Corey McFadden (13 page)

“Yes, I know just how she feels,” replied Elspeth.

“As it is, I expect Mr. Thorpe to offer for Caroline, possibly this evening,” Aunt Bettina said, with a proud smile. “Such a fine match it will be, don’t you think?”

It was as if time had stopped. Elspeth could hardly breathe for the sound of her heart pounding in her chest. She made herself take a deep breath. “Indeed. My congratulations, Aunt,” she finally replied. She was surprised that the words came out at all, so constricted was her throat. “Well, I’ll say goodnight, then,” she said quickly. Without waiting for a reply, she turned away from her aunt and sought the sanctity of her own room, closing the door quietly behind her.

She sank into the chair at her dressing table, and peered into the very small glass that sat in front of her. Large eyes, magnified, stared back at her. Julian had said her eyes were beautiful. But, of course, all the gentlemen in Bath said such silly things. It meant nothing. A toff might well tell a lady she was beautiful, and an hour later, propose marriage to another. She was confused by the dark pain in her chest. It wasn’t because she was not going to tonight’s assembly. There was nothing about the evening’s entertainment itself that had engaged her anticipation. It was Julian Thorpe, and Julian Thorpe alone who had kept her here in Bath, in a cold and angry house where even her small brother suffered from a surfeit of disdain. It was preposterous to stay. Now he would be engaged to Caroline, and all the tongues would find amusement in the fact that the foolish country cousin had dared to presume so much. Had dared to set her sights on Mr. Thorpe, he as far above her meager circumstances as any of Queen Charlotte’s eight living sons. And then the
ton
would indeed laugh at the foolish Miss Quinn, Julian laughing longest and loudest at her naive temerity.

She would take Harry and go home to Weston-under-Lizard, and Julian Thorpe would never give Miss Elspeth Quinn another thought again as long as he lived on this earth. She raised her hands to her hair and began removing the pins slowly, one by one. It was hard to see by the one candle, harder still with her eyes swimming in tears. She would go home, and think about Mr. Julian Thorpe for all the rest of her lonely days.

* * * *

Julian scanned the Assembly Room but there was no sign of Elspeth. Caroline, however, was much in evidence. It seemed she managed to be everywhere he looked, smiling invitingly at him. There was no doubt she was the loveliest of all the young eligibles in attendance this evening. But hers was not the face he sought. For some reason he found he had a strong preference for soft brown hair rather than blonde, and large green eyes, rather than hard blue ones.

“Caroline is at her lovely best tonight, wouldn’t you say, Julian?” came Edgar’s voice at his elbow. “Of course that puppy Ledbetter seems to have staked out his territory. I can’t believe you’d let him poach on your grounds like that. You’d best be careful or you’ll lose her to him. And what will the
pater familias
have to say if you arrive home without a bride?”

“Good evening to you, Edgar. And don’t worry about me, thank you.” No point in taking any of that prodigious amount of bait. Edgar would like nothing better than to run through the Assembly Rooms this evening scattering new tidbits about Julian Thorpe and Caroline Quinn.

“Good evening, Mr. Thorpe,” came a voice at his other elbow. That voice. So far this was not shaping up to be much of an evening.

“And good evening to you, Mrs. Quinn,” he replied smoothly, bending over the hand he was offered. “I’m pleased to see that your daughter suffers no lingering effects from twisting her ankle the other day.”

“Oh, she suffered dreadfully, Mr. Thorpe,” gushed Bettina Quinn. “But you know my dear Caroline. Not a word of complaint. Not a word. I’ve put warm compresses on her ankle and it has reduced the swelling. Nothing would do but that she come this evening. She did so wish to get out a bit after being confined for the last few days. But I know she is in great pain. Not that she will ever say a word. Not a word.”

Julian refrained from mentioning that he had caught a glimpse of Caroline in High Street two days ago, strolling along with no hint of a limp, or any sort of discomfort whatsoever. Indeed, when he had examined the ankle himself shortly after the mishap, there had been no sign of swelling or bruising.

“And where is Miss Elspeth Quinn, ma’am?” he asked, again looking about. “I’ve not seen her this evening.”

The woman’s lips tightened visibly. “Elspeth is home with the headache. She is a sickly gel. Quite a lot of constant fuss about her health, really. Very demanding.”

“Sir Richard must be
très distrait
,” put in Edgar.

“Oh, indeed. He asked after her first thing,” replied Bettina Quinn, sounding a bit smug. “You must dance with Caroline, Mr. Thorpe. I must tell you,” she added, with an exaggerated look over her shoulder at no one, “I do believe Mr. Ledbetter will ask for her any day now. You’d best be on your toes, young man,” she advised, simpering.

“Ah, indeed,” was all Julian could muster, making a leg in preparation for a quick retreat.

“Mustn’t waste any time, then, Julian,” said Edgar, taking Julian’s arm, as if sensing his intention to flee. “Good evening to you, Mrs. Quinn,” Edgar murmured, then propelled Julian directly into the path of Caroline, who, as a matter of great coincidence, happened at that moment to be sauntering by.

“Why, good evening, Mr. Thorpe,” Caroline said with a sweet smile. Recognizing defeat when he stared it in the face, Julian offered a bow.

* * * *

It had taken a good deal of maneuvering, but Julian had at last freed himself of the determined Miss Caroline Quinn. Now his carriage approached the Quinn residence. He had slipped away from the Assembly Rooms, hoping he would not be missed, although Edgar had seemed harder to shake than Caroline. The carriage slowed and Julian peered out. The street and house were dark. He had been an idiot to come, but now that he was here, he could not make himself rap on the front of the carriage to tell his coachman to drive on.

What if she really did have the headache? He dismissed the idea immediately. Despite Bettina Quinn’s protestations, Elspeth Quinn was a sturdy young woman, not at all given to the vapors. But headache or none, how was he to knock on the door at this hour, just shy of midnight, and say he’d come calling? With her aunt at the Assembly Rooms, it would be most improper. Still, he sat inside the coach, exhorting himself not to act like a perfect fool.

He looked again, but not a flicker of light appeared at any of the windows. Wait. Was it a trick of the light, or perhaps just wishful thinking? He peered up at a window on the second floor. Indeed, what had been the faintest suggestion of light now became, very decidedly, a candle flickering against the windowpane.

But who was it? That didn’t matter, he decided, springing from the carriage, since it couldn’t be Bettina or her spawn, and those were the only residents of this establishment he’d prefer not to meet up with again this evening. He stood near a street lamp and waved his arms at the candle bearer, feeling like a fool. The candle lit the window for a minute, then retreated, its light growing dimmer and dimmer until it faded altogether. Telling his coachman to take the carriage around the corner if he gained admittance, and hoping for the best, Julian climbed the steps and stood expectantly at the front door. If no one came in a moment, he decided he would ring the bell. But less than a moment later he heard the creaks and groans of the lock being thrown. His heart was beating a tattoo in his chest. Must be drinking too much coffee these days.

The door opened just a crack and a small white face peeped out. “It is you, Mr. Thorpe!” Harry exclaimed. “Have you brought my aunt and cousin with you?” He peered with some apprehension at the carriage, which had just started off.

“Well, no, Harry. Actually, they’re still at the Assembly Rooms. May I come in?” Harry stepped aside. Blessing the lack of sophistication in a nine-year-old, Julian stepped in quickly, closing the door behind him. His carriage was unmarked, and he might not have been spotted at this hour by nosy neighbors anxious to pry into the affairs of others.

“Does Elspeth really have the headache, Harry?” Julian asked, taking the candle from the boy and heading for the library. The boy wore an old, faded dressing gown, much too large and a bit old fashioned. Julian was certain it was a hand-me-down from the boy’s dead father, and the thought gave him a pang.

“Headache? Elspeth never gets headaches,” replied Harry, trailing behind. “What do you want, anyway? Isn’t it rather late to call?”

“Well, yes and no, my boy,” Julian said, lighting a branch of candles in the library from the one he carried. “We do tend to crawl about at all hours of the night. Now, nine in the morning—that’s an ungodly hour to call. Now, then,” he said, handing the candle back to Harry. “Run and fetch Elspeth for me. Tell her I must see her.”

“Is this entirely proper?” Harry asked, dubiously. “I don’t want to have to call you out for a duel, sir. I’m not much good with pistols yet, actually.”

“No matter. We can fence, then,” Julian said. “Swords, it will be. That will give you quite an advantage, by the way. I’m dreadful with a sword. Trips me up every time.” Harry giggled. “Actually, it will be quite proper for me to speak to your sister. You’re here, after all, and surely there’s a house full of servants.”

“The servants can’t hear anything,” Harry said, frowning. “They’re all way up on the top floor.”

All
the better, my little man,
Julian thought, making sure his face did not betray his thinking. “Well, you’re here, anyway. That’s good enough. Go on. Get her.” Julian made shooing motions. His nocturnal visit wasn’t at all proper, really, but as his intentions were pure, and no one would know anyway, he didn’t feel any significant qualms about the dangers of compromising Elspeth’s honor.

The boy paused at the door, turning back to look at Julian.

“Yes?” Julian queried, hoping the child wouldn’t balk now.

“No kissing, sir,” came the small but firm voice.

“None?"

“Not even one, sir. Those are my terms.”

“Very well, Harry. You drive a hard bargain.”

The boy left the room and Julian paced back and forth, waiting. Now that the die was cast, he wondered what on earth he could have been thinking of. There was no use blaming it all on demon liquor. He had had nothing to drink this evening. Not yet, anyway, he thought to himself, spying the brandy decanter that sat invitingly on a small table. He crossed the room in several long strides and poured a hefty tot into one of the cut-glass snifters that sat on the silver tray with the decanter. He took a long and satisfying draught. The brandy wasn’t bad. Probably from the late Lord Ewell’s cellar. He had kept a decent cellar, Julian recalled fondly. That and a good library. Excellent gentleman.

“Mr. Thorpe, what on earth are you doing here at this hour? What is wrong?”

He started at her voice, but fortunately the deep-sided snifter did not slop the brandy all over his cuff. Just as well. He had behaved enough like a fool already. He turned. Elspeth stood in the doorway, looking alarmed, Harry’s little face peeping out from behind her skirts. She had obviously donned her gown in a hurry. The buttons were done up crookedly. Her dark brown hair fell about her shoulders. She was beautiful. That was when he realized why he had come this evening.

“I’m sorry to have unduly alarmed you,” he said, setting down the snifter and crossing over to her. He took her hand in his. “There’s really nothing wrong, other than that I missed you at the assembly this evening. Why didn’t you come?”

Elspeth just stared at him, making no answer.

“Harry, my boy, I need you to be my lookout. Can you wait in the hallway and tell us if anyone comes?”

Harry was learning. He cocked an eye at his mentor. “I’m not supposed to leave you alone with my sister, am I?”
he asked.

“Well, to be painfully precise, no,” Julian answered. “But under the circumstances, with us right here in this room, and you right outside in the hallway, we are within the bounds of decency.”
Only just,
he added mentally. Fortunately the boy accepted this quibble without fuss and turned to go. Yet, once again, he stopped in the doorway.

“Remember your promise,” he warned.

“What promise?” asked Julian.

“No kissing,” announced Harry.

“Harry, out!” cried Elspeth. The door slammed behind the boy.

Elspeth stood at some distance, her expression wary.

She was beautiful in the candlelight. But then she was beautiful in the daylight, and full dark as well. She said nothing. There was a stiffness to her, a distance that he could not fathom. Unless the harpies had been sowing their poison again. He crossed the room toward her. She watched him come, but did not move. Reaching her, he took her elbow. Her expression did not change.

“Come and sit down, Elspeth,” he said gently. He led her over to the settee and sat her down. He seated himself next to her, finally letting go of her arm. It was a small settee, with barely enough room for the two of them. Through the silk of her gown he could feel the warmth of her thigh pressed against his. He had bedded more than his fair share of lovely ladies, but this woman excited him like no other.

“It’s not really true, of course. I’m aware of that, you know,” Elspeth said finally, her voice distant and cool. She had not put on her spectacles, and her green eyes stared large and unfocused at him.

“What isn’t true, Elspeth?” he asked, although he thought he knew what she was talking about.

“It is most dreadfully improper for me to be alone with you like this,” she said gravely. “Harry manning the hallway doesn’t do much as far as observing the proprieties.”

“Well, I certainly don’t plan on mentioning it to anyone,” he responded, laughing. “I trust you will not?”

Her humor did not match his. She just looked at him. “Why are you here, Julian?” she asked.

He took her hand. He had long since removed his gloves, and she, of course, wore none at this hour. Her hand was soft and delicate. His own fingers, hard and callused from laboring at his estate, felt large and clumsy against hers.