Historical Trio 2012-01 (46 page)

She gave a cool inclination of her head. ‘I will keep your concern for your aunt in mind. Now, if you will excuse me…? I have been gone so long Sir Rufus will think that I have changed my mind about taking our walk together.’

The earl gave a wry smile. ‘A word of warning with regard to Sir Rufus…’

‘Another one?’ Elizabeth raised irritated brows.

That smile widened. ‘It would seem to be my day for them.’

She sighed. ‘And what do you now wish to tell me about him?’

Nathaniel considered what he knew of the older man’s history. How Nathaniel, and most of society, had believed that the suicide of Tennant’s younger brother several years ago, and the tragic nature of that death, might have temporarily unhinged the older man. Certainly Tennant’s withdrawal from all society since then had been cause for speculation.

A withdrawal from female company, at least, which was now at an end, if the older man’s reason for riding along the cliff path late the previous night was to be believed, along with the interest he had shown in Elizabeth Thompson by calling upon her today.

And if that interest should prove to be serious, to the point that Tennant actually made an offer for Elizabeth, surely it was then Tennant’s prerogative to relate the tragic history of his own family to the young woman he intended to make his wife? What right had Nathaniel to interfere, after all, when any relationship between himself and his aunt’s companion could go nowhere and was, in fact, highly inappropriate?

‘It is of no import.’ Nathaniel straightened dismissively. ‘Enjoy your walk in the bluebell wood.’

Elizabeth remained on the stairs, looking down at the earl as he moved lithely down to the hallway below before disappearing in the direction of the library. Which was when she began to breathe again.

She had believed Lord Thorne’s personal interest in her to be inappropriate, but the interest he was now taking in her past could only be considered dangerous.

‘Whereabouts in Hampshire do you hail from, Miss Thompson?’

Elizabeth looked at the man who strolled along beside her in the bluebell wood that backed onto Hepworth Manor and then glanced behind them. It had been decided by Mrs Wilson, whilst Elizabeth was upstairs collecting her bonnet, that it was not altogether proper for Elizabeth to go walking alone with a single gentleman and that Letitia should go with them. Although much good that did when the other woman had become so distracted collecting up the fragrant blooms the moment they entered the wood that she now lagged far behind them.

Sir Rufus had chosen to lead his horse by the reins, a fact that Hector, released from his leash so that he might roam free, was taking much delight in. Sir Rufus was less than impressed, judging by the irritated glances he shot the little dog.

Elizabeth smiled. ‘I believe I told you I am originally from Herefordshire, Sir Rufus.’

‘Ah, yes, so you did.’ He nodded, the bright sunlight not in the least kind to the narrowness of his features, but instead emphasising the lines beside his mouth and those pale blue eyes. ‘Whereabouts in Herefordshire?’

‘Leominster.’ Elizabeth named the only town in Herefordshire she’d ever heard of. ‘And have you lived all of your life in Devonshire?’ she enquired politely.

He smiled briefly, that smile lightening the harshness of his features somewhat and, in doing so, lending him a mild attraction. ‘I find very little to interest me in London society.’

As one who had never been into London society, for obvious reasons Elizabeth found this statement intensely irritating. ‘Not even the shops and entertainments?’

Sir Rufus gave a delicate shudder. ‘Taunton is not too far a ride if I should need to shop. As for the entertainments, no, I do not miss them in the slightest,’ he said brusquely.

No, this man did not in the least set out to charm, she acknowledged ruefully. But perhaps his frankness was to be admired? Considered a trait to be appreciated rather than a fault? Certainly her own father had shared Sir Rufus’s opinion of the entertainments London had to offer…

‘In that case, I am surprised Mrs Wilson was able to persuade you into accepting her dinner invitation for Saturday evening,’ she remarked bluntly.

His expression softened somewhat as he looked down at Elizabeth. ‘That particular invitation held another…attraction for me.’

She was not sure she was altogether comfortable with the almost flirtatious note she detected in his tone, especially as it seemed to sit so uncomfortably upon the stiffness of his otherwise tense demeanour. ‘Mrs Wilson does have a particularly fine chef.’

‘I was not referring to her chef—’

‘No, Hector!’ Elizabeth deliberately chose that moment in which to turn and chastise the little dog for harassing the long-suffering Starlight. ‘I am afraid he is rather mischievous,’ she excused as she went down on her haunches to re-attach the dog’s lead.

Sir Rufus’s features were once again austere. ‘Mrs Wilson is somewhat…relaxed in her discipline of him.’

Elizabeth did not in the least care for the obvious criticism; Mrs Wilson might be over-indulgent with the little dog, but for the main part Hector did not take advantage of that indulgence. He was just naturally mischievous—and as such, totally lovable—by nature.

She straightened swiftly. ‘I believe it is time that we were turning back.’

‘Now I have offended you,’ Sir Rufus guessed.

‘Not in the least—’

‘It is only that I consider animals should be treated the same as children, Miss Thompson: they are occasionally to be seen, and not to be heard from at all unless first spoken to,’ he explained. If he was intending to charm his way back into Elizabeth’s good graces, then he was failing abysmally!

She had never heard such nonsense, with regard to animals or children. She considered that both were to be loved and nurtured, to be enjoyed and not treated as part of the furniture until called upon. Indeed, her nanny had once told her that a man’s attitude to children and animals said much about his nature. ‘You are entitled to your opinion, of course, Sir Rufus,’ she said coolly.

‘I have offended you.’ His grimace did absolutely nothing for his plainness of features. ‘Perhaps on Saturday evening you might try to persuade me to a different point of view?’

And why on earth would she wish to do that, when neither Sir Rufus, nor his somewhat draconian points of view, were of any interest to her? ‘I’m afraid that will not be possible, sir.’

He raised dark brows. ‘Why not?’

Her smile was one of satisfaction. ‘I am Mrs Wilson’s employee, not a house guest. As such, I will not be a part of Saturday evening’s dinner party.’

He looked most displeased at this information. ‘Perhaps if I were to suggest to her—’

‘I wish you would not,’ Elizabeth cut in sharply. ‘I assure you, I will be much occupied that evening, keeping Hector amused and out from under the feet of Mrs Wilson’s guests.’

Sir Rufus shot the little dog a look of intense dislike. ‘He should be placed outside in the stables for the evening with the other animals.’

A remark that immediately caused Elizabeth to wonder if she had ever taken such a ready dislike to someone before this? Probably not—she was gregarious by nature, enjoyed being with and talking to people. Well…usually—this man was unfortunately proving to be the exception.

‘It really is time Letitia and I returned to Mrs Wilson,’ she announced with some relief. ‘I have very much enjoyed the walk in the bluebell wood,’ she added, more for politeness’s sake than actual truth.

Oh, she had very much enjoyed seeing and walking amongst the bluebells, it was only the company that had left much to be desired! How much more pleasant it would have been to have walked in the romance of the bluebell wood with a younger man. A handsome and charming man, set on seduction. A man with gold-coloured hair made even more golden by the sunshine, perhaps—

That way lay not only disappointment, but madness!

Lord Nathaniel Thorne was an even more unsuitable a companion for Elizabeth to share the romance of the bluebell wood with than the taciturn and austere Sir Rufus! Not only was he unattainable as a romantic interest for ‘Betsy Thompson’, but their earlier conversation, and the earl’s connection to Lord Gabriel Faulkner, made him a man who was also a danger to her real identity of Lady Elizabeth Copeland and she wasn’t ready to be unmasked just yet.

She gave Sir Rufus a bright and meaningless smile. ‘I have no doubt there are things on your own estate in need of your attention.’ That was a Caro ploy, Elizabeth realised with an inner wince of guilt; there was nothing that a man enjoyed more, her twenty-year-old sister had assured her conspiratorially on one occasion, than the opportunity to talk about himself and how very important he was.

His chest puffed out predictably as he straightened. ‘Yes, of course, you are right. How considerate of you to realise that.’ He nodded his approval.

Caroline had forgotten to mention that such flattery only made that man so much more appreciative of a woman’s charms! Which, where Rufus Tennant was concerned, had not been Elizabeth’s intention at all!

Instead of answering his comment, she turned to look for Letitia Grant. ‘Oh, do let me take some of those from you,’ she offered warmly as she moved forwards to take some of the heavy blooms from the other woman’s arms, at the same time taking care to keep a tight hold on Hector’s lead; it really would not do for her to have to resort to upbraiding Sir Rufus if he should dare to chastise the little dog in any way. ‘I wish you a safe journey home, Sir Rufus,’ she said, turning to dismiss him lightly.

He was already seated upon his horse, a frown between his eyes as he looked down at her. ‘Those bluebells are the exact colour of your eyes…’

From any other man the remark would have sounded charming, but he somehow managed to make it sound more of a criticism than a compliment. ‘Thank you,’ Elizabeth murmured uncertainly.

He raised his hat to the two women. ‘I will wish you both a good day.’ After another intense glance in Elizabeth’s direction, he pulled sharply upon Starlight’s reins to turn the horse and canter away along the cliff path towards his home, his back and shoulders ramrod-straight as he made no effort to look back at the two women.

‘How exciting, Elizabeth, that you should have attracted the attention of a man such as Sir Rufus!’ Letitia twittered at Elizabeth’s side.

She did not find his interest in her to be in the least exciting. In fact, she was sure she had never found anything in her short life less so!

Chapter Five

‘S
o, now that you have had the chance to observe them, what is your considered opinion of the charms of Miss Rutledge and the two Miss Millers?’

Elizabeth gave a guilty start as Lord Thorne joined her as she stood at the back of Mrs Wilson’s drawing room on Saturday evening, observing those three young ladies. Three rather silly young ladies, in her ‘considered opinion’, as they stood across the room giggling together like a gaggle of geese. Something that even she, who had no real experience of such things, knew no marriage-minded young lady should ever do; any gentleman remotely interested in a single one of them would be utterly daunted by the presence of the other two.

Elizabeth schooled her features into mild uninterest as she gave every appearance of ignoring the man standing beside her in the crowded and noisy room where the guests had gathered before they were called into dinner.

Elizabeth had unfortunately been drawn in to make up the numbers, the invitation to Sir Rufus having apparently made those numbers uneven, something that Mrs Wilson would not tolerate at her dinner table. Elizabeth’s suggestion that Letitia would be much more suited to the task had been rendered null and void when Mrs Wilson revealed that Letitia already also made up one of the number, and that to remove her would only result in their being two more gentlemen than ladies, instead of one. Something else Mrs Wilson would not tolerate, apparently.

So it was, after two very busy days spent helping Mrs Wilson to organise her dinner party in order to ensure its success—two days when Elizabeth had also managed to avoid any further private conversations with her employer’s nephew—she now found herself attending Mrs Wilson’s dinner party, after all, having first removed all the lace from her blue silk gown in order to render it less fashionable. She was feeling distinctly uncomfortable amongst the local Devonshire gentry, all of whom were extremely well dressed and appeared well acquainted with each other already.

But even that was preferable to the company of the irritating earl! ‘I am sure that any one of them would make you an admirable countess,’ she answered noncommittally.

He eyed her mockingly. ‘Did I detect a slight emphasis on the word
you
there?’

Elizabeth raised dark brows. ‘I do not believe so, no.’

He gave an appreciative grin. ‘Liar!’

She drew in a sharp breath. ‘You are altogether too fond of levelling that accusation at me, my lord.’

Nathaniel sobered, his lids narrowing as he continued to look down at the young lady standing so coolly composed beside him. To all intents and purposes she should not have been noticeable at all in this room full of richly dressed and jewel-adorned women, and yet somehow it was the very simplicity of her appearance that had drawn more than one pair of admiring male eyes—including his own.

She wore only a thin ribbon the same blue as her gown threaded through the darkness of her curls, and that gown was simplicity itself: high-waisted, with a scooped neckline that revealed the soft swell of her breasts, an inch or two of the soft ivory of her arms visible between the tiny puff sleeves and the above-elbow length of her white lace gloves.

She was, Nathaniel acknowledged with a frown, a perfect diamond set amongst much gaudier jewels. His mouth thinned. ‘You must be disappointed that Sir Rufus is so late arriving?’

Having received a bouquet of white roses from that gentleman only yesterday—the first flowers she’d ever received from a gentleman—along with a note that simply read ‘Tennant’, she was not in the least disappointed by the man’s late arrival this evening. In fact, she felt relieved at this delay in seeing him again, having absolutely no idea what the roses, or the brevity of the signature on the card that had accompanied them, was meant to convey. Red roses she could have understood as being a sign of admiration, or perhaps even yellow roses, but what did white roses signify? As for the terseness of the man’s signature on the card…!

She had written Sir Rufus a short and polite note thanking him for the flowers, of course, along with the news that she would be present at Mrs Wilson’s dinner party, after all, in case he thought she had deliberately lied to him, all the time aware she did not know if she even liked him, or understood this apparently uncharacteristic interest in her.

Her uncertainty was not helped by the fact that she, and apparently every other woman in the room, had been rendered breathless by Nathaniel Thorne’s godlike appearance this evening.

Elizabeth might have succeeded in ignoring the earl for the main part this past two days, but it was impossible to ignore such resplendent maleness that he displayed this evening, in his perfectly tailored black evening clothes and snowy-white linen. The many candles that illuminated the room turned his hair a deep, burnished gold, his eyes appeared a deep and glowing amber, and cast the handsomeness of his features into a sculpture of masculine beauty.

Certainly Sir Rufus Tennant—when he deigned to arrive—or indeed any of the other men present this evening, could not possibly hope to compete with such a vision of male elegance and smouldering sensuality!

‘Very disappointed,’ Elizabeth answered him stiltedly, her awareness of him so profound that the shortness of her fingernails dug painfully into the palms of her hands as she clenched them at her sides. ‘And which of those three young ladies do you most find attractive?’

Nathaniel was not in the least surprised that Elizabeth had so neatly turned the conversation from herself and on to him; he had realised these past two days that she could be extremely evasive when she chose to be. Not that he had deliberately sought out her company during that time—he had decided it was becoming too much of a habit to kiss her whenever they happened to find themselves alone together. But still, it was impossible not to notice that she avoided his company as if he were possessed of the plague.

He gave every appearance now of considering the three young ladies who stood together across the room, although inwardly he found the style of their gowns over-fussy, and the constant giggling and surreptitious glances levelled in his direction extremely irritating. ‘Perhaps Miss Rutledge is the most sensible of the three,’ he finally allowed drily.

Elizabeth looked faintly surprised. ‘And is sensibility a quality you require in a wife?’

Nathaniel knew he had been the one to introduce the subject this evening, but even so he found it strangely distasteful to discuss the merits, or otherwise, of any future wife he might choose with a young woman he had kissed with passion on more than one occasion.

Luckily he was saved discussing that subject further as his gaze narrowed on the man now striding purposefully across the room. ‘I see Tennant has arrived at last and is even now making his way determinedly to your side,’ he drawled derisively, the older man’s progress not as straightforward as he would have wished, as neighbours who had not seen him at a social occasion of this type for years insisted on engaging him in conversation.

Elizabeth, having also noted Sir Rufus’s arrival, had been madly occupied in thinking of ways in which she might avoid him. But with Lord Thorne’s mockery so evident she had a complete reversal of feelings and instead bestowed the warmest of smiles upon the other man as he finally reached her side—not looking anywhere near as resplendent at the earl, of course, but tolerably attractive, none the less, in his black tailored evening clothes and snowy-white, if less fashionable, shirt and necktie.

‘How lovely to see you again, Sir Rufus.’ She gave an elegant curtsy as he turned to her after bowing abruptly to Lord Thorne. ‘And I must thank you once again for the beautiful roses you sent me yesterday.’ Elizabeth did not need to actually look at the earl to be aware of his start of surprise. Obviously the arrival of yesterday’s roses had escaped his attention. ‘I have them up in my room in the hopes they will last all the longer,’ she added with deliberate sweetness.

‘I grew them myself in my hothouse at Gifford House,’ Sir Rufus informed her huskily, obviously pleased at her comments.

Nathaniel did not care if the man had given birth to the blooms himself—sending roses to a young woman he had only known a matter of days was surely unacceptable? Unless, of course, Tennant’s intentions towards Elizabeth really were serious…

‘Such perfect white buds,’ Elizabeth continued.

White roses? Tennant had sent Elizabeth white roses? As a sign of the purity with which he regarded her, perhaps? Good God, whoever would have guessed that Tennant was a romantic?

Nathaniel could not even remember the last time he had sent a woman flowers. Or, indeed, if he ever had; women tended to take things like that completely out of context, to read emotions into such gestures that simply did not exist.

That Elizabeth had taken those blooms up to the privacy of her bedchamber would seem to indicate that she was not immune to such a gesture, either, even if that gesture had been made by an old stick-in-the-mud like Tennant.

‘I believe your aunt is signalling that it is time for you to escort her in to dinner, Osbourne,’ that stick-in-the-mud informed him loftily at the same time as he offered Elizabeth his own arm.

Leaving Nathaniel with no other choice but to respond to his aunt’s tacit request that he do the same for her. But not quite yet… ‘My aunt tells me there is to be dancing after dinner. I trust you will save the first set of dances for me, Miss Thompson?’

Elizabeth frowned up at Lord Thorne, knowing from the challenging glitter in those amber-brown eyes that he was being deliberately irritating. Something he seemed to take delight in being whenever he happened to be in her company! ‘I am sure that Miss Rutledge would appreciate that honour far more than I, sir.’

The earl gave a wolfish grin at the same time as those gorgeous eyes laughed down at her. ‘The honour will be all mine, I do assure you, Miss Thompson.’

‘But are you sure that your ribs will be able to stand the exercise, my lord?’ she came back with that same saccharine sweetness with which she had thanked Sir Rufus for his flowers.

‘I will ensure that they are.’ That warm gaze continued to laugh at Elizabeth.

‘Then I will claim the second set,’ Sir Rufus put in impatiently.

‘If Miss Thompson is not too fatigued from our own…dancing,’ Nathaniel taunted.

‘I am sure I will not be, Sir Rufus.’ She glared her displeasure at the earl as she answered the other man, a look Nathaniel returned with mocking amusement.

‘Until later, then, Miss Thompson.’ Nathaniel bent his head over her hand, then bowed tersely to Sir Rufus before he joined his increasingly impatient aunt and offered her his arm.

Elizabeth gazed after him in frustration, that irritation deepening as she saw that every other woman in the room was also watching the tall and rakishly handsome nephew of their hostess, some from behind the discretion of their fans, others openly admiring of the dashing figure he cut in the perfectly tailored evening clothes that emphasised the muscled strength of his shoulders.

Elizabeth gave a winsome sigh, knowing that as a mere companion to Mrs Wilson—worse, to Mrs Wilson’s dog—she took altogether far too much interest in the arrogant Earl of Osbourne.

‘Miss Thompson?’

And obviously not enough interest in the impatient man standing beside her with his arm still extended to escort her into dinner!

‘Thank you.’ She placed her hand upon Sir Rufus’s arm, her face slightly flushed from the disapproval she read in the austereness of his features as they joined the line of guests moving slowly through to the dining room.

As might be expected from her lowly position in this household, Elizabeth was seated far down the middle of the table, well away from the host and hostess. Mrs Wilson, aware of the roses that had arrived for Elizabeth yesterday, had placed Sir Rufus on Elizabeth’s left side, with the slightly deaf and ancient Mr Amory, the local vicar, on her right.

The only consolation she could see to this arrangement was that as the host Nathaniel Thorne was seated at the head of the table, with the ‘sensible’ Miss Rutledge on his left, and the elder of the ‘silly’ Miss Millers to his right!

‘I truly believed, after two hours spent in Tennant’s company, that you were about to fall asleep in the sorbet!’ Nathaniel grinned at Elizabeth as they later danced the first set together in the small candlelit ballroom at Hepworth Manor, the music provided by four musicians placed up in the gallery.

She looked at him with innocently wide eyes. ‘You are mistaken, my lord; I very much enjoyed Sir Rufus’s conversation. He was explaining to me the best way to grow roses.’

Those blasted roses again!

Amusement twinkled in those clear blue eyes as she continued, ‘It would appear that it involves rather a lot of horse…manure.’

Nathaniel’s shout of laughter was completely spontaneous, and drew several interested glances their way, glances that Nathaniel chose to ignore as he looked down at Elizabeth. ‘He really is the most boorish of men,’ Nathaniel said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Elizabeth shot Sir Rufus a slightly guilty glance as he glowered in their direction from the edge of the dance floor. ‘We are being unkind…’

‘In my opinion, one cannot be unkind enough about a man who spends two hours in the company of a beautiful young woman and can only think to discuss horse manure,’ Nathaniel drawled.