ROMANCE: Romantic Comedy: Love in 30 Days - The Best Plans Don't Always Work! (Plus 19 FREE Books Book 13) (59 page)

Elizabeth, too, was excited about the ball. She was the eldest living child of her family now, and with the Shelleys being wealthy themselves, that meant she was regarded as something of a prize in the nearby society. She had been invited to balls for the duration of the summer already, and felt a heady rush at the thought of it. Upstairs, her mother had already collected a new gown to be worn for the first ball of the season.

The preparations were swift; with her hair in the latest fashion, and wearing a fashionably pale gown with puffs of lace for sleeves, she was bundled into a carriage which she shared with her mother and Mary. Both of their fathers travelled behind in another carriage, and the whole party piled out to another estate where the ball was to be held. For the whole journey there, Mary and Elizabeth were almost breathless with excitement – running Mrs Shelley just about ragged.

Chapter 2

The estate was alive with guests, some of them arriving in carriages while others already headed inside to be received by their host. There were so many carriages parked all across the sweeping gravel entrance that they even had to wait a while to get in, with the girls almost bouncing out of their seats in anticipation. Finally, much to the relief of Mrs Shelley, they were let loose, and bounded forward like dogs after a rabbit.

Breathless, they arrived in the grand hall to admire the dancing. The air was filled with sweet music played by a small orchestra in one corner of the room, and a dance was already underway. They were not sorry to have missed the first dance of the evening – only a few couples had lined up this time, and there was plenty of opportunity yet to find themselves a partner.

Mary was looking around in almost a state of agitation, trying to catch a single hair of Lord Heyer. Finally, she saw him, dressed in a fine regimental coat that was a relic of his youth as a soldier, and at once she blushed and attempted to hide behind Elizabeth.

At last, he was able to track her down, having been searching in an animated fashion himself since he entered the room. Just as the second dance was finishing he made a deep bow in front of her, causing her to giggle behind a hand.

“If it’s not too much of an imposition on Lady Elizabeth,” he said, “I should like to take your hand for this dance, Lady Mary.”

Suddenly overcome by blushes, giggles, and downright silliness, Mary allowed herself to be lead away, glancing back over her shoulder at Elizabeth with a thrilled look. Elizabeth laughed to see her go, then retreated quietly a little to the side of the room. She enjoyed watching her friend dance for a while, alone now with no one to talk to.

All at once there was a knock at her elbow, almost enough to send her off-balance. She exclaimed and turned to see who it was, only to encounter a blue velvet jacket with a mass of dark hair above it.

“Oh, I am sorry, do excuse me, Miss,” the wearer said rapidly, turning around to face her – at which moment both of them suddenly became very still, and dark.

“You may think nothing of it, sir,” Elizabeth said coolly. “You have already done far more grievous injuries to my person before today.”

Richard Spencer straightened up in front of her, giving her a stern and almost wry look. “It was not my purpose to offend you tonight,” he said quietly. “In fact, I did not know you would be attending.”

Richard was a Marquess, son of Duke Spencer and his heir. He was also somewhat of a dashing figure: in his velvet jacket he stood out quite firmly from the rest of the crowd as a fashionable town man, and he was known as an eligible bachelor. He was also rather handsome, a fact he no doubt well knew. But Elizabeth did not stand in awe of him, like the other girls who attended the ball, for one strong and simple reason: a year ago, on a bleak morning at the beginning of summer, he had faced Arthur Shelley in a duel and shot him dead.

“Do you mean to say you would have avoided this place if you had known?” Elizabeth demanded, already about to laugh in his face at the ridiculous lie.

“Not at all,” Richard protested. “I simply meant I would have shown more care. I know you must wish not to be reminded of me at this time of year.”

“So you know that we have just passed the anniversary,” Elizabeth stated, giving him a look through narrowed eyes. She was ready for a fight; the grief of Arthur’s loss was still strong, and she resented this man for his part in it.

“How could I forget?” Richard replied softly. There was something almost like regret in his dark eyes. “It is no small thing to take a man’s life.”

“And yet you managed it,” Elizabeth said, practically hissing at him. She knew that the rules of decorum demanded more of her, but she was angry. Furious, in fact. Sadness, when unresolved over time, can often reach this end.

“It is not what I would have chosen for us,” Richard began, shaking his head, but Elizabeth cut him off.

“Us? There is no such a thing as ‘us’, Lord Richard, and never shall be,” she interrupted haughtily, thinking that he intended to imply some potential courtship between them.

Richard stared at her, hesitating. “I meant, between Lord Arthur and I,” he replied at last, taken aback by her response.

They looked back at one another for a moment, both unsure of what to say. Elizabeth was breathing hard, her bosom heaving almost out of her dress with the rage that carried her, though the rest of her appearance was still immaculately styled to attract admiration. Richard had a look of lost bewilderment, drawing away the lately habitual downcast look of his face and revealing him to be a man of finely formed features. Each of them regarded the other, and for a moment they each noticed how the other was, in fact, a very attractive and eligible young person.

But the music was finishing, and Lord Heyer was already bounding back to the side of the room with Mary trailing behind him. It seemed that he had run out of stamina for a second dance, and was keen instead to re-engage the friend of his object of affection.

Lord Heyer breathlessly and exuberantly approached them, unaware of the history between them. “Come now, young ones. Are the two of you not tempted to dance?” he asked, beaming.

“No,” Elizabeth and Richard replied, almost at exactly the same time. They gave each other a sideways glare, then Richard whirled to march off into another room.

“Oh dear,” Lord Heyer muttered, as Mary insistently tugged at his arm to warn him of his faux pas.

“It’s alright, Lady Mary,” Elizabeth smiled, nodding to Lord Heyer. “I’m quite alright. If you don’t mind, I’ll go stand with Mama for a while.”

Though Elizabeth was invited to dance by several young men, for the rest of the night she did nothing but stand quietly by her mother. She had been unsettled, and the ball was quite ruined for her. She made up her mind to put it to one side, however, and to try to enjoy the rest of the season as much as possible.

Chapter 3

There were three weeks between that first ball and the next, a fact that Lady Shelley at least was very pleased about. It only served to put both Mary and Elizabeth into a frenzy of despair, as neither of them had yet received marriage proposals (despite Lord Heyer’s obvious interest in doing so).

To pass the time, when over a week had passed since the ball, they decided they would go into town to shop for new ribbons for their bonnets, both of them having been last changed the season before. Lady Shelley agreed to accompany them, and so they were able to embark on at least a little excitement.

The fabric store in town was a large one, occupying a sprawling little building which had been expanded and added onto over the course of many years. The result was alcoves and anterooms at every turn, a confusing maze which left each small room quite isolated – particularly thanks to the large amounts of fabric stored up everywhere, and the ribbons, threads, buttons, and other such accessories that were piled and hung from every surface on display.

Elizabeth wandered away from her mother and friend, seeking a particular shade of yellow which might compliment her favourite day dress. She came into the next room, turned a corner, and then gave an almighty start. Without any warning, she had once again come face to face with Richard Spencer – who appeared to be very much engaged in the examination of a series of differently coloured ribbons spread out before him.

Elizabeth hesitated, just for a second. She wanted to turn and walk out the other way, but she could see that just in front of him were the yellow ribbons she had been looking for.

Though she did not want to admit it to herself, her thoughts had focused on him often this past week. He was unguarded now, informal, with no thought to mind his expression or his demeanour, and she saw again what she had seen at the ball. Richard was a handsome man, with something in his face that spoke of fairness and honesty. He looked like a man that could be trusted. She knew, however, that he was dangerous – the kind of man that would take another’s life.

The moment of hesitation was all that was required for him to glance up and see her, and then there was no decorous way to retreat.

“Lady Elizabeth,” he said, with some surprise. He quickly made a bow, though it was by no means a deep one.

She cleared her throat. “Lord Richard,” she responded, with the barest dip of a courtesy that she could afford him.

He glanced down at the ribbons in his hand, and must have realised how odd it seemed. “I’m looking for a ribbon for my sister,” he explained quickly, putting them down with the faintest hint of a blush. “It is her birthday this week.”

“How is Lady Margaret?” Elizabeth asked, reluctantly. She had liked the younger Spencer once. Ever since the business between Arthur and Richard, they had not spoken.

“She is well,” Richard said, almost enthusiastically, before checking himself. “She is disappointed to not yet attend her first ball.”

“I expect she will be presented next year,” Elizabeth replied, wishing that she could escape from the small talk.

“Yes,” Richard replied awkwardly. He shrugged his shoulders after a moment. “I do not rightly know which is the colour to choose for her.”

“Blue,” Elizabeth said, in spite of herself. “Light blue to match her eyes.”

Richard smiled, then met her eyes and remembered who she was. The smile faded as he nodded his head, putting his eyes back to the ground. “I thank you for the advice, Lady Elizabeth,” he said, reaching for the colour suggested. He took a breath, then added, “I know she misses your company greatly.”

“I was fond of hers,” Elizabeth replied. “Though I am sure she has found other company to occupy her time.”

“It is my fault that you no longer speak,” Richard said, sighing. He looked truly regretful, toying with the ribbon in his hands awkwardly. “For that I wish you would reconsider. Punish me, but not my poor sister.”

“You know well that I cannot associate with you or your name,” Elizabeth replied, and as he looked up, she caught a flash of deep hurt in his eyes.

“Elizabeth,” Mary breathlessly burst out as she followed her into the room, breaking the tension between the two of them almost instantly. Richard drifted away through another doorway, though not before Mary had noticed him.

“I was looking for the yellow ribbons,” Elizabeth said.

“And you found a ribbon indeed,” Mary replied, with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

Elizabeth scowled at her friend, then reached over for the ribbon that had caught her eye. “I did. And
this
is the only ribbon I am referring to, thank you.”

Mary laughed, but Elizabeth did not join her. There was something unsettling in her heart. She did not want to address it by name, but it lurked there, and she was afraid of what it might do.

That was all but forgotten two weeks later, when the next ball finally dawned. Elizabeth wore a dress of white crepe ornamented with pink satin ribbons and flowers, which Mary cooed over as soon as she saw it.

Then they were off in the carriages once again, and ready soon to enter the ball, where both young ladies were perceived with some excitement. It was known, of course, that Elizabeth was still unproposed to; on the other hand, whispers in the corners of the room spoke of Lady Mary and her continued hope for Lord Heyer.

Elizabeth was almost immediately approached by Lady Westford, the hostess of the ball, and pulled into private conversation with her. It seemed that the Lady had great desires for her ball to be filled with dancing, and as such was instructing all of the eligible young ladies to dance as much as they possibly could. Elizabeth nodded and smiled agreement, though in truth she was a little resentful of the idea of being forced to have fun.

“Now tell me, Lizzie,” Mary whispered wickedly in her ear, once they were alone again. “Are you terribly disappointed that Lord Richard is not here?”

“He is not?” Elizabeth asked, in spite of herself. Catching her friend’s grin, she quickly shook her head. “It makes no difference to me. I could not care to speak with him again for as long as I live.”

She danced a few turns to oblige her hostess, once with a Baron’s son and once with a military man who was keen to tell her all about his new promotion. Though his red jacket seemed to catch the eye of the other young ladies at the ball, Elizabeth barely wanted to touch so much as his hand. Ever since Arthur’s death, the idea of violence between men was something that had repulsed her. She did not wish for any continued association with a military man, not if she could help it. As she turned across the dancefloor, she could not help but wonder about Lord Richard; why he had not come – was it to avoid her? And exactly how did she feel about his absence? In truth, had she not been looking forward, just a little, to catching sight of him again?

At last she was able to find a seat between dances, feeling a little out of breath from her efforts and glad to be able to take a pause.

“Oh, Lady Elizabeth!” Lady Westford exclaimed from behind her, dashing forward. “I see you are without a partner. How fortune. I was just saying to this young gentleman that he ought to dance at once, having arrived late, and so you must dance together, you absolutely must.”

Elizabeth wearily got to her feet, prepared to be obliging once more, but a glance behind Lady Westford paused her in her tracks. The Lady must not have heard, or remembered, the feud that lay between their families. It was Lord Richard standing there, looking suitably mortified.

“Lady Westford, I…” Elizabeth began, trying to find some excuse that would be acceptable.

“Lady Elizabeth,” Richard interrupted, striding forward and offering his hand. The strained look on his face indicated that he was acting from a sense of propriety, so as not to cause any embarrassment or fuss.

Elizabeth swallowed, and reluctantly placed her hand in his. With an approving wave from Lady Westford they walked out to where the other dancers were assembled – only to hear, with mutual despair, the band starting to strike up the tune of a waltz.

“I suppose we must,” Richard murmured to her, though without a trace of resentment, and they took their positions. Somewhat stiffly, she placed her right hand in his, while his left encircled her waist. With all but a grimace, she finally placed her left hand on his shoulder, and they began to circle the room in time with the music.

“This is quite ridiculous,” she murmured back, trying hard to find somewhere to look that was neither his face nor his chest, both of them being directly in her field of view.

“Quite,” Richard agreed softly. “But perhaps we can endure it.”

Elizabeth huffed. She felt stiff and awkward, dancing without her usual grace. His arm around her waist was warm and gentle, and he seemed to have no problem dancing just as elegantly as he always could. Even the feel of his hand was calm and soothing: a light grasp that held her steady, though let her know she could escape easily if she only pulled away.

“If Lord Arthur could see me…” she said, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks with the thought of shame in her brother’s eyes.

“He cannot,” Richard said, though it was clear he was attempting to be kind. “I know that is my fault. But if he were here, I know he would approve of dancing, no matter who were the partners.”

“How dare you suggest you knew him?” Elizabeth asked sharply, her eyes flashing. She pulled away slightly from Richard, almost ready to break away and run from the room. “You were never friends. You were simply the man who took him from us.”

“I knew him more than you think,” Richard said firmly, using his arm on her waist to drag her in a step closer again. The sensation went down to her core, his strength lighting a fire down her spine that she tried immediately to ignore. “I would not tarnish his memory, but I know of him that he always enjoyed merriment and balls.”

“What are you saying?” Elizabeth demanded, forcing herself to lower her voice so that she would not cause a scene. “Knew him how?”

Richard looked down at her for a moment, as if deciding what to say. Then he looked away, at the crowd around them, while he spoke. “It was a dance that brought us to blows. He and my sister twirling merrily without music, out on our lands.”

“The Lady Margaret?” Elizabeth stuttered. She had heard no rumour of this, not even after Arthur’s death. Reflexively she gripped Richard’s hand a little firmer, and he squeezed tighter in return. “But she is a girl still. You cannot mean he had secret meetings with her?”

“I mean exactly that,” Richard said grimly. He met her eyes just then, and seeing that she wanted to know more, he continued. “I caught them together that day. I told them they could not see one another again until Lady Margaret was introduced formally in society.”

Elizabeth took a breath to understand it all, the whirling motion of the dance starting to leave her dizzy. Although the music was light and romantic, it was peals of doom she fancied she could hear. “And then Arthur refused to go, and challenged you to a duel,” she said, her voice sounding far away.

“Precisely that,” Richard said, his words flat. Perhaps he felt anger still, or shame, at the memory. Then he looked down and remembered that she was grieving still, and tried to soften. “He was a passionate man. I tried to dissuade him from the idea, but he only accused me of cowardice. He would have it out with me, at any cost. I think his intention was to impress Lady Margaret, perhaps to sweep her away to marriage there and then.”

The music was coming to a close. They stopped moving, Richard first, and then Elizabeth felt the ground trembling beneath her. Before she could fall, Richard caught hold of her, his arm still around her waist as support. It was all she could do not to pour herself into his arms. She saw sanctuary there now, as she had never seen it before: strong arms, protective, and fiercely loyal.

“It was never you,” she murmured, seeing it all too clearly. “It was always Lord Arthur’s fault. He must have known that he could not win, and that you could not refuse.”

He helped her over to some chairs and gently sat her down, quickly putting the back of his hand against her forehead. The touch was momentary, though she wanted to pull his hand back to her face as he moved away.

“You’re hot,” he said. “Wait here for me. I’ll fetch you a cool drink.”

Before he was gone an instant, Mary instead was by her side. “Lizzie! What is this? I saw you dancing with him – with Lord Richard!”

“Oh, Mary,” Elizabeth groaned. “I – we – had it all wrong!”

Then she swooned away, and the last thing she remembered as her eyes closed was the sight of Richard rushing back towards her with a tall glass in his hand.