Secrets of a Scandalous Bride (12 page)

“Madam”—the Earl of Wymith turned and waited for the dowager to draw near him—“May I offer you my arm and my ear, madam? Perhaps I can offer a gentleman’s perspective?”

Elizabeth stopped Sarah, affording them the privacy of distance as Ata conferred with Lord Wymith. “He is planning something, Sarah. Here.”

“Who?”

Abashed, she replied, “General Pymm.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have.”

Sarah held her tongue.

“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said on an exhale.

“Dearest, I will always stand by you. I only worry you’ve been living, and hiding, based on your feelings and intuition for quite a while. Are you certain the madness you thought you saw in the general’s eyes was not the grief and wildness we sometimes saw in the men after battle?”

“I—I’m not sure. I’ll never be sure, but there was a cruelty to him. Did your husband ever say anything to you about it?”

“No,” Sarah shook her head. “Pierce never engaged in idle talk and he was as loyal as the day was long. He was not prone to disparaging anyone unless it was imperative.” There was a wistful sadness to Sarah’s gray eyes.

“Oh Sarah, I’m sorry. I know everyone thinks I’m being foolish—that I should accept Pymm.”

Sarah’s eyes studied her, searching, always searching. “Not everyone. But I will admit that the general’s devoted attachment to you appears very genuine, despite everything. You do not truly believe anymore that he had a hand in our loved ones’ deaths, do you?” She paused. “You know I will stand by you if you choose not to marry the general, whatever the reason.”

There were some things one could not even confide in one’s dearest friend. Elizabeth just could not bear to see the doubt in Sarah’s expression if she told her about her father’s letters from her French relative. And she didn’t want to drag Sarah into deeper water with her. Sarah had done so much for her already. Had always stood by her. And so she remained silent. Sarah could not help her.

Hours later, she held back her true thoughts again when Sarah knocked on her door before negotiating the corridors to the dining hall.

“Oh Sarah, those flowers are so lovely. You’ve never worn anything so pretty in your hair.”

Her friend blushed. It was the first time Elizabeth had seen Sarah do such a thing.

“They are bellflowers from the Earl of Wymith. He asked me to wear them tonight.”

Elizabeth’s spirits depressed slightly. Oh, she wanted to be happy for Sarah. Truly. She had been her first and only friend for so many years when the other officer’s wives had avoided Elizabeth and whispered she was a hoyden or worse. But she didn’t want to see the already hazy memory of Sarah’s husband fade. He had been her father’s commander, and all their lives had been woven so closely together it saddened her to think everything was unraveling. Oh, she was being selfish, and everything ridiculous.

Sarah’s fine eyes missed not a thing. “There is nothing to it. I promise you, my love.”

“There would not be anything wrong if there was,” Elizabeth said quietly. “The earl is a very good man and he will make you very happy. I’m certain of it.”

“We’ve already discussed this, Elizabeth. I know what will make me happiest. And it is”—Sarah looked away—“
impossible
.”

Three quarters of an hour ensconced with one hundred guests fluttering about merely increased the tension between Elizabeth’s temples. At least there was one less worry. The Prince Regent had chosen to pass the hour before dinner with his mother, the queen, who insisted on closeting herself at Windsor with dear King George, who had grown quite mad through the years.

But Mr. Brown was not helping to ease the Helston party’s overall discomfort. Or rather, Mr. Brown and the Countess of Home were not helping matters.

Ata fluttered her fan with such force that the outrageously tall ostrich plumes perched in her iron-gray curls threatened to give up their roost. “How can he attend to her, hanging on her every word?” Ata’s face was filled with uncertainty. “He fetches her drinks when there are footmen to bring gallons of wine to every lady in this room. And yet, he will not spare a second to say one word to me. I don’t understand.”

“Perhaps he is waiting for you to go to him, Grandmamma,” Luc replied, ill ease warring with his usual jaded expression.

“Oh, pish, don’t be ridiculous, Luc. Oh, how I wish Rosamunde and Georgiana were here with us. Five female heads put together are always better than one illogical man.”

“I wish they were here too,” Elizabeth murmured. “I worry so for Georgiana.”

Ata patted her hand. “You have enough to worry about, Elizabeth. And Rosamunde is an excellent
person to nurse Georgiana in her confinement. And to make her laugh.”

Elizabeth stood still, her eyes fixed on the doorway, waiting, now always waiting, instead of her former natural inclination to act. She was soon rewarded. Leland Pymm strode forward, expectation of adulation apparent on his narrow face and puffed out chest, full of medals of glory. Elizabeth could not stop the ridiculous thought that it had probably taken his valet half the afternoon to artfully arrange the fringe of curls on his forehead.

He scanned the room and crossed to her. Oh, where was Rowland Manning? He had said he’d be here.

“My dear,” Pymm breathed, his chin raised in an imperious manner.

“Good evening, General,” she replied, on her guard.

He urged her forward toward a quiet copse. “I would have you use my given name when we are in private, Elizabeth.”

“But, we are not in private…
sir
.”

“Yet.” His smile was languid. “I have a delightful surprise for you tonight, my darling. A little engagement present, if you will.”

At the sound of the endearment, she could not suppress the slow shiver that wended its way between her shoulder blades.

“I don’t require any more of your gifts. You know there is only one thing I want,” she bit out.

He completely ignored her. “I am determined to see your dimples tonight. You will not begrudge me a smile, will you?” Without waiting for her response he
continued, “No. I am certain you will like this particular gift and then there will be dancing. You always loved to waltz. Especially with me. I am looking forward to the many balls we will give when Badajoz House is complete.”

Bile rose in her throat. “You would name your house the name of the battle where—”

“That was a memorable turning point in the war. On so many fronts.”

“But my father
died
there. Have you forgotten?”

“Hmmm. I shall have to think on that.”

Paralyzed by a hot ball of fury and frustration banked in the pit of her stomach, she could think of nothing to say that would not bring down this delicate house of cards. There was a limit to what she dared. If she infuriated him too far, he could very well lose his temper, and all would end in disaster.

“Come, my dear. I do believe His Majesty is arrived to lead us to dinner. As I am a guest of honor, you shall sit across from me, beside the Prince Regent.”

Oh, she hated being on display as his fiancée. She looked down at her deep-blue-and-white gauze ball gown and remembered the joy she had felt all those many months ago when it had been bestowed on her as a gift. Ata had been intent on giving new ball gowns to each of the ladies in the secret widows club. It seemed a lifetime ago.

The angels and warriors of the frescoes in the Round Tower’s grand dining room stared down at the elaborate long table full of guests. Elizabeth could not have picked a more beautiful place to be unhappy.

“My dear Miss Ashburton, I am delighted to finally make your acquaintance.” The Prince Regent
addressed her as he cut a piece of meat on his gold plate. Dazzling rubies and diamonds squeezed three of his porcine fingers. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

Elizabeth stopped herself in time from choking on a spring pea. She prayed His Majesty would not remember her notorious display in St. George’s when she had made such a spectacle while wearing the black wig. “No, I do not believe so, Your Majesty.”

“I never forget a face.” He rested one of his hands on his rotund stomach and studied her before continuing his meal. “Pymm, you’ve chosen wisely. She has a pretty, intelligent eye, does not chatter on, and she appears demure.”

Demure?
Elizabeth nearly laughed.

Across from her, the general allowed a half smile to appear on his thin lips. “I knew Your Majesty would appreciate my Elizabeth. Her
loyalty
, her devotion to her country—well, I have never seen anything like it.”

She clenched her hands beneath the table, her appetite lost long before she had even reached the table. She wanted to scream. Where was Rowland? He would at least be able to make her laugh at the black humor of it all.

The Duke of Helston sat next to her as he was one of the highest ranking guests. She almost jumped when she felt his hand still her leg as she tapped it incessantly under the table. He deflected the attention on her by addressing Pymm. “When do you and Wellington depart for Vienna, General?”

“A day or so after His Majesty confers the duchy, and Elizabeth and I are wed.”

She wanted to slide under the table. It felt as if every single one of the hundred guests seated were eavesdropping, despite the murmurs farther down the acre of table.

“Pymm will make a formidable addition to your ducal circle, don’t you think, Helston?” The Prince Regent chuckled, and his jowls waggled.

“Without question,” the duke ground out, staring at his grandmother.

A gathering thunderstorm threatened on Ata’s expression across from him. She appeared not to hear a word of the conversation. She was staring at Mr. Brown and the Countess of Home as they dissolved into laughter over some unheard remark by several other guests nearby.

“You have not a surplusage of words tonight, my darling.” Pymm nodded in Elizabeth’s direction. “I will wager that will change soon enough.”

She’d forgotten the general’s annoying habit of employing words that did not quite fit to pretend an intellect he did not quite possess. She had guessed long ago that he collected rarely used words designed to impress.

Only Elizabeth spied the Duke of Helston rolling his eyes. She had never seen the great man tolerate a bore in silence. The Prince Regent’s presence was most likely the only thing reining in the duke’s infamous temper.

The man who would be king rose to his feet with the help of several footmen dressed in purple and silver royal livery. Everyone at table instantly quieted. His Majesty raised his gold goblet and his guests followed suit. “A toast is in order, my friends. While we
gather for Ascot, I’ve also requested your presence to celebrate the upcoming nuptials of one of the most decorated men from our great war with France, General Leland Pymm. To Pymm and his lovely fiancée, Elizabeth.”

“To Pymm and his Elizabeth,” echoed one hundred voices.

“It is a testament to General Pymm’s generous heart that I hereby grant him the betrothal gift he has requested. And lest anyone make the hasty assumption that he is a greedy man given my recent bequest of prime land in Mayfair, you shall all be relieved on that point,” His Majesty chuckled. “Apparently, he has his bride’s fondest wish at heart.”

Elizabeth could feel blood rushing to her cheeks as a few murmurs broke out. This was sure to be a disaster. She began to slump in her chair when Luc’s hand stilled her again. She sat up.

“Miss Ashburton, you are soon to be one of the fashionable leaders of society, my dear. You will want for nothing. But Pymm has told me of your friend, Mrs. Winters, and the relative poverty she finds herself in after her husband’s unfortunate demise on the field of honor. I hereby bestow Barton House, in the northern Lake District, and an annuity of four thousand a year to this worthy war widow in light of her husband Colonel Winters’s great service to England.”

Elizabeth instantly turned to Sarah. Her best friend’s grave eyes widened in shock before she crushed her napkin to her face.

The Prince Regent continued despite the avalanche of excited voices and congratulations directed toward
Sarah. “Does this suit you, Miss Ashburton? Did Pymm choose your gift wisely?”

A flood of happy anguish flooded her breast. It was exactly what she would most wish for. From the last person she wished to be given anything.

“Your Majesty,” she whispered. “I am overwhelmed by your generosity.”

“You had better thank Pymm rather than me.”

She swallowed and addressed the general without raising her eyes. “Nothing could make me happier than to see my friend settled in such a comfortable fashion. I am most grateful for the benevolence of your gift, General.”

“Your happiness means the world to me, Elizabeth,” Pymm said with a smirk.

Sarah’s voice pierced the stillness. “It’s too much, Your Majesty.” Her eyes were huge in her face, and glistening with tears. “I cannot accept such—”

The Prince Regent waved away her words. “I’m delighted to demand your acceptance, Mrs. Winters.” And then he waggled an eyebrow. “Besides, the way I understand it, I might very well be killing two birds with one house, so to speak.”

What on earth?

“I will wager I shan’t have to make a gift to Wymith when he gathers the courage to wed now, will I?” He roared with laughter.

Elizabeth glanced up only to find Pymm winking at her.

Her world was crumbling apart and yet, she must smile. And then her last remaining ally, the Duke of Helston, a man who could be counted on for his cyni
cal outlook on marriage, relaxed the tense expression on his face.

Oh, she understood it. He was relieved. With her marriage and Sarah’s settlement, the financial burden of the last two women under his grandmother’s protection would soon be removed from his broad shoulders. And now, with this gift, not one of her friends believed Pymm a monster.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Luc looked down at her face beside him. “Allow me to offer my sincerest best wishes for your future happiness, Elizabeth.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” A return to formality seemed the best way to begin the future she had hoped to avoid.