Chapter Twenty

 

 

THE HEIGHT OF SUMMER, and yet she could find no joy in it.

Staring out the window, Elizabeth watched the world pass, as she had for all the months since…well, since. A sea of green rolled before her, broken by the small copse of trees where she and Bella had played as children, the gazebo where their older sisters had played at love.

As she always had, she could see smoke from the distant village, the tips of chimney pots just visible over the rise. If she’d care to, a short walk would take her to Maria Everton’s house though Maria no longer lived there, long since married and decamped to Bristol.

Aylesbury never changed. All was the same. Only Elizabeth was different.

At first, she’d not noticed. She’d been upset, of course she had, but she’d not thought she’d changed, at least not to any significant degree. She’d not noticed apathy had settled upon her, changing her from a person who found delight in the most mundane of things into one who only pretended it. Once noticed, though, the months had been made bearable by its presence, no highs, no lows, just a steady medium which never varied or changed.

Pretence had protected her during that first month in London. Laughter and mirth had been her disguise, though the facade went little deeper than her skin. Every social occasion to which she’d been invited she’d attended, blurring into a whirl she scarcely remembered now.

For all her laughter, she couldn’t fool Bella. She’d been sorry for her sister’s worry, but she could only assure Bella all was well—that no, nothing was wrong and shouldn’t Bella return to the festivities?

Bella, however, had not been convinced, and so Elizabeth had taken to avoiding her. A fortnight she’d managed to avoid Bella, two weeks where none noticed her strangeness and where she had managed to forget. For a while.

Bella, however, could not be avoided forever and, in true Machiavellian fashion, had recruited their sisters to her cause. One morning, they’d cornered Elizabeth in her own home, making escape impossible. Their combined concern had broken the careful world she’d constructed and, once broken, she could no longer pretend.

No longer could she pretend to be happy. No longer could she stay in London, no longer could she run the risk that she might see him. Malvern.

Her shoulders fell. She couldn’t risk that she might see James.

She had thought to distract herself, to keep herself busy with dinners and balls, knowing she’d never seen him before, so why should she now? And yet, she remained on edge, every tall man with dark hair sending her heart leaping to her throat.

So, the next day, she had made for Aylesbury.

The familiarity of home had gone a ways to providing comfort. Her parents, though surprised by her arrival, had welcomed her with arms wide open. At the sight of her mother, her dearly loved face twisted with concern, emotion had coursed through Elizabeth for the first time in months. Harsh sobs tearing from her, she’d collapsed into her mother’s arms. Through her tears, she’d heard her mother order her father to take her bags upstairs, heard the exasperation in her father’s voice as he’d grumbled some response. The gruff exchange had only made her cry harder. Her parents loved each other, they loved each other. Her father would never hurt her mother, never pretend he didn’t care.

Eventually, she’d calmed and when she did, she realised her mother had somehow manoeuvred them into the sitting room. Face pale, holding Elizabeth’s hand, her mother gently but implacably demanded to know what was wrong. The question and tone, so in keeping with her mother, had chased away the remnants of her outburst of grief, but she’d not provided an answer.

Tracing an absent design on the window pane, Elizabeth stared at that sea of green. No matter how her mother prodded, she could not bring herself to tell her of...things. If she talked of it, apathy would break completely, and she would not be able to call it back.

Invitations had flooded the house, to picnics, dances, musicals, assemblies, and her mother had bullied and wheedled Elizabeth into attending each one. After two months, she’d even started to enjoy them. Each event had become easier to bear, and each had afforded distraction, so much so that she hardly ever thought of...things.

Pressing her hand against the glass, she regarded its shape, the creases at her knuckles, the bone at her wrist. The minutia of detail afforded comfort and, when she was alone with only her thoughts for company, had the added attraction of distracting her. She liked herself better when distracted.

A gentle knock at the door broke her attention from her hand. A maid entered and bobbed a curtsy, the lace on her cap flopping with her movement.

“Sorry to disturb you, milady, but you’re wanted downstairs by the missus. If you please.” The maid bobbed another curtsy.

“I’ll be right down.” Even her voice displayed her lack of interest.

The maid bobbed one last time and departed.

Elizabeth smoothed her gown, the garment plain. In the country, there was no need of any gown grander than this one. All others had been relegated to storage, packed away for the time when she could look at them and remember him only with faint sadness.

The passage from her bedchamber was a familiar one, undertaken thousands of times. She spied her mother in the entrance hall, her foot tapping an impatient rhythm against the tiles. Arms folded, expression cross, her mother seemed the very picture of ire.

Elizabeth faltered. She hadn’t done anything to irritate her mother, had she? “Mama? What is it?”

Eyes flashing, her mother took no pains to conceal her annoyance. “There is someone to see you, Elizabeth Marie.”

It must be bad for her mother to call her by her full name. “Have I done something, Mama? Did I alienate one of Papa’s acquaintances with my questions again?”

“What? Of course not.” A scowl marring her features, her mother’s arms tightened. “An extremely unpleasant man has demanded to see you and, apparently, we are all to jump to his bidding. I’ve half a mind for you to keep him waiting, Lizzie.” Her mother sighed. “But where’s the fun in that? You go in and you give him hell, my dear.”

She eyed her mother warily. “Mama?”

“Don’t you raise a brow at me, Elizabeth Marie.” Her mother smoothed Elizabeth’s hair, pushing wispy strands behind her ear. “I do believe I shall be losing my daughter once more.” Her hand drifted down to cup Elizabeth’s cheek. Something sad, but also joyful, lit her gaze. “I am so happy for you, Lizzie.”

Elizabeth frowned, her mother’s words making no sense. “Mama, have you been drinking the Madeira again?”

“No.” Her mother leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. Taking a step away, she let her hands fall to her sides. “Now, go and see your visitor.”

“Are you sure you are all right?”

“Yes, yes.” Her mother shooed her in the direction of the drawing room. “Go.”

Her mother’s perplexing behaviour bothering her, Elizabeth started toward the drawing room— No. This was too strange.

Turning, she said, “Are you sure you—?”

“Lizzie.” A smile played about her mother’s mouth. “Attend your guest.”

Even more confused, Elizabeth pushed open the drawing room door, vaguely curious to see what manner of man had flustered her mother so.

James stood in the drawing room, his back to her as he stared out the window.

She could not move. She could not speak. She could only stand there, frozen, as she stared at the outline of his form against the afternoon sun. The protection of apathy broke and four months of repressed emotion flooded her. Shock, pain, anger, joy. All stormed through her, a deafening roar she could barely contain.

And then, abruptly, the storm vanished.

Something must have alerted him to her presence, as he turned to face her. For a moment, a single moment, his expression lit with determination, with purpose. It must have been a trick of the light, though, because then his face held no expression, and he simply looked upon her, impassiveness schooling his features as it had since first they’d met.

Finally, she found the words to greet him. “Malvern, this is a surprise.” She was very, very proud of the evenness of her voice. “Won’t you sit?”

No response. He simply stared at her, his eyes shuttered and unreadable. There was something off about him. Bruised flesh darkened his eyes, speaking of sleepless nights, while deep creases bracketed his mouth. Though impeccably attired, there was something not quite right about his garments, as if he had rushed through his dress with little care.

Which was ridiculous. Stupid Elizabeth, with her notions and fancies.

Why was he here? To remind her of what she’d lost, what he’d taken from her?

Anger unfurled in her, but she ignored it. She would be dignified, aloof, and he would never know how much his presence pained her.

Still he looked at her, and still he said nothing. Not allowing his silence to unnerve her, she seated herself, balling her hands tight in her lap. No matter how he appeared, she would not make this easy for him. No doubt he had been carousing to all hours of the morning. That was why he appeared tired.

The silence between them thickened.

“Elizabeth.” As abruptly as it started, his speech broke off. She watched as he began to pace, his hands held tightly behind his back.

Grip tightening in her lap, Elizabeth tried not to think on how she had missed him. Each Tuesday and Thursday, she had found herself looking for the carriage that would take her to him, even though she knew it wouldn’t come. Worse, she’d found herself noting some odd snippet of conversation she’d heard, or observed a strange happenstance, and thinking she must tell James. Somehow, in such a short period of time, she’d become so enamoured that he was her first thought in the morning, her last at night.

More fool her.

James still hadn’t continued his abortive attempt at speech. Well, she wouldn’t be the one to break the silence. He had sought her out—Lord, he had sought her out. Why?

Hope, resilient emotion that it was, reared its head. Damnation, how could he do this to her? How could he make her want him, after all this time, after all he’d done?

Grimly, she forced the emotion away, concentrating on her lap as he wore a hole in her father’s carpet. So long since she’d felt such intense emotion, and now she’d experienced the gamut in only a few moments.

“I propose we marry.”

Shocked. She was shocked. That was what had frozen her muscles. Frozen her mind. Frozen everything inside her. Opening her mouth to respond, she then closed it again, her mind completely blank.

He didn’t seem to notice her paralysis, instead continuing. “We deal well together and we already know we are sexually compatible.”

She couldn’t move.

“As for children, I am not overly concerned if we never conceive. However, there is no reason to assume either of us infertile, no matter what your idiot husband said. While you have little wealth to recommend you, I more than make up for such a lack. We are both of an age, and deal tolerably well together. Therefore, I can see no reason for a marriage not to take place between us.”

He stood motionless, as motionless as she, his face never darkening, never lightening, never displaying any emotion at all.

Never, never, had she thought he’d propose. What possible reason could he have for it? The ones he had detailed, they may be logical and precise, but he would never convince her such reasons would induce him to wed, and he must know his reasons would not convince her.

He must know he’d detailed every reason but the one that mattered.

Holding on to calm, Elizabeth managed to recover her voice, enough to speak anyway. “This is certainly unexpected. Did you just now come to this decision?”

He gave her that look, that imperious look. “Of course not. I have thought on it for some time. It seems the most logical course of affairs.”

“And how am I to react to this decision of yours?” Her tone just as calm as his, she kept her features politely inquiring. It cost much, but she would not give up her dignity. “What am I to say? It was more than obvious on our last meeting you required—” Here she faltered. How to describe what had occurred, without using words like pain, bastard, devastation. Finally, she found the words. “Distance between us.”

Not even the flicker of an eyelid. Why was she so surprised by his lack of reaction? Anger rushed through her, sudden and blistering. What was he doing, coming to her parents’ home and demanding marriage? Could he not have left her alone, to spin her lies of being unaffected, to continue the difficult process of forgetting him?

Unable to bear the sight of him, she looked away, gripping her hands tighter in her lap. “Well, Malvern?”

“It appears I was mistaken.” His voice was as beautiful, as compelling as ever. She wanted to scream, at him for making her feel this way, at herself for allowing him to. “I should not have forced such a scenario on you. It was ill-conceived. I apologise.”

“You apologise.” She clenched her jaw against the torrent of abuse his words conjured. That’s all he had to say for himself? Ill-conceived? He had ripped her heart from her body, and he thought it ill-conceived? “Well, I thank you for the condescension of your offer, but I find I must decline.”

Silence, and then, “You would refuse me?”

Her gaze flew to him. Though he was all shuttered eyes and immobile mouth, something about the way he said the phrase gave her pause. Had she imagined it? “Perhaps. What do you offer?”

Face impassive, he said, “Did I not just detail such?”

“Yes, and what a fine offer it was.” She smiled, though it felt garish. “However, what of love? Affection?”

No expression. No hint of emotion crossed his face. “Love was what wedded you to Rocksley, was it not? But, if you insist, I am…fond of you.”

Hope faded. Even such a stubborn emotion could not thrive in the face of such barren fare. He stood before her, the man who’d shown her so much, and this time she would eject him from her life. His hands at his sides, his back ramrod straight, he awaited her answer and—

She blinked, certain she’d imagined it. No, there it was again. Infinitesimal, but there. Hope, so recently extinguished, flared again.

James’s hands were trembling.

He realised she was staring at his hands and immediately laced them behind his back, but it was too late. She had seen it. She had seen his hands, and she knew what they meant.

James was nervous.

If James was nervous, it meant he was uncertain about the outcome of his proposal. If he was nervous, it meant he had come here with no guarantee of success, only the determination to see her.

If he was nervous, it could mean he cared.

Hope rushed wild through her. She dampened it down, attempting restraint, guarding against the pain should she be wrong. “You are going to have to give me a reason. A real one.”

Ice blue eyes regarded her. However, she fancied she could see him trying to think of something, anything, to make her agree.

Closing her eyes, she severed the illusions she wove about him. This was ever her problem. She always saw things that weren’t there. Why had she hoped for something different?

He had to leave. Now. Later would come misery. Later would come pain.

Rising to her feet, she prepared to speak to the words that would send him from her life.

“I am sorry,” he said. “You have no concept of how sorry I am. I should never have allowed—I should not—” Jaw clenched, his eyes burned with emotion for a moment. “It was very badly done of me.”

“Yes, it was.” Refusing to give him quarter, she waited though hope held her in its grip.

“You ask me for a reason?” He had regained some of his inhuman calm. In the midst of it all, she almost smiled. It was so a part of him, this composure. “I find I am…at a loss. It was different when you were—” He muttered a curse. “I will do my best to ensure your happiness, in whatever means you see fit. I would hope that happiness would include me in the capacity of husband.”

Keeping a tight clamp on her emotions, she regarded him steadily. “And that is your reason?”

He set his jaw. “Yes.”

“I see.” She needed to think. These last months, they had been nothing without him. “You hurt me.” Remembered pain broke her voice.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Yes.”

“Badly.”

“Yes,” he repeated. He gave no excuse, no reason for her to forgive him.

“Is that all you are going to say?” Emotion bled from her, just a bit, just enough to colour her words with desperation. “It’s not enough. You’re going to have to give me a reason. A real reason. Please, James. Please.” She swallowed. “Just one.”

He stared at her, silent, impassive. Dear God, it wouldn’t take much. She would grasp at any excuse and yet he stood there, as distant as ever he was.

“Elizabeth….”

He didn’t expand on her name. She waited, but he said nothing further, simply standing there with his hands now clenched at his side and his cold gaze upon her.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t take this scrap of affection and make a life. Shoulders slumping, she prepared to send him away.

Something in her expression must have alerted him to her thoughts and just like that, he broke. “I need you. I need you, Elizabeth. Please.” He swallowed, and in his motion she could see something of panic. “Please.”

His voice died away. Silence. Somewhere, someone was singing off-key. Somewhere, someone was happy.

Silence still. She didn’t know what to say. Conflicted, she stared at him and he looked away, his hands white-knuckled.

She had to know. Stepping toward him, she gently took his hands in hers. “James.”

He didn’t raise his gaze. Instead, he stared down at the mesh of his fingers and hers but she needed to see. Untangling her left hand, she cupped his cheek.

His eyes met hers reluctantly. Even now he kept her from his emotions, even now the mask and then…then it dropped. Just for a moment, she saw every emotion, every feeling he had. For a moment, she saw how he felt about her, and it was dazzling.

Joy filled her, intense and bright. James. Oh, my love.

“I have a reason for why we should marry, James.” Elizabeth’s smile hurt her cheeks, her heart beating so fast she thought it would break through her chest. “I love you.”

Tension bled from him. He closed his eyes. “You do?”

Nodding in answer, elation rushed through her, then she realised he couldn’t see. “Always.”

A small smile teased one corner of his mouth. Taking a shuddering breath, he opened his eyes and just like that, he was James again. Impassive. Unemotional.

The loony shape of a grin stretched her mouth. Her James.

“So you agree, then?”

“To what?” Laughter threatened at the disgruntled expression that briefly crossed his face.

“You are being factitious, aren’t you?”

All innocence, she shrugged, certain that now everything was as it should be.

Familiar wickedness dancing in his eyes, he raised a brow. Just like that, they slipped back. Just like that, it was them again.

He cleared his throat. “I shall organise a special license. We can be wed next week.”

She blinked “Next week?”

“Did I read you wrong, madam?” His fingers tightened on hers until she winced. “Do you refuse my suit?”

“No!” Startled by her loud protest, she gentled her tone. “No, James, of course not. It’s only….” Frowning, she considered the particulars. “I need at least a month to organise my family. And, of course, you shall have to meet them. They will want to scrutinise the man I am to marry.” How on earth was she to get all her family in the same place at the same time?

“Your family, madam?”

“Yes.” Maybe they should hold a gathering in London. Everyone lived in the city, well, everyone but her parents. Damnation, and her mother hated to travel—

“As in, your mother and father? Your sisters and brothers-in-law?”

Surprised by his tone, she glanced at him. Once again, he’d cloaked his expression in impassiveness, but even he could not disguise the pallor of his skin.

He cleared his throat. “Your mother was at the door. That surely constitutes a meet. We should marry next week.”

Never say that James, her indomitable James, was disturbed by the prospect of meeting her family? Oh, this was too funny for words.

“But James, my father will want to question you, most likely about your intentions for after we are wed. And my sisters will most definitely want to talk with you about wedding preparations and guest lists—I am the youngest, you know.” She frowned, hoping it concealed her mirth. Poor dear. You would think he would know better than to give her such ammunition. “They will want to give me a proper send-off, seeing as they couldn’t the first time. My brothers-in-law will want to throw you some sort of bachelor gathering and they can’t do that if they’ve never before met you. And my mother—” Elizabeth shuddered delicately. “Well, the less said about her, the better. Although, it is only right to warn you—she will want to organise your life. In detail. There will probably be lists.”

James had turned an intriguing shade of pale. “Truly?”

Good lord, he really was sick at the thought of meeting her family. Stepping into his arms, she hugged him, the feel of him hard and warm, beloved and familiar. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there with you. I love you.”

His arms rose about her, and with a gentle squeeze, he returned her embrace. His lips whispered against her temple and Elizabeth smiled, truly happy for the first time in months.

James had come for her, with no guarantee of success. He had proposed, when he had said he would not. Her smile widened as his arms tightened about her. He may not have said it, he may not even have recognized it, but she did.

Her love loved her.