The Thoroughly Compromised Bride (12 page)

Emily moaned.

Lady Langley tried to look both haughty and hurt. “Charles! How can you think any such thing?”

“Easily! I only hope you are quite satisfied! Now all that is left for you to do is to convince Elizabeth that it is necessary for her to marry me!”

“Well, of course we are pleased that you recognize the necessity for a marriage. It is, after all, the only thing you can do, given the circumstances. It cuts me to the quick, however, to find that you suspect I would be pleased that you have been inadvertently placed in such... What did you say?”

“Yes,” said her brother with perverse satisfaction, “I fancy that’s thrown a spoke in your wheel. I am saying that Elizabeth is so ill-advised as to believe that our marriage is not essential. I have gone my length, trying to talk her round. I leave it to you to convince her, if you can.” And turning on his heel, he strode out, saying, “I shall see you in Laura Place, Margaret.”

Two pairs of eyes turned upon Elizabeth with a single look of fascinated horror.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“You needn’t look at me like that!” exclaimed Elizabeth, at once set on the defensive. “I have good and sufficient reasons for refusing to marry Charles—for refusing to marry at all!”

“Oh, Elizabeth!” wailed her aunt tearfully.

Lady Langley, who had made a fast recovery, smiled benignly and said, “Now, now, my dears. Such a great to-do over nothing. Do sit down, Elizabeth. I am sure you must be quite done up after that fatiguing drive.” She waited until Elizabeth had reluctantly seated herself.

“Now then,” said her ladyship in a tone to inspire confidence, “what is all this, about your not wishing to marry Charles?”

Elizabeth, becoming aware that she was nervously pleating the skirt of her gown, quickly smoothed it out, then clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Well, ma’am, it has nothing to do with Charles. Indeed, I... I admire him greatly. But why must we be required to marry against our wishes when we have done nothing wrong?”

“My dear, would you so dislike being married to my brother?” asked Lady Langley, going straight to the heart of .the matter.

“Oh, you do not understand!” cried Elizabeth.

“No, dear, I am afraid I do not.”

Elizabeth sighed heavily. How to explain without divulging all? She had given Charles a disgust for her; she did not wish his sister to take her in strong dislike. And Aunt Emily would be certain to go off into violent hysterics. Strangely, it did not enter her head to doubt that Charles would keep her secret.

But she had other, equally valid grounds for refusing Charles’s offer. She would concentrate on those. “Lady Langley,” she said, her brow creased in her effort to make herself understood, “neither Charles nor I have ever wished for marriage. We have both found our lives quite comfortable as they are—or at least as they were,” she interjected bitterly. “And now, because of a set of circumstances for which neither of us is to blame—” her frown became more pronounced as she recalled exactly who was to blame “—and in which neither of us have been guilty of the slightest transgression, well, it is... it is damned unfair!”

Aunt Emily gasped.

Lady Langley laughed delightedly. “Oh, my dear, forgive me, but I do find you so refreshing! But to answer your charge—you cannot be so innocent, Elizabeth. Good God! No one was ever promised that life would be fair! Just or not, it is the way of the world. Given a choice. Society will
always
believe the worst. No doubt it is a means of experiencing vicariously what they secretly long for themselves but are too chicken-livered to act upon. And you may be very sure that you shall be severely punished for their belief that you have enjoyed what they deny to themselves.”

“Oh, I know that only too well, but there must be some way... I cannot allow Charles to immolate himself upon the pyre of my reputation!”

Not at all discouraged by this manifestation of concern for Charles, her ladyship declared, “Well, if that is all that is throwing a rub in your way, you may be easy. It is past time that Charles married, and it might just as well be to you as to another female. Better, in fact, for I am quite sure that he bears a fondness for you.”

“No! I mean...oh! I cannot explain! But why? In God’s name why did you do it?”

Lady Langley did not pretend to misunderstand, and she attempted to look apologetic. “Well, perhaps we should not have done, although it seemed a very good notion at the time.” Then she added hearteningly, “However, what is done is done, but there is no need to fustigate over it now. My dear, you look worn to flinders. Why don’t you go to your chamber and try to rest? Things are bound to look brighter when you are feeling more the thing.”

Aunt Emily jumped up from her chair eagerly. “Oh, yes, dear. Let me take you up. A nice rest
is just
what you need!”

Lady Langley laid a restraining hand on her friend’s arm and gave a small shake of her head. “I am sure Elizabeth can find her way on her own, Emily. You may see me to the door, for I really must be going.”

“Oh!” said Emily uncertainly.

She looked at her friend questioningly, and her ladyship nodded reassuringly.

Elizabeth, having needed no persuasion, was already leaving the room, unaware of this little by-play, nor did she hear Lady Langley saying, a moment later, “Now then, Emily…”

In the solitude of her bedchamber, Elizabeth lay on her bed, staring up at the canopy over her head with unseeing eyes, while attempting to direct her thoughts into more constructive and less disordered channels. Feeling frustrated, angry and hopelessly dejected all at one and the same time, she was in no state of mind to argue her position rationally. How could she, when she was not at all sure of the rightness or wisdom of the stance she had taken? Perhaps she
should
give in and marry Charles. But, on the other hand, how could she allow Charles to martyr himself when he was in no way at fault?

And how could either of them find any happiness in such a marriage? Surely it would be torture to be tied to him as his wife, knowing he felt nothing but contempt for her. And yet, could anything equal the unbearable anguish of never seeing him again?

It brought a vague but very real physical pain to her chest—not unlike that she had felt when her father had died—to contemplate never again seeing Charles’s warm smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he was amused, or the way he ran his fingers through his hair when he was irritated. How could she bear never again hearing the sound of his voice, his laughter or feeling the touch of his hand upon her arm, his finger against her cheek, his lips upon her forehead?

Oh, damn and blast!
thought Elizabeth, angrily wiping at the tears on her face. She was becoming disgustingly maudlin, and it was getting her nowhere. If only she had never met Charles...but, no. Despite all, she could never regret having known him.

But she could and did regret the actions of her aunt and Lady Langley. If not for them, her life would not now be in such a shambles, and for a time, it made her feel somewhat better to give vent to her feelings by soundly abusing the two women in her mind. But only for a time. Though at present she resented having such a trait of character, she was too fair-minded not to give them credit for having good intentions. It was a pity that apparently no one had ever told them that the road to hell was paved with such things.

In the end, she stayed in her chamber for the remainder of the day, having a dinner tray sent up in the evening rather than descending to the dining room. If barricading herself in her room made her poor spirited, it could not be helped. At all events, she was still far too bitter over her aunt’s interference in her life to confront her just yet.

By morning, though her thoughts were no less disordered, at least she felt enough in command of herself to face her aunt, and after they had finished a nearly silent breakfast together, she followed Emily into the morning room.

Aunt Emily immediately picked up her stitching and began working diligently upon it, looking the very picture of innocence.

“I must tell you. Aunt Emily,” said Elizabeth with admirable composure, “that I find your behaviour in this affair to have been loathsome, deceitful, and... and traitorous! How
could
you?”

Her aunt’s face twitched ludicrously as a series of diverse expressions flitted across it in her effort to hit upon the proper attitude to assume. While she still vacillated, Elizabeth spoke again, very softly. “Do not, pray, add to your list of iniquities by lying to me now and denying your culpability!”

Emily’s face crumpled. “Oh, Elizabeth,” she cried, “indeed, I did it for the best! I could not bear to think of you wasting your life away as an old maid! And, indeed, Charles seems so perfect for you in every way. I made sure you were not indiffident to him. Do not tell me you are, for I won’t believe you. Indeed, I won’t!”

“No, I shan’t deny it, but that does not absolve you of guilt! You had no right to meddle!”

Emily sniffed pitiously into her handkerchief.

Elizabeth shook her head sadly, despairing of ever being able to bring her aunt to a realization of her crimes. How she longed for a confidante: someone to whom she could pour out her story, and in return receive wise counsel, or at the very least, sympathy and understanding. But there was no one, only poor, inadequate Aunt Emily, who would be shocked and horrified were she to hear Elizabeth’s dilemma.

“You really haven’t a notion of what you have done, have you?” Elizabeth finally asked.

“I have only tried to ensure your future happiness!” declared her aunt stubbornly and defensively. “And for that, instead of thanks, I get nothing but recrimitations!”

“No. I shall not thank you, for you have more likely ruined my life than otherwise! Whether you believe it or not, I have a very compelling reason for shunning marriage.”

“Unnatural girl! I cannot, for the life of me, think what that reason may be! To be having these romansical notions about love is being foolish beyond perdition, and so I have told you these many years!”

“Well,” said her niece with a sigh, “what is done is done, and to be arguing about it pays no toll. We must hope for the best, and perhaps it will not be so very bad, after all. I’m sure Wiggons will not spread the story, and we must hope none of the other servants will, either.”

“Well, I pray you may be right,” said her aunt doubtfully. “But these things always have a way of leaping out. I am sure I don’t know how, but depend upon it, they do! And how we are to survive the scandal, if you will not marry Charles, I do not know, either!”

“Well,” Elizabeth temporized, “let us not borrow trouble before we must.”

But her aunt was proved right that very day. Aunt Emily had gone soon after their talk to spend the morning with Lady Langley, and when she returned later, pale and trembling, she collapsed into a chair, a hand clutched to her breast. “Oh, Elizabeth! It is all too true! Oh, I knew how it would be! Oh! Where is my vinaigrette?”

“Aunt Emily! What on earth?” Elizabeth knelt in front of her aunt, taking her hand and holding it between her own two.

Aunt Emily had leant her head against the back of her chair, her eyes closed, and now she peeked at her niece from beneath her lashes. “It is just as I said it would be—only worse. Oh, Elizabeth, the humilitation of it all! Margaret and I visited the Pump Room, and—oh, the nasty, sly smiles, and the whispers behind my back! I shall never be able to show my face again!”

“Oh, my dear! Was it so bad? I’m sorry, so sorry. But, listen to me, dearest. We shall leave Bath. We’ll go to live in the country, or a small village, and you can have your own garden. You’ve always wanted a garden. You know you have!”

“Yes,” said Aunt Emily pitifully. “But it will not be the same. I’ve grown quite fond of Bath...and the Pump Room, and my particular friends here. And I shall miss the concerts so. If only...’’ She trailed off.

“It will not be so dreadful. Aunt Emily. You will make new friends wherever we go. Remember how easily we adjusted to living here in Bath.”

“But why can you not adjust to marriage with Charles?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Come, Aunt Emily. Let me help you to your room. We shall talk about it later when you have rested.”

If more pressure than that had been needed to convince Elizabeth where her duty lay, it was brought to bear later that afternoon in the form of Lord Braxton.

When Wiggons announced that Lord Braxton had come to call, and was awaiting her in the drawing room, Elizabeth’s first impulse was to deny herself to him. But that would have been craven, and so she went down to see him.

She entered the room to find him standing stiffly, facing the door, hands behind his back, and with a most stern expression upon his countenance. As she offered her hand to him, she said coolly, ‘You wished to see me, my lord?”

He took her hand briefly. “Yes, Miss Ashton, I did,” he replied, and began to pace about the room. After a moment, he continued, “Miss Ashton, I have been greatly distressed and unsettled in my mind. Last week I was severely shocked to observe you, with my own eyes, driving out of town with Mr. Carlyle, and with no chaperon to protect you and lend you countenance. I could only hope that you were merely going for a short drive with him, improper though that would be. However, I must tell you, such an explanation of your behaviour will not work with me. During the succeeding days, I called here no less than three times, and each time I was told that you were unable to receive me. No explanation was offered me, you understand, but I knew. Oh, yes, I knew. How could I not?”

He paused for a moment, but when there was no reaction from Elizabeth, he continued, “Well, not to wrap the matter in clean linen, there has been talk about you and Mr. Carlyle during the past few weeks. Not that I have wished to credit it. In fact, I did not, though I attempted to warn you about him. But what was I to think when I myself had the misfortune, once more, to witness your return to town in that same open carriage, with that same person, only yesterday?”

Here his voice shook with such strong emotion that he was forced to pause again in order to regain control of himself. Elizabeth merely watched him, too angry to trust herself to speak, and when he was able to, he said, “You may imagine, 1 am persuaded, into what perturbation I was thrown! I have made no secret of my admiration for you. Miss Ashton, and, indeed, I had quite made up my mind that you should be my wife. I had meant to come to you immediately, to confront you over this distasteful affair. However, I did not because my next impulse, of course, was to sever the connection cleanly! However, after a great deal of soul-searching, I have decided that I shall give you the benefit of the doubt, and assume that the worst did not happen.”