An Heiress at Heart (37 page)

“She has sent word that she will be spending the morning in her room.”

Geoffrey’s voice—indeed, his whole manner—was overly restrained.

“Oh dear,” Lizzie said. “I hope she is not ill.” She did not think Lady Thornborough was ever ill, but in her nervousness she said the first thing that popped into her head.

“It is an early cold, I expect. James once told me she usually catches cold around the time of the first frost.” He set down his fork and looked at her directly for the first time since she’d been seated. “Perhaps you recall this, too, given your
excellent
memory?”

Startled, she met his hard gaze. Whatever she had expected to see—tenderness, regret, or guilt, she saw none of these things. She saw only a tightly banked anger. She cleared her throat, which was suddenly far too dry. “Of course,” she managed. “Grandmamma’s early colds. I had forgotten.”

His eyes narrowed, and Lizzie’s confusion increased. Her seemingly innocuous words had, if anything, increased his anger.

The butler set down Lizzie’s plate and filled her teacup. She took a sip of her tea, wishing for the thousandth time that Ria had preferred coffee in the morning. She could have used its stimulating power to brace her.

Breakfast became an agony, trying to make polite conversation as the servants came and went, when all the while she could see Geoffrey seething beneath his stiff exterior.

When it was finally over, Geoffrey said, “Will you be so good as to take a walk with me?”

“Yes,” she said with brightness she did not feel, “I shall be delighted.” She knew they needed to have it out,
to discuss matters more fully and reasonably. Even so, there was still so much she could
not
tell Geoffrey, much as she longed to. She was oppressed under the weight of all the lies she could not leave behind.

The morning mist was dense as they made their way down a narrow lane that led away from the house. It shrouded the pastures that lay on either side of the hedgerows, leaving Lizzie with the impression that she and Geoffrey were entering their own private cocoon.

They were far from prying eyes or ears that could overhear their conversation. Yet Geoffrey did not speak. He walked beside her, his mouth set in a hard line. Here it was, then. The reconsideration in the hard light of day, just as she had anticipated. It was heartbreaking, no matter that it was for the best; Lizzie would foolishly have him still wish for their marriage, even if it could never happen. Perhaps he did not love her after all. Perhaps it had been only a temporary infatuation. One whose folly he now saw too clearly.

They continued in silence for some time. Why would he not speak? Finally she ventured, “I believe we ought to discuss what happened. You’re angry, as you have every right to be. You probably think I have betrayed Edward.”

He laughed, but it was a coarse and humorless sound. “You have betrayed more people than Edward.” He turned then, and took her by the arms. His face was inches from hers, as it had been only hours ago. But this was no lover’s embrace. He was finally releasing the pent-up emotions she had glimpsed at breakfast. Anger and revulsion now seemed to roll off him in equal measure. “What is your game exactly?”

She looked at him, uncomprehending. “Game?” Her voice came out in a rasp.

This only enraged him more. “Be honest for once. What are you after? Is it money?”

“No!” The word came out with effortless sincerity. How could he think such a thing? What terrible conclusions had he been drawing?

His grip held. “You want to ruin me, then. Bring scandal and disgrace to my family.”

Lizzie shook her head. “No,” she said again, fighting to keep her voice calm. “No one else need ever know what happened last night. It is—and will remain—solely between us. I do not blame you for hating me, but you can walk away now and no one will ever be the wiser.”

“Is that really what you want? You want me to just walk away?” His hands tightened around her arms, bringing her a hair’s breadth closer. His eyes locked on hers, dark and unfathomable. For one sliver of an instant Lizzie thought he was going to draw her to him.

But he released his hold and drew back, leaving Lizzie’s arms tingling and her heart bereft. He pulled a folded paper from his coat pocket and held it out. “Perhaps you would care to clarify exactly
whom
I would be walking away from?”

Lizzie took the paper. It was the letter from Tom. Clearly, Geoffrey had read it.

Lizzie took a step back, as the world around her seemed to shift into odd angles and leave her only vaguely aware of which direction was up. She found herself against a low stone wall, which she leaned on gratefully for support.

She tucked the letter into the pocket of her dress. It
would be pointless to ask where he had found it, or to reprimand him for reading it. Nothing would change the fact that the time had come for complete honesty. She took a long, slow breath, looked unflinchingly at him and said, “My name is Elizabeth Rose Poole.”

It was actually a relief to say it out loud. The taste of her own name on her tongue was a simple pleasure she’d been deprived of for too long.

Geoffrey stood motionless. Although his eyes remained fixed on her, Lizzie saw with relief that his posture was no longer as aggressive. Rather, he received this information stoically, like a person who has been expecting bad news but is still unprepared for it when it comes. “You are not Ria,” he said, sounding as though he still could not believe it. “How could you have done it? How did you fool everyone so completely? How on earth did you think you would get away with it? How—”

“I will explain everything,” she interrupted, “if you will allow me to speak.”

His mouth closed again into that thin, hard line. With great effort, it seemed, he gave a curt nod and said, “All right. I am listening.”

“My mother, Emma, grew up just a few miles from here, in Sennoke. My father—that is to say, my legally recognized father—was Sam Poole. Before his marriage, he had spent five years as a valet for Sir Herbert Thornborough.”

Geoffrey’s face registered a brief flash of something that might have been understanding, but he quickly shuttered it. “Do you believe this earns you some kind of connection to the Thornboroughs? Is this why you feel justified impersonating another woman?”

Was he going to deny what was so evident that Lizzie was certain he had seen it himself in a split second of time? She lifted her chin defiantly. “Yes. I believe there is a
direct
connection.”

“That is a serious accusation. The implications—”

Lizzie gave a brittle laugh. “I am aware of the implications. Every one of them.”

“Does Ria know you are here, pretending to be her? Where is she?”

“Ria is dead,” Lizzie said.

Her unsparing answer left Geoffrey speechless for several long moments. But he rallied and said in an accusatory manner, “Exactly
how
did she die?”

This was too much. She would not be accused of killing her dearest friend—her sister. Shakily, Lizzie stood up. “She did not die by my hand, if that’s what you wish to imply. I did everything in my power to keep her alive.”

“Did you?” he challenged. “And why should I believe that?”

“It is the truth!”

“So you have finished telling lies now? Then tell me this. What has become of Edward? Is he dead or isn’t he?”

Despite his harsh tone, Lizzie saw a flicker of anguish in Geoffrey’s eyes, as though hoping against hope that his brother still lived. She chastised herself for not clarifying this point at the beginning. “Everything I have told you about Edward is true,” she said evenly. “I wish with all my heart it could be otherwise. Edward was a good man.”

It was an attempt at comfort, but it seemed only to reignite his anger. “How do you dare judge the goodness of anyone?”

“Please, Geoffrey.” She reached out to take him by the arms. “Listen to me before you pass judgment. Once you have heard me out, you may do as you see fit. In spite of how it must appear, I wanted only the best for our families.”

His arms were rigid beneath hers. She might have been holding one of the steel girders at the Crystal Palace. “
Our
families?” he repeated coldly.

“Look at me, Geoffrey. Look at my eyes, my face. How else could I look so much like Ria? How could her closest family members have mistaken me for her? I must be a Thornborough. It cannot be denied.”

He tried to turn his head away but she forced him to look at her, willing him to acknowledge that he saw the truth of her words. At last she felt him relax slightly.

“I will hear you out,” he said with forced calm. “But I make no promises as to what I shall do or not do with the information.”

She nodded, releasing his arms. He leaned against the low wall, watching her, his eyes wary.

“Six years ago,” she said, “my brother Tom and I left London for Australia.”

“Your brother!”

She looked at him in surprise. “Yes. Tom is my brother.”

Geoffrey shook his head, as though he could not quite believe it. “That letter was from your
brother
.”

“Who did you…” Lizzie stopped herself in midquestion. She had read Tom’s letter a thousand times, knew every word by heart. Tom’s loving words could easily have led Geoffrey to an entirely different conclusion about the man who wrote that letter. It seemed
Geoffrey was only too ready to put Lizzie in the role of dissolute woman. Who could blame him?

She pulled her thoughts from that unhappy tangent. “Tom and I met Edward soon after we arrived in Sydney. He was naturally intrigued by how similar I looked to Ria. He’d been sent to hire new workers, and he immediately offered us a place. From the moment Ria and I met…” Lizzie broke off, her voice cracking. She paused to regain her composure. “From the moment we met, we became great friends. In time we began to piece together that we must be sisters, too. Our meeting seemed fated somehow.” She sighed. “Everything else I told you about our lives was true, including…” She stopped again.

“The robbery and the shooting,” Geoffrey prompted. “It happened all as you said?”

“Yes.”

Another flash of pain crossed Geoffrey’s face, and he looked away. “And Ria?” he asked. “What became of her?”

“A few weeks after Edward’s death, Ria discovered she was with child.”

Geoffrey groaned softly, as though guessing where Lizzie’s narrative would lead.

“We were worried because Ria had had two miscarriages already. The doctor ordered her to remain in bed. This distressed her to no end, for she was normally such an energetic person. To cheer her up, I got her to tell me everything about her life in England. We would talk together for hours. It made her happy to relive so many fond memories.”

“So that is how you were able to step so easily into her shoes.”

“Yes. She had described everything in such detail that I truly did feel as though I were coming home again.” Lizzie half expected Geoffrey to balk at this, but he said nothing. “As you have no doubt guessed, Ria’s lying in was difficult. She was still in shock from losing Edward, and she was desperately missing her family in England. She made me promise that if anything happened to her, I would return and try to make amends for her. I assured her that she and her baby would make it home. But that was never to be.” Lizzie was unable to keep her voice from wobbling as she finished, “The child was stillborn.”

Geoffrey pulled a hand over his face. “Dear God.”

“That was the last straw for poor Ria. She had overcome so many setbacks, but to lose her child was more than she could bear. I saw her wasting away, day after day, despite all I tried to do for her. The doctor said that complications from the birth killed her, but I know she died of a broken heart.”

For several moments, neither of them spoke. Only the call of morning birds filled the air. Lizzie was grateful for this brief respite between the release of the burden of lies and the weight of the consequences that would surely follow.

“Why did you not tell us these things from the beginning?” Geoffrey asked. “What did you hope to gain by this deception?”

“I was keeping a promise to Ria.”

“What?” Geoffrey said harshly. “You can’t mean she
wanted
you to do this.”

“Yes!” Lizzie said defensively. She explained quickly, before Geoffrey could argue. “During this time, Tom was in that shipwreck that he spoke of in the letter. I
thought he was dead. I tried to keep the news from Ria because she was in such a delicate state, but she got wind of it anyway. I really am terrible at keeping secrets,” she finished with an ill-advised attempt at wry humor.

Geoffrey did not respond to this. He said only, “What does this have to do with you pretending to be Ria?”

“Ria and I were now on our own, having lost the two men who meant the most to us in the world. Ria insisted—made me promise—that I should take up her identity. ‘I am giving you my family,’ she said. ‘
Our
family.’ ”

“That’s insane!” Geoffrey fairly exploded.

Lizzie flinched, but said nothing. She knew she was speaking the truth.

“It would appear that Ria was every bit as foolish as I had thought her to be. More so, in fact. How could you have gone along with this?”

“If you had been at the end of the world, left with nothing, with your heart and soul wracked to its very limits, you might have an inkling of why I did it.” She spoke forcefully but without rancor. “I do not say that I never felt guilty about it. But it was the promise I had made. Also, it was very important that I get to Rosewood.”

He looked confused at this. “Here? Why?”

“Ria told me about a cache of letters hidden here that would prove I am Herbert Thornborough’s natural daughter. I wanted to get the proof.”

“And do you have this proof now?”

“No. That is, I found two letters, and they are… inconclusive.”

Geoffrey made a small noise, as though she had confirmed his reasons for being skeptical of her story. “You
cannot continue this charade any longer. You must tell Lady Thornborough who you really are.”

“Yes,” Lizzie agreed. “I must.” It would be a relief to tell Lady Thornborough everything. All her efforts to “become” Ria had in the end done nothing but chafe against her very nature and hurt those she most loved. She was ready to make what amends she could and reclaim her life, miserable though it was.