Let Me Be The One (6 page)

When Louise appeared from behind the screen this time she was wearing her full nightdress. Her russet curls were tucked under a white cap and her face had been scrubbed clean. Wearing a voluminous cotton nightgown that enveloped her like a cloud, she looked younger than her years. As she moved, the hem of her gown shifted and revealed a pair of blue kid slippers on dainty feet. Louise dismissed her maid and poured the tea herself. She served Elizabeth, then sat opposite her in a matching wing chair.

"How did you laugh, dear?" she asked with some concern. "I mean, what was the tone? Diverted? Gay? Or were you stunned into that response? Was it an uneasy sort of laughter to conceal your hurt? That is often the way of it when we cannot recover quickly enough to deliver a set down."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Not at all. I took no offense. I know. I can hardly credit it myself, but I was genuinely amused. Perhaps it was the manner in which he said it, so matter-of-fact that it did not occur to me to take umbrage. And then, as you have already pointed out, it is something I know as well, though you must admit it is highly unusual to have it remarked upon so boldly."

"Highly unusual," Lady Battenburn agreed. She sipped her tea. "My, that is too hot." She added more milk to her cup, sipped again, and pronounced herself satisfied. Her keen attention then turned to Elizabeth, and she leveled her with a shrewd glance. "He did seem to regard you with favor this afternoon. Harrison commented the very same to me as we were walking back to the house."

"It signifies nothing." Under Louise's knowing regard Elizabeth felt herself shrink a little. "You and the baron must not make too much of it. Lord Northam was merely making amends. He did, after all, steal my still life."

"A simple apology would have sufficed for that transgression," Louise said. "I thought it most romantic when he carried you to the bank. One might even say that he swept you off your feet."

"Pray, do not tie your hopes to that wagon."

"But he
did
sweep you off your feet."

"Only in the most literal sense. I assure you, Louise, my heart is still my own."

The baroness sighed. "Now,
that
is too bad." Her eyes dropped to where Elizabeth's feet were resting on the stool. "I noticed you were limping heavily this afternoon. Has it been very uncomfortable for you?"

Elizabeth did not answer immediately. She stared at her feet for a moment then wriggled her toes inside the soft kid slippers. "You know it has. The ache in my back is..." She stopped herself, for there was nothing to be gained by complaining. Some things could not be changed.

"You will do the recommended exercises for your hip, will you not?"

"Yes." The response was somewhat reluctantly given. "And those for my back, so you needn't trouble yourself to ask."

Louise raised one brow. "You are most definitely not feeling at all the thing. Your tone is a trifle sharp, m'dear, and all I did was inquire about the state of your health."

"Please," Elizabeth said softly, closing her eyes. She rested her head against the back of the wing chair and made an effort to compose herself. It was more difficult than in any time in recent memory. "I cannot do this tonight. Might we speak of something else?"

"Certainly."

Elizabeth opened one eye and regarded the baroness with a measure of skepticism. Louise's short response was calculated, and Elizabeth Penrose was not fooled by it. "Do not feign that I have trampled on your tender feelings. It doesn't suit."

Louise made an elegant shrug and sipped her tea. She said nothing.

Sighing, Elizabeth raised her own cup and drank. "Very well," she said at length. "I apologize for my curtness. It was never my intention to give offense."

"You might say it with more feeling."

"I have none." It was not far from the truth.
Tired
was a paltry word to describe Elizabeth's state of mind. What she wanted was nothing more than to excuse herself and retire to her own bedchamber. It was the baroness's habit, however, to conduct a postmortem following any affair she deemed of a certain social importance. Louise's energy was virtually without limits, and she thrived on the intrigues and complications that were an inevitable consequence of gathering members of the
ton
together. With twelve days still to unfold in front of her, Elizabeth had no illusions that she would find much in the way of respite. Indeed, the busy schedule she had drawn for herself in preparing for the Battenburn affair was likely to have been the calm before the storm.

Without tensing a single muscle, Elizabeth steeled herself. "What else would you like to know, Louise?"

Satisfied, the baroness smiled widely. Dimples hollowed out the corners of her mouth and cradled her full lips between them. "Did you enjoy the earl's attentions?"

"The time we spent together was brief, but yes, I rather enjoyed myself."

"Then you were not uncomfortable? I have heard that he makes some young women uncomfortable."

Elizabeth felt compelled to point out the obvious. "But then, I am not a young woman."

"You are hardly an ape-leader, m'dear." Louise held up one hand, halting Elizabeth's reply. "Never fear, I am changing the subject. What do you know about his friend Mr. Marchman?"

"I was intending to ask you much the same thing. I understand you personally approved his attending."

"I did not see that I had much choice. His lordship asked it as a favor. Highly irregular, but there you have it. I could have refused, but what would have been the point? No doubt Northam would have been unable to attend, and that would not have served. Mr. Marchman appeared to be a most unexceptional personage. They are of an age, are they not?"

"I understand they attended Hambrick Hall together."

Louise was thoughtful. She finished her tea and set the cup and saucer on the silver tray at her side. "Schoolmates. You don't suppose they were... you know what tricks young boys get up to... you don't think they..."

"No!"

"It's just that I've heard..."

"No," Elizabeth said, quietly this time.

"There are always rumors, you know. Why, Lord Efton once told me that..." Her voice trailed off yet again."And the Duke of..." She waved her hand airily, and her eyes followed the movement of her fluttering fingers. "I suppose it is neither here nor there, that is, unless you were to become involved. You don't want to be one leg of
that
sort of triangle, Libby. It can mean nothing but heartbreak."

"Louise, there is no triangle of
any
sort. Mr. Marchman and the earl are friends, I am certain of it. Lord Northam said he asked Mr. Marchman to meet him here on some matter of business."

"Business? Surely not." The baroness could not keep the horror out of her voice. "Oh, that is really too bad of him Are you certain it is not political in nature?"

"I am certain of nothing. He merely said it was business. I suppose that it might mean anything. The earl is not a
cit,
Louise. He is not likely to set up shop in your parlor and manufacture goods for your guests."

"You really are too bad this evening, but I forgive you. It's just that I know so little about Mr. Marchman, and it is always unsettling to have a cipher under one's roof."

"I believe he's already left. I did not have the impression he was staying into the evening."

Louise was stunned by this revelation. "But he did not seek me out to make his good-byes."

"Perhaps he thought he would give offense."

"That is unfair."

"I apologize."

"I have never been unkind to a
cit."

"I regret my wayward tongue, Louise." Elizabeth watched the baroness draw in a deep breath, her bosom visibly swelling with the effort, and waited to see if Louise had been successfully placated.

"I cannot seem to stay angry with you," she said finally.

Elizabeth did not respond to this. Instead, she said, "Perhaps Mr. Marchman spoke to his lordship. You did retire to your room immediately upon returning from the picnic and did not reappear for more than an hour. The baron may have accepted his regrets on leaving."

"Yes, you're right. I am certain that's what happened. I will speak to Harrison when he comes to bed."

Stifling a yawn by sheer force of will, Elizabeth risked a glance at the clock on the mantel. It was just minutes short of midnight. The baron might not remove himself from the card table for several more hours. Elizabeth hoped Louise did not expect her to entertain in the interim.

"What of the others?" asked Louise. She settled comfortably into her chair, drawing her legs up and to one side. In contrast to Elizabeth's heavy-lidded expression, Louise was alert, her features showing none of the strain of playing hostess to her grand gathering. Her dark lashes fluttered as she fanned herself with one hand, feigning a sudden rise in her temperature. "I declare, that Lord Southerton is a most handsome gentleman." She treated Elizabeth to an arch look. "Did you not find the viscount so?"

"I spent so little time in his company; I did not form an opinion."

"It is not a matter of time," said Louise, "but of eyesight. It requires but a glance in his direction." She smiled and added coyly, "Then perhaps your mind was more engaged with the earl than you would have me believe."

"Are you matchmaking or communicating your own designs on the viscount?"

"Bah! I am doing neither, and shame on you for suggesting it. You will resist all efforts to the former, and as to the latter, everyone knows I remain besotted with my own dear Harrison."

It occurred to Elizabeth to remind Louise that she was not everyone. She held her tongue, even in her weariness recognizing the comment as unnecessarily waspish and incendiary. "What of Lord Eastlyn? Was the marquess not also to your liking?"

"Heavens, yes. What is there to find the least objectionable?"

"Indeed," Elizabeth said wryly. "Did you know they were all Hambrick boys when you extended the invitation?"

"Do you mean to say that Southerton and Eastlyn also attended? Why, I had no idea. So that is the source of their friendship. I knew they were acquainted, of course, but not that they shared a history at Hambrick. And Mr. Marchman as well. I suppose it is impossible for members of the
ton
not to live in one another's pockets. Where would one go to escape? The colonies?" She shuddered, and her nightgown shivered with her.

"I do not believe they call themselves the colonies any longer."

Louise's response was a dismissive wave."What of Eastlyn and his fiancée?"

"I did not know he was engaged."

"I understand it is all but a done thing."

Which meant it only existed in the minds and wagging tongues of the gossipmongers. "I wonder if the marquess knows he has a fiancé?"

* * *

The manor at Battenburn was an imposing stone structure whose main hall had been built in the time of Henry VIII. The first baron had done the king a significant favor that ultimately led to the annulment of his marriage with Anne of Cleves. As a reward, Henry extended land and a title to an otherwise minor figure in his court. Since then Battenburn had largely prospered, and the manse had grown accordingly.

The inside of the house did not reflect the changing architectural styles as much as the outside. While turrets and crenelated parapets gave Battenburn the cold appearance of a keep, the interior warren of rooms was surprisingly warm and inviting. The labyrinth of passages and staircases would have confounded Theseus's search for the Minotaur, but guests at Battenburn were generally charmed and intrigued by the home's history as sanctuary for the currently out-of-favor. More than once, the king's—or queen's—men had arrived at Battenburn to take some dissenter of royal policy in custody, only to discover they could not be found. The maze of hallways and hidden passages seemed to turn in on itself, offering protection to earls, marquesses, barons, and even a duke over the course of two and one-half centuries.

Northam and Eastlyn turned simultaneously as the door to Northam's bedchamber opened. Pale flickering light from a stubby candle illuminated the crack before a figure stepped into the opening. Southerton's eyes darted about the room, finally settling with some relief on the occupants. "At last," he said under his breath. He shut the door behind him and placed his candlestick on a table beside the door. "I despaired of ever finding you. Don't know that I can find my way back to my own chamber so I may camp here. Whose room is this? Yours, East?"

"Mine," Northam said. He motioned Southerton to come closer and indicated the rocker beside the bed. Eastlyn was lounging comfortably across a padded window seat. "East only just found it himself."

"Left a trail of crumbs to find my way back."

"Used candle wax myself," Southerton said, dropping into the rocker. He stretched out his long, athletic frame with such fluid grace, it was difficult to tell he was sitting in a chair and not a chaise. One hand lifted to his hair and he raked it back while his gray eyes darted from friend to friend. "West's gone?"

"Hours ago," Northam said. "Assignment from the colonel."

Southerton nodded, expecting as much. "I thought that might have something to do with him being here. These affairs have never been to his liking. You delivered Blackwood's message?"