Never Miss a Chance (7 page)

“Ask me or Liam?”  His eyelashes were long enough to be the
envy of any woman.

There was a momentary pause, as if he knew it to be a trick
question.  Which was wise, since it most definitely was.  “Both.”

“And whose answer would be more important?  No, don’t tell
me, Marcus.  I fear the answer would be demoralizing.”  Lizzie slowly circled
him.  He remained perfectly still, giving her a gratifying view of all sides of
him.  Including a most intriguing look at his bottom.  Unfortunately, the sight
caused her to blush slightly, a fact he didn’t miss when they were once again
face to face.

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. 

She went on the verbal offensive again.  “Will you really court
me, Marcus?  I mean, no man would simply walk into a lady’s house, express an
interest to wed, then expect the transaction to be ratified without further
effort.  I am not that horse I spoke of earlier.”

“Lady Elizabeth….”

“It’s Lizzie, Marcus.”

“Lizzie, I am well aware that you’re not a horse.”

“I am all aflutter at such romantic words.”

He paused again, refusing to take the bait.  He responded as
calmly as ever, rooted to the floor, despite her incremental approach.   “You
are the one who brought up the horse comparison.”

“Because I was hoping to get some sort of reaction out of
you.  Raise your voice!  Make mad passionate love to me!  Do something other
than stand there like I was nothing more to you than a chore to be done.”

Riverton looked non-plussed.  “There are servants nearby,
not to mention three of your brothers no doubt lurking outside the door. 
Raising my voice would bring them in here.  Making mad passionate love to you
would get me killed.  Although…”  He looked at her, unsure whether to go on.

“Pray do not leave me hanging, Marcus.  Although what?”

“Although I cannot imagine a better way to die.”

Lizzie froze.  It was only a joke.  A rather risqué one,
that could’ve been carelessly tossed off by any of the rakes who sometimes
flirted with her.  But, somehow, coming from Marcus, it meant more.  And it
caused a curious flutter inside her.

“You’re making progress, my lord.  Now, perhaps, you’d like
to say something about my eyes or my gown or the way I play the pianoforte? 
Any of which would be perfectly appropriate conversation in a courtship.”

Riverton looked at her a long moment.  A depressingly long
moment, as if it took an inordinate amount of time to think of something nice
to say.

Finally, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Your eyes,” he said.  Then promptly stopped.

“Yes?”

“Your eyes are the color of….”  Here he methodically looked
into her eyes to study them, as if exams were coming round and he was
determined to take a first.  “Moss.”

Lizzie blinked.  “Moss.”

He nodded.  He looked at them again, as if to confirm his
diagnosis, then said “moss” once again.

“Most gentlemen say emeralds, Marcus.”

“Then most gentlemen have either never seen emeralds or
taken the time to really look into your eyes.  They’re a rather dark green,
almost black in places.  If I had to match your eyes exactly with a color in
nature, it would be moss.  Look into a mirror and see if I’m not correct.”

Lizzie could think of few things she’d enjoy less than
confirming her likeness to lichen.  She tried a different tact.

“What would my life be like with you?  You said you wanted a
marriage of convenience, did you not?”

Something flashed in Riverton’s eyes, but was quickly gone. 
“I believe I said that was what I expected my marriage would be.  If you and I
marry, I suspect your life would go on much as it has before.  I would give you
the protection of my name, a generous allowance and the freedom to do as you
like.  Within reason, of course.”

Lizzie narrowed her eyes.  “Define ‘reason.’”

“Your political activities would need to be curtailed, of
course.”

“You said you admired my writing.”

“I do.  You’re an extraordinarily gifted writer.”

Finally.  A compliment that was actually a compliment. 
“Thank you.”

“And once you channel your considerable intellectual passion
into a more acceptable cause, I’m sure you’ll be quite effective.”

“What do you mean a more ‘acceptable cause’?”

“There are any number of women’s charities that could use
your passion.  Reformation of the workhouses, programs for poor children and
veterans.”

“All of those are laudable causes.  But, Marcus, I already
have my passion.  I intend to work for the passage of women’s suffrage and the
liberalization of marriage laws.”

Riverton looked to be in pain at the very mention of the
issues.  “Surely, you must see those causes are out of the question to pursue,
especially as a lady in your circumstances.”

“You mean, they are causes Lady Riverton would never
champion.”

“They are certainly causes the current Lady Riverton would
never permit to be mentioned in her presence, which makes me of a mind to allow
you to pursue them, just to see my mother’s reaction.”

“Allow me?”

Riverton was cognizant enough to know his choice of words
had been poor, although his reasoning was just.  “As well-versed as you are on
the state of marriage, surely you know the husband is the decision-maker.  I
would consult you in all matters, but I could never allow you to place yourself
in danger.”

“Or to discredit the Riverton line.”

“Clearly, the reputation of my family name does matter.  But
you would always be more important.  I could not countenance allowing you to
take up any cause that might jeopardize your health or well-being.  And while
you care little for your own social standing, I must remind you that your
actions would also affect our children.  Even if we chose to turn our backs on
society, we cannot sentence our children to a life as outsiders.”

For a moment, Lizzie had no reply.  She hadn’t even thought
of children.  Getting married would most likely bring children sooner than she
imagined.  She thought of her child.  Then she thought of her child with Marcus
and an extraordinary feeling came over her. 

He was saying some appalling things and believed he should
have an inordinate say in what she could and could not do.  Contrary to what
many would think from her treatise, she did recognize the husband as the head
of the family, although she felt his wishes should constitute more like 51%,
rather than an outright ownership of the decision-making process. 

But in spite of his rather traditional views, she thought of
him as the father of her child and that flutter inside her grew even bigger. 
She might have some doubts as to how good of a husband he would be, although
that idea was growing on her at an almost alarming rate.  But she knew he’d be
an excellent father.   And she couldn’t help but think their children could get
the man to relax and become more…human.  She could probably work wonders on him
as well, especially once she learned the secrets of the bed chamber.  Which
were a complete, frustrating mystery.

She couldn’t say yes now.  There was too much thinking she
had to do.  But perhaps, just perhaps, she could find a way to make this
marriage work.  It wouldn’t be the love match she always dreamed of, but if
there was passion, there might be hope.

The door opened and Lynwood walked in.

“Do we have a wedding to plan?” he asked.

“I haven’t heard a proposal yet,” said Lizzie.  “And I don’t
yet have all the facts to make a decision.”

“What more do you need?” asked Lynwood.  “My God, Lizzie,
he’s one of the finest men I know.”

“Then you marry him, Liam.  For my part, I don’t make any
decision this early in the day.”

“Especially before her chocolate,” yelled Arthur from
somewhere out in the hall.

“I need time,” said Lizzie, turning her attention once more
to Riverton.  “I hope you understand my lord.”

“I do,” he said.  “It is not a decision to rush.  Perhaps we
should spend more time together as a couple.”

“What kind of time together?” asked an immediately
suspicious Lynwood.

“I thought you just said he’s the finest man you know,” said
Lizzie, arching a brow at her brother.

“But he’s also a man,” said Lynwood.  “To safeguard your
already damaged reputation, I suggest this be a quick courtship and that most,
if not all, of your activities include your family.”

Riverton looked like he was none too happy with the duke,
but he also knew which battles were worth fighting and which were best left for
another day.  “I have a box at the theater,” he said.  “Lady Elizabeth, would
you do me the honor of accompanying me to a play tomorrow evening?  Accompanied
by your three brothers, of course.” 

“Do we have to go?” asked Hal, from the hallway.

“I can think of few activities I would rather do,” said
Lizzie, smiling at the marquess.

“I can,” said Hal.

CHAPTER SEVEN

How very much had changed in little more than a day.  It had
been another mostly sleepless night, as Lizzie spent it thinking about life as
a wife.  She’d been born to the role of society matron, although with her
mother dying so young and Aunt Prue never having married, Lizzie had had little
guidance regarding what exactly the role would require, other than running a
house and hosting the requisite social events.  Aunt Agatha, Countess of
Crenshaw, had tried repeatedly to teach Lizzie, using herself as an example.  But
no one in the Kellington family had been particularly keen on forcing the
reluctant Lizzie to become another Agatha.  It was thought that one Aunt Agatha
in the family was quite enough.

And when Lizzie wasn’t thinking about being a wife in the
abstract, her thoughts were riveted on what it would be like to be Marcus’s
wife specifically.  She wasn’t too concerned about his trying to control her. 
Lynwood had been trying to do that for years, with little real success.  Lizzie
suspected Riverton wouldn’t be any harder to get around than her brother.

What concerned Lizzie the most – and kept her wide awake at
night and daydreaming the rest of the time – was what it would be like to lie
with Marcus.  To share a bed.  She knew most couples in the ton had separate
bed chambers, as well as separate lives.  But while Lizzie’s parents had each
had their own bed chamber, they had shared a bed.  And the children had always
been told to knock, then wait to be invited in before opening the door. As a
young girl, she’d thought her parents simply didn’t want to be awakened.  As a
young woman, she suspected they didn’t want other activities disturbed.

If only she knew just what those activities entailed.

While she was relatively sure someone would fill her in
before her wedding night, she wasn’t sure who that someone would be.  It
couldn’t be Liam or any of her brothers.  Aunt Agatha would probably give her a
lecture about duty, leaving out all the good parts.  Aunt Prue would be the
most trusted, except she’d never been married and might not know the secrets
herself.

Lizzie had no doubt that Marcus would do his best to put her
mind at ease.  But it was embarrassing to go into such a momentous event
without any knowledge whatsoever of the subject.

Lizzie was shaken from her thoughts by the arrival of their
coach at the theater.  She looked up to see Liam studying her.

“You were deep in thought,” said her eldest brother.  “Is
there anything you’d like to discuss?”

Good heaven’s no, thought Lizzie. Not that Liam would be any
more at ease hearing her thoughts on this topic than she would be relaying
them.   “I was just thinking about the many changes in my life.”

He reached across to squeeze her hand.  “You’re doing very
well, for someone in the midst of so much upheaval.”

And just like that, Lizzie’s eyes filled with tears.  No
matter how exasperating Liam could be, as well as extremely high-handed, she
knew she could truly count on him.  It was much needed solace at a time like
this.

“Good grief,” said Hal with a wink.  “I thought we were
going to see drama at a theater, not in the carriage.  Don’t tell me I made
this bumpy journey in vain when we could’ve just stayed home and wept.”

“When have you ever gone to the theater to watch a play,
dear brother?” drawled Arthur, as he, too, gave Lizzie’s hand a squeeze.  “Last
I checked, your interest in the arts was limited to dressing rooms and what can
be accomplished in the interval.”

“Might I remind you that a lady is present?” said Lynwood,
thankful that his brothers’ antics had brought a smile to Lizzie’s face.  An
all too rare occurrence during the past few days.

“Very well,” said Arthur.  “We might as well disembark, else
Riverton would call out Bow Street in search of his fiancée.”

“Wouldn’t want to keep the brother-in-law-to-be waiting,”
said Hal.  “Nor would Arthur want to be late to his dice game.”

“What’s this?” asked Lynwood.

“Nothing,” said Arthur, making a mental note to pummel his
younger brother later.  “Just a little game among friends.”

“We are here to support your sister,” said Lynwood in his
most direct head-of-the-family tone.  “Your game among friends can wait.”

Arthur reluctantly nodded, as the four of them exited the
carriage.  It looked to be a sell-out crowd, as they joined the sea of humanity
making its way into the theater.  Yet, somehow, Riverton was by Lizzie’s side
in a manner of minutes.

He was dazzling in his formal clothes of black and white.  Lizzie
could feel all eyes upon them as Riverton bowed over her hand, before bringing
it to his lips.  His eyes never left hers and she felt a queer heat from where
his lips grazed her gloved hand, all the way up her arm.  They must’ve remained
thus a moment too long, because she soon became aware of Lynwood clearing his
throat. 

“Evening Riverton.  Care to release our sister’s hand so you
can escort us to your box?”

Riverton gave a quick nod to his friend, before placing Lizzie’s
hand on his arm.

“It seems like a shame to let the Lynwood box go unused,”
said Hal, who looked like his usual relaxed self, but who’d no doubt already
taken inventory of all available females in the vicinity, as well as those who
could most easily evade their escorts.

“It would be an even greater shame,” said Lynwood, “were it
to be used to entertain your ladybirds.”

“But by eliminating Arthur’s games of chance and my lovely
guests, you’re leaving us very little choice for entertainment.”

“You could watch the play,” said Lizzie.

“If I’d known that was to be our only option,” said Arthur,
“I would just as soon have stayed home and sent myself to bed with a glass of
watered ratafia and Fordice’s Sermons.”

“Do you own a copy of Fordice’s Sermons?” asked Hal.

“Yes.  I won it from a vicar.  It was either that or a
chance to court one of his two sisters, the smaller of which weighed more than
the smithy and of the two had the better mustache.”

“I would like to remind you,” said Lynwood,” that this is an
evening to once again show our full support for Elizabeth.”

“I don’t know why the rest of us have to suffer, especially
when Riverton’s volunteered to get leg-shackled,” grumbled Arthur.

“I’ll have you know,” said Lizzie, “that I find it highly
objectionable to describe marriage to me as a leg shackle.”

“It’s marriage in general we find objectionable,” said
Arthur.  “Although I cannot imagine you’d be easy to manage.”

“God no,” said Hal.  “Would be easier to teach a pig to play
the pianoforte.”

“Not that Lizzie’s any better at it than the swine.”

“Perhaps you should knock yourself on the head with that
copy of Fordice’s Sermons, Arthur,” said their sister. “Since that’s the only
chance of it making an impact on that thick skull of yours.”

Riverton watched the sparring continue – fascinated, as
always.  The Kellingtons were forever matching wits, and he’d been present on a
number of occasions when their challenges had become physical.  Wrestling, the
occasional thrown punch.  It was all part of how the brothers interacted, with
Lizzie occasionally getting in a good hit.  But he knew that when a real crisis
arose, they’d stand united.  As much as her brothers might complain, Riverton
knew none of them would’ve missed being there for her this night.

It was a marked contrast to his own family and the distant
formality between himself and his mother and two sisters.  While his father
could never have been described as loving, what warmth had existed in the
family had died with his sire.  Since that time, his mother’s cold, calculating
manner had dominated family interaction and his sisters had become spoiled,
self-engrossed and increasingly desperate to be married.  Since neither of them
would even consider marrying anyone lower than an earl, their search for
husbands had taken longer than either would’ve predicted.  Although Riverton
wasn’t surprised in the least. 

Riverton’s musings were interrupted by pressure from
Lizzie’s fingers on his arm.   “Is As You Like It a favorite of yours, my lord?”

“It pleases me well enough, although I’ve always preferred
Shakespeare’s tragedies.”

“That wouldn’t seem to bode well for marriage, since most of
the romances in his dramas don’t end particularly well, especially for the lady.”

“Which would account for them being tragedies,” said
Riverton, as they approached his box.

“I much prefer his comedies, and have always related to the
character Rosalind the most.  I particularly like the idea of wearing breeches.”

“Do you limit yourself to just the idea or do you actually
don them?” he dared to ask.

“You’ll find, my lord, that it’s a rare idea which lives
only in my head.  Especially one as intriguing as that.”

Intriguing, it was.  In fact, the idea of Lizzie in breeches
would likely stay in Riverton’s head for the rest of his natural days.  He
could only hope to see Lizzie wearing them – in private, of course.  Although
there was little chance she would keep them on once he did.  As his own
breeches began to feel rather tight, Riverton felt it best to change the
subject.

“I imagine the real reason you empathize with Rosalind isn’t
her clothing, but because she must disguise who she really is.  Being a lady in
society can be extraordinarily difficult, especially for someone of independent
thinking and a keen mind.”

She turned to him. “Is that how you see me?  An independent
thinker with a keen mind?”

“That is one way I would describe you,” he said, his lids
heavy, his eyes darkening to a midnight blue.  It wouldn’t do for Lizzie to
find out how else he would describe her so soon after thinking of her in
breeches. 

“We’ve arrived at last,” said Riverton, as he escorted her
into the box, only to be brought up short by the uninvited occupants.

“There you are, Riverton,” said his mother, completely
ignoring Elizabeth.  “Whatever are you doing in the hall?  Come make your bow
to Lady Isabelle, her mama and your two sisters.”

Somewhere in her ‘50s – she guarded her age closer than the
Tower of London kept track of its jewels – Lady Horatia Riverton was still a
beauty.  Her blonde hair was graying, but still had the honey wheat color that,
combined with her light blue eyes, had made her an Incomparable of her season. 
That she’d snagged a marquess had been no one’s surprise.  That both she and
her husband soon turned their attention elsewhere, had been even less of one. 
Her cool looks were indicative of a glacial personality. 

She was joined in the box by her two daughters, Edith and
Charlotte, as well as Lady Martin and her stunning daughter Lady Isabelle,
whose father the earl was, Riverton noted, enviably absent.  It wasn’t
particularly surprising.  Riverton’s mother and sisters rarely missed an
opportunity to throw him together with Lady Isabelle, and the earl had rarely
shown up for any of their meetings.  It was most impressive, really, and
Riverton wished he had the man’s knack for absenting himself.   Lady Isabelle
was a lovely, shy girl in her first season whose only flaw was the misfortune
of having such a harridan for a mother.   She would make a fine wife, for
someone else.  But she paled in comparison to Lizzie’s fire and grace. 

Never one to forget his manners, even when he wanted to toss
his mother into the pit below, Riverton bowed to the ladies.  “Mama, what a
surprise to see you tonight.  As pleasant as such an occasion must be, did you
not get my note that I would be using the box tonight?”

The note that was to be hand-delivered by Jenkins and accompanied
by a verbal declaration from the butler that the box would be occupied that
night, with no room for family.  He’d considered not sending the note, since
his mother and sisters so seldom went to the theater, but he’d wanted to avoid
the very scene he was in right now.

“I did get your note, and assumed you’d want your sisters
and me and your dear Isabelle and her lovely mama to attend, as well,” said
Lady Riverton, who still hadn’t even looked in Lizzie’s direction.  “Where did
his grace run off to?  That’s most peculiar, indeed.”

“His grace is right here,” said Riverton, turning to find
the hall behind him empty.  “Or he was, at any rate, along with Lords Arthur
and Henry.”  A quick glance at the nearby Lynwood box showed that the three
Kellington brothers had beaten a quick retreat and were apparently showing
their support for Lizzie from a short yet safe distance away.

A subtle tug at his arm indicated Lizzie would like to join
them.

While understanding completely, but unable to escape due to
the curse of good manners, Riverton pressed Lizzie’s hand ever more firmly onto
his arm.  Because if he had to suffer, she did, too.

“Please tell his grace that he is most welcome to join us,”
said Lady Riverton, even as her daughters rearranged themselves to appear in
the duke’s line of sight in the nearby box.

“I believe his grace has already settled.  Please excuse my
manners for neglecting to do this earlier, Mama, but here is Lady Elizabeth,
whom I have the honor of escorting this evening.”

Lizzie made her curtsy, even as she wished that a quick
escape to the Lynwood box were still possible.  “Lady Riverton, Lady Martin,
Edith, Charlotte and Lady Isabelle, it’s a delight to see you tonight,” she
said.  “Are you as excited as I to see the play?”

There was a long, strained moment when Riverton thought it
quite possible that every woman in the box would give Lizzie the cut direct. 
He certainly wouldn’t put it past his mother or sisters.  But the timid Lady
Isabelle broke the tension.

“I am very excited to see the play, although I hope I can
understand it.   I find Shakespeare quite difficult to comprehend.”