An Heiress at Heart (5 page)

Geoffrey recalled their whispered conversations together, late at night, when Edward described the very interesting things he was discovering about women. Things their father certainly had never told them.

Edward could have had his pick from among every eligible lady in England. Instead, he ran off with William’s betrothed. Their speedy courtship and subsequent elopement proved that Ria was just as headstrong and reckless as Edward.

William had been furious, of course. But Geoffrey soon discovered that the cause of his elder brother’s anger was not lost love, but hurt pride and concern for his family’s reputation. Within a few months he had simply found
another woman upon whom to bestow his favor. William had evidenced the exact attitude toward marriage that Geoffrey detested: all that mattered was a lady’s position in society and her willingness to play by its rules.

Geoffrey shifted in his chair, idly setting one foot on the iron grate and staring moodily at the dark fireplace. Women were still an enigma to him. He never had the smooth magnetism of Edward, nor William’s cool detachment when it came to affairs of the heart. He was still trying to thread his own way.

Above all, his thoughts kept returning to Ria. Why did she appear in such reduced circumstances? If Edward was dead—God forbid—what would she expect from his family? Would she demand a widow’s dower of some kind, even though there had been no prearranged settlement?

What had she and Edward been doing all these years? There was no telling how many days it would take for Ria to recover enough to give them a complete account. There was nothing to do but wait—and this was infinitely more frustrating than not being able to take action of some kind. Of
any
kind. Geoffrey stood and began pacing the room. The wait was going to be very hard indeed.

                                                          
Chapter 4

L
izzie pushed her way up through deep, cold water, desperate to reach the shaft of sunlight that glittered down through the shadowy depths.
Reach the top, find air…

She awoke with a start. Turning her head toward the source of the light, she realized sunlight had indeed been teasing her eyelids. It poured through a gap in the window curtains and bathed her bed in light and warmth. She breathed in deeply, drinking in the room’s tranquil stillness. Gradually, the noise and confusion of her dreams faded.

Violent nightmares of storm and shipwreck were nothing new to Lizzie. She’d been plagued with them ever since Tom’s death, as though some part of her were constantly trying to imagine her brother’s terror when his ship was breaking up in that savage gale. The things she’d been through during the voyage from Australia had only increased their severity.

It had taken all of Lizzie’s determination to set foot
on a ship back to England, when Tom had been lost on a mere trip from Sydney to Melbourne. Her fears had been justified. They’d been battered for days on end by rough seas and bad weather, and more than once Lizzie was sure she would meet the same fate as her brother.

Mercifully, the ship reached England, but not before many of its passengers had succumbed to illness. Day after day the burials at sea grew to a horrifying number. Lizzie had somehow kept well while aboard the ship, but in the end the influenza found her, too. She had been told the symptoms could come without warning, but she had not expected them to strike with such force. The fever had come upon her during her walk up from the docks and left her staggering in the street, close to fainting—only to be run down by a carriage.

Raising a hand to her temple, Lizzie pressed tentatively on the bandage covering it. The wound was still tender, but no longer throbbed in agonizing pain. She tried to piece together what had happened after the carriage struck her.

She had a vague memory of being taken up into warm, strong arms. After that, brief snatches of conversation had somehow drifted into her consciousness. She’d heard Ria’s name. Then she’d been pulled back to her senses and found herself face to face with Ria’s family.

That had been a revelation. Even in the midst of her pain and confusion, Lizzie had instantly recognized Lady Thornborough. The knowledge had burst upon her with startling clarity. Ria’s descriptions of her grandmother had certainly been accurate, but Lizzie sensed a deeper reason for the connection. It was a curiously
powerful sensation—as though she’d been waiting her whole life for a reunion with someone she’d never met.

Her encounter with James had followed a similar pattern. He had looked and acted exactly as Lizzie had pictured he would.

Only Geoffrey had taken her utterly by surprise.

The memory of Geoffrey brought Lizzie’s heart to a quicker pace, much as the shock of meeting him had done. He was no retiring cleric; in fact, he could not have been more different from the man Lizzie had imagined. As she recalled his tall form, his powerful presence, his urgent questioning, another image pressed itself on her memory as clearly as if she were seeing it now.

There had been bloodstains on his shirt and collar.

Her blood.

He had carried her.

His arms had provided a warmth and comfort that she had not seen later in his eyes.

What must he have thought of her? She could easily guess. His look of contempt had been clear enough. There could be no doubt what he thought about the woman who had run off with his brother, and who now returned home in such an embarrassing state.

And yet, Lizzie reminded herself, the critical thing right now was not so much
what
he thought of her as
who
he thought she was. Somehow, despite such a bad beginning, she had convinced them all that she was Victoria Thornborough. She had managed to step into the life Ria had left behind.

But had she really done it? What if they had somehow discovered their error while she’d been lying here, unconscious? Although she was alone right now, a
wooden chair close by the bed gave evidence that someone had been sitting with her. Had they been keeping vigil because of her illness, or because they planned to confront her as soon as she awoke?

Fighting a rush of fear, Lizzie pushed herself to a half-sitting position, trying to ascertain where they had brought her. Her bed was a large four-poster, with a counterpane of rose-patterned chintz. Through the partially opened window curtains she could see a cozy window seat lined with a deep red cushion. On the far side of the room stood a dressing table covered with an assortment of perfume bottles and a wooden box inlaid with ivory.

It was Ria’s room, exactly as she had described it. Lady Thornborough must have kept it unchanged during all these years. More important, they had brought Lizzie here. Despite her illness, the accident, and a few missteps, they seemed to have accepted that she was Ria. Lizzie sank back into the pillows and let out a long sigh. She hoped this boded well for what was to come.

The bedroom door opened and a large, round woman entered the room. She was dressed as a servant, yet she settled herself on the chair beside Lizzie with an easy familiarity. “So you are awake at last,” she said with a smile, which showed a small gap between her front teeth. “You gave us a hearty fright, collapsing like that the moment you come through the door.”

Lizzie quickly reviewed the woman’s features. Her rosy face was framed with graying hair just showing from underneath a white cap. A faded scar was barely visible under her left eye. Ria’s former nursemaid had a scar like that. Whenever Ria used to vex Martha—
which, to hear Ria tell it, happened often—the old scar would stand out clearly.

A surge of excitement ran through her, similar to what she’d experienced before she’d taken the risk of addressing James by name. It was like walking off a cliff and yet somehow knowing there would be a bridge there. It gave her a heady feeling, and she liked it. “You see that you have your Ria to fuss over again, Martha.” Lizzie spoke in a higher tone of voice, copying Ria’s inflections. She had always been an excellent mimic of the wide variety of accents she’d heard every day in London. It was a skill that she and Tom had once used to entertain themselves for hours—now her future depended on it.

The old servant beamed. “Bless my soul!” She took one of Lizzie’s hands into her own, fleshy and calloused ones. “We were afraid we’d got you back after so many years only to lose you to a fever.” She let go of Lizzie’s hand to wipe away a tear. “I beg your pardon, miss. But we are so very happy to have you back.”

“Are you really glad, Martha? And Lady Thornborough—Grandmamma—is she happy, too?”

“Why, of course!” Martha replied without hesitation. “She was naturally very angry when you left as you did, with no word and so much bad blood between you. But time heals all wounds, they say. I have often seen her sitting alone in the garden, all pensive-like, and I know’d she was a-thinkin’ of you.”

So Lady Thornborough had been pining for Ria’s return. Half a world away, Ria had been longing for the very same thing. During the final weeks of Ria’s illness, when she’d shared so much about her life with Lizzie, Ria had often voiced the fear that everyone here had
forgotten her. Clearly she’d been mistaken. The entire household, Lady Thornborough included, had been holding their collective breaths, hoping that Ria might someday come home to them. Tears stung Lizzie’s eyes at the thought that Ria would never know.

Martha gave her a comforting smile, and then placed a hand on Lizzie’s forehead and nodded in satisfaction. “Dr. Layton told us yesterday that the worst was past and you would be coming around again soon. All a matter of time, he said.”

“Martha, how long have I been here?”

“Five days, miss.”

“Five days!” Lizzie tried to sit up, but Martha gently restrained her.

“Easy, miss,” she said. “You’re not fully recovered yet.”

Lizzie took note for the first time of the soft linen nightdress which fell loosely against her skin. She scanned the room for evidence of her clothes, but could find none. “Martha, where are my clothes?”

“Not to worry. Her ladyship has ordered four new dresses for you. Yours was too worn, and not in keeping with the latest fashion, she said.”

These words were meant to be reassuring, but they only brought a new fear—that the precious heirloom Lizzie had come so far to return might now be lost. She had visions of her petticoat being sold cheap in the used clothing stalls, its new owner unaware that a diamond and sapphire bracelet was sewn into the waistband. She grabbed Martha’s arm. “Who undressed me?”

Martha beamed complacently. “I did, miss. Just like in the old days.” Martha leaned in close. “Rest easy,” she said softly. “The bracelet has not been lost.”

Relief washed over her. “I suppose you recognized it?”

“Indeed I did, miss.”

“I have every intention of returning it to Grandmamma.”

Martha patted her hand. “I know my Ria is an honest soul and would never keep what weren’t hers. I’m sure her ladyship will be overjoyed when you give the bracelet to her.”

“You have not already done so?”

Martha shook her head. “That was not my place.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “However, I did not want any of the other servants to find it, so I put it away for safekeeping. I put it in your secret hiding place.”

Lizzie stared at her blankly.

Ria had described a hiding place at Rosewood, their country estate in Kent. That was where Lizzie would find the love letters that had been written years ago between Lizzie’s mother and Ria’s father—letters Ria insisted would prove Lizzie was a blood relation. But Ria hadn’t mentioned a hiding place in the London house. How could Lizzie admit to Martha that she didn’t know where it was?

Martha gave her a reproving look. “Come now. There have been many years and many miles gone, but you must remember that.”

Was Martha deliberately testing her?

Lizzie gave her a coaxing smile, imitating the one Ria had often used to wheedle Edward into anything she wanted. “Martha, you are such a clever old thing. But you know I haven’t the strength to get out of bed, and I would like to return the bracelet to Grandmamma right away. Would you be a dear and get it for me?”

Martha remained seated. “Her ladyship was crushed when you ran away. She will be too proud to say so, but she has wished for nothing else all these years but that her dear Ria would return to her.” She gave Lizzie a deep, questioning look. “I do hope that you will not do anything to cause her more suffering.”

Lizzie was taken aback by Martha’s words. She had never in her life had servants, but she was fairly certain they did not question their employers in such a way. Did Martha suspect her of being a fraud?

No. For the moment she must assume that Martha was simply a faithful old servant who was secure enough in her position to chastise her charge. Especially one for whom she cared so much. “Martha, there are many things I must set straight. And I will.” She pursed her lips into an exaggerated pout. “Don’t be such a weeping willow.”

These last words, a common retort of Ria’s, seemed to have the desired effect. The shade of doubt in Martha’s eyes lifted. “I’ll get the bracelet for you straightaway, miss.”