A Chance Encounter (28 page)

Elizabeth, stunned, looked to Louise for help. But her sister-in-law merely gave her a nervous little half-smile and reached for her husband's arm so that she could be escorted from the room.

Neither of them broke the silence for a while. Elizabeth stood, still facing the door. Hetherington stood a few feet behind her. He spoke first.

“Why did you wish me to come, Elizabeth?” he asked.

She did not turn. “It was nothing,” she said. “It does not matter.”

“It does matter,” he insisted. “Whatever it is, it was important enough to you a week ago that you sent for me. And I know you well enough to realize that, to do that, you would have to go against all the pride you have built up in the last years. Do you not believe me when I say that I know nothing of your letter? Is that it?”

“I am weary, Robert,” she said, turning to face him, “so weary of the misunderstandings, the waitings, the confrontations. I have trained myself since losing you to avoid strong feelings and unpredictable circumstances. I have learned to value tranquility.”

“And have you been happy?” he asked gently.

“Happy?” she repeated, eyes flashing. “Happy! Happiness is a much-overrated emotion, my lord. I was very happy once and I ended up more miserable than I knew it was possible to be. I am not interested in happiness. I wish to be left in peace.”

“With your Mr. Chatsworth?”

“Yes, with Mr. Chatsworth and his wife and sons. I can start a new life there and forget again. Oh, God, I want to forget.”

“Elizabeth!” he said with such quiet tenderness that her eyes flew to his face and her senses reeled for one unguarded moment. He pushed himself away from the mantel and walked past her.

“We were so young, were we not?” he said, walking to the window and gazing through it. “I cannot now believe that we allowed all those things to happen to us without blazing a trail back to each other. I cannot quite understand why I did not fight my way through hell, though God knows I believed I had done all I could. I was so damned young.”

Elizabeth had moved only enough that she could watch him where he stood by the window. She did not say anything.

He turned to look at her. “If you will not tell me why you summoned me, may I tell you why I came?” he asked.

“It seems I have no choice but to listen,” she said, but there was no hostility in her voice. She moved to the wing chair beside the hearth and sat quietly on the edge of the seat.

“I knew when I spoke with you last,” he said, “before I left you, that you had spoken the truth. I knew what must have happened. All I could think of doing was reaching my uncle and forcing the truth out of him. That proved a most difficult and most frustrating task.”

He walked across the room and took the chair opposite Elizabeth. He watched her downcast eyes as he spoke.

“I went home for one night and then went to London. The man he had left there to care for his house told me that he had gone fishing in Scotland with friends, though he did not know the exact location. It took me almost two days to discover who the friends were and where exactly they had gone. I was weary enough when I arrived there, but when I found the place, the friends informed me that my uncle had returned home just two days before. Somehow I had missed him on the road. To cut a long story short, I finally ran him to ground in Paris less than a week ago.”

Hetherington paused and looked expectantly at Elizabeth, but she did not say anything or raise her eyes.

“I discovered the truth,” he said.

“That my father took the money,” she said very quietly, “that the two of them conspired against us, my father for money, your uncle for family pride.”

“You know, then?” he said.

“Yes.”

“And that is why you called me?”

She did not answer.

“Did you know,” he asked, getting restlessly to his feet, “that my uncle intercepted your first few letters to me and that your father intercepted mine to you? Afterward, they had an agreement to stop our letters at their source. Most of your letters never left this house and most of mine did not leave London.”

Elizabeth had her hands over her face.

Hetherington went down on his knees in front of her. “Did you know,” he asked, “that I came here, that I ranted and raved to your father, begging and demanding to see you, threatening him even? He gave in in the end and went to find you, but he came back to repeat what he had said all along, that you would not see me.” He covered her hands gently with his own, cupping her face.

It was her dream again. It was the dream, except that usually it was John there on the carpet before her, touching her hands and her face.

“No,” she moaned. “No.” And she began to rock herself protectively.

“Hush, love,” he said. “Don't grieve so. Everything will be fine now, I promise you.”

“No,” she wailed, her eyes tightly closed.

He rose to his feet and brought her to hers, one hand grasping each arm. He took her hands and removed them firmly from in front of her face.

“Open your eyes, Elizabeth,” he said.

“No,” she moaned.

He pulled her roughly into his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder with one hand.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured, “this is Robert, your husband, love. I am the man who eloped with you and married you in Gram's chapel, the man who wandered cliffs and beaches with you and made love to you to the sound of gulls and the smell of the sea. This is the man who loves you, darling, who has loved you for six long and lonely years. Open your eyes and look at me, love.”

He was rocking her in his arms, kissing gently her forehead, her closed eyelids, her cheeks, her lips. And it was there finally that he felt a stirring of response. He continued to kiss her, undemandingly, until, opening his own eyes, he found her looking up at him.

“It is all over now, love,” he said, a smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “We do not have to part ever again. I can take you home with me.”

She pushed away from him. “No, it is too late, Robert,” she said tonelessly. “There has been too much of pain for you and me. I cannot face making myself vulnerable again.”

“Elizabeth—” he began.

She interrupted, talking quickly. “I am glad that we discovered the truth. We do not need to hate each other anymore. We can think kindly of each other and be friends if we ever meet again. But I think it best if we live separate lives. I have a new life to start tomorrow and I have a great deal to do before morning.” Her voice had gained brightness and confidence.

“What are you saying?” he asked incredulously.

“I mean that I must go now,” she replied. “I am sure John will be in his office if you wish to take your leave of him. Good-bye, Robert. And I thank you very much for coming.” She smiled brightly and extended her hand.

Hetherington ignored the hand. “I wonder if I shall understand you even at the end of a lifetime,” he mused, folding his arms across his chest. “Are you a coward, love?”

The smile still stretched her face. “I must go, Robert,” she said.

“I wish you to tell me something first,” he said, head to one side, regarding her closely. “Do you love me?”

“Love?” she said scornfully. “I have never found love to be a desirable emotion, my lord. It is a fable told to the romantics, I believe.”

He bowed over her hand, which was still extended, and kissed it formally. “Thank you, ma'am,” he said. “That is all I wished to know.” And before she could take her leave, he brushed past her and left the room.

Really, the whole situation had ended most satisfactorily, Elizabeth told herself several minutes later as she cheerfully packed her bags ready for the next day's journey. The years had been painful because of her terrible disillusionment over Robert's behavior. Now that she knew that he had been in no way to blame, and now that he knew that she had been innocent, the past could be allowed to fall into memory. And she would be happy to remember those weeks of courtship in London, those few days of marriage in Devon. She was free now to remember Robert as he had been, graceful and yet very masculine, handsome, sunny-natured, affectionate, passionate. She would be able to remember their encounters in the last few months with some pleasure, certainly without bitterness.

But she could not revive her feelings for him, of course. She had finally killed those five days before when she had realized her extreme stupidity in opening her heart to rejection and pain yet again. She had learned her lesson well this time. But she was very pleased that he had come. It was good to know that that unkind letter from his secretary had not been dictated by Robert himself.

Yes, Elizabeth concluded with a smile as she folded the skirt of her best gray silk very carefully into the portmanteau, it was all over now, and a very satisfactory ending it was, too. She had been a little surprised when Robert had left so quietly. She had expected more trouble with him. But that was good, too. It showed that he understood the good sense of her decision.

Elizabeth repeated all these thoughts to Louise, who came into her room and sat quietly on the bed to watch her pack, and at the dinner table to John, who smiled and told her that she knew what was best for herself, that he would not try to interfere in her life anymore.

Elizabeth was pleased to avoid the emotional confrontations she had expected. Both John and Louise conversed on general topics during the evening. Neither tried to dissuade her from accepting her new employment; neither even mentioned the necessity of taking a ladies' maid on the journey with her. They had finally accepted her adult right to make her own decisions and to order her own life.

Louise cried a few tears as she kissed her sister-in-law good-bye the next morning on the stone steps outside the house. John hugged her rather too hard and too long. But Elizabeth felt a sense of relief as she set her face for the village, seated beside her brother's groom in the gig. It had been surprisingly easy to begin a new life.

When she asked at the inn for Mr. Chatsworth, Elizabeth was directed to a traveling coach in the yard outside. The Yorkshireman had requested that she await him there. A footman standing by the open door helped her inside, assured her that her bags would be taken care of, and closed the door.

She found herself in an interior of opulent luxury. Well-cushioned seats of gold velvet were complemented by a paler-gold rug and brocade wall and ceiling coverings. Brown velvet curtains were looped back from the windows, but could give total privacy and darkness to the travelers whenever the master wished, Elizabeth judged. When she sat down rather uncertainly on one of the seats, she sank into warm softness and felt the coach sway slightly. It was very well sprung.

Mr. Chatsworth was a very wealthy man, then. The long journey to his home would be a reasonably comfortable one, despite the deplorable condition of most British roads. But Elizabeth began to feel uneasy. It had been fine yesterday to imagine that she would be quite safe traveling alone with a strange man. She was wearing her plainest wool dress and pelisse, her most no-nonsense bonnet. Together with a chilly, distant manner, her appearance would serve to dampen any ardor that the man might be capable of, she had thought. But now she was not so sure. She remembered the speculative way in which Mr. Chatsworth had looked her over the day before. And she looked again at those velvet curtains.

She felt the coach sway again and heard voices outside. The coachman was apparently climbing into his seat. The door opened again and the footman's face appeared momentarily. Elizabeth leaned a shoulder against the side of the coach and set her face into what she hoped was a polite but chilly smile.

“Good morning, my lady,” the Marquess of Hetherington said with his wide white grin as he vaulted into the coach and took a seat next to her. The door closed quietly.

“What are you doing here?” Elizabeth demanded, sitting bolt-upright. She staggered forward at the same moment as the coach was set into motion.

Hetherington put out a steadying arm, but she shook it off.

“What is happening?” she asked. “Where is Mr. Chatsworth? And what are you doing in his coach?”

“To answer your questions in order, love,” he said, beginning to check them off on his fingers, “the coach has begun to move; on his way to London, I would imagine, to find himself a new governess; and this is my coach, not his.” He smiled at her.

She stared back, wide-eyed. “I have a position with him,” she said frostily. “I demand you let me down, my lord.”

He crossed his arms on his chest and placed one booted foot against the seat opposite. “My apologies,” he said, still grinning hugely. “I told the man that he could not have my wife as a governess for his children. I enjoyed doing so. I disliked the man on sight. You would not have been safe with him, Elizabeth.”

“Not safe with him!” she sputtered. “You are the one abducting me! Stop immediately, or I shall, I shall ...”

“Shall what?” he asked, chuckling. “Throw yourself out of the coach? The doors are locked, love. Scream? The horses may be alarmed, but my men are more than capable of handling them.”