda to make her feel any better. They might both feel like outsiders, Lizzie thought, but for completely different reasons.

At Lizzie’s other elbow was Emily, Lucinda’s younger sister. Emily could not have been more than sixteen years old, yet her conversation was so centered on “marriage prospects” that she might as well have been out of the schoolroom and presented into society. Perhaps she already was. Lizzie had heard of girls whose parents allowed them to come out at such a young age.

Emily studied Lizzie with intense curiosity, as though she were some strange, otherworldly creature. It was a bit unnerving.

“Emily, where are your manners?” Lady Cardington said sharply. “I’m sure Mrs. Somerville does not appreciate being stared at so rudely.”

Emily gave Lizzie a smile that was intended to appear apologetic and said a bit too sweetly, “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Somerville.”

“That’s better,” her mother said, somewhat appeased.

“I should like to know all about Lord Somerville,” Emily went on cheerily, undeterred by her mother’s scolding. “Lucinda thinks it would be heavenly to have such a man in the family.” She gave a mischievous smile. “Perhaps
heavenly
is not the correct word, now that he no longer has a parish.” She giggled at her silly joke.

Emily’s frivolous words sent a chill down Lizzie’s spine. These ladies were discussing Lucinda’s marriage to Geoffrey as a foregone conclusion. But what were Geoffrey’s thoughts on the matter? She had no doubt
that he would fulfill his familial duties and take a wife. But how soon would he do it? Was it really imminent, as Lady Cardington implied? Unlike these women, Lizzie was concerned for the man himself, that he might be genuinely happy—not merely providing a big society wedding for their entertainment.

Lizzie sipped her tea and sent another surreptitious glance toward the clock. Just a few minutes more and they could leave. She would be glad to get away and get back home. And tomorrow, she thought with a smile to herself as she watched these uselessly chattering women, she would be seeing Geoffrey again.

                                                          
Chapter 16

T
he bright summer sun bathed London in a particularly fine light. Geoffrey was glad for the clear weather as he rode in his open carriage toward the Thornborough home. He would have preferred to walk, but he anticipated offering a ride to Ria today. It would be an agreeable way for her to become reacquainted with the city.

It was astounding, really, how continually she had been in his thoughts, although he had yet to completely comprehend her. He had been pleased at how easily they had reached a reconciliation, at her genuine desire that they should be friends. This was a good thing, surely. But she could irritate him, too. Her silly words yesterday after meeting that old man in Hyde Park were a case in point. In fact, Geoffrey was disappointed at the way she had handled the entire episode.

Then there was the moment in the carriage when she had fallen into his arms. He had no idea why his reaction had been so uncomfortably strong. Certainly he had held
women before—dancing with them, escorting them. But never had it felt like that. It was perhaps one thing he would be safer
not
to dwell upon.

Today he was ready to ask her for details about Edward. Certain things she’d told him at their first meeting kept returning to him, and he wanted to know more. He wondered what the trajectory of Edward’s life might have been if it had not been cut short. Geoffrey hoped he could find some consolation in knowing his brother had been content with the life he had chosen. He hoped Ria could shed more light on this, and help him find peace.

As the carriage came to a stop, he found himself praying,
Thank you Lord, for helping me to heal—and for helping Ria to heal, too.
And as a quick addendum as he walked up the steps to the Thornborough home, he added,
Lord, please help me understand her better. Help us know what we should do in the future.