Lady Elizabeth's Comet (31 page)

Anne snorted, unconvinced.

I didn't entirely blame her. I thought Clanross's position logical but quixotic. Ireland
could not be let go. Too many powerful men, including Clanross, derived too much income from
Irish land.

Anne rose and began to pace restlessly. "I don't see that a fortnight in Meath makes
Clanross an authority on Ireland."

"He was garrisoned in Cork and also spent some time in Dublin and Kildare."

"And you have to admit he knows what it is to submit to military rule."

Anne made a face. "You make it all sound sweetly reasonable."

"I think it is," I said mildly. "Probably too reasonable. People aren't, usually."

She stood still, digesting that.

"If you're troubled by how the Ton will react, I daresay the cause of Reform will grow
more and more fashionable in the next few years. Open a Radical salon. Cultivate the poets. In
ten years' time Featherstonehaugh will be a Treasury lord and you'll have the world at your feet.
Seize the day, Nancy."

I could see that she liked the vision but she is too intelligent to be flummoxed by
sugarplum promises. She gave me a wry look. "You're cutting a wheedle, Liz. I see right through
you. Very well. Anything for peace, but I cannot like Clanross's conduct and so you may tell
him."

"I ?"

"You. It's my opinion that you and his rambunctious lordship are thick as thieves."

I protested, but she gave me a straight look, tidied her hair, and marched down to dinner
without further comment. I believed my words had hit the target, all the same. Probably my sister
was already planning her debut as Muse of the Radicals. Grinning, I wished her luck and
followed her downstairs.

* * * *

Clanross called next afternoon to take leave of us, for we were returning to Brecon at
once. That spoke well of his courage, considering Anne's frame of mind. His manner was more
constrained than the girls had grown to expect, and they in turn were rather shy of him. They
were not used to thinking of him as a publick man. He had brought them a natural history of
Lincolnshire, however, and Miss Bluestone's eager appreciation of the book's wildflower
engravings soon put Jean and Maggie at ease.

I stayed in the background, watching. So did Anne. My sister sat overlooking the scene
with Arctic civility--like a Spanish duenna receiving a known rake. Clanross would have had to
be marvellously insensitive not to have felt the chill in the air. I was not surprised when he rose
to go.

He stayed long enough to assure the twins that he continued to expect their letters, then
made a polite exit. Honours to Anne. it was as if, in a single day, Clanross had retreated the
entire distance he had come toward my family. I could not endure it.

I rose and went with him to the foyer.

"I hope you have a comfortable journey, Elizabeth." At least he did not say Lady
Elizabeth.

"We shall. I have a bone to pick with you, Clanross."

He raised his brows, eyes dark and wary.

"I was disappointed in your speech."

His mouth set. "I'm sorry."

"I heard it distinctly," I murmured. "Had you forgot your promise to utter a few
inaudible clichés and melt into the wainscoting? Really, Clanross."

His mouth relaxed. "How could I forget? Goodbye, Elizabeth."

I gave him my hand, smiling, and presently he smiled back.

All the same it was most unsatisfactory. All the way home to Brecon
I
wondered if there were not something I could do to cause a thaw. But it was not until,
travel-stained and tired of jolting in the carriage, I reached the privacy of
my
own
chamber, that I remembered I had not broached the matter of my little sisters in Scotland with
Clanross. Very well, I would write him.

Without further ado, I dismissed Dobbins, strode to my escritoire, drew out a sheet of
hot-pressed paper, mended my pen, and settled to the task.

"My dear Clanross," I wrote, bold as brass, "In the confusion of our London visit, I
neglected to raise with you a topic which has been much on my mind." The letter continued.

Some months ago you spoke to me of your concern that my
three youngest sisters were growing up strangers to Jean and Margaret. I also
sensed that you felt some reservations about the little girls' progress in my sister
Kinnaird's household. I have given the matter considerable thought. Because she
will be nearly concerned, I have discussed it with Miss Bluestone and have taken
the liberty of writing Lady Kinnaird as well.

Kitty is amenable to my sisters' coming south at Christmastime if
appropriate measures may be taken for their comfort and safety on the road.
Kinnaird will be unable to escort them. I have, therefore, made tentative plans to
fetch them myself the second week of December. With their nurse, Miss Mackey,
and Miss Bluestone in attendance, I am sure they will flourish, nor do I anticipate
any disruption of my own work.

That was untrue. All the same, I was determined. I took up the pen once more.

It is my wish to make this change, my lord, and not only for
the sake of the three youngest girls. I have taken great pleasure in the company of
Jean and Margaret--somewhat to my surprise--but I do see that their lives in my
small household lack variety and interest. With your kind permission I shall
introduce Jean and Maggie to an expanded and, I daresay, a livelier schoolroom.
If you will direct a brief note of approval to my sister Kinnaird, I shall set
everything here in train to receive the little girls.

I stopped and nibbled my pen. In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought recklessly.

My lord, when we parted I alluded to your speech in a
facetious vein. Indeed, I found it not only audible but well-reasoned and just. I am
sorry to see that the Coercion Bill has since received the royal assent. I beg you
will not allow its passage to depress your spirits unduly. Some things must be
said, whether or not the world seems disposed to listen. For what it is worth, I
listened.

Pray convey my best regards to Sims, and believe me, Clanross, your
convinced kinswoman, Elizabeth Conway.

I signed my name with a flourish and reread my words. They seemed all wrong--an
awkward mixture of bumptious familiarity and stuffy moralising. They would have to do.
Jacta alea est.

I sanded the sheet, sealed it before cowardice or prudence could make me throw it in the
fire, and took it downstairs. Agnew was snuffing the candles and started at my sudden
reappearance as if he had seen a ghost. When he recovered he assured me that he would see the
letter in the post himself.

I tried to put my audacity from my mind as we settled back into our routine at home.
The truth was I felt some discomfort in having addressed Clanross directly. It was one thing for
Maggie and Jean to write him. He had asked them to. He would probably read my unlooked-for
letter with surprise. I did not believe he would take offence, but I was sufficiently my
stepmother's daughter to feel social unease--as if I had been caught riding unescorted on Rotten
Row or bowling down Bond Street in an open carriage.

The weather lowered, so I could not distract myself with my observations. I kept busy
writing up my last notes. I writ Anne a soothing letter and Kitty one full of social chitchat. I sent
Bella Forster my formal congratulations. I took several damp rides in the deserted park. Nothing
helped.

Brecon looked uncommonly desolate squatting hugely on its hill. In one of the icy
corridors Mrs. Smollet retailed her woes. Jenkins was ill of the rheumaticks. An underhousemaid
had quit out of boredom and gone to work in Chacton's mill. When was his lordship coming
home?

Then Charles Wharton, full of his bride and his infirmary, called at the Dower House to
ask impatiently after Clanross. In the stables, Jem asked shyly after his lordship. Even the rector,
an incurious man with whom Clanross had established only the most distant acquaintance,
wondered aloud when the earl would be coming home. It was unnerving. Wherever I turned,
people were asking me Clanross's plans. I could only assure them all that I did not know what he
meant to do.

On the fifth day of obstinately dripping skies I bundled the girls in the barouche and
drove to Hazeldell to call on Cecilia Wharton (she and Charles had decided not to be
Wharton-Conway-Gore). Marriage had given Cecilia confidence. She said several connected sentences in
my presence and allowed that Willoughby's betrothal was a splendid thing, was it not, Lady
Elizabeth? I agreed. Cecilia's mother was reported to be in such elevated spirits that she had had
to take the Bath waters as a restorative from too much joy.

Jean and Maggie were bored with this twaddle, but they had the satisfaction of showing
off their new gowns and of telling a sympathetic Mary Wharton the gruesome particulars of
Mme. Tussaud's, so their morning was not entirely wasted.

The roads were heavy. We returned in good time for a late nuncheon to find Clanross in
the withdrawing room.

After the first shock of surprise, I realised that I had been expecting him.

As we entered, he and Miss Bluestone broke off what sounded like a debate on Ireland.
He fended off the girls' enthusiasm with absentminded hugs, made Alice a perfunctory bow, and
kept his eyes on me.

"Hullo, Elizabeth." Golden syllables.

"Clanross!" I gathered my wits. "A pleasant surprise. What brings you home?"

"Your letter," he said succinctly. He looked stern and rather tired. That was not to be
wondered at. He had dropped everything and come north as soon as he got my letter. Probably he
had spent two nights on the road. "Will you walk with me by the lake?" he asked, as if there were
some doubt of my response.

Even as I murmured my assent, Miss Bluestone was explaining firmly to the girls that
they were wanted in the schoolroom and could not join us. Alice looked puzzled.

I cast Miss Bluestone a grateful look and Alice an apologetic one and went out to ask
Agnew to restore my wraps. No one commented on the peculiarity of two people choosing to
take a stroll through the autumn mizzle. The door of the Dower House closed gently behind
us.

"I thought you were fixed in Town until Parliament rises." I kept my tone light.

We moved off along the mist-shrouded path to the lake. Clanross took a moment to
reply. At last he said wryly, "My worst foe couldn't wish me to bear with more than a fortnight of
their lordships tuttutting at each other."

I smiled. "Well, I don't wish it. I hope my plan for bringing the little girls south meets
with your approval."

"If you're determined. I think they'll drive you mad in a week." He fell silent again.

I was baffled. If that hadn't brought him, what had? I looked up at him and was startled
to see that he seemed abstracted, my small sisters' fate the last thing on his mind. I decided to
keep still.

We walked slowly along the edge of the wood. I could taste the fog on my lips. When
his silence had lengthened unbearably, I blurted, "I did like your speech. You sounded so
composed, as if you'd been addressing the Lords every day of your life."

"You're kind. I haven't been that terrified since we stormed Badajoz."

I ventured an uncertain smile.

"Elizabeth..."

"Yes?"

"I've something to ask of you. Will you hear me out?"

I glanced up. A painful frown knit his brows. "Of course."

He looked away. "Your Aunt Whitby is a tactless old witch, but she's as shrewd as she
can hold together. I wish you'd give her suggestion of this spring some thought."

"What?" My heart began to bang away in my throat like a trip-hammer.

He turned back to me, his eyes grave. "You would do me great honour if you would
marry me."

I made a strangled noise. I don't think he heard. He had turned away and begun to walk
on along the wet, leaf-strewn path. I commanded my paralysed limbs to move.

"I'm aware of the drawbacks marrying anyone will present you," he was saying as I
regained his side. "At least I think I am. And I know you've been mourning Bevis. When I saw
how calmly you dealt with him in London I ventured to hope..."

"Tom..."

"I meant to say something at Wharton's wedding, but I hadn't the courage to press the
matter then. I won't now, God knows. But I'd like you to think about it."

I might make my feet move but my tongue seemed beyond my command.

He had stopped again and was looking at me now, searchingly, with the same slight
frown I had seen so many times when something troubled him. "There would be some advantage
to you."

I returned his stare like a mesmerized bird.

"You'd have a sure position in the world, and I wouldn't wish to interfere with your
work. Your sisters--Lady Anne and Lady Kinnaird, I mean--couldn't very well harass you if you
were Countess of Clanross, and even Lady Whitby would be pleased--when she forgives me my
latest Jacobin excesses." A flicker of humour lit his eyes for a moment. "Besides," he added, as
matter-of-fact as if he were discussing the price of a quartern loaf, "I love you very much."

"Tom..." I seemed unable to say anything else.

He smiled a little. "If that's an inducement."

"Tom." I took hold of myself and contrived to say, "Yes, I'll marry you," though rather
indistinctly.

His eyes widened.

"Yes," I said very clearly. "Yes. Please."

We stared at each other.

After a long moment, frowning slightly, he reached out and tilted my chin up. I thought
he meant to say something else, but he bent and kissed me with grave deliberation on the
mouth.

My paralysis vanished. My kiss may have been inexpert, but it made up in enthusiasm
what it lacked in practice.

I have no idea how long we stood there scandalising the Brecon rabbits. When we
finally disentwined, my bonnet had tipped over one ear and I gasped for breath in an unladylike
fashion. Clanross was rather breathless himself.