Never Miss a Chance (3 page)

The madness had to end.  He most reluctantly eased back from
her, then when the dance finally drew to a close, he escorted her back to Aunt
Prue and made some hapless excuse about being needed elsewhere – which alerted
Prue Hamilton’s confoundingly acute senses that something was afoot.

He’d come to the ball to protect Lady Elizabeth, yet all he
really wanted to do was kiss her senseless.  He decided to reinforce that first
thought and bury the latter with a large snifter of Tarlington’s best brandy.

*                   *                    *

“Lady Elizabeth, I’m certainly surprised to see you here
tonight,” said Lady Gwendolyn Bossert.  An earl’s daughter known for her
waspish tongue, Gwendolyn had debuted the same year as Lizzie, but they’d never
been friends.  If Lizzie had known she and the half dozen young ladies who
followed Gwendolyn around were near the refreshment table, she never would’ve
left her aunt’s side.  She wasn’t afraid of the woman.  It would be a sorry day
indeed when Lizzie was unable to stand up to Gwendolyn’s bullying.  But she
just wasn’t in the mood to tolerate her tonight.        

As if sensing Lizzie’s reluctance, Gwendolyn continued.

“I would’ve thought you’d be home working feverishly on your
next treatise, with ink-stained fingers and, dare I say it, beads of
perspiration on your brow.  All of which will serve you well as you continue
your journey into trade.  Perhaps you can find work as a printer’s assistant,
when you tire of bringing shame to the distinguished house of Lynwood.”

Three of the ladies standing near Lady Gwendolyn tried –
quite ineffectively – to hide their giggles behind their hands.

“I confess myself surprised that you read the treatise,”
said Lizzie.  “I didn’t know you even realized there were sections of the broad
sheets unrelated to gossip and fashion.”

“Oh, but I didn’t actually read the treatise,” said Lady
Gwendolyn, speaking louder so the people nearby wouldn’t have to strain so much
to hear.  “No true lady should ever pollute her mind with such disgraceful
thoughts.  But simply everyone is talking about it tonight.  And, needless to
say, not in a favorable way.”

“I’m flattered that my writing is the focus of so much
attention,” countered Lizzie, aware of their ever expanding audience.  “Because
you can’t effect change without illuminating the problem.  So I thank you, dear
Gwendolyn, for your part in spreading word of my work.  I shall be sure to let
your parents know of your assistance to my cause.”

Not wanting her parents to think any such thing, Gwendolyn
blanched.  “Now see here, Elizabeth.  That’s not what I meant at all.”

“You might want to be clearer with your thoughts then,
Gwen.  Perhaps write them down before you speak.  I can give you tips, if you’d
like, including the proper way to remove ink stains from fingers and
perspiration from brows.  The latter tip you could quite definitely use right
now, since it appears you’ve broken out into a – please pardon the expression –
sweat.”

One of Gwendolyn’s acolytes swooned at the term, while two
others turned to see that the mere threat of telling Lady Gwen’s parents anything
related to the treatise had indeed turned her brow rather damp.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” said Lizzie, “I must return to my
aunt.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, but not
in the direction of Aunt Prue.  She needed time alone to regroup.  Gwendolyn
Bossert’s friends had actually laughed at her.  In front of her.  It was a
unique and unsettling experience.  Most ladies of Lizzie’s acquaintance were
usually at least somewhat in awe of her station in life, or, more to the point,
so intent on snaring a Kellington as a husband that they ingratiated themselves
with Lizzie at every opportunity.  It’s not that Lizzie liked the toadying –
she loathed it, really – but if those women were willing to laugh openly at
her, it meant her reputation truly was in danger.

It disconcerted her more than she cared to admit.

Fortunately, Rosalind appeared and took her hand. 

“I saw you talking to Lady Gwendolyn.  What did the cat
want?”

“To try to shame me for my lamentable lack of shame.  The
evening is growing tiresome.  I suddenly find myself in the rather unfamiliar
position of outsider.  Perhaps this will finally instill that elusive sense of
humility in me, though it’ll probably turn out to be indecently fleeting.”

Rosalind squeezed Lizzie’s hand.  “If anyone can turn this
to an advantage, it’s you.  You put into words what so many of us have been
thinking.  But even more importantly, you put your name and reputation on the
line to back it up.  Very few would be so brave.”

Lizzie came close to tearing up at Rosalind’s words of
support.  Good Lord she was becoming maudlin.  The evening was not getting
better.

They were interrupted by Rosalind’s tiresome brother, Calvin
Carson, Viscount Worthington.   Of middling height, he had a receding hairline,
which was beyond any man’s control.  But he didn’t do himself any favors by combing
it to the side, which made him look several years older than his true age of
three and thirty.  He was known for impossibly high starched collars and gaudy
waistcoats that wouldn’t stay buttoned due to his ever expanding girth.

“Lady Elizabeth,” he said while looking her up and down,
then letting his eyes fixate at bodice level, “how lovely it is to see you
again.  I hear tell you published something in the papers.  Of course, if it
ain’t in the sporting section or the gossips columns, I have scant chance of
reading it.  Perhaps, I might have the pleasure of your reciting it to me?”

“Calvin, go away,” said his sister. 

“But I’ve been sent here on an urgent matter by Stepmama. 
Your partner for the next dance awaits.”

“I’ve promised no one this dance.”

“Yes, but Stepmama did.   And his grace is waiting.”

Rosalind turned with dismay to see the Duke of Fallmoor
speaking to her stepmother across the room.  The duke, who’d already buried
five wives, was a man in his 70s and had been, according to him, one of the
greatest matrimonial prizes of the mid-to-late 18
^th
Century.  Father
to thirteen legitimate children – all of them daughters – and any number of
natural offspring, it was said he still wished to provide the dukedom with an
heir.  Rosalind’s stepmother had been trying to engineer the match for the past
eleven months, since the death of the duke’s most recent wife.  Rosalind
suspected that her stepmother’s campaign had begun even before that.  In
another month, he’d be out of mourning and Rosalind knew she’d likely face the
choice of either getting engaged or being thrown out of her home. 

Lizzie looked on helplessly as Calvin steered Rosalind to
the duke.  She was well aware of the machinations of Rosalind’s family, but all
offers she’d made to help her friend had been politely but firmly rejected.

She was interrupted from her morose thoughts by a thin,
nasally male voice.

“Lady Elizabeth, may I….may I speak with you for a moment?”

Lizzie turned to see the anxious face of a young man whose
name she couldn’t recall, but vaguely remembered as a baronet enamored of
farming.

“Pray forgive me for not approaching you earlier, but I’ve
been working up the nerve to speak to you.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Sir, uh…”

“Sir John Matthews.  I have a baronetcy at Somerset.”

“Yes, of course.”

“It’s most beautiful there at this time of year.  The fields
filled with crops, cattle grazing, the plucking of chickens.”

“I’m sure it must be quite peaceful for all, except for the
chickens, of course,” said Lizzie, with an eye on her escape.  “Now, if you’ll
excuse me.”

“Might I have this dance?”

The young man was dreadfully eager. 

“While I am quite honored by the request, I’m afraid the
evening has been rather tiring,” she replied.  It was a bit of an untruth, but
Sir John seemed all things amiable, if a bit dull, and she had no desire to be
rude to one of the few people being nice to her.

“I’m so sorry to hear you’re not feeling well, but it is
understandable that the fairer sex should feel faint with all the excitement of
a ballroom.  Might I escort you to the balcony for some air?”

Elizabeth was about to first refuse him , then correct his rather
insufferable assumption that she should feel faint simply from being in the
company of a ballroom of twits, when her eye was caught by the sight of
Riverton dancing with Lady Willoughby, an unhappily married matron known for
her many affairs.  She was looking at him in a manner reminiscent of a cat and
cream.  For his part, he seemed quite eager to be lapped up.  It was
inexplicable that Lizzie should care.  But she found herself annoyed, no doubt
by the other events of the evening more than anything related to her brother’s
friend.

“I would love to take some air, Sir John,” she said, as she
allowed him to escort her to the French doors.

Sir John couldn’t believe his luck, as he guided Lizzie
through the crowd.

CHAPTER THREE

The cool breeze was refreshing, and the relative quiet of
the corner of the terrace she’d been escorted to gave Lizzie the opportunity to
reflect upon the evening’s events.  Well, it would’ve been quiet if Sir John
hadn’t kept up a steady stream of conversation.

“Lady Elizabeth, I have long been an admirer of your beauty,
your elegance and your horsemanship.”

“My horsemanship?”

“You have an admirable seat and I have no doubt that you
would take to country life as a great fat trout takes to a pond,” said Sir
John, who was growing increasingly excited, although it was unclear if it was
because of Lizzie or the great fat trout.  “Never before had I ever dreamed
that I might have a chance with you, but when I read your treatise, I realized
you have no use for society.  You care not a whit for tradition.  I know now
that a woman as singular as yourself would be my perfect helpmate, providing,
of course, that you refrain from speaking of your rather scandalous views in
front of my dear mama.  They would likely overset her, and I go to great
lengths to avoid upsetting her.  But I’m sure she would welcome you as the one
to marry her esteemed son and to oversee life on the farm.”

Lizzie had received a number of proposals over the years,
yet this was the first to mention a farm, anyone’s mama or trout.  But the
young baronet was earnest and sweet, if a bit daft.  He deserved a gentle
refusal.

“Sir John, I am most flattered that you would consider me to
be your wife and sincerely thank you for the honor.  Unfortunately, I do not
believe we would suit.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong!” he said with the conviction of a
lunatic.  “We would suit admirably.  My ardor for you is such that you would
have no complaints.  Let me prove it to you.”

Before Lizzie could react, she was the recipient of a most arduous
and soggy kiss.  She tried to extricate herself from his grasp, but life on the
farm had apparently given him great strength.  Oblivious to her disinterest, he
pressed her against the wall and grabbed hold of her cap sleeves.

“Lady Elizabeth, you would make me the happiest man alive. 
And mama would be most pleased,” he said, before bringing his mouth down on hers
again.

“Sir, you must release me,” she said as she tried to squirm
away from him.  She could feel the stone wall scraping her back.  “I insist you
do so at once!”

Caught up in passion, he seemed not to hear.  Lizzie
wrenched away and to her horror, heard a large ripping sound. Both sleeves were
torn from her dress, sending her bodice plunging.

That finally got the fool’s attention.

“Lady Elizabeth!” he said, scandalized.  “Cover yourself! 
What if my mama were to hear of this!”

Lizzie grasped her bodice, then looked around for cover. 
“Can you lend me your coat to cover myself?” she asked him.

“This is highly irregular,” Sir John protested, while unable
to tear his gaze from her bared skin.

“I know it’s irregular,” hissed Lizzie.  “But I can’t very
well walk around like this.”

“I don’t know why not,” said a familiar female voice from not
far away.  “It’s obvious you’re doing everything you can to shock good society
and disgrace yourself in the eyes of the ton.”

Lizzie turned to see Lady Gwendolyn Bossert, her mother Lady
Halliwell and Lady Tarlington staring at her. 

“And who was your friend, the one you asked to disrobe?”
asked Lady Gwendolyn, moving aside to allow others to see the partially unclad
Lizzie.

Lizzie turned to see that Sir John had disappeared.  With
his jacket.  She drew herself up with as much dignity as possible while still
clasping her bodice about her.

“I’ve had a bit of an accident with my gown and would
appreciate any assistance you could offer.  Lady Tarlington, might you have a
wrap I could use?” 

It took a moment for the words to register with Lady
Tarlington, but after an endless pause, she murmured something that sounded like
an affirmative, then scurried away, anxious to tell others what had happened.

Lizzie turned to a slack-jawed footman.  “Do be so kind as
to tell his grace that I wish to leave.”  She certainly wasn’t anxious to draw
Lynwood into this, but he was perhaps the one man who could get her out of this
debacle

Perhaps there was one other.

“Lady Elizabeth,” said Riverton as he walked across the
terrace toward her, looking for all the world like nothing was amiss and a lady
wearing half a gown was the newest fashion.  “The night has turned distinctly
chilly.  I would not want you to catch the ague.”

He removed his jacket and placed it on her shoulders.  A
warmth immediately settled onto her that was about more than body temperature.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said as she covered up.  She was
beginning to shake from the humiliation, until he put a hand on the small of
her back, gentling her.

He continued speaking as calmly as if they were at Almack’s
discussing the weather.

“Lady Tarlington,” he said to their hostess, who’d just
returned without a wrap, no doubt because she didn’t want to miss another
moment of the scandal of the season.   “I must compliment you on such a
sophisticated evening.  As you know, I’m most selective in my entertainments. 
But I know I can always count on your skills as a hostess.  You are the
consummate lady who would never countenance gossip.”

Lady Tarlington was obviously torn between the righteous
indignation she should exhibit toward Lizzie’s scandalous behavior and the
desire to appear the gracious hostess to the highly eligible Marquess of
Riverton, given the three daughters she’d been unsuccessfully trying to marry
off for years.

Riverton might’ve sensed her indecision, because he
continued.  “I must beg a favor, Lady Tarlington.  Please convey to your
husband my sincere regret that I was unable to speak with him tonight.  I was
going to ask his opinion on some legislation.” 

Now that was a clunker, thought Lizzie.   She hardly thought
Riverton needed advice on anything from the man he and her brother described as
“thick, drunk and lazy.” 

But the flattery finally worked on Lady Tarlington, as she
began ushering Lady Halliwell and Gwendolyn back to the ballroom.  “We should
give the marquess some room to help Lady Elizabeth with her, uh, dressing
mishap.”

“Mishap?  That bodice didn’t collapse on its own!”
complained Gwendolyn.

“Hush!” said her mother, who was also eyeing the eligible marquess. 
“My dear, say goodnight to Lord Riverton.”

Gwendolyn made a shallow curtsy to the marquess, then
practically flew into the ballroom, so she could give her account of finding
Lizzie naked in the arms of a farmer. 

“Lord Riverton,” said Lady Tarlington, just as she was about
to depart.  “Please promise you will come to tea.  I know my girls would love
to see you and you may also wait upon Lord Tarlington for all the advice you
need.  Particularly if it pertains to family matters.” 

Riverton bowed eloquently until the lady at last disappeared
into the ballroom, leaving him alone with a barely dressed Lizzie, who was
clutching his coat to her bosom.  He would, no doubt, entertain that vision in
his head later.  And in great detail.

He turned to find emerald green eyes peering into his. 

 “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said.

“Were you harmed?”  He asked the question quietly, but there
was no mistaking the intent behind his words.

“No.  It truly was a mishap.”  She started to explain, but
he began leading her down through the garden.

Lizzie could hardly keep up with him.  “Where are you taking
me?” she asked.

“The mews.  I’ll call for my carriage and take you home.”

“I already sent a message to Lynwood.”

“I assure you that the last person you want to see right now
is your brother.”

He said it with such clipped tones that Lizzie began to
wonder if Lynwood wouldn’t be the better alternative to Riverton.

“Why are you so angry?”

At least that got him to stop, although it certainly didn’t
put him in a better mood.

“What were you thinking to have an assignation in plain
sight!”

Lizzie was stunned, both by the accusation and his
vehemence.

“I wasn’t having an assignation.  I simply stepped out to
have a bit of air.”

“And yet you ended up with your bodice around your waist.”

This was worse than being scolded by Lynwood.  Lizzie
stopped and pulled her arm from his.  “It wasn’t my fault!  I tried to get
away.”

There was a long moment of silence, then he spoke with a
menace she’d never heard from him before.  “Sir John Matthews is a dead man. 
I’m taking you home, then calling him out.”

How could the evening be getting worse, she thought
irritably.  She was cold, humiliated and now having to deal with an irrational,
overprotective man.  “You’ll do no such thing!  It was a misunderstanding.  He
asked me to marry him…”

Riverton stilled.  “You didn’t say yes, did you?”

“Of course not!  But he became enthusiastic when he kissed
me…”

Riverton became even more agitated.  “Why did you kiss him?”

“I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

Riverton clenched his fists and a muscle in his jaw
twitched.  “I’m calling him out.”           

“Stop saying that!  It was just a kiss, which, admittedly,
got out of hand.  He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“He ripped your clothing.”  Riverton’s gaze went to his
jacket clutched to her chest, then flicked quickly back to her eyes.  Lizzie
was unsure but it seemed his color grew heightened, no doubt from anger.

“He ripped my gown by accident.”

“And then fled the scene like a coward.”

“I’m glad he left.  Otherwise I might’ve been forced to
marry the man.”

Riverton looked startled.

Lizzie took advantage of his blessed silence to continue.  “I
don’t know why you’re so upset.  After all, you’re not my brother.”

“No, Lizzie,” he said, regaining his countenance.  “I’m
not.”

They stood looking at each other for a moment.  Lizzie had
never noticed that his hair had a silvery sheen in the moonlight.  She might’ve
considered the matter more closely, but they heard voices nearby.

He took her hand, then led her to the mews, where his
carriage appeared moments after he summoned it.  After leaving a message for
Lynwood, he and Lizzie were on their way to Lizzie’s home.

And her future.

*                    *                    *

From her bedroom on the second floor, Lizzie could tell when
each of her brothers arrived home.  There were no doors slamming.  Heskiss was
much too good at his job to allow such discord in the house.  But she could
hear Arthur and Hal yelling, as well as Riverton’s quiet responses – although
she couldn’t quite make out the words.  The person she didn’t hear was Liam. 
Although she knew he must be down there, taking it all in.  Making a plan.

The coach ride from the ball had been somber.  Riverton had
sat across from her, doing his best to avoid looking at her.  The only time he’d
even glanced in her direction was when the coach had hit a rut and she’d been
jostled so hard that his jacket had fallen from her shoulders.  He’d instinctively
reached over to ensure she didn’t fall and then his eyes had dropped, seemingly
in spite of his own wishes.  When she’d looked down, she’d been embarrassed to
see that her right breast was almost fully exposed.  Mortified, she’d looked
up, expecting to see him equally embarrassed.  But instead, he was glowering in
the corner, his eyes focused on the outside scenery. 

When they’d arrived at Lynwood House, Riverton had suggested
in his all-too-solemn voice that it would be best if she went to her rooms and
stayed there until he’d had a chance to speak to Lynwood.  She hadn’t wanted to
obey him, but she also hadn’t wanted to speak to Lynwood until he’d had a
chance to let his temper cool.  She had nothing to fear physically from him or
any of her brothers, but a furious Lynwood would more than likely sentence her
to a draconian punishment, like banishment to the country.  A Lynwood who had
some time to think the matter over was more likely to be reasonable.

At least Lizzie prayed that would be the case.

She’d been in her room for half an hour, when she heard her
brothers enter the house.  All of them were there, which didn’t bode well for a
reasonable outcome.  The suspense was killing her.  She needed to know what was
happening in Liam’s study.