The Misfit Marquess (14 page)

He headed for the stairs and toward Elizabeth's room, but stopped when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. To his surprise, the object of his search was in the connecting gallery, the one that formed the center line of an H between his room's hallway and that of Elizabeth's room. She stood, dressed once again in his mama's ill-fitting gown and with the two canes under her hands, staring up at the family portraits that lined the length of the gallery.

"Lord Greyleigh," she called upon spying him, sounding a little breathless. She lifted one cane, to make a kind of shrugging motion upward toward the painting. "I recognize your portrait, although you were younger when it was made. But are these two other portraits your brothers?"

"They are." He moved to her side, loosely clasping his hands behind his back. 'That is Sebastian there under the tree, and Benjamin on horseback. I would have painted them exactly the opposite were I the artist, but no one asked my opinion at the time."

"Why opposite?"

"Because Benjamin cares more about the land and all that comes with it, and Sebastian is the wilder of the two. I would have had Benjamin spreading his arms wide to invite the viewer to see all that his name owns, and I would have had Sebastian's horse foaming and wild-eyed from a hard, unnecessary gallop across that very same holding."

Elizabeth gave him a sideways glance. "You sound caustic, but I think perhaps there is a hint of affection in your voice as well."

"Truly? I am surprised you think you hear any such thing."

She merely smiled, a soft, doubting smile meant only for herself, and turned back to admire the portraits. "How was Lady Sees this morning?"

"Well enough. We had tea and old gossip, and I left after a very correct fifteen minutes. She asked after you."

"Did she? How did you answer her?"

"I said your health improved, but not your memory."

"True enough," she said. "Frick told me two other letters were going out, along with one I wrote for one of the maids."

"Yes, I saw your letter."

"I presume you wrote back to your brother? He did not send ill news, I hope?"

It was none of her business, of course, and he could not think why she would care, except for being bored by confinement. He shook his head. "No bad news. No news, in fact. We play chess by correspondence. In fact, both my brothers transact games through the post with me. Benjamin had written with his latest move."

"Ah!" Enlightenment dawned across her features, making her brown eyes shine. Oddly enough, it was only then that he realized her eyes had been lacking their usual sparkle.

'That would explain," she went on, "why there were two chessboards set up in your library. I am very glad I could not cross over and move a piece as I thought to do, for I should have disrupted the game's play."

"No great harm would have come of it," he assured her as he unclasped his hands. "May I escort you back to your room? You appear fatigued."

"That is not very gallant of you," she said on a sniff, but it was all pretense at being offended, for her outburst was followed by a weary sigh. "But you are correct, I am tired. It is a great measure more work limping about on canes than I ever should have guessed, and I had long since begun to regret giving in to the sense of boredom that drove me from my chamber."

He watched her slow progress down the hall, keenly aware he could not offer her his arm because she must make use of the canes. "I could—"

"Carry me?" she interrupted with a sharp shake of her head. "I think not. I have had more than my share of being carried about of late. Just be at hand so that you can call for help should I take a tumble, thank you."

Gideon was used to giving in on small requests, even if they did not make much sense. He walked slowly beside Elizabeth, taking the occasional one long step versus her plant-canes-then-take-three-hops advancement.

"I came seeking you to ask you about your letter," he said, resisting an urge to put his hand under her elbow, the better to steady her uneven progression. "Well, the letter you wrote anyway."

"We are a rude pair, wanting to know the contents of each other's letters," she said. The smile she added came with effort, he guessed, for a sheen of perspiration had broken out across her upper lip. "What did you want to know?"

"The contents."

"Ah. I cannot tell you, of course, since it is not my letter. You will have to ask the maid, Jeannie."

"I told you the contents of my letter," he pointed out.

"Your letter," she countered breathily. "Exactly my point."

"Well then, I will ask Jeannie." He did not like the petulant tone he heard in his own voice. "I only wanted to know if she is content. Frick tells me she means to stay on after the birth of her child."

Elizabeth had come to the doorway to her room. She gave him a speaking glance, startling him.

"What is that for?" he demanded. "That. .. disapproval I see on your face?"

"It is not my place to approve or disapprove anything regarding yourself, my lord," she said with a cool politeness that was just as speaking as her glance had been. "I would merely suggest that if you have a situation you must settle with your servants, you do so directly," she said with all the censure of a headmaster.

"My dear lady, you could follow your own advice! Frick tells me you have been asking my maids if there is a place in Severn's Well in which one might sell jewelry. You could, allow me to point out, have asked me such a question."

Elizabeth blushed a deep red, and it was a moment before she found her voice. "My question is the sort that could be asked of anyone. Yours was not."

He gave her a skeptical look. "So what is all this about jewels?" he asked. "If you require some pin money, I will gladly supply you with a sum."

She went stiff and tilted her head back far enough to be able to look down her nose at him. "Indeed not. I will supply my own funds. Not pin money, my lord. Funds."

"I could—"

"You will not'" she insisted. "I would not accept it. Please," she went on, her tone softening, "all I require is the name of a place where such a transaction may occur, and perhaps the use of a footman to conduct the business for me."

"Wendell's," Gideon said reluctantly. "There is a shop owned by Mr. Wendell. He might be in the market to purchase jewelry."

"Excellent," she said with a shadow of a smile, and then she went into her chamber and practically shut the door in his face.

He turned from her door, shaking his head, because he was well aware what Elizabeth had brought with her into his home: her person; her cloak, clothing, and shift (all now burned); her kid leather slippers; her ring marked with a B; and nothing else. There had been no jewels. The maid who had changed an unconscious Elizabeth into a night rail had listed for Gideon this woman's pitiful few belongings, for they had been searching for a clue as to her identity.

"Poor, misguided thing," Gideon said aloud, shaking his head again. He wondered briefly if Mr. Arbuckle would ever discover who the woman was. But her identity was not Gideon's problem, for she was determined to be gone as soon as possible, regardless of what he knew. That suited him perfectly, Gideon reminded himself.

Chapter 11

Ten minutes later, Elizabeth crossed her arms and, almost pouting, thought that she wanted to pace. She could not, of course, but the impulse was strong. She had done her best to put her disgruntlement with Lord Greyleigh out of her thoughts, but lying here atop her bedclothes with her eyes closed had only made her feel her pique all the more sharply.

For pity's sake, did this man not know what agreement had been made with the servant girl who was undoubtedly bearing his child? Had he left the settling of his illegitimate infant and its mother's welfare up to some intermediary—this butler of his, perhaps?

Well, no, not by way of Frick, not logically, because then Lord Greyleigh would simply ask the butler what conditions had been established for the girl and her child. Maybe Greyleigh had proposed a plan for the future to the maid, and yet awaited her response? That could be. But that made of the man a coward: asking Elizabeth about a letter's contents instead of asking the girl directly!

Not that it mattered to Elizabeth that Lord Greyleigh was as odd and intemperate as his mother had surely been. Even in far London Elizabeth had heard that Lady Greyleigh had spent all her married life in a mental decline—was it any wonder that her son inherited her affliction? Still, it was ... disturbing to have his behavior with a servant cast into Elizabeth's own lap. It was almost as disturbing as trying to reconcile the word "coward" with the little she knew of Lord Greyleigh's disposition.

And his constant offers to help, to carry her about or settle funds upon her! The former was disagreeable—emotionally if not physically—and the latter was simply unacceptable. He had no notion of her financial needs and would be shocked should he somehow learn she meant to establish a household by herself. He was .. . intrusive, that was the word! He kept thrusting his nose into business that did not concern him, and worse yet, making her feel guilty that she would not confide that business to him.

He was her host, and only that—and only for eleven more days. She owed him nothing, except her thanks. However, she had promised him an eventual explanation—but the word "eventual" was the key. He was boorish to insist on anything else. They had an agreement, and she would remind him of that if he could not remember it for himself.

She sat up in bed, sighing heavily as she put the back of her hand to her forehead. Yes, she was still too warm. And her heel was beyond warm now, feeling puffy and throbbing anytime she moved it at all.

Elizabeth bit her lip. She hated the thought of calling a surgeon in once more, for it only meant more cost for Lord Greyleigh, more debt she owed him, but it was becoming clear that the wound would not improve without some intervention.

Although . .. perhaps she could repay Lord Greyleigh more immediately than she had thought, by leaving one of her jewels for him? She scowled, for each jewel had a value that equaled so many days of survival.

She looked down at the signet ring, with its distinctive sweeping B engraved on its surface and roses engraved on the thick band on either side of the signet letter, and realized she wore it yet on her left hand. She ought to put it in her jewel purse, but until she had the opportunity, at least she would no longer wear it on her left.

It was the work of a moment to move it to her right hand. Perhaps this very ring was the one item she could repay Lord Greyleigh with . . . but, no, it would serve her best as a ring to wear when she lived on her own. She would pretend to be a widow, and must have a wedding band to support that claim, and of her rings, this one most looked the part. In any event, what would an unmarried man such as Lord Greyleigh do with a ring marked with a B?

He probably had a mistress that he kept somewhere; he could give it to her if the initial would serve. The thought of Gideon giving this ring to a Barbara or a Beatrice or a Miss Brown made Elizabeth's scowl grow deeper.

Deciding now was as good a time as any to put the ring away, Elizabeth leaned back on the bed and slid a hand inside one of the pillowcases. She sought the jewel purse she had hidden there. Finding nothing, she made an exasperated sound, and tried the remaining three pillows. Nothing.

Her heart hammering, she reached back, intending to grasp the bellpull, but then she glimpsed the leather purse just poking out from under the coverlet's edge. She snatched it up with relief, only to gasp at its ominous lack of weight, its flat profile. Her fingers, frantically pulling open the already loosened drawstrings, told her what her eyes had to see to believe: her jewels were gone. Every one of them, gone.

"My lord?" One of the maids bobbed a curtsy where she stood at the library door she had just opened.

"What is it?" Gideon asked, glancing up. Within two heartbeats he was already standing up behind his desk because of the uneasy look on the maid's face. "What has happened?" he demanded.

"It's Miss Elizabeth, sir," the maid said, twisting the hem of her apron with both hands. "She's tearing her room apart and shouting at the maid what cleaned the room while Miss Elizabeth were walking about this morning."

Gideon closed his eyes for a moment, filled instantly with an old, familiar sinking feeling. "Very well. I will take care of the matter. Have coffee and a bottle of whiskey sent up to Miss Elizabeth's room, please, as soon as may be."

The maid bobbed her head and a curtsy all at once, and quickly ran off to do as she was bid.

Gideon forced himself to take the stairs one at a time, with outward calm. Calm was best in these situations. It could sometimes be communicated to the disturbed person, averting any further scenes.

He knocked at Elizabeth's door, but let himself in at once, still moving calmly, smoothly. She was on her knees, her injured foot leveled off the floor, while she searched with a sweeping arm under the bed.

"Elizabeth," he said a bit loudly, hoping she was not too far lost to reality to hear him despite the state her mind was in, and that he was not so loud that he conversely startled her into yet more hysterics.

She jerked upward, hitting her shoulder on the bed frame. "Oof!" She scooted backward awkwardly and turned to glare at him. "Did you take my jewels, or order them taken?"

"What jewels, Elizabeth?" he said quietly, striding with an outwardly unruffled gait toward her. He stooped down next to her, bringing his face closer to her eye level. When she did not cringe or retreat, he dared to reach slowly and touch her shoulder.

She pulled back, so that his fingers could no longer touch the fabric of her green gown's sleeve. "I believe your staff failed to inform you, at least originally, but I had a leather purse. It contained my jewels. It is now empty. I want my jewels returned." Her eyes burned-with an avid intensity as she held aloft a small upended purse, which was clearly devoid of contents.

"What do they look like?" he said, daring to inch forward and reach out his other hand. He placed it slowly on her other shoulder. 'These jewels of yours?"