Elizabeth put on her shift, stepped into her petticoats, shook out their long folds and walked through the dressing room doorway into the bedroom. A blazing fire chased the chill from the room. She crossed quickly to the hearth, absorbed the warmth of the fire for a moment, then turned and swept the large room with her gaze. The sight of the four-poster bed that dominated it made her shiver. Justin Randolph had, thus far, lived up to their marriage of convenience agreement, but she was still apprehensive. She had learned the hard way that it was unwise to trust anyone.
Elizabeth frowned and turned her back on the unsettling sight of the large bed. Her abundant, unruly curls bobbed up and down as she bent forward from the waist to dry her hair before the fire. She fluffed her hair with her hands to speed the process.
“Beggin’ your pardon, mum?”
“Oh!” Elizabeth gasped, jerked upright and spun about. A young maid stood before her with a garment draped across her outstretched arms. She bobbed an awkward curtsy.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you, mum. Mizz Jeffers told me to bring your dress up an—”
“It’s all right…er…”
“Trudy, mum.”
“Trudy.” Elizabeth smiled to put the young English woman at ease. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Trudy. I’m just a little ner—” She bit off her words. What on earth was she doing discussing her state of mind with one of Justin Randolph’s servants! “Put the dress on the bed, please. I’ll put it on when I’ve finished drying my hair.”
“Yes, mum.”
The maid crossed to the bed, laid the dress out on its surface and gently smoothed out the generous folds of the long skirt.
“Will there be anythin’ else, mum?”
“No, Trudy. That will be all.”
“Yes, mum.”
Again, the maid bobbed an awkward curtsy. She hurried to the door, then turned and smiled at Elizabeth. “Welcome to Randolph Court, mum.” She stepped into the hall and closed the door softly behind her.
“Phew!” Elizabeth let her breath out in a long, shaky sigh and dropped into the chair beside her. This would never do! She had to stop being so nervous and frightened. This was her home now and—
Her home.
Elizabeth rose to her feet and finished fluffing and drying her hair while the words repeated themselves in her mind. Her home. What did she know of a home? She had never had a home. A house, yes. But never a home. She crossed to the bed, picked up the freshly pressed dress and pulled it over her head. A home meant love, warmth, protection, and— “And you are feeling sorry for yourself, Elizabeth Shannon. Stop it!”
Elizabeth fastened the gown, smoothed the cream-colored fabric of the skirt over her petticoats and fluffed the ecru lace at the neck and sleeves. It felt good to be neat and clean again. She started back toward the fire, then lifted her head and looked slowly about the room. Ivory-and-red-patterned silk covered the walls, and red silk trimmed with ivory braid draped elegantly around the windows and bed. The luxurious oriental carpet picked up the red and carried it across the floor to a black marble hearth where ornate bronze tools reflected the leaping flames.
Elizabeth sighed. Perfection. Rich…beautiful…cold…perfection. It was all too familiar to her. There was no feeling of warmth or welcome. It was only a room. A red room.
“I hate red!” Her words fell like stones into a pool of silence. She made a face at her reflection in the window, walked over to the large wardrobe and pulled open the ornately carved double doors. There, in the vast interior hung her blue wool gown, and her dark-blue cloak. Beneath them, side by side on the highly polished floor of the wardrobe, were her cream-colored satin shoes and the leather moccasins. That was all. One gown, one cloak, one pair of water-stained shoes and the moccasins.
The sight of her scant belongings jarred her. With everything that had happened, she had completely forgotten about her wardrobe—or more accurately, her lack of one. Elizabeth chewed at her soft bottom lip. There would be gossip in the servants’ quarters about this! What possible explana—
“Is there something you need?”
Elizabeth jumped, slammed the doors of the wardrobe shut, and whirled about. Justin was standing at the door. She shook her head. She couldn’t find her voice—it was cowering somewhere behind the suddenly throbbing pulse at the base of her throat.
Justin glanced at the wardrobe behind her, closed the bedroom door, then advanced slowly into the room. “I hope you like red.” Color bloomed on her cheeks.
“It’s a lovely room. I’m certain I shall be very comfortable in it.”
It was a polite evasion. Judging from the blush, she didn’t like red any more than he did. Justin dipped his head slightly. “How fortunate. I detest the color myself.” He lifted his gaze from Elizabeth’s pink cheeks to her deep-blue eyes. “Please keep that in mind while conferring with Madame Duval tomorrow.”
“Madame Duval?”
“Yes. She’s a modiste. I believe her to be the one most highly favored by the ladies of society in Philadelphia.” Justin walked over to a chair and removed his frock coat. “I took the liberty of sending her a message requesting her attendance upon you tomorrow. Of course, if she does not please you, you are free to choose another.”
“But I have no funds for gowns!”
Justin stiffened. How dare she cry poverty to his face when she had just received a generous settlement from him! He’d a good mind to go and retrieve the papers he had locked in his desk and face her down with them. He threw his coat over the back of the chair, then turned and stared at her. Her face paled.
“I’m not— You couldn’t have known….” She turned toward the writing desk against the far wall. “There’s no harm been done. I shall send Madame Duval my apologies, and—”
“You’ll do no such thing!” What game was she playing now? Justin stalked over to the wardrobe, yanked open the doors and gestured at the two forlorn garments hanging inside. “The wife of a man of my position must have a suitable wardrobe. It’s obvious you did not bring one along.” He gave her a cold, hard look and shut the doors. “My purse will provide what is needed.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I prefer to— What are you doing?”
Justin glanced at her. She’d gone stiff as a board. He pulled off the silk cravat he had loosened and walked over to toss it atop his coat on the chair. “I should think it would be obvious.” He began to undo the silver buttons on his waistcoat. “I am preparing for bed.”
“Bed!” Elizabeth’s voice squeaked. “Here? But, you have your own room!”
“I do.” Justin threw her a disgusted look. “And how many newly married men do you know that spend their nights alone in their own rooms?”
“I don’t know any newly married men! And I am certainly not familiar with their actions!”
“Another area in which Miss Pettigrew’s teachings are woefully lacking?”
Elizabeth gasped.
Justin ignored it. He peeled off his waistcoat and added it to the pile on the chair. “You had better make up the lack, Elizabeth—and soon. Because this newly married man is growing weary of explaining his actions to you.”
He dropped down onto the chair, bent over and tugged viciously at his boot. He was tired of her pretending to an innocent virginity with him when she was carrying another man’s child. And he was heartily sick of her lies! He would confront her with the truth right now, but it would serve no good purpose—she would only lie again. “For your information…” Justin grunted as the boot came free “…newly married men…” he threw the boot to the floor with a thud “…spend every possible moment…” he tugged at the other boot “…in bed with their brides. And the rest of their time thinking about it. Ugh!”
The second boot came free in his hand. He leaned back in the chair and looked with satisfaction at Elizabeth’s scarlet face. He had been abnormally coarse in his choice of language, but he was tired of pandering to a delicacy that was nonexistent in her. “That is, until their blood cools—which usually takes a few weeks.” He gave her a cool smile. “And that is the picture I must portray to others—including the servants of this household, if our marriage is to be believed to be a normal one—no matter how distasteful or inconvenient it may be for us. Is that clear?”
“Very.”
Justin studied Elizabeth closely. Her embarrassment was obvious—so was her anger. But for some reason she seemed more at ease than she had been since he entered the room. He tucked the knowledge away for later contemplation and rose to his feet. “Good. Then I shall not have to explain myself again.” He tossed the second boot down beside the first and walked over to the fire. “I’ll not disturb your rest. I’ll be sleeping on the chaise.”
“No.”
“No?” Justin whipped around to face her. She flinched. “You are refusing me access to your bedroom?”
“No, I am not. You mistake me. I meant only that it is I that will sleep on the chaise.”
He flicked a contemptuous gaze over her. “That will not be necessary.”
“As you say. But, I believe it to be the more reasonable solution to the situation. You are much larger than I and would hardly fit comfortably on the chaise.”
Elizabeth’s full, lower lip quivered ever so slightly as he stared at her, and suddenly he felt tired. He was weary to his very soul of beautiful, selfish women who played cruel games with a man’s emotions in order to satisfy their own greedy desires. Bitterness rose like bile within him—he could look at her no longer. “As you wish.” He turned back to the fire.
Elizabeth stared at Justin’s back. Why the sudden capitulation? This was a Justin Randolph she had not seen before. She studied his bowed head and slumped shoulders, the hands he braced against the mantel—he was the picture of dejection. The memory of his eyes as he had spoken of the fanlight flashed into her mind, and Elizabeth’s heart seemed to swell. She had left the source of her pain behind. It seemed Justin Randolph had come home to his.
Elizabeth lifted her hand toward him, then let it fall back to her side, and turned away. Justin Randolph wanted nothing from her—and she had no comfort to offer him. She sighed, picked up the folded coverlet from the foot of the bed and walked to the chaise. It had been a long, wearying day, emotionally and physically. She was exhausted. She shook out the coverlet and spread it over the chaise.
“Are you going to sleep in your gown again? I appreciate your modesty—but I assure you it is not necessary.”
Elizabeth caught her breath at Justin’s innuendo. Evidently, her wild accusations of the night before still rankled. She stopped smoothing the coverlet and looked up. He was leaning against the mantel watching her. “I do not require your assurance, Mr. Randolph. I know, after last night, that you are a gentleman and a man of your word. I—I have no nightclothes.”
The admission was made at no small cost to her pride, but Elizabeth refused to look away from Justin’s cold gaze. She refused to yield to shame. This man did not like her. Her position would become intolerable if he should pity her as well. She lifted her chin and something flickered in the depths of Justin’s eyes—the blue ice changed to flame. He lunged away from the mantel, strode rapidly to the door and left the room.
Elizabeth clenched her hands into fists and stared at the closed door. What a horrible, impossible man! What a horrible, impossible situation! Tears of humiliation spilled from her eyes. “Stop it! Stop crying this instant, Elizabeth Shannon! You will not feel sorry for yourself. You wanted to be safe, and you are. Be thankful!”
Bolstered by her own words, Elizabeth wiped her eyes and walked around the room snuffing the candles. The red was not half as overpowering in the gentle, flickering light of the fire. She placed her hands on her hips and stared into the darkness. “I will make this relationship work. I will make a home here. I will.”
There was no one to hear her, but she felt better for having made the declaration. She shook her head at her foolishness, and turned back toward the chaise. The door opened. She took an involuntary step backward as Justin entered and came across the room toward her.
“I believe this will serve.” He thrust a dark-blue silk dressing gown at her. “Take it! Sleep in it until you can have proper garments made.”
“But I can’t take your—” He scowled. Elizabeth swallowed hard and took the garment into her hands. “Thank you.”
His head dipped. “You’d best go put it on. The hour is late, and you’ve had a wearying day.” He turned and walked over to the fire.
Elizabeth stared at him for a moment, then walked into the dressing room and closed the door behind her. What a perplexing man! She would never understand Justin Randolph or his moods. She dropped the dressing gown onto the seat of the chair, removed her dress, then draped it carefully over the chair back. He was like two different people—one moment he was thoughtful and kind, and the next he was cold and arrogant. She stepped out of her petticoats, laid them on top of her dress, then pulled the smooth blue silk over her shoulders and knotted the long sash around her small waist. Absentmindedly, she rolled the too long sleeves to free her hands. She could be friends with the one—but the other…
Elizabeth shuddered, pulled open the door and padded into the bedroom. She was too weary to think about it now.
Justin tensed when he heard the door open. He tossed the log he was holding onto the fire, brushed his hands free of tiny, clinging particles of bark, and turned to bid Elizabeth a polite good-night. “Dear heaven!”
Elizabeth froze. “Is something wrong?” She glanced down and tugged at the deep folds of fabric caused by the sash around her tiny waist. “I know the gown is far too large, but—”
“It will do.” He scowled at the raspy sound of his voice and cleared his throat.
Elizabeth lifted her head and gave him an uneasy smile. “I rolled the sleeves to shorten them.” She extended her arms for his examination. “But there is nothing I can do about the length.” Her golden curls tumbled forward as she tilted her head down to look at the small pile of fabric at her feet.
Justin followed her gaze downward. It was a mistake. He quickly lifted his gaze back to the top of Elizabeth’s golden curls. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides. “Elizabeth?” He sounded as if he were strangling! He cleared his throat again.
Elizabeth tilted her head back to peer up at him. “Your voice sounds hoarse. Have you taken a chill? You look a little flushed.”
Justin stared down into her beautiful, upturned face. By heaven, the little strumpet was playing games with him! No one was that innocent. Anger cooled his ardor. “I’m perfectly well—merely curious. Do you always sleep with your hair falling loose in that fashion? Or is it that you have no nightcap?”
Elizabeth gaped at him. “My hair! I—I must look—I mean, I have no nightcap.” She lifted her hands to gather up the curly mass. “I forgot to put it up after drying it. I’ll do so immediately.” She whirled about and headed for the dressing table.
“No!” Justin’s barked command halted her dead in her tracks. He softened his voice. “Leave it. You have beautiful hair.”
“As you wish.” Elizabeth lowered her hands to her sides.
Why did she sound so shaky? Justin frowned, and headed for the bed. “I have instructed Owen to begin searching for a lady’s maid to serve you.” He reached up and undid the neck of his shirt. “Of course, the final choice will be yours.” He turned to look at Elizabeth and his pulse began to thud. It was going to be a long night—a long, sleepless night. Disgusted by the betrayal of his flesh, he sank down onto the mattress.
“That’s very generous of you.” Elizabeth crossed to the chaise and climbed under the coverlet, pulling it up. “Very generous, but…”
“But what?” Justin leaned back against the pillows and stretched out his long legs.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “But I would like Trudy to be my lady’s maid.”
“Trudy?” Justin lifted himself on his elbows to look at her. Her hair was fanned out on the pillow and the firelight was playing hide-and-seek among the valleys and crests of her golden curls. He lay back down on the pillows—it was easier to concentrate if he didn’t look at her. “Trudy is an upstairs maid. She is not trained to serve a lady.”
“I understand.”
She sounded disappointed. Justin frowned. “Do you wish to try her in spite of her lack of training?”
Elizabeth caught her breath. “Yes.”
“Very well. I will inform Owen of the change tomorrow. But, if Trudy does not work out satisfactorily, you are to have Owen seek a suitable replacement.”
“I shall.”
Justin cast a quick glance her direction. “That’s settled then. Good night, Elizabeth.”
“Good night…Justin. And thank you.”
An intimate silence settled into the room.
Justin scowled. He folded his hands under his head and stared up at the tester overhead concentrating on the crackling of the fire, trying, unsuccessfully, to block out of his mind the soft, shy way she had spoken his name, the rustling whisper of silk as she settled herself for sleep.
Weary from the long hours of travel, Justin closed his eyes, then quickly opened them again as a vision of Elizabeth, dressed in the blue silk gown, slid into his mind. He took a deep breath, expelled it slowly, then repeated the process. It didn’t help. Tired, but unable to sleep, he lay rigid and uncomfortable in the big, lonely bed cursing himself for ever having thought of such a thing as a marriage of convenience.