Elise (3 page)

Colin MacGowan had found someone, somewhere, with fashion expertise, who could fit those broad shoulders and that torso with a starched white shirt and cravat, black jacket with tails, and a pleated, white silk, waist wrap. He had his wavy hair pulled back severely into a queue that met his jacket at his back.

She blinked. She swallowed. She adjusted the garland at her wrist. She turned to visit with the man at her other side.

Brown eyes watched every move.

Their hostess, Sophie Ipswich, took her seat at the head of the table, signaling the start of the dinner presentation. Her husband wasn’t at the other end, nor was he anywhere near. Sophie’s husband never left their country estate. She wasn’t alone, however. She was gazing adoringly into the eyes of the man paying for all of this, the young Viscount of Beckon.

Elise had heard the gossip over his parent’s reaction. She’d found it amusing. His mother was reportedly prostrate over his fascination with a strumpet, even if she was a lady of quality. Elise guessed it wasn’t the fascination that bothered anyone as much as it was the funds the Viscount was expending on his pursuit of the Incomparable Countess Sophie Ipswich.

Elise didn’t know where Roald had gone to, nor did she care. Brown eyes were watching her, and they were cold brown eyes. Elise’s thoughts hammered at her, not bothered by the size of the crowd about her. The size was intentional. Sophie preferred large gatherings. That way, she could show off her latest gown, jewels, or simply a large feast that would set her beau back a tidy sum. Elise suspected Sophie calculated her worth on the amount of gold her paramours were willing to spend on her. It was something Elise didn’t bother with. Her self-worth didn’t need to be measured by gowns or baubles. She knew exactly what she was worth. The amount the Duke of Wynd had paid for her.

Everything was crystal clear, and every sound was finite and too loud. Elise listened to silverware on porcelain, crystal tapping, and the conversation as it grew loud, then softened. There came sounds of liquid being poured and more than one exclamation of interest at the presentation of the main course; she thought it was roast boar, but didn’t move her eyes to verify it, and swore she could even hear the butter of the swan when it was being carved on.

Through it all, brown eyes watched her.

Elise was trapped between Sir Roald’s empty chair, a minor baron named Hampton and enduring a full frontal assault by The MacGowan. She told herself it couldn’t get worse, and then it did.

“I’m prostrate at what you did to me, Elise.”

Roald’s voice preceded him as he pulled out the chair. She suspected he’d been gaming and drinking, or just drinking. Either one was bad. She didn’t move her head as he seated himself, although her eyes widened before she could help it

“And without one word of explanation. How could you?”

He dropped a folded square of rag paper next to one of her spoons. Elise closed her eyes, then opened them. Nothing had changed. She picked it up and unfolded it. The crude drawing was of the Duke of MacGowan, hoisting her atop his shoulders and riding off with her, dragging a chain of men who were each holding the preceding one’s legs, starting with the man holding to the ends of her skirts. She recognized Roald, since he was the closest, and therefore the largest.

“Well?”

“It’s not a very good depiction,” Elise whispered. “And certainly not very accurate.”

“You’re denying this happened?”

“It’s not worth the amount of time it would take to do so.” Elise refolded the paper and put it back on the table next to Roald’s unused silverware.

“May I?”

It was totally against protocol to reach across a table, but Colin’s hand didn’t disappear just because it shouldn’t be there. Elise watched as Colin picked up the newest lampoon. She didn’t look anywhere near his eyes; instead, she watched his lips tighten as he looked it over.

“Past paramours, I take it?” he asked finally, to no one in particular. Then he handed the page to the woman on his left.

Elise shut her eyes again as the cartoon went from hand to hand down the table, causing more than a few gasps and a chuckle or two. She looked down at the red spot her lip rouge had made on the napkin, before folding it quickly. A proper lady wouldn’t resort to cosmetics, she reminded herself, then wondered why she cared.

“If you’re trying to upset me, Elise, you’re succeeding,” Roald said.

“And if you’re trying to ruin me, Roald, it’s too late,” she replied.

“I haven’t tried that yet, although I’m definitely considering it.”

‘The cartoon means nothing. Nothing. I rode in the park. His Grace was there. We spoke, nothing more.”

“I thought you said it didn’t merit the time to explain,” Roald said snidely.

“It doesn’t.”

“Last eve you didn’t even know him.”

“You’re boring me,” she answered, drawing out each word.

“And you’re lying to me!”

He hissed the reply between his teeth. Elise had to consciously stop wringing her napkin between her hands.

“Don’t play me for a fool, Elise. You won’t like it.”

“And if you say much more, you’ll not like it. Or have you forgotten our little arrangement?” she asked. She turned to the drunkard at her left. He simply grinned and raised his goblet in a toast.

“Forgive me, Elise. I find all manner of emotion when I behold your face. The thought of you drives me mad. I must be mad to anger you. Pray, forgive me?”

“If you’ll not wax poetic toward me, I’ll gladly forgive anything.”

Elise turned back to him and was startled by the look on his face. His eyes glittered strangely, and his brows met at the bridge of his nose as he frowned.

“Elise, you and I...we’ve much to remember.”

“Yes, Roald,” she replied automatically.

“I want more.”

“You know I can’t give more.” Elise placed a hand on his arm and hoped it wouldn’t be noticed. He reached his other arm across his chest and trapped her hand with his. She hadn’t counted on that.

“You’ve put me off for two seasons, my fine lady.” His hand gripped her wrist and squeezed until her hand was bloodless. Elise winced, yet he ignored it.

“I’ve endured countless times of talk, talk, talk. I’ve taken you to Piccadilly, to Dover, why once we even went to the crossroads to see the hanged highwaymen, yet not once have you given me the slightest encouragement. Never once have you even given me a kiss! A small thing like a kiss! Never once have you given me one. Have you thought over what that does to a man? Any man? All I envision is you enwrapped in another’s arms, and I go mad. I swear it!”

His whispered words weren’t going unnoticed by anyone, especially the man across the table from them. Elise swallowed. Roald had held her gaze throughout the impassioned speech. She didn’t dare look away. He might make an even bigger scene.

“You’re hurting me,” she whispered finally.

“Beware the singed pigeon,” he replied. Then he rose from the table, releasing her as he did so. Elise hid her bruised arm beneath the table linen. She hadn’t known he felt that way, and she had no idea what she was supposed to do about it.

And brown eyes were watching the entire thing.

Chapter 3

The best course to put rumors to rest was to escape London for a weekend and take as few with you as possible. The next best course was to be accompanied while you did so. Elise had an invitation to a hunting party at Barrigan’s, which took care of the first part. She was planning to use the time to relax, recuperate, and figure out another tactic to get released from her secret, without further attaching her name to the Scottish barbarian’s. The second part wasn’t so easy.

The Countess Sophie had invited herself into Elise’s carriage for the ride. Elise listened to the other’s nonstop chatter with half an ear. She already knew Roald had an invitation. He was probably going to be there, and that worried her. Then Sophie told her about the Duke of MacGowan. He had been invited, too. That was even more worrisome.

The repository of Sophie’s information, her young viscount, had allowed her to buy a beautiful, costly, emerald necklace. She held it closely in her reticule, bringing it out every so often to show Elise. Elise gave the proper response of envy, although her heart wasn’t in it. Her mind was elsewhere, and she knew the price Sophie had paid.

Lord Barrigan was known for his excellent entertainment. His estate was bordered by forest at three sides. His wardens kept them filled with game. Ostensibly, this was a weekend party to hunt, fish, and escape the confines of society life. Actually, Elise knew it was simply an excuse for Barrigan to sport with his mistress amid his friends, while his wife was still stabled at London.

Elise had been to these affairs before. All the ladies and gentlemen on his guest list had. They’d been chosen carefully. The liaisons between them were whispered about but not common knowledge. Since divorce was unheard of, this was the next best thing, she supposed. Her lips twisted. Such behavior was yet another argument against the state of wedded bliss.

She knew she’d be given a bedroom adjoining Roald’s. All the couples would have the same arrangement. Elise had always managed to handle Roald before. This time, however, she wasn’t sure. She was sure only of one thing. It wasn’t going to be very relaxing or recuperative.

“Well…good day, Lady Sophie, and I see you’ve brought that spark, the Dowager Duchess of Wynd, with you. I’m so pleased you both could visit my humble estate. Truly, I am. You brighten any gathering.”

Barrigan’s loud, booming voice met them at the landing. Elise looked it over critically. The architect had used a monstrous amount of marble and imported teakwood in the design of Barrigan’s hunting lodge. It was as far from humble as could be described. Of course, Barrigan already knew it. That was the reason he’d spoken as he had.

Elise curtsied to hide the contempt. “My lord, your estate is most magnificent, as always. I’m thankful you thought to include me in your little entertainment this weekend.”

Sophie echoed much the same at Elise’s side.

“My thanks for your words, Lady Elise, but where have you eschewed Sir Roald? I thought him permanently attached at your side.”

He winked at her. She smiled slightly and humorlessly.

“Sir Roald has other means of transportation at his disposal, my lord. I doubt he’d wish his name permanently attached to mine, anyhow, wherewithal the rumors.”

“Have you had a falling off with Sir Roald?”

“Something of that nature,” Sophie replied.

“Nothing of the sort!” Elise lightly touched Sophie on the arm with the edge of her lace pelisse. “I have only the highest regard for Sir Roald. And let’s not forget his words. He does pen the most exquisite poetry, doesn’t he?”

“I never read that sort of drivel,” Barrigan replied.

“Spoken like a true man, my lord.”

“He can be a devil at cards, though. I hope he comes with full pockets this time.”

“Don’t look to me,” Elise replied. “I never bankroll my lovers. That sort of thing I leave to the moneylenders, although they’ll not get as much for their coin, I’m certain.”

Sophie gasped, while Barrigan choked on his amusement. “It’s a good thing I’ve placed you beside Sir Roald, then. You had me worried. You won’t find fault with my arranging?”

“Pray, don’t let Lady Elise snow you, my lord. She’ll have you thinking she admires the new Duke of MacGowan next.”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort. For shame, Sophie. The next thing you know, His Grace’s name will be even more firmly linked with mine. The poor man may never recover.” Elise laughed lightly, and the others followed suit. “Although I will admit a penchant for attractive men who are lampooned with me. It helps share the fame. Where have you placed him, anyway? Has the duke a, shall we say, a companion with him?”

“Not to my knowledge. He arrived alone. I’ll place him beside you for sup. That should provide enough entertainment for all of us. Come, ladies, my head housekeeper, Barton, will show you to your rooms. Until this evening, then.”

Elise had sent Daisy on ahead, so she wasn’t surprised to find her belongings already unpacked and her bed covered in her own linens. She dismissed the Barton woman after thanking her for the assistance.

The woman’s stiff back answered Elise. She quickly stifled any emotion. All the staff at these gatherings seemed the same. They were snobbish and unfriendly, and they appeared to look down on the gentry they served. She ignored it.

Daisy helped Elise disrobe and don a fresh sleep gown, so she might lay down to rest before supper. It was probably useless. She now had the duke at one elbow and Sir Roald at the other. She was in luck that she’d wanted it restful and relaxing. She couldn’t imagine what would have transpired had she wished for an exciting, eventful evening.

With her thoughts racing as they were and nothing decided, she was amazed that she actually slept.

~ ~ ~

When she awoke, late afternoon sunlight was warming the chamber. Daisy had been quietly efficient, as always. Elise’s new maroon taffeta gown was pressed and hanging on the armoire door. A scented, warmed hipbath welcomed her from beside the fireplace.

“Daisy, you are a wonder. Whatever would I do without you?”

The maid grinned and bobbed her head. “Get yourself in even more trouble. What else?”

“What trouble am I in now?”

Daisy clucked her tongue. “More than your usual, to be sure. And don’t act all big-eyed and innocent with me. I was there. I got to bear the brunt of it when you left that fellow standing on the steps the other eve. Don’t cow-tow to me. Here, hand me the nightie and sink beneath these bubbles. I’ve an ice goddess to create, you know.”

“And which fellow might we be referring to?” Elise asked, as she shed the gown and let the afternoon sunlight touch her nakedness. The mirror reflected everything. Elise posed and turned, looking for any imperfections. She was slender, it was true, but she definitely had meat to her, and in all the right places, too. The man wasn’t just a barbarian, he was a blind one.

“You’re going to have to tell him. The longer you wait, the harder it’ll get. Mark my words.”

“I don’t need a conscience at this late date,” Elise replied.

“True enough. Go on. Get in. The bubbles? Wait! The hair.”

Elise waited while her tresses were pinned atop her head before sinking into luxury; she leaned forward so the maid could wash her back with a large soft cloth, soaped by bath salts scented with lavender. Everything that touched the dowager duchess was the softest, most expensive item available. She sighed. Then Daisy had to go and ruin it.

“Now, don’t go take that tone with me,” Daisy said. “I’ve not finished with you, yet.”

“What have I done now?”

“Deserved a spanking, but I’ll forego it for another lecture.”

“For what?” Elise asked.

‘That man. Leading him on. Leaving him standing on your doorstep the other eve, when he was dressed in a pure symphony of masculine taste. You should have seen him.”

“I did,” Elise remarked.

‘Then you must have known how much trouble he went through to look like that. And how do you repay it? You leave him standing.”

“He’s a big, bullheaded, boorish brute bred in the barbaric boundaries of a backwater country.”

‘There’s an awful lot of B words in there.” The cloth slapped against her neck.

“Well, he is,” Elise said.

“And all of that has nothing to do with what you owe him.”

“I don’t owe him the time it would take to embarrass him. On second thought, that much I do. I’ve yet to pay him back for the other evening. He was horrid to me. ‘Past paramours?’ he asks, before passing that cartoon all over the room. I’ll not live that one down easily.”

“You jilted him. It’s you owing him, I would say.”

“I don’t do what a man orders me to do. Never again, anyway.”

Daisy sighed. “Oh, very well. You still owe him the truth. He’s got to know of the existence of the babe. It’s his nephew, too.”

“Good Lord.” Elise sat upright. “We’re related that closely?”

“Like you don’t know each and every bit of it. Your sister, God rest her soul, wouldn’t want that baby not knowing his own heritage.”

“My sister had an illegitimate child, Daisy. I hardly think God had any part of that.”

“It wasn’t her fault. She was in love. He lied to her. It was his fault. All his. Every bit of it. His.”

“So . . . you’re saying it was a man’s fault?” Elise asked innocently.

‘That’s what I’ve said and keep saying. It was completely and totally that Evan MacGowan’s fault. That sweet Evangeline went to him pure and innocent, and he took it from her. He used her. Poor girl.”

“Yes, poor girl. Poor Evangeline Sherbourne. Poor country girl. She gives herself to a big, barbarian, Scottish brute—one without a hint of a conscience, I should insert here—and how does he repay such a gift? He leaves her to face the ruin all by herself. And now you’re lecturing me on how
I
treat one of them?”

“You’re turning my words on me.”

“And you’re making it too easy.”

“He’s half Scots, you know,” Daisy said.

“Who?”

“The babe. Your nephew. Rory. The light of your existence, or so you say every time you hold him.”

Elise groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“So when are you going to tell the duke and get this weight off your shoulders?”

“What weight?” Elise asked uneasily.

“The one you’re always mumbling to yourself about when you think no one’s listening.”

“Oh,” Elise replied, “that weight.”

“It’ll be easy. Just go up to him and say, ‘Pardon me, Your Grace, but could I have a word with you? In private?’ If you’d use your charms, I bet you’d have that fellow around your finger. You might even get him around your ring finger, unlike your older sister. God rest her soul.”

Elise’s eyes went wide. “Never. Ever. Never.” She said each word and waited until the hint of sound evaporated before saying the next. It still felt awful. “Besides, you’re forgetting, Evangeline wasn’t good enough for one of them. What makes you think I would be?”

“Wishful thinking. And you should leave a bit of room for doubt, you know. You’re young. You’re beautiful. You’re healthy. You’re rich.”

“I’m heartless,” Elise inserted.

“Only on the outside, love. Here, step out. You’ll make wrinkles out of your skin if we don’t get some creams rubbed into it before it dries. On the bed, facedown.”

Elise lay on the large, fluffed out blanket of towels Daisy had warmed for the purpose. The maid started at her shoulders with yet another lavender-scented potion.

“There’s something else you probably should know,” Elise said, when Daisy finished massaging her lower legs and ankles. “I have tried to talk to him. He doesn’t give me any time. If I open my mouth, he jumps right down my throat with some order or like insult, and I can’t get in a breath, let alone a word.”

“You? Tongue-tied? I’ll never be able to show my face below stairs again. Here, I’ve brought your striped stockings. Sit. Leg?”

Elise lifted a leg and helped pull the peppermint-candy-striped stockings into place on her upper thighs. She grimaced. “Why did I order such a loud design, anyway?” she asked.

“You wished a bit of attention drawn to your ankles should someone brush against your skirts. That’s the same reason all your tastes are loud—attention. You thrive on it. Which does make it odd that you’d not pursue this Scottish duke fellow’s company more.”

“What are we talking of now?”

“Stand. Arms up.” Daisy helped Elise pull a skintight, silken chemise over herself; then she strapped on a corset. “I saw the cartoons. Everybody did. They didn’t do you justice; but then again, they never do. Deep breath.”

Elise sucked in her stomach and winced as the laces were pulled tight. “They were scandalous, Daisy,” she managed to falter.

“Well! There’s nothing like a bit of scandal to get you even more attention, and take a bit of it away from that Lady Sophie Ipswich. Now there’s a woman who should be minding her manners and attending to her own home, not gallivanting about with boys a decade younger than she is. Like I’ve always said. Here, crinoline time. Stand straight. Taller. We’d best wear the heels again. That man probably dwarfs you.”