The Problem with Seduction (7 page)

Con rose to his feet. The wrinkle between his brows never fully smoothed. He appeared perpetually concerned. “I did disappoint you. I’m sorry.”

Her heart twisted at his unnecessary concern for her. “You didn’t—”

He held his finger to his lips. “You needn’t say it. I have a sixth sense about upsetting people. I’m rather sensitive to it, I fear.” He took a step toward her. “I
would
like to make this right for you, and not just because you’ve already compensated me. I promise, Elizabeth, I would set it right if I could. It’s just that I’m not cut out to be a husband. It’s not you, it’s me.”

She let out a short bark of laughter. He grinned in return. “Heard that before, have you?”

His perpetual good humor was infectious even if this was no joking matter. She relaxed a fraction. “I never intended to buy a husband, Lord Constantine. I’d always wonder if you’d done it for the money, and that would be an intolerable situation indeed. No, everything is exactly as I meant it to be. I don’t intend to pawn my wares again, so you haven’t wronged me.”

“You’re sure? I haven’t shattered your vision of a fairy tale prince?”

He was watching her skeptically, but she wouldn’t hang her heart on her sleeve for him. He didn’t need to know she secretly longed for the sweeping romantic sort of declaration her best friend had received from
her
lover just a few months ago. Instead, Elizabeth had received this bumbling half-proposal. It was possibly the only offer she’d ever receive, and it had been butchered completely. Thank you for upholding your end of the bargain.” She owed him at least her gratitude, for all the trouble she’d unwittingly put him through.

“Well, then, I’ll be off,” he said when she continued to watch him mutely. He swept her a courtly bow, then turned on his heel and quit her drawing room. When he must have been near to the foyer, his voice filtered down the hallway, as if he’d just remembered to add, “Please think about that thing with my mother, Elizabeth. It would please her immensely to see Oliver.”

The front door clicked and he was gone. The house seemed silent in his wake. For one, pregnant moment, Elizabeth wished he hadn’t left.

Ridiculous, foolish fancy.
But a feeling that nonetheless wouldn’t be brushed aside by logic. As she hurried to the nursery to see to her son, it suddenly came to her why she didn’t want to leave England despite fearing Nicholas’s dogged determination to expose her lie. For just over a decade, she’d tried to prove she was worthy of being loved. She’d left her father’s cold house with a man who’d promised to cherish her forever. Every man after him had been just as willing to prey on her emptiness. Now that she had Oliver, one of her missing pieces was pressed into place. Her hollowness was finally filled by her son. She wasn’t entirely whole, but fulfilled enough that she need never fall victim to another pretty word tripped off a lying tongue.

Or was she? Her yearning to be loved had started her on her path to ruin, and was the reason she would never, ever be separated from Oliver again. She wanted a family. Oliver might be her only chance for one. But there was one more piece to her puzzle, one she wasn’t ready to give up on just yet. What if she’d been searching all of this time for her father’s love, when only he could give it?

She’d left Chelmick, his tightly run estate, on appalling terms. She’d never meant to go back. But what if she went now? Would her father agree to see her because of Oliver? Could he forgive her at last, now that she’d been changed by motherhood?

She couldn’t leave England until she knew for certain that her roots had truly been torn from the soil. Fifteen was a tumultuous age for any girl. They’d had their differences, but surely her parents had grown wiser, too.

But as she made plans to pack up her house and servants, she couldn’t shake her foreboding.

Chapter Five

ELIZABETH ARRIVED at her parents’ house in a carriage fit for royalty. Another, less ostentatious carriage followed behind. Her hands twisted in her lap. She’d lost sleep wondering whether appearing at their door surrounded by obvious signs of her wealth would help or hurt her reception. Was it better to demonstrate the success she’d found even without their help and love, or better to arrive modestly and risk them thinking she’d done it all for naught?

Her desire to prove herself had won out. But she must still wonder if she’d made the right decision.

Their Gothic-style house lorded over an expansive lawn speckled by imposing evergreens. Her yearning for it startled her. She hadn’t seen this house since she was fifteen. The ensuing years had done little to make it more welcoming, and yet she searched hungrily for the distinguishing features that had imprinted on her younger self. The flying buttresses marching across the front. Equilateral arches filling the space between them, their traceries undecorated so they appeared to look on her with stoic, empty eyes. In the winter, snow and ice would freeze over what meager color the pale stone structure possessed and give it a haunted, abandoned look. The reddish façade didn’t fare much better in the weak summer sunlight, and she shuddered despite the heat.

Two footmen clad in her family’s ivory livery ran out to greet the carriages as her horses clopped across the stone drive. She pressed her back to the velvet squab of her bench, keeping herself out of view of the narrow windowpane. What did she think she’d accomplish here? In all the years since her mistake, her parents had never once attempted to reconcile with her. What would they think when she suddenly presented herself on their doorstep?

The servants went about efficiently setting the carriage to rights in preparation for her eventual exit. She adjusted the tiny emerald hat tilted at a jaunty angle on her head and pinched her cheeks. It would have been much more proper to have written ahead, but she’d had no reason to believe they’d reply. No, she’d rather pretend she was out and about in this part of Shropshire and force them to close the door directly in her face.

She steeled herself. She hoped her parents were at home. She would almost prefer they were not.

Mrs. Dalton and Oliver met Elizabeth as she descended the carriage. Elizabeth offered the nursemaid a grateful smile and reached for her son. He was awake and alert. She smiled softly. His little round head jerked as he took in the new sights and colors of Chelmick Hall. “He looks happy,” Elizabeth observed.

“He fussed a bit for the last mile, but I gave him a bit of milk-soaked bread and he settled enough to catch a wink.”

Elizabeth nodded at this and looped his small hand around her fingers. Her lips touched the down-softness of baby hair curving just over his ear. “Do you like the house? We must introduce you to your grandparents. You’ll be a good boy for them, won’t you?”

The double doors of the hall had already been thrown open. A wide, shallow-stepped staircase led to the gaping mouth of the house. She took a deep breath, then began the ascent. At the top of the stone steps she paused. She cuddled Oliver to her one more time before handing him back to Mrs. Dalton.

Those of Elizabeth’s retainers who were not helping to unload the carriages were being shown to the service entrance by other ivory-liveried footmen. Everyone seemed occupied, leaving Elizabeth alone to face her childhood fears.

Upon entering the foyer, however, she saw her first familiar face. Dodger, her family’s old butler, moved on decrepit legs to greet her. A wide smile revealed his toothless gums. “Lady Elizabeth! I never! Oh, but your parents aren’t expecting you, are they? I heard them talk just this morning of making their way to Bath.”

She reached for Dodger’s white-gloved hands. They were cold, even through his gloves, and she curled her warm palms around his fingers. He’d been like a grandfather to her when she was a child, though she was sure her parents didn’t know of the many evenings she’d spent wedged between Dodger and Mrs. Elf, the housekeeper, in their private sitting room below stairs. “Th-they aren’t here?” she asked of her parents.

“They are; it’s just that we’ve been waiting for the order to pack them off. I’m sure they’ll stay now that you’re here. Oh, dear, dear girl. You have no idea how Prudence and I have worried about you.” His toothless grin didn’t falter. If anything, his happiness at seeing her was enough to raise her hope.

Perhaps this time, it was true. She
was
loved.

His rheumy eyes searched her face as though he couldn’t believe he was seeing her. “Just wait until Prudence sees you. What a pretty lady you’ve become.” He squeezed her hands.

Gratitude welled inside her, but she wouldn’t cry. Not before she’d heard those words from her own father.

She wasn’t foolish enough to think she would.

Footfalls sounded behind Elizabeth. Dodger released her hands and collected himself into a more regal posture. Just as he turned to greet Mrs. Dalton climbing the steps with Oliver in her arms, the baby let out a soft coo. Dodger’s amazement upon seeing him turned Elizabeth’s insides to warm pudding.

If he’d been happy to see her, he was ecstatic to greet her son. “Oh, my. Oh,
my.
A little one!” He reached for Oliver before noticeably struggling to collect himself again. “Benson, find Mrs. Elf and inform her that the nursery must be prepared immediately. Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie, my girl,” he said, using the name he and the housekeeper had used back when Elizabeth was barely out of leading strings, herself. “Mrs. Elf will be
beside
herself with excitement.”

The next hour was a blur as Dodger barked orders for the lodging of herself, Oliver, Mrs. Dalton, and the three maids, four footmen and two drivers who’d accompanied her to Shropshire. Not a word was said of her parents. Elizabeth startled each time a door opened or footsteps sounded in the hall. Surely, they must have been informed of her arrival by now.

At last, after she’d been bathed in rosewater and had her hair styled into a confection of dark curls, she was handed a small note card by Bertha, her mother’s lady’s maid.

Bertha’s countenance bore none of the excitement Dodger had failed to contain. She must be in her early forties now, but her pinched disapproval made her look years older. “Your mother wished me to remind you that there are to be neither gentleman callers nor any display that even
hints
at vulgarity while you are under their roof.” With that, she bobbed and stalked from the room.

If Elizabeth were still a girl of fifteen, she might have stuck out her tongue at Bertha’s retreating back. Since she was five and twenty, she did nothing. If her parents thought she might try to sneak a man into her bedchamber, it was because she had done it before.

Recalling the note, she looked to the card in her hand and flipped it over. Her mother’s flowing penmanship left no word illegible. The message was spelled out with perfect clarity:

Elizabeth,

Your father and I would have appreciated a word of notice. I’d say you were raised better than to drop on our doorstep, but then I would say you were raised better about most of the decisions you have chosen to make. So really, it makes no difference whether I wish you had sent word ahead or not, because you will only do what is best for you.

In any case, we were forced to retract an invitation to Lord Tweley and his wife lest we put them in the distressing position of encountering you, so you need not worry there will be company at dinner. I hope you do not mean to be here long. Your father and I wish to retire to Bath for the remainder of the summer, and I am sure you will not be rude enough to think we would change our plans for you.

Lady Wyndham

Elizabeth’s heart constricted with each succinct word, folding in on itself until she felt small, just as she had when she was a child. Her mother was horrid. Horrid, horrid. Even if Elizabeth did acknowledge that her scandalous presence imposed on her parents, and had forced her mother to cancel their evening’s entertainment in a most undignified way, surely Elizabeth deserved to receive this setdown to her face. A coldly worded note only served to emphasize the very aloofness from her parents that had driven her into the arms of a silver-tongued captain.

She stared dully at the papered wall of her former bedchamber, knowing her sisters’ old rooms were on the other side. For years she’d felt bitterly toward her parents, who had cut her from their family without so much as a look-in to see if she was happy with her choice. What if Captain Moore
had
loved her? What if they’d eventually married? Her parents would have had to acknowledge her then, wouldn’t they? It had never come to that, but she’d resented that they washed their hands of her, rather than try to save her.

Elizabeth tucked away her melancholy as best she could and reviewed the collection of her gowns now freshly pressed and hanging in a wardrobe. Though her mother’s note hadn’t outright extended an invitation for her to join them at dinner, it did give roundabout permission. She vowed her parents wouldn’t find fault with anything she wore down.