Charlotte Louise Dolan (14 page)

“Your letters are very important to us all.”

“All?”

“Well, Darius reads them aloud to some of the men—quite a few of us, actually. I hope that doesn’t bother you. He just reads the newsy parts, not the private stuff between man and wife.”

There was nothing in her letters that could not be read to the entire army, but she couldn’t confess that, not even to her brother. In her efforts to hide her worries and everything else unpleasant, she realized she was guilty of writing the same kind of impersonal letter that Darius was sending her.

“Nicholas, I wish you to tell me what it is really like in Spain. If one would go by the letters you two are writing, then your stay on the Peninsula is nothing more than a pleasant lark.”

Before he could reply, if indeed he had any intention of answering her question honestly, they were interrupted by their aunt, and from the look of intense relief on her brother’s face, Elizabeth knew he would not give her an opportunity to trap him again with such a question.

“Oh, Elizabeth, the most wonderful thing. Mrs. Drummond Burrell has sent you a voucher for Almack’s, and we have received a dozen other invitations, and everyone has included you specifically by name.”

“But, Aunt Theo, you told me yourself it would not be proper for me to take part in the Season when my husband’s cousin is so recently deceased.”

“That has nothing to say to the case. If Mrs. Drummond Burrell thinks it is proper for you to appear at Almack’s, then it must be so, because she is the highest stickler imaginable.”

Trying unsuccessfully to hide his grin, Nicholas mumbled something about seeing a man about a horse and took his leave.

“Coward,” Elizabeth murmured after him before resuming the argument with her aunt. Perhaps Darius had the right idea. It might be easier to face French guns than the inquisitive glances of society busybodies and the wagging tongues of gossips.

“We must send for the dressmaker at once. Oh, I do hope Madame Suzette has time to make up at least one gown for you by Monday night.”

“Aunt Theo, I do not need new gowns. I have plenty in Somerset, and if I were planning to stay more than a few days here in London, I would simply send for them.”

“Not stay? Of course you must stay. I have run myself ragged chaperoning Florie, and now I am utterly exhausted. If you are unwilling to help, then I fear I will go into a decline and have to take to my bed.”

There was nothing more to be said. Once her aunt started talking about taking to her bed, the argument was lost. With a last inward sigh for the peaceful life of Oakhaven, Elizabeth agreed not only to send for the rest of her clothes, but also to pay a call on Madame Suzette.

“Elizabeth? Is it really you?”

She recognized Simon’s voice behind her and carefully laid down the novel she had been considering. Whyever had she given in to Dorie’s wishes to go shopping? Such an unnecessary risk, and now the worst had happened.

Turning to face the man who nine months ago—a veritable lifetime ago—had been unable to look her in the face, she did her best to school her own expression into a mask of politeness.

“My dear, how lovely you look this afternoon. That blue gown is vastly becoming.”

Apparently her cousin had been right, that the scar was barely noticeable, because now Simon was looking right at her, no hint of disgust on his handsome face. “But, then, you always did prefer me in blue.”

He smiled ruefully, his charm as potent as ever. “I adored you in any color, my dear. But, come, I must not keep you standing here like this. We must find a place to talk. There is so much to catch up on.”

“Dorie is with me.”

There was a fleeting expression of discomposure, but he recovered quickly. “Then I invite both of you lovely ladies to join me at Gunter’s for some ices.”

Elizabeth found to her surprise that she no longer had any interest in handsome, charming men. She preferred her soldier, even when he was being his most difficult. On the other hand, fully aware of how many speculative glances were being directed their way, she did not want to do or say anything that would create an unpleasant scene in Hookham’s.

“That will be delightful.” She fixed a smile on her face. “Let me just find Dorie. I am sure she will be thrilled by the unexpected treat.”

I wonder if a St. John is allowed to lie, she thought, because she could think of nothing less delightful, and she had a feeling her powers of prevarication would be tested to the limits, were she to spend much time in Simon’s company. She could only hope that Dorie had matured enough not to blurt out in public her opinion of Simon, or they would both be in the suds.

* * * *

Simon helped Elizabeth dismount from the carriage, deliberately letting his hands linger around her waist longer than necessary. Such a delightfully trim waist, and such delectable curves above and below it.

Leaving the rude child to climb down from the carriage by herself, he escorted Elizabeth to the door of her aunt’s town house, where he said all that was polite.

By the time he drove away, his mind was already concocting various plots. Although the scar did detract somewhat from her beauty, Elizabeth still had the necessary requirements to please a man in bed, and he had every intention of shortly having her in his.

The only problem was how to get her there. But, then, that was not really a problem, because he understood women perfectly. He knew what the dear creatures wanted, even when they didn’t always know themselves. Now that Elizabeth was a married woman, whose husband wasn’t around to satisfy her awakened desires, she would drop into his hands like a ripe plum.

Ripe, ah, yes, her breasts were ripe, and he was impatient to take that ripeness in his hands, to see her look of cool aloofness change to one of craving—craving for him, to feel her lips caressing him ...

Yes, whatever he had to do, Elizabeth was going to end up in his bed, and he wasn’t in the mood to be patient, either. Not that he would have to wait very long—not when she had been deprived of his company for so many months.

She had adored him before her accident and was undoubtedly still nursing a broken heart. He was actually doing her a favor by letting her satisfy all her unfulfilled desires, and he had every intention of allowing her to show her appreciation in the most meaningful manner.

“Look where yer goin’, yuh blinkin’ idiot!” Abruptly pulled out of his daydreams, Simon jerked back on the reins, narrowly avoiding a collision with a dray. Then, amid catcalls and jeers from the passersby on the sidewalk, he was obliged to back up his team enough to maneuver his carriage around the other vehicle.

* * * *

The ballroom at Almack’s was filled with gaily colored dancers and the sounds of conversation and laughter, but Lady Letitia was concerned about the girl beside her. To look at her expression, one would think Elizabeth was the most hopeless wallflower instead of the belle of the ball.

“Come, my child, tell me what’s troubling you. You know you can speak your mind without fear. I never gossip accidentally, only on purpose.”

Besides her Elizabeth smiled, but it was a very forced smile. “Nothing is bothering me. I am having a very pleasant stay in London. No,” she amended, “that is not true. I feel like a freak in a raree-show. Is that honest enough for you?”

To the young, the smallest problems became so terribly important, thought Lady Letitia. Even she herself in her youth had been overset if she threw out a spot or if her wig was not properly powdered. “By the time you are my age, my dear, the scar will be just one more wrinkle.”

Elizabeth’s smile wavered and then was lost. “It is not so much the scar. Dorie assures me that people will become accustomed to it, and she is probably correct, because people back home no longer pay it any heed. What is bothering me is this ... this blasted fascination with will-she-won’t-she be a duchess. Have they nothing better to fill their minds with than such foolish speculation?”

“At least you have the assurance that in another two weeks their curiosity will be satisfied, and they will turn like a flock of sheep in another direction.”

“They are acting more like a pack of hounds than a flock of sheep—and with me as the hunted fox. And I have no such assurance, because babies do not invariably come on time. They are betting on that, also, you know—which day, which hour, which minute. I have an overwhelming urge to rap their knuckles with a ruler and order them all to cease such childishness.”

“You had as well stand like King Canute and order the tides to halt. But tell me, what have you heard from your soldier boy? Is he winning the war single-handedly?”

Her young companion’s smile became genuine for the first time that evening, and Lady Letitia listened with interest to the news of Captain St. John’s promotion to major and several anecdotes about the men in his company.

She had been quite impressed with him at the squire’s party in Somerset. Having known his mother and sisters, none of whom had the morals of an alley cat, she had been somewhat worried when she had read the marriage announcement in the paper.

Although his father had been an honorable man and a fine soldier, he had been too weak to exercise the slightest control over his wife or have any influence on his daughters. It would appear that the captain—the major, that is—had inherited his mother’s forceful personality and his father’s strong sense of morality.

All in all, she was not displeased that Elizabeth had broken off the engagement with Simon Bellgrave. Although he was considered the finest “catch” on the Marriage Mart, Lady Letitia had strong doubts about his suitability as a husband, especially for someone as loving as the young girl beside her. Bellgrave was all exquisite sensibility but with no real sensitivity.

Speaking of whom, he was now approaching their chairs with the obvious intention of claiming Elizabeth for the next dance, which did not meet with Lady Letitia’s approval. Before he could open his mouth, she forestalled him. “Ah, Bellgrave, just the man we need. Mrs. St. John and I are absolutely parched. Be so good as to fetch us two lemonades.”

The look of frustration on his face was comical as he hesitated before them, but she merely fixed him with what she knew others referred to as her “eagle eye,” and he broke down and departed to do as he had been bid.

There was a soft sigh beside her, and Lady Letitia was afraid that Elizabeth still carried the torch for her lost fiancé. Lord preserve us all if that is the case, she thought.

The musicians began to play and beside her Elizabeth gasped. “Merciful heavens, what are they doing?”

“It is called a waltz,” Lady Letitia replied. “It is supposed to be all the crack in Vienna.”

They watched in silence for a few moments, then Elizabeth spoke again. “I can see how it might be enjoyable to dance that way with one’s husband, but to have some other man put his hands on one’s waist ...”

She looked at Lady Letitia with dismay, and it was obvious she had just realized she was promised to Bellgrave for that very thing. Her expression made it clear that whatever emotions she might be feeling, she was not pining after her former fiancé. It would appear to be time to meddle.

“Here are your drinks, ladies. Elizabeth, I believe this is my dance.”

“Don’t be absurd, Bellgrave.” Lady Letitia spoke in a deliberately booming voice, which caused heads to turn in their direction. “Mrs. St. John cannot possibly be expected to waltz when her husband’s cousin is scarcely cold in his grave.”

The poor man blushed, obviously discommoded by the stares and titters of the interested observers, whose numbers increased rapidly. Having no alternative, he excused himself, bowed curtly, and strode away.

The crowd gradually lost interest in the tableau, and Lady Letitia patted Elizabeth’s hand. “I do not think any of the young bucks will dare ask you to waltz now that I have passed judgment on it. None of them cares to risk my disapproval for fear I will marry them off to a veritable antidote.”

The smile on her young companion’s face was heartfelt, as were her words. “Dear, dear Lady Letitia, when I am old, I hope I am just like you.”

The compliment was accepted in the spirit in which it was given, but Lady Letitia had no illusions that Elizabeth resembled her in the slightest or ever would. In spite of the fact that Mrs. St. John was married—and no one knowing Major St. John could be brought to believe that he would allow a marriage in name only—there was an innocence of her soul that had not been touched. And Lady Letitia was not about to allow it to be shattered by such a one as Simon Bellgrave.

She had seen enough of men to recognize the look in his eye when he watched Elizabeth, and she suspected he was up to his old tricks. No one had been more amazed than she was when he had become engaged, because he had given every sign of being a perennial bachelor, thoroughly content with keeping a mistress and seducing bored married ladies.

Whether he would have settled down if he had actually gotten married was open to debate, although Lady Letitia had strong doubts on that subject. More to the point, his intentions toward Elizabeth now could not be honorable, and it therefore it followed that they must be dishonorable.

Unfortunately for his plans, he had not reckoned on facing an opponent like Lady Letitia. In her innocence Elizabeth might be lured into a compromising situation, but Lady Letitia knew all about putting a spoke in a gentleman’s wheel. Simon was doomed to fail, did he but know it.

* * * *

“So I said to her, ‘Madame, surely you remember that I never, ever wear green? How can you even show me such a fabric?’ I asked her. Then”—Lady Gilford paused for effect— “she had the effrontery to tell me the color was blue, not green. I ask you? What can one do in such cases? I simply walked out.”

There were little murmurs of approval from the other ladies present, and Elizabeth did her best not to let her boredom show. She had been sitting in the drawing room the entire afternoon entertaining one set of visitors after another, unable to slip away even for a moment.

A letter had come from Darius this morning, and she had been engaged in writing a response when the summons had come from her aunt that they had company. It was at that point that she should have made her excuses and pleaded a sick headache, but she hated to disoblige her aunt, who had been so kind to her in the past.