Julia London - [Scandalous 02] (28 page)

“Another one! She does no’ possess another one. She’s purse-pinched and her best gown is the teal one. She needs a proper wardrobe to go into society.”

Of course.
Why hadn’t he thought of it? “Then you
must get her one, Fiona. You must find proper gowns that she might wear. And a bonnet.”

“A bonnet?”

“Aye, aye,” he said, and suddenly sat up. “You must find her the best bonnet London has to offer. And…and gowns, and shoes, and that sort of thing. But a
bonnet,
Fi. The best bonnet.”

“A bonnet.” Fiona’s eyes narrowed on him. “If you love her, why do you no’ admit it, then?”

“I donna love her,” Jack said gruffly.

“Jack.” Fiona gave him a look that told him she knew him quite well.

He sighed, slumped in his chair, and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s all very complicated, Fi.”

“Rubbish.”

“She is a provincial woman, and I…I am…”

“A man? A man in need of a wife, a wife he could love desperately and completely, and one who might very well love him just the same?”

“I am a man bound for prison. Or worse.”

“You’re no’ in the least!”

“And besides…she’d never consent to life in London. She has a crippled sister in the Highlands who needs her.”

“Then you must consent to life in Scotland. I have, and I am right glad of it.”

Jack chuckled.

Fiona slapped him on the knee. “I have! And so might you! Have you even considered it?”

“No,” he said. Strangely, he never had. He’d always thought of Scotland as lacking any proper society. But he’d not missed society at Thorntree. Perhaps society was of one’s own making? “There is something else,” Jack said. “Our father.”

“Father! He’s dead, God rest his soul!”

“No, no,” Jack said, trying to verbalize his very vague fears. “Do you remember him, Fi? Do you remember how hard he was on Mother?”

“How could I forget it?” she said, slumping into her chair.

Jack couldn’t forget it either. One night, when he was only fourteen years, he’d found his mother with a bruised cheek and black eye. He’d taken up a gun, intent on killing his father. But he’d been just a boy, and his father had taken the gun from him easily, then slapped Jack so hard he’d been knocked to the ground.

He could remember lying there, stunned, and his father looming over him, his eyes so wide they seemed almost completely white. “One day you will understand what misery a woman can cause a man, lad,” he’d said. “One day you will understand the only way to manage them is the same way you’d manage your dog, aye?”

The memory of it made Jack shudder to this day.

“What is it, then?” Fiona asked him.

Jack glanced at her sidelong. “I have often wondered if I might be driven to…to harm as Father was.”

Fiona surprised him with a laugh. “Jankin Haines, you are no more like him than I am! There is no’ a cruel bone in your body!” She laughed again, but when Jack did not laugh with her, she quickly sobered. She reached out to put her hand on his knee. “
Mi Diah!
You are no’ like him! You could never
be
like him. You are the kindest, most generous man I’ve ever known, and I donna tell you that because you are my brother. You have taken care of me all these years and never so much as raised your voice. You are a gentle rogue, darling.”

Jack squeezed her hand in gratitude.

“Have you truly feared it? Is that what keeps you from her?”

“No’ all of it,” he said, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Her sister has lost the use of her legs and has no one on which to depend but Miss Beal. And she has a small estate from which a few derive their livelihood and only her to manage it. And I…I am better suited to life in town, I am. I’ve no’ lived in Scotland since I was a young man. Lambourne is an empty shell—”

“Of your own volition. It could be quite nice.”

He shook his head. “I can scarcely abide it.”

“Because when you are there, you are alone with your memories, Jack. But what if it were filled with light? And laughter and love and children? And I shall be close by.”

That was something. But Jack shook his head again. “No, Fi, my life is here now. And what does it matter, really? She will marry Mr. Gordon.”

Fiona made such a sound of laughing surprise that she startled Jack.

“
Marry
him?” she cried gleefully and fell back in her chair with a laugh. “She will no’ marry Mr. Gordon.”

“What do you mean?” Jack demanded.

“Darling, if she marries him, I am English. Oh, donna look so shocked! She certainly would no’ be the first woman to settle for the best match of fortune instead of the heart. I suppose she’s done the best she might, aye? But she loves you, Jack. It is perfectly obvious and she strikes me as the sort who would follow her heart.”

“She has no choice,” Jack said.

“We
all
have a choice,” Fiona said sagely. “It is precisely what I told Lady Gilbert about Francesca Boudin. Are you acquainted?”

“No,” Jack said, his mind already wandering.

“Francesca Boudin is
hopelessly
in love with Lord
Babington, but she’ll no’ admit it, no’ to a single soul, for Lord Maberly is a better match for her in terms of fortune and position in society, aye? Lady Gilbert, who can be contrary when presented with facts, argued with me. She said…”

Jack did not hear the rest of his sister’s long and rather convoluted tale. He was feeling too perplexed. Everything seemed so different now.
He
was different now. And London’s high society suddenly seemed meaningless and vapid to him. All he could seem to think about since he’d arrived in this town was Lizzie or his own wretched future.

“Jack! You are no’ listening to me at all!” Fiona complained.

“No,” he said, and stood up. “I am no’.” He leaned over and kissed his sister on the top of her head. “Bring round some suitable gowns for our guest. And the bonnet. Donna forget the bonnet, Fiona. Good night,
leannan.
”

“A bonnet! When did you become so particular about your bonnets, then? I shall write Duncan straightaway and tell him you’ve gone quite soft in the course of becoming a fugitive.”

Jack smiled to himself as he went out. If there was a constant in his life, it was Fiona. And Lizzie in his blood.

L
izzie was so miserable in London that the next day, she kept to her rooms, save the few moments at breakfast when Gavin reviewed his itinerary for the day. “Vauxhall Gardens,” he began. “Miss Handlesman told me they were spectacular and offered to show them to me. Will you join us, Lizzie?”

Lizzie smiled thinly. “You’ll pardon me, will you? I am feeling a wee bit unwell.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?” he asked as gained his feet.

“No’ at all. You should go without me.”

“You’re certain you willna mind?” he asked, looking at his pocket watch.

“Of course no’. I think I shall rest.”

“Aye, that will do you a bit of good.” He looked up from his watch and smiled. “Good day, lass,” he said, and leaned down to peck her cheek.

The day was interminably long. Lizzie pined alternately for Jack and for home. She worried constantly about Charlotte and fretted that Carson was so angry, that he’d done something awful to her or Thorntree. She wrote two letters, one to Charlotte, and one to Carson begging him to leave Charlotte be, promising that she’d return to Thorntree to resolve their differences.

That evening, when Gavin returned much later than he’d promised, Lizzie sent word that she’d gone to bed early. She had no heart for him.

The next morning, Gavin was gone by the time she appeared for breakfast. Winston informed her he’d been invited to attend an auction for horseflesh in the village of Kilburn with Lord and Lady Montrose.

It seemed to Lizzie as if Gavin had forgotten the reason they were in London. To that end, she asked Winston if he might inquire of His Lordship how much longer they might be forced to wait. Winston returned with his answer a half hour later. “Indefinitely, madam,” he said with a bow of his gray head.

With a groan, Lizzie returned to the suite that had become almost as confining as the little turret room Carson had forced them into. At least there she’d had a bit of company. Exasperating, exciting, charming company.

Here she had nothing to do but wander about and think. She despised thinking! There were only dark, painful thoughts wandering about her head, and one small thought that would not stop biting at her.

She’d been over and over it, and frankly, she didn’t believe Jack. She didn’t believe he was as cold as she’d shown her. But why, then, would he have done it? There were no promises between them, nothing he couldn’t have said to her.

Lizzie would be happy if she never had to think again. What she wouldn’t give for a list of chores to occupy her!

But midafternoon, she was surprised by Lady Fiona and a family friend, Lady Lindsey. They knocked on the door of the sitting room, and when Lizzie answered, they swept in, directing two footmen whose arms were laden with gowns. They deposited them over the back
of a settee, and Fiona shooed them away, then made the introductions.

Lady Lindsey—“You must call me Evelyn,” she said with genuine warmth—was even prettier than Lady Fiona. “You poor dear, thrust into London with no introduction! I could scarcely believe it when Fiona told me. I came to London years ago, just as alone as you, but at least I knew a person here or there.”

“Aye,” Lizzie said weakly.

“We must have you properly outfitted,” Fiona said. “Lady Lindsey has kindly offered to share her lovely gowns.”

Lizzie blanched at the mere suggestion. “No!” she exclaimed. “Oh no, no, I could no’ possibly!”

“It is quite all right, Miss Beal,” Lady Lindsey said kindly. “I cannot button a single one.” She grinned. “I’m with child.”

It was obvious. She was glowing with her pleasure.

“I should kick Jack for no’ giving you time to assemble a full wardrobe, aye?” Lady Fiona said. “It was terribly thoughtless of him. But when I told him, he said I should make it right, straightaway.”

“No, no, no—He did?”

Evelyn held up a gown, eyeing Lizzie against it. “You must choose one for the ball tonight.”

Lizzie’s heart dropped to her toes. “A
ball
!” Panic filled her chest. “No! I canna attend a ball. I—”

“Miss Beal, we will be by your side,” Fiona assured her. “We’d no’ dare abandon you. And it is a very small ball. A mere one hundred guests.”

One hundred guests!
Lizzie’s gasped as Evelyn held up another gown, this one a deep claret silk. She shook her head and tossed it aside as if it were paper, and then picked up one made of gold velvet. It was beautiful.
It looked like what Lizzie imagined a princess would wear.

Evelyn smiled as she held it up to Lizzie. “It is perfect, isn’t it, Fiona? It suits her coloring perfectly.”

Fiona stood back and nodded. “Aye,” she said. “It is perfect.”

“I will no’ attend a ball,” Lizzie insisted.

“You will have a change of heart once you’ve seen yourself in this,” Evelyn said. “This was designed and sewn by Mrs. Olive, one of the most exclusive modistes in London. She typically confines her work to the royal family, but she owed me a small favor. And now, you will be the envy of every woman at the ball.”

But Lizzie did not want to be the envy of anyone. She just wanted to go back to Thorntree, where life was simple and her society known to her. She could not attend a ball in a gown made for a princess!

Yet even she had to admit to a moment of pleasant surprise when she was dressed in the gown and standing before a full-length mirror. She wouldn’t have thought she could look so…so lovely. So
regal.
When Fiona put a necklace of gold on her, she felt like a queen. She turned one way, then the other, admiring herself, wishing Charlotte could see her.

“It is breath taking,” she said softly. She wondered how much a gown like this might cost, what things she might buy for Thorntree with the money Lady Lindsey had certainly spent on this gown.

“Have you ever been to a ball?” Fiona asked.

“No,” Lizzie said laughingly. “In Glenalmond, we’ve only country dances.”

“Mmm,” Fiona said, admiring the fit of the gown on her. “A country ball in Scotland is the poor cousin of a London society ball. There is dancing, my dear, and”—
she leaned in to whisper—“there is
dancing
. You and Mr. Gordon will be properly scandalized by it.”

Lizzie had already been scandalized by it. And she would never dance a waltz with anyone, lest she ruin that perfect memory.

“But I’ve no reason to attend,” Lizzie said. “I willna be in London long.”

“Why should you no’ have a diversion?” Fiona asked cheerily. “If you attend, you might return to Scotland and amuse them all with what you’ve seen and done, aye? Come, then, Evelyn,” she said. “Let us find our own costumes for the evening.”

They left Lizzie dressed in the gold velvet gown, staring at herself in the mirror. The gown was exquisite, it was, but…but she was not a debutante. She was not the sort of woman to chat idly as they had the night she’d dined with Lady Fiona’s friends. The things they’d talked about had seemed so trifling to Lizzie—who might marry whom, what fortune did this or that gentleman have, and so forth. Lizzie had a crippled sister at home and worries these women would never have. Their main concern was social position; hers was survival.

And there was something wholly lacking from last night’s supper table and the ball this evening: Jack.

Lizzie did not want Jack’s world, but Lord, she wanted him. Two days of mourning him had done nothing to dampen her love for him. And their last meeting, in the entrance hall, had only confused her more. He’d said the words without emotion, but she had seen the look in his eyes. It was the same look she’d seen the night they’d made love—a look of gnawing hunger, of a desire that ran through to the marrow.

Lizzie had not been able to shake that image. In her heart of hearts, all she wanted was Jack, and everything
else seemed small and inconsequential compared to that overwhelming desire. To be in the same house as he—even a house as big as this—to be so close and not with him was excruciating. How would she survive such pain?

When Lucy appeared, carrying a large millinery box, Lizzie assumed it was another bit of borrowed clothing from Fiona and Evelyn. “It came from Mrs. Olive’s dress shop,” Lucy said. “Lady Fiona said His Lordship purchased it for you.”

“Pardon?” Lizzie asked, looking up from the book at which she’d stared blindly for an hour.

“From His Lordship,” Lucy said uncertainly. “She said I was to tell you he purchased it for you.”

Lizzie took the box from Lucy. She quickly untied the ribbons, pulled the lid from the box, and withdrew a straw bonnet. A beautiful, perfectly trimmed straw bonnet. The ribbons were made of velvet, the floral trim of velvet and silk, and the flowers delicate and small. It was exquisitely made. “It…it is the finest bonnet in all of Britain,” Lizzie murmured.

“Oh, it is
very
nice,” Lucy said. “The latest fashion—that is Mrs. Olive for you.”

“Aye,” Lizzie murmured.

“They are waiting for you mu’um,” Lucy said.

“Pardon?” Lizzie asked, distracted.

“Lady Fiona and Mr. Gordon. They are waiting for you in the gold salon.”

Lizzie gasped and looked at the clock on the mantel. She’d tried to reset it, but it was now an hour slow. “I’ll be there straightaway,” she said, and stood up, still holding the bonnet, holding it out from her body, staring at it as her mind whirled. “I’ll…I’ll be right along, then,” she said.

Lucy curtsied and went out, leaving Lizzie with the gorgeous bonnet. She finally put it back in its box but took the hatpin from its crown and turned around to the mirror. She looked at herself in that beautiful gold gown, bit her bottom lip, and said, “I beg your pardon, Lady Lindsey.” She dragged the hatpin along the seam, creating a slight tear.

Several minutes later, she hurried into the gold salon, where Gavin and Lady Fiona were waiting. Gavin was prattling on about something, but was interrupted by the sight of Lizzie. He smiled broadly. “
Leannan,
you are beautiful,” he said admiringly. “I shall be right proud to have you on my arm, I will.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling self-consciously. “Un-unfortunately, I’ve run into a wee bit of a problem,” Lizzie said. Gavin and Lady Fiona looked at her. She pointed to her side. “A wee tear in the fabric. I suppose I am a bit bigger than Lady Lindsey. I must repair it before we go.”

Gavin looked slightly disconsolate. “Well. We shall wait.”

“No, no, you must go on without me!”

“I’d no’ think of it,” he said, looking at her gown.

“Of course we will wait,” Lady Fiona said, her gaze fixed on Lizzie. “I’ll send Lucy to you.”

Lucy, who had just left her, and who would be surprised to learn of a tear in Lizzie’s seam. “Please,” Lizzie said as evenly as she could. “I can repair it, and then…then His Lordship said I need only ask for a carriage. I’ll just ask one to be brought round. You donna want to be tardy, aye? And…and I must remove the gown and stitch it, then dress again, and…”

“I see,” Lady Fiona said, her gaze as clear as a hawk’s. “We should take our leave, Mr. Gordon. I will tell the Brant butler to expect Miss Beal a bit later, shall I?”

Gavin looked almost relieved. “A perfect solution, milady,” he said, and offered his arm.

Lady Fiona put her hand on his proffered arm and the two paraded to the door. But Lady Fiona paused to look at Lizzie once more.

“I shall be along as soon as possible,” Lizzie said.

“Donna fret about the time, Miss Beal,” Lady Fiona added. “The Brants are famously lax about social engagements.”

And, if Lizzie wasn’t mistaken, Lady Fiona gave her a slight wink.

She watched the pair walk out. She waited until she was certain they had gone, until she heard the front door close and the clip of the footman’s shoes on the marble floor.

Jack
.

She had no idea where to find him, but she was prepared to go door to door if she must. And she was going now, before she lost her courage. Lizzie marched from the gold salon and turned right, down the carpeted corridor, pausing at each door, timidly opening them, and finding dark rooms. There seemed to be at least a dozen, and she was beginning to lose hope and bravado when she opened a door and startled the occupants.

Jack and two other gentlemen came quickly and awkwardly to their feet.

“I beg your pardon,” Lizzie said as the two men turned to look curiously at her.

Jack, on the other hand, looked stunned. His gaze swept over her, and from where she stood, she saw him swallow. “Miss Beal?”

If she didn’t gain his attention now, she’d never have the courage again. “Lizzie,” she said. “You call me Lizzie. You’ve always called me Lizzie.”

Jack’s eyes widened slightly and he exchanged a look with his companions.

“A pleasure, Lizzie,” the tall one said with a smile for Jack.

“Excuse me,” Jack said low, and strode quickly across the room to catch Lizzie by the elbow. “What are you doing?” he whispered hotly.

“When did you stop saying my name?” she whispered just as hotly.

“This is no’ the time, lass.”

Lizzie swallowed. “Jack, I know the truth.”

“The
truth
?”

“You’ve been dissembling these last few days.”

“Diah,”
he muttered. His gray eyes narrowed on her for a moment, and then he glanced over his shoulder. “I beg your pardon, gentlemen. Please, avail yourself of the wine, and I shall return momentarily.”

He grasped Lizzie’s elbow tightly and wheeled her about, marching her from the room and propelling her into the hall. “What are you doing, Lizzie?” he asked curtly. “I donna know what you think you have discovered—”

“I received the bonnet.”

“The what?”

“The bonnet! The best bonnet in all of Britain!
You
sent it to me.”

“Aye, Lizzie, but it is a
bonnet.
It hardly means anything at all.”

“That’s no’ the least bit true and well you know it, Jack Haines. You
do
esteem me, but for some foolish reason, you’ve determined that you must pretend you do no’.”

“I donna esteem you,” he snapped, and threw open the door of his study. The hearth was still lit from the day, casting a low light over the room. He pushed her
inside, shut the door, and leaned against it with his arms folded tightly over his chest, his head lowered. He glared at her. “What in heavens is the matter with you? What more must I say to convince you that there is naugh’ between us?”