Breakwater Beach (2 page)

Chapter 2

Fall, 1872

Surrey, England

Elisabeth Baxter sat by the window doing needlework. Late afternoon light bathed the sitting room in a golden glow. Dust motes danced in the haze. A warm breeze ruffled lace curtains, but the linen dress weighed on her like a leaden cloak. This never-ending summer, and one more stifling day filled with more meaningless pursuits, was far from over.

A spicy whiff of pipe tobacco floated through the open window and scratched the back of Elisabeth’s throat. Outside, her father leaned on the fieldstone wall bordering the terrace, conversing with Lord Thornlea, their broad backs toward her. Thornlea waved a hand and cooed like a pigeon. His warble prickled like a misplaced hatpin across her scalp.

Mama swept into the room, corseted into a yellow dress, a huge green hat with flowers and stuffed birds perched on her coiffure. “Elisabeth, perhaps you’ll take a stroll with Lord Thornlea before tea.” Mama’s suggestions were always commands in disguise.

Elisabeth pushed a needle through the fabric, tied a French knot, set her handiwork aside, and stood to look her mother in the eye. “They’re out there making plans. Papa hopes to convince me to marry him.”

The countess vented her frustration with a loud exhale. “You’re making this a good deal harder than it needs to be, Elisabeth. You’ve garnered a reputation for being difficult, and you aren’t getting younger.”

Mama had backed her into a corner, and Elisabeth was tiring of this fight. Tension hung in the air like the midsummer humidity.

“I’d rather be alone.” Doing charity work amongst street urchins provided more pleasant company than yet another old man with lascivious eyes.

“You have been difficult since the day you were born. I nearly died. Close your eyes and endure the pawing and discomfort for a short time. Once you’ve produced an heir or two he’ll leave you alone and amuse himself elsewhere. Then you’re free to carry on as before, with a lovely home and family.”

Mama had accepted the misery. Elisabeth couldn’t imagine allowing any of the potential suitors to touch her, let alone anything more intimate.

“Your father cared enough about me to understand I could never have another child and was deprived of a son. Her lips pursed. “Cooperate on this matter. Marriage to Lord Thornlea will secure your father’s status. And your own.”

Mama wagged her head and swept toward the doorway. “Sara, where are you?” Mama went in search of the downstairs maid.

“No. I will not,” Elisabeth retorted, but there was no response, no acknowledgment, as her mother turned into the hall.

She paced across the room and stared out the open double doors onto the terrace. Thornlea and her father still stood by the stone wall. Snippets of their conversation drifted in.

“Elisabeth will come around. After all these years of doing as she pleases my daughter needs to settle down.”

“She has spirit, Baxter. That’s to be admired. She’ll no doubt produce fine children once tamed.”

The two men chuckled.

“Like a brood mare.” Tears welled in her eyes, and fear clutched in her throat.

Elisabeth wandered back into the sitting room, sat, then tinkled the piano keys, settling on a dark, gloomy Bach piece. Each keystroke echoed the beat of impending doom pulsing inside her. Heavy footsteps moved closer, but she didn’t stop playing to acknowledge her father.

“Why don’t you join us outside, Elisabeth?” He took one of her hands off the keyboard, cutting off the foreboding notes mid-stanza.

“I know you are trying to persuade me to spend time with Lord Thornlea, hoping I will consent to marry.” Elisabeth stood to leave.

“You’re already twenty-seven.” Lord Baxter caught her arm. “I have better things to do than try to convince these men there are no flaws in your character. He’s only a little older than you and not ill looking.”

The smell of alcohol on Papa’s breath sickened her. “No, but he has the same flaws in his character as you.”

Her father gritted his teeth. He raised a hand, and the air swooshed as his palm headed toward her face. She ducked, but not before it glanced off her cheek.

He slammed his glass down on the piano, sloshing whisky over the mahogany. The butler mopped up the mess, and left with a sideways glance at Elisabeth. She refused to react, to give dear Papa the pleasure of seeing her cry. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and turned her back.

“I’ve had enough of your impertinence. You’ve amused yourself with your friends, traveling, and shopping. All that gadding about on missions of mercy to save every ragamuffin in the London slums has given you the strangest ideas. It’s time to get married.” He spun her around and brought his face within a few inches of hers. “Damn you, Elisabeth! Why do you have to be such a problem?”

Mama rushed over and spoke in a hurried whisper. “My lord, please.”

His heels thundered on the marble floor as Papa stormed inside.

Her mother sniffed with typical disdain. “Go freshen yourself, Elisabeth.”

She longed for a cool cloth to soothe her cheek. Blood trickled from her nose. Elisabeth slipped a handkerchief out of her reticule and dabbed. Her soul stung more than her face. The man was desperate to have his way. He’d never hit her in public before.

Thornlea sauntered into the room.

Elisabeth stuffed the handkerchief back into her reticule and turned so he couldn’t see the mark still burning her face.

The earl was tall and always well groomed, dressed in the latest fashions. His lean face, with an aquiline nose and deep-set eyes lent an air of distinction, but he smelled of whiskey and that reminded her too much of Papa.

“So, you trust me with your beautiful daughter, Baxter?” Elisabeth noted his gaze sweep from her head to toes, like he was evaluating a piece of livestock.

Papa waved his hand and turned his back.

Thornlea turned to her mother, accepted the proffered hand, and pressed it to his cheek. “Your Grace.”

The butler came back into the room with a decanter and tray of glasses for another round of drinks.

“Ah, good show, Hartman.” Baxter took two glasses and handed one to Thornlea. They raised them in tandem, sealing the agreement.

Elisabeth stared at her mother so intently that the countess averted her eyes. The men laughed. Her cheeks burned.

Glasses clinked. Thornlea looped his arm around Elisabeth’s and led her out the front door, making a big show of encircling her waist to help her down the steps she could have easily descended on her own. The heat of his hands on her body, even through the dress and undergarments, prickled her skin.

“It’s quite a fine day for a stroll, Lady Elisabeth. Shall we go?” He waited, head cocked. A closed-lip smile spread across his face.

She took time to steady herself, to steel herself, to take out her gloves and slip them on before taking his still extended arm. Elisabeth kept as much distance between them as she could when they entered the flower garden. Nary a bee alighted on the fragrant roses. Cherubic statues surrounding the fountain dribbled into a pond, the water a stagnant green, dotted with yellow algae. Tiny insects traversed the scum, too busy feeding to fly off and seek other prey.

After passing through an aisle bordered on either side by tall trees, they turned back toward the house. The air was still, grass cushioned their footsteps, and not even the call of a bird broke the silence. Perhaps disdain and distance had saved her.

The earl finally spoke. “Elisabeth, I’d like to propose you visit my estate where you might preside as Lady Stonehollow, Countess of Thornlea.”

“Papa and Mama dearly want to be rid of me, but I’m not interested in marriage.” Elisabeth tried to walk back into the house.

Thornlea blocked the way and pressed her against the stone façade. He chuckled and brought his face to hers. The smell of stale tobacco and alcohol brought bile to the back of her throat.

“Come now, my lady. I’m offering you a fine life.” His lips brushed the same cheek her father had slapped.

Thornlea, fueled by drink and arrogance, would be as rough as Papa once she belonged to him, even worse when he’d demand marital rights. He stepped even closer. His hands tightened around both arms until her fingertips tingled. The bulge in his trousers pressed against her. The thought of being in bed with him made her quake, and the forced intimacy was like being held underwater and unable to breathe. If he defiled her, she’d be force to marry to protect her honour. That could not happen.

Elisabeth pushed him away with her knee. “Leave me alone.” Sickness, disgust, and terror washed over her. Her hat slipped, the pins dug into her scalp, and her hair loosened.

“Stop acting like a child,” he growled as his smile turned into a leer. Thornlea’s eyes narrowed and stared into hers like a hungry hound as he bent to kiss her again.

He’d have his way with her now, then over and over again. She’d rather die. Summoning every bit of strength, Elisabeth yanked away. Thornlea’s fingers tightened, dug into the skin, and held her still. She twisted to break free, but that only served to fuel the intensity of his grip, the pressure of his whiskey-laced lips against hers.

“Excuse me, my lord.”

Thornlea twitched and released his grasp. Elisabeth slumped, her knees so weak her bottom slid down the wall. She rubbed her arms to get the blood circulating and righted her hat, expecting to see a gardener whose complicity would be assured by the need for a job. Instead, the earl jumped to face the man, dressed in a merchant seaman’s tunic and trousers, holding a package in one hand and the reins of his horse in the other. No matter who it was, at least she’d been spared a second assault in less than an hour.

“Who are you? How did you get onto the grounds?” Thornlea stared down his nose at the man who stood with a simpleton’s grin on his face.

“Edward Barrett, my lord.” He tipped his hand to the brim of his cap. “I’ve instructions to personally deliver an important package to Lord Baxter of Apthorp, Earl of Camberley. I heard talking and assumed that would be you.”

“You need to learn your place. Deliveries go to the side door. How dare you ride your horse right up to the house?” Thornlea snarled and lunged at him like an angry dog.

Barrett didn’t move an inch. “My captain directed this be given to His Lordship. A gift from the Lord Timmons, Earl of Reigate, direct from the Orient.” Instead of the look of an idiot, or one ignorant of protocol, the mariner’s countenance now reflected quiet determination.

By feigning idiocy, he seemed to have directed most of Thornlea’s anger toward a protocol violation rather than an impropriety. Elisabeth was almost certain he’d deliberately intervened.

“Get that horse out of the garden and bring your parcel to the back entrance.” The veins in Thornlea’s neck bulge and his fists clenched.

Lightheaded, her heart fluttering from shock and relief, Elisabeth seized the moment to slink away from the wall. “I’m Lady Elisabeth Baxter. I’ll take you to His Lordship.” She almost ran toward the front door.

Thornlea hurried to catch up to her and offered his arm.

“Get away from me,” Elisabeth whispered, emboldened enough to want to kick him. She turned and spoke to Barrett, who followed a few paces behind. “Follow me.” A smile was the only way she could think to show her appreciation.

Barrett had a glint in his dark eyes and moved with ease, like he enjoyed having spoiled Thornlea’s fun. His tunic, tucked neatly into the trousers, was open at the neck showing off a broad chest. The novel, and yet not unwelcome sight of his bare skin, despite the absolute impropriety, offered a glimpse of daring, of freedom, of adventure, of escape.

All the men paraded in front of her wore tailored, elegant clothing that accentuated their paunch, a result of too little work and too much leisure. She watched as Barrett handed the horse off to the groom, then came back. His clothes hung loose, yet underneath she imagined a trim waist and the ripple of sculpted muscles. Handsome, gallant—this was a man whose arm she’d gladly take and walk proudly beside .

When the footman opened the double doors, Thornlea bounded up the stone steps past him and disappeared inside. Barrett removed his cap. Dark curls fell about his face, tanned by wind and weather, sporting a neatly trimmed black beard.

“My captain insisted I give this to Lord Baxter of  Apthorp, Earl of Camberley, personally.” He handed Elisabeth the package. Calloused hands brushed hers.

“I’ll see that he gets it, Mr. Barrett.” His touch, despite the work-roughened skin was gentle, almost tender.

“Are you hurt, my lady?” He handed back the bloodstained handkerchief she must have dropped when she and Thornlea left the house. Her heart, hardened against the idea of ever giving herself willingly to a man, softened.

“No, thanks to you.” Elisabeth took the scrap of soiled linen from him. Barrett was the first man she’d ever met who had ever shown genuine concern for her well-being. So, hard work and adversity shaped a better character as well as a better body.

The momentary romantic fantasy faded. Now she faced another confrontation with dear Papa. Edward Barrett wouldn’t be there the next time.