Midnight Star (4 page)

“Are you feeling better, Elizabeth?” he asked once they were ensconced in the hired carriage.

“Oh yes, Owen,” she said sweetly, glad he couldn’t see the gleam of purpose in her eyes in the dim light. “It has been such an exciting day, you know. I am in such a . . . whirl of pleasure!”

“Dear Elizabeth,” Owen murmured, and gently squeezed her gloved hand.
I mustn’t forget to scrub his touch off my hand.
“I am so pleased that you are happy,” he continued after a moment, making Chauncey wonder if he were trying to recall a prepared speech. “It is my fondest desire to give you everything you wish, my dear.” Again he paused. Are you screwing up your courage for
something, Owen? she wanted to ask him. She waited patiently, a small smile playing about her mouth.

“Is it really, Owen?” she asked as the silence grew long.

“Indeed, Elizabeth. I realize it is perhaps too soon, your father being dead for but six months, but my heart compels me to speak. I have admired you for years, my dear, years.”

My God, he really is going to ask me to marry him!

She couldn’t allow it, for if she did, she would surely laugh in his face, and perhaps burst into tears at the betrayal. And Owen would never tell her why he was asking her. He would but prattle about his utter admiration of her. She realized with a start that she was afraid.
I would rather be a shop girl than marry him!

“My . . . headache, Owen, it has returned,” she said abruptly. “If you don’t mind, I would like to rest until we reach Heath House.”

“Of course, my dear.”

Did he sound the least bit relieved?

Chauncey thought furiously the remainder of the carriage ride to Heath House. There was no answer forthcoming. It appears, she decided, raising her chin in determination, that I am going to have to be an eavesdropper again.

She allowed Owen to kiss her hand, then quickly walked to her room. She sent Mary off to bed, then waited for a few more minutes. Slowly she eased her bedroom door open and peered up and down the corridor. No one was about. Stealthily she crept toward her aunt’s suite of rooms. There was a light showing from beneath
the door. She didn’t even have to press her ear against the door, for her aunt’s voice sounded through as clear as the proverbial bell.

“I am pleased you did not . . . rush things, my dear boy,” Aunt Augusta said. “It is possible that Elizabeth would not think it likely that you could fall in love with her so quickly.” She gave a deep relieved sigh. “I do believe that Elizabeth will forgive us for our lack of attention to her these past months. I had not believed her so malleable, but perhaps it is so.”

Uncle Alfred said, “I really do not like this, my love. It is not that we are—”

Aunt Augusta interrupted him curtly. “Enough, Alfred. We haven’t much time. Owen must be as attentive as possible to his cousin.”

Why haven’t they much time
? Chauncey heard Owen say in a sulky voice, “I don’t think Chauncey—”

“What an outrageous nickname! I pray you won’t use it again, Owen!”

“Yes, Mother. As I was saying, I don’t think Ch . . . Elizabeth particularly cares for me.”

There was a stretch of utter silence. Aunt Augusta said grimly, “It was stupid of you to treat her like a housemaid, Owen! Quite stupid! You must gain her trust. Yes, that’s it. The girl is lonely, but now we are her family. Her
loving
family.”

Owen asked very softly, forcing Chauncey to strain to hear his words, “And if she doesn’t come around, Mother? And in time?”

There were several minutes of utter silence. “It is something I would dislike above all things,” Aunt Augusta said finally. “To compromise a
young lady is most disturbing and quite ill-bred . . .”

Chauncey drew in her breath. Then she heard Owen laugh, covering the remainder of Aunt Augusta’s words. She felt herself pale with rage. Oh yes, Owen would like to catch her unawares again! She would scratch his eyes out! She would tear . . .

“I don’t like it,” Uncle Alfred said. “Any of it.”

“Forget Isobel,” Aunt Augusta said harshly. “It must be done.”

“Well, I am ready for bed,” Owen announced.

Chauncey dashed down the corridor, managing to close her door just in time. She didn’t fall asleep for a long time.

“Well, miss, here is your chocolate! It’s a lovely day today and I want to know what you discovered.”

Chauncey snapped awake. “Good morning, Mary,” she said on a yawn. “I have quite a bit to tell you, and also a plan.”

When she finished recounting the overheard conversation, Mary was gazing at her in consternation. “It is villainous! Suggesting that Master Owen compromise you! It is—”

“Yes, it is all that, Mary,” Chauncey said, cutting her off. She stared thoughtfully for a moment into the dark glob of chocolate at the bottom of her cup. During the long, wakeful hours of the night, she had managed to repress her sorrow, her fury, and her unhappiness. All she had left was determination. “Will you help me, Mary? I have an idea. It is probably quite foolish, but I can’t think of anything else for the moment.”

“Oh yes, miss, anything!”

“I want you to find out if there have been any visitors in the past couple of days. Not any of Aunt Augusta’s acquaintances, but a stranger. Can you do it?”

Mary screwed her eyes thoughtfully toward the ceiling. “That old sot Cranke might be difficult. But I’ve got ears, miss, and I can ask the staff, very subtle-like, of course.”

“If there has been a visitor . . .” Chauncey shrugged. “Well, then we shall see. I can only believe that someone wants to remove me from here, and that for whatever reason, my aunt doesn’t wish me to go. If there hasn’t been anyone, then I would imagine that I am going to have to tread very carefully until I can leave this house and its loving occupants. Please bring me the paper, Mary—I think I should begin looking for a position.”

What in heaven’s name was going on? She saw them all objectively now, just as she had finally seen Guy. She had been nothing short of a fool to believe them, even for a moment. Chauncey sighed. She was likely a fool for thinking that someone, a stranger, had anything to do with Aunt Augusta’s newfound devotion to her niece. She rose from her bed and began to bathe, wondering if Owen would be waiting for her in the corridor.

Two days passed in what Chauncey described to Mary as a state of siege, with herself being the fortress under attack. There had been a visitor, Mary had discovered, a “dried-up little man with the smell of the city on him,” so Cranke told one of the footmen. But who the dried-up little man had been was still a mystery.

“Greed,” Chauncey said. “There can be no other motive. Can you really believe, Mary, that Aunt Augusta would spend all this money for any other reason?” She waved her hand toward the two new gowns that lay on her bed in a froth of silk and satin. “She must view it as an investment of sorts.”

“Then you think, miss, that this man is perhaps a business associate of your father’s? That he is here to tell you that your father didn’t lose everything after all?”

“I know it sounds farfetched,” Chauncey said
on a tired sigh, “but for the life of me, I can think of nothing else.”

“Don’t chew your thumbnail, miss.”

“Oh!” Chauncey regarded the ragged nail. “They are driving me distracted! And here I am hiding in my bedroom.” She rose from the uncomfortable wing chair from beside the small fireplace and began to pace about the room. “I am being a coward, Mary, a miserable coward! I shall demand to know why they are treating me like a piece of prime horseflesh. I shall look Aunt Augusta straight in the eye—”

“I should suggest Master Owen instead,” Mary said mildly.

“Well, yes, perhaps you are right. After all, they are certain to insist the minute dinner is over that Owen read me some poetry or that I play love songs to him, or some such nonsense. Then, of course, Aunt Augusta will yawn and nod and haul Uncle Alfred from the salon, leaving the ‘two dear young people alone.’ ”

“Now, miss, you mustn’t do anything rash. If this gentleman visits again, which you believe likely, I will know about it. Perhaps it is best that you simply wait them out.”

Chauncey nodded glumly, and allowed Mary to dress her in another of Aunt Augusta’s new gowns. It was a pale green silk cut fashionably low over her bosom. Too low, Chauncey thought as she stared in the mirror. No horse, she thought, ever looked like this. No, she looked more like a lovely piece of candy begging to be nibbled.

“Braids, Mary. Yes, I think a very severe style is in order for this evening.”

Mary grinned at her young mistress, but the
resulting creation only made Chauncey appear all the more appetizing, in Mary’s silent view. The thick band of braids fashioned high on her head made her slender neck look all the longer and more graceful. Mary sighed. It was too late to change it now.

“You take care, miss,” she cautioned. “As long as you’re playing the piano, you should be safe enough!”

“Thank you for the advice,” Chauncey said dryly.

Unfortunately, it appeared that Aunt Augusta and Owen agreed with Mary. Did Owen believe that her new hairstyle was meant to entice him? Probably, she thought cynically, along with her bosom falling out of her gown.

“How utterly charming you look this evening, my dear Elizabeth,” her aunt said. “So sophisticated with your hair like that. Don’t you agree, Owen?”

“Oh, certainly, Mother, certainly.”

“A beautiful new Penworthy,” Uncle Alfred said.

Aunt Augusta tittered. Tittered! Chauncey felt her ears begin to tingle. She turned glittering eyes toward her uncle and said with forced calm, “I fear you forget that I am not a Penworthy, Uncle Alfred. I am a FitzHugh, a Jameson FitzHugh.”

“But not for much longer, I vow,” Aunt Augusta said archly.

Chauncey did not miss the warning glance she sent toward Owen.

Aunt Augusta must have realized that the conversation had taken too forward a turn, and
quickly retrenched. “You know, Elizabeth, your uncle and I have been thinking that your bedchamber is a bit confining. With your marvelous taste, my dear, we have decided that you should have the Green Room and decorate it to your liking.”

My marvelous taste? Chauncey wanted to laugh aloud. If Aunt Augusta was judging her taste by the dinner in front of her, her ability to spin falsehoods was indeed phenomenal. Stewed ham hocks in wine sauce, and boiled collards! Cook had gazed at Chauncey as if she had lost her mind. The Green Room. Chauncey blinked. It was a large, airy bedchamber that connected by an adjoining door to Owen’s room. The siege had intensified. For a moment Chauncey felt raw fear well within her. She could expect no protection from her aunt or uncle. She would have to go to Uncle Paul on the morrow. He would have to help her.

She smiled blandly. “I shall think about it, Aunt Augusta.”

When Aunt Augusta and Uncle Alfred bid the young couple a hearty good night, just as Chauncey knew they would, she saw that Owen would make his declaration. He was sweating, beads of perspiration standing out on his broad forehead.

“Would you like me to play for you, Owen?” she asked, watching him rub his palms on his breeches.

She did not wait for him to reply, but moved purposefully to the piano and seated herself. She began to play a Mozart sonata, a very long one, she thought viciously.

Owen overcame his trepidation and interrupted
her during the second movement. “Elizabeth, my dear,” he muttered close to her ear. She jumped at the feel of his hot breath against her cheek, and her hands came down on a discordant array of keys.

“I must speak to you. Please, Elizabeth, I find that I can hold back what I feel for you no longer!”

Chauncey turned slowly on the piano stool and stared up at him for a long moment. “How fluently you say your lines, Owen,” she said.

He looked taken aback, but only for a moment. “I doubt I could ever be as fluent as you, my dear. Come, Elizabeth, and sit with me.”

She rose and followed him to the high-backed sofa. But she didn’t sit down. “What is it you wish to say to me?” she asked without preamble.

Owen laughed confidently. “You are so forthright, Elizabeth. As you wish.” He shrugged, then sent her a blinding smile. “I want you to marry me.”

Chauncey looked him squarely in the eye. “Why, Owen?”

“Why?” he repeated softly, his eyes caressing her face. “I love you, of course. I told you countless times in the past days that I have long admired you.”

“Yes, that is what you have said. What I should like to know, Owen, is why you are asking me to marry you now, at this time.”

“You have just turned twenty-one. It is time that you were wed.”

“So, when my birthday dawned, you decided that you loved me.”

“Not precisely, but close enough.”

She thought for a brief moment that he would
have liked to add “damn you!” But of course he did not. “Owen,” she said finally, still hopeful that he would slip and tell her something, “do you not recall that I am penniless? Hardly worthy wife material, I should say. Don’t you agree?”

“There are more important things than money,” he said.

“Not to your family, Owen,” she said.

“You are wrong, Elizabeth, quite wrong! My mother and father think you are wonderful, and they do not mind that you do not have a dowry, I promise you.”

He wasn’t going to tell her a damned thing, Chauncey realized in disgust. He had been well-coached. “Owen,” she said, “I have no intention of wedding anyone. I suggest you forget your newly acquired feelings for me.”

“I cannot!” he said, his voice sharp now. He made a move to capture her hands, but Chauncey quickly whisked behind a chair. “It is not kind of you to . . . toy with my feelings.”

“Owen,” she said with great patience, “I do not wish to toy with anyone’s feelings. I wish only to be left alone.” She lowered her eyes a moment, and added, “Indeed, your parents’ kindness to me has made me realize that I cannot continue to live on their bounty. I intend to find myself some sort of position.”

“Position! That is ridiculous! My mother would never hear of such a thing. No, Elizabeth, for your protection, you must marry me.”

“I remember, Owen, that you offered me your protection, without marriage.”

“It was but a . . . jest, my dear. Aye, a jest.” “Good night, Owen,” she said, lifting her chin.

“No, wait!”

Chauncey raised her skirts and ran from the salon. No, dear Owen, she thought as she ran up the stairs, I have no intention of being mauled by you!

“Elizabeth!”

He was chasing her! Chauncey made her room barely in time. She slammed the door and clicked the lock. She leaned against the door, painfully aware of her heaving breasts and pounding heart.

The doorknob rattled suddenly. “Elizabeth, let me in! I only want to speak to you. Come, unlock the door.”

Where was Mary? Would her Aunt Augusta have the door broken down so Owen could compromise her? Try for a little deviousness, Chauncey, she told herself. You should have learned something about it from Aunt Augusta. “Owen, dear,” she said softly. “I have a terrible headache. And you have surprised me mightily. I . . . I think my nerves are disordered. Can we speak of”—she couldn’t bring herself to say “marriage”—“your feelings and mine on the morrow?”

There was utter silence for several moments. She thought she heard footsteps, and pressed her ear to the door. She heard her Aunt Augusta’s voice, but could not make out her words. Then Owen said, “Of course, Elizabeth. You think my feelings for you are sudden, when in fact they are of long standing. We will speak tomorrow morning. Sleep well, my love.”

Chauncey drew a deep breath. So Aunt Augusta had given her a night’s respite. This is like something out of a melodrama, she thought suddenly, pained laughter bubbling up in her throat.
And Owen’s acting is every bit as bad as poor Romeo’s was! She no longer wanted to laugh, she was too frightened. She stood for several more moments, then walked purposefully to her armoire. She pulled out her large valise and began to pack her belongings. She stared a moment at the new gowns, then tossed them on the floor of the armoire.

When her valise was packed, she walked to the window and drew back the heavy curtains. The night was thick and uninviting, a heavy fog encasing even the tall trees in the park. This is all such nonsense, she thought, regaining her perspective. They cannot hold me prisoner, after all.

Chauncey awoke the next morning at a sharp knock on her door. She blinked away sleep and called out, “Who is it?”

“Mary, miss.”

She heaved a sigh of relief and quickly rose to unlock the door. “I had thought it might be Owen,” she said.

“Your valise, miss,” Mary said, eyeing the bulging bag.

“Yes,” Chauncey said. “I am leaving this morning, Mary. I am going to see my Uncle Paul. He will help me, he must.”

At Mary’s questioning look, Chauncey quickly told her what had happened the night before.

“Lawks!” Mary said. “Well, miss, after I’ve seen you dressed, I’ll go pack my own things. And don’t you worry, miss, we’ll manage, you’ll see.”

I don’t know how, Chauncey thought, but she
didn’t have the energy to quibble. “Thank you, Mary,” she said.

Chauncey didn’t see Owen immediately, not until he said heartily from behind her, “Good morning, Elizabeth.”

She jumped, feeling gooseflesh rise on her arms. “I am going to breakfast, Owen,” she said, and made to walk past him.

“Not until we have reached an . . . agreement, my love,” Owen said, and closed his fingers around her wrist.

Chauncey stared down at his fingers.

“Tell me, promise me, that you’ll marry me, Elizabeth.”

His fingers tightened painfully. “Let me go, Owen.”

“My parents have procured a special license, my love,” he continued as if she had not spoken. “A minister, a Mr. Hampton, is already here to wed us. Say yes, Elizabeth.”

“What?” she asked in a mocking voice. “We are to be wed before breakfast?”

“You will not toy with me further, Elizabeth,” he snarled, and tightened his grip on her wrist.

Breathe deeply, Chauncey, she told herself. Be calm. “Owen,” she said after a moment, “I will not wed you, not before breakfast, not ever. Indeed, I would not wed you if it meant I had to . . . sell my body! Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice dropping low, “oh yes you will, cousin.” He slammed her against the wall, his hand clutching at the material at her throat. He jerked down, ripping her gown to her waist. She felt his mouth against her ear. “Oh
yes, Elizabeth. I’ll take you now. Then you’ll have me.”

She had imagined such a scene in her mind, but the reality of it left her momentarily stunned. Owen was kissing her, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She felt his hands grasping at her breasts. He was standing with his side turned to her, and she realized that he thought she would try to kick him.

Owen was dragging her toward his room.

Chauncey went utterly limp. She heard him draw in his breath in surprise, but he remembered what she had done to him the other time. “Oh, Owen,” she sighed, and raised her mouth.

He clasped her hard against him, and his tongue was lunging against her closed lips. She opened her mouth. When his tongue thrust in, she bit him as hard as she could.

Owen yelled in pain. He fell back, clutching his hand over his mouth, and she could see blood between his fingers.