The Beautiful One (18 page)

Anna found no sign of Lizzie in the village, and though this seemed like a hopeful indication that she hadn't taken the coach to Portsmouth, which hadn't yet come through, she didn't feel cheered. Lizzie might have been hiding and waiting for it, or she might even have found some farmer to give her a ride to the next town. They had no way of knowing. She only hoped that Will or one of the others had found her, because already dusk was falling and the shadows that might hide a traveler were pooling around bushes and hollows.

Galloping back toward Stillwell along the road where she and Lizzie had been stranded that first day, she caught sight of Will riding alone. As they neared each other, she saw how haggard he looked.

“Did you discover anything?” he asked breathlessly.

“No sign of her in town.”

His face fell. “Damn. I've been all over, with no sign. Tommy just circled by to say he's seen nothing, but he'll continue looking. And Tristan's disappeared off into the woods, confound it, so no help there.”

His enormous horse pranced restlessly under its master, as if in tune with his anxiety. “This is my fault. If anything's happened to her, I won't forgive myself.” He shook his head. “If only I—” He looked away.

“Don't,” she said gently. “I do wonder, though, why she did this now. I thought she had hope that she was going to charm you into letting her stay.”

He looked miserable. “I know what happened. I was talking in the stable with Tommy, and we mentioned her. I did hear some noise by the stable door, but I thought it was the cat. She must have heard me speaking of my plans to send her away at the end of the month.”

“Oh. That would have hurt.”

“Yes, damn it.” He was clearly furious with himself. “I've kept myself so detached from her—”

She raised an eyebrow.

“All right, from everyone. With the way I felt, it just seemed kinder.” His mouth twisted. “She's so young.”

“But she's also smart,” Anna said firmly. “There's still hope that she's nearby. She was on foot. And we didn't quiz the stable boy very closely. He might know something.”

Tristan appeared out of some bushes just then, barking when he caught sight of them. He bolted toward them excitedly, jumping as if to get their attention.

“What is it, boy? Have you found her?”

The dog continued barking and jumping, making as if to go back into the bushes. “Maybe's he's found her trail,” Will said. “I'll follow him; you talk to the stable boy.”

He was off before she could even agree.

* * *

With Tristan leading the way, Will galloped through woods and across fields, never more grateful for the speed Strider could command. The dog raced onward for long minutes, finally stopping at a spot near the edge of the Stillwell property. When Will saw Lizzie sitting in the darkening evening shadows at the base of an old oak tree, he could have hugged the hound.

Her head was buried against her bent knees, and she looked up as they approached but immediately looked away when she saw who it was. Tristan raced over to bark excitedly and prance around her while Will dismounted and came to stand near.

She looked truly pathetic with her head buried in that defeated way even as Tristan tried to lick her. Her red-gold hair was piled up to reveal her fragile young neck, though several tangled, drooping strands suggested a long, hard day.

The skirts of her coffee-colored gown pooled around her bent legs, the once-pristine hem now frayed and dirty as it lay across a pair of equally dirty and impractical satin slippers. The sight of her clothing pierced him especially; it would have offered little protection from the elements and made her look like a rich prize ready for the taking.

Good God, what had she been thinking? She had no idea of her own vulnerability.

She didn't acknowledge him but pressed her cheek against Tristan's neck.

“Oh, Tris,” she said in a husky voice that tugged Will's memory back to the time when he'd been sixteen and frequently frustrated and angry. “You're the only one who cares.”

“Not true,” Will said, stepping closer. He waited for her to respond. Several long moments passed.

“Why did you bother?” she said finally, to his boots. “I made things easy for you. I would have been gone too,” she said, her voice breaking, “if my feet hadn't hurt so much and slowed me down. Stupid slippers.”

But he could only be glad she'd worn the useless things. He allowed himself now to hear the pain in her voice as he hadn't before, and it opened something inside him. He crouched down on his haunches next to her.

“I'm glad you're not gone,” he said. And then felt at a loss for words. He didn't know how to talk to her. She was so unpredictable, and what did he know of sixteen-year-old girls? He suddenly felt ancient.

“Why?” She buried her face in Tristan's neck, and his fur muffled her voice. The evening air was growing cooler and he thought of offering her his coat, but he didn't think she'd take it. “You've made it no secret that you don't want me here. I know you're going to send me to some other awful school.”

“You can't simply walk away from your responsibilities to family.”

“I'm just another one of the viscount's responsibilities, aren't I?” She lifted her head to look at him with angry, teary eyes and sniffled. “You were supposed to care. My father thought you would care. But you're not the man he thought you were, or he'd never have made you my guardian.”

“No, I'm not the same man,” he said slowly, taking in the determined set of her mouth and a firmness about her jaw that spoke of inner strength. God, how much of the world had she had to take on alone over the last year? “Life changes us, whether we want it to or not.”

She looked startled by his frankness. Her mouth was drooping downward with emotion but she fought it. “That's all family is to you, isn't it? Responsibility.”

“Sometimes that's all there is,” he said, even as he realized he didn't really believe this anymore. He looked down at her young face with its lovely blue eyes dulled now by the pain of feeling unwanted, a pain to which he'd contributed.

He'd prided himself on doing his duty, but he'd turned duty into something hard and precise that could be discharged with a generous amount of funds. That was a mockery. All he'd done for her had been done out of a selfishness that had allowed him to shut out softer feelings he'd told himself he didn't need or deserve.

Like the way he felt about Anna.

It wasn't just that he owed his niece the kind of care her father would have provided, or that he owed something to humanity by virtue of being a viscount. If he didn't allow things like gratitude and hope to touch him, he wouldn't be able to return them to others.

He held out a hand. “Come back to Stillwell. Please.”

“I don't wish to.”

“Lizzie,” he said with what he hoped was an encouraging look, “you don't have a choice. I'm your uncle, and I won't have you traipsing about the countryside—or the world—alone.”

Will had no idea what he was going to do if she didn't capitulate. The idea of simply bundling her up onto Strider conjured scenes he didn't want to contemplate.

“Very well,” she finally said in a dull voice.

Gently he helped her onto Strider and jumped up behind her, and they set off with Tristan following. She sat stiff and silent, even when he put his arms around her to steady her and provide some warmth against the dusk coolness. As they drew within sight of the manor, he saw servants who were part of the search milling about. Anna emerged on foot from the stables, the evening light burnishing her form with dark gold.

She caught sight of them and, waving excitedly, came running to meet them. He stopped and helped Lizzie down from Strider's back. She made for Anna without a backward glance, and Anna rushed toward her, catching her in a hearty embrace.

He let them have a few minutes alone as the servants dispersed, and watched as Anna spoke to Lizzie in a quiet voice. The breeze carried some of their words to him, and he heard Lizzie saying how sorry she was to have caused Anna worry.

Finally, he walked toward them, but Lizzie turned away as soon as she sensed him coming and made for the front steps of the manor.

Anna waited for him, the shadowy light falling softly on her willow-slim figure in the pretty blue gown he hadn't been able to appreciate earlier. Something in his chest squeezed at the sight of her.

“Thank God you found her,” she said, the relief still visible on her face. “The stable boy knew nothing, and I didn't want to think about all the awful possibilities of where she might have to spend the night.”

“Yes,” he said. “I know.” He was extremely relieved that Lizzie was safe. And extremely grateful to Anna. It felt good to be grateful again, after so long.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For not giving up on Lizzie and me. You were right. She does belong here. I'm going to tell her she can stay always. That I want her to do so.”

Light filled her features and sweetness chased away the last traces of anxiety on her face. “Oh,” she whispered, “I'm so very glad to hear that. You must go directly and tell her.”

He left her standing outside while he went to find Lizzie, who, not surprisingly, had retreated to her bedchamber.

She was sitting on the bed with Tristan curled up beside her and an untouched dinner tray on the bedside table, and when she saw him coming in, she didn't look the least bit happy. He drew closer and stood by the side of the bed.

“Lizzie,” he began, crossing his arms. He uncrossed them. “I…want you to know you are welcome here at Stillwell.”

Her brow lowered over stormy blue eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I hope you will stay here with me always. I'm sorry I haven't been welcoming, but I hope you'll give me a chance to make it up to you. I want you to know that I do care very much about you. We're rather like family, you and I, with our memories of your father to share. You don't have to go away, ever. At least, not unless there's somewhere you want to—”

But he didn't get out the last few words because she whooped and rose up to kneel, nearly knocking him backward as she wrapped her arms around him. “Do you really mean it? I can stay with you?”

“Yes,” he said as her young arms squeezed his ribs with a surprising strength that amused him. “Why should I say such a thing otherwise?”

“No, of course you wouldn't tease me.”

“Well,” he said with a chuckle, “I'm sorry to say that I am quite capable of teasing, contrary to what you may have observed thus far. But I'd never tease you about something like this.”

She laughed and hugged him some more, and made him sit on the chair next to her bed and give her examples of silly things he'd done, because she said she hadn't had a chance so far to see him being anything but haughty.

After recounting a few choice escapades from his younger years, he said, “And there's a certain matter that must be resolved, to do with the ball. Will you, Miss Lizzie Tarryton, do me the honor of sharing the first dance with me?”

He was surprised to see trouble cloud her brow. “I'm glad there will be a ball, and I know I had been very excited about it. But now I don't know after all whether I should really like to attend.”

What was this?

“But why not?” He gave her a look of mock haughtiness, hoping to tease her out of whatever it was. “Are you concerned that a ball at Stillwell will not be up to your standards?”

Her clear, beautiful eyes looked back at him seriously, making him think of an angel with a tilted halo, and her mouth crimped soberly in an older-than-her-years expression.

“Oh, no, I'm certain it would be an absolute dream. It's just that, well”—she cleared her throat—“I don't think I should like the superficial way people behave toward one another at balls. And so much money is wasted on fripperies that might be spent on more improving things.”

Will blinked. “Improving things?”

“Like maps, or books.”

“Books?” What had books to do with balls? “Books about dancing, do you mean?”

“No, no. About important things, like…” Her brow furrowed. “Like botany, or
The
Pilgrim's Progress
.”

“You wish to read
The
Pilgrim's Progress
?” He'd been forced to do so when younger and considered it akin to ingesting mattress ticking. “It is extremely dry, you know.”

“Well, not that, then. But there are good books to read. We can ask Anna. She knows all sorts of good books.”

“I'm sure she does,” he said. “But can you not read and dance, if not at the same time?”

She made an impatient gesture. “People at balls are only interested in shallow things like beauty, when there is so much more of importance in the world.”

“I see,” he said slowly. This was interesting, coming from one of the most well-groomed young ladies he'd ever encountered. “Well, it's true that people like to appear to their best advantage at balls. But if you'd like to come looking like you've just been mucking out the stables, I won't stop you.”

She blinked and he hid a smile, guessing she was not quite so resigned to sackcloth as she had thought. After a thoughtful moment she said, “Well, I suppose I would consider attending. As long as there are no expectations.”

“That is something to which I can certainly agree. No expectations,” he said, at which they both smiled.

A knock sounded on the door, which was only partly closed.

“Yes?” Lizzie called, and Tommy entered with the windblown look of someone who'd been galloping about the countryside at high speed. He came to stand by the bed, so that Will thought they must look like a pack of doctors conferring at an invalid's bedside. They ought to get Anna in there too, to complete the entourage. Anna, though, he suspected, was somewhere else, enjoying the thought of him in a
tête-à-tête
with his ward.