Читать книгу Marry Christmas - Jane Goodger - Страница 10

“I cannot marry the girl,” Rand announced to Edward when they were finally back to their rented cottage.

“The note, you mean?” his friend asked.

“You saw it, too, then. Good God, the girl could not be more indiscreet if she tried.”

“I’m afraid I would lay blame on the gentleman,” Edward said blandly. “He does seem a good deal older than Miss Cummings. In fact, he looks a good deal older than you.”

“His name is Henry Ellsworth,” Rand said, conveying without saying aloud that he wanted Edward to make some inquiries about the man. Finding out information without letting people realize he was looking for information was one of Edward’s greatest skills. “It’s clear to me that she’s in love with him.”

“It is unfortunate,” Edward said, walking over to the sideboard and pouring himself a brandy. He lifted the decanter, asking if Rand wanted a bit.

“I suppose I could use a drink, but no. I have a blasted ball tonight and I think it’s best that I be completely alert.”

Edward smiled a bit too broadly for Rand’s liking. “You think they plan an assignation? Ah, how I love drama.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve you, you mean.”

Edward shrugged. “If she’s planning to meet him, it will be far easier for me to trail behind her than you. And I’ve a feeling you wouldn’t handle it very well if you did stumble upon the young lovers.”

“I thought we agreed he was not so young,” Rand said, feeling slightly put out by the entire thing. “Honestly, I refuse to force the girl to marry me.”

“You’re not forcing her to marry you. Her mother is,” Edward pointed out. “And based on what I saw at the Casino this morning, if this heiress doesn’t work out, there are more. And more. And more.”

“You are drooling,” Rand said dryly. “And you don’t have nearly the debt I do.”

“Still, it would be rather nice to live the life of leisure our forebearers did. Though I daresay I’m more than glad I’m not in your position.”

“I honestly don’t want a life of leisure,” Rand said. “I don’t mind work, as long as it’s meaningful. But I could work for the next hundred years and not pay off even the interest of the debt my brother accumulated. How he did so while so sick, I’ll never know.”

“Perhaps that’s why he did it. He knew he would die and so decided to squander it.”

“I’ve thought of that,” Rand said quietly. “Many times.”

Edward took a small sip. “We’ve gotten off the subject of your jilting the poor girl.”

“I think the ‘poor girl’ would do a jig if I announced to her mother that I could not marry her.” Rand threw himself down onto a large leather chair and stared at the empty fireplace, feeling out of sorts. It wasn’t as if he didn’t fully realize why he was here. It shouldn’t bother him that he had an unwilling bride. She’d get over it or not and he would be able to save Bellewood and finally help his tenants.

“This truly troubles you, doesn’t it,” Edward said, his tone slightly amazed.

“Of course it does.”

“Surely you didn’t think to have a love match.”

Rand raise one eyebrow. “Hardly. But I didn’t expect my bride to hate me.”

“Hate is a bit strong, don’t you think?”

“Fine then,” Rand said, standing and walking over to a bank of windows that overlooked a small rose garden. “Not hate. Resent. And I don’t want my bride looking at me and—” He stopped and let out a soft swear.

“And wishing you were someone else,” Edward finished for him. It was one of the curses of knowing someone for so long; they almost always knew what the other was thinking.

“I suppose that’s it. If she disliked me for me, then I think I could take that. I would still proceed and marry her and get my heir and leave her be.”

“You’re charming enough. When you want to be. Make her fall in love with you.”

Rand looked horrified. “Good God, why would I do that?”

Edward laughed. “No reason, old man. No reason at all.”

Caroline Astor made it her business to put on the most elaborate ball of the season, known as the Summer Ball. Knowing that the Cummings were hosting a duke and would no doubt try to usurp her as the unofficial leader of the Four Hundred, she put forth all her effort to throw one of the most lavish balls ever, though she would never have admitted such a thing. The Astors and the Cummings had been having a quiet and unspoken social war for more than two decades.

Elizabeth had never before been allowed to attend the famous Summer Ball, by far the grandest event every summer, but this had nothing to do with the fierce rivalry. She had been too young, and then her mother had dragged her all over Europe and foregone the Newport season. Until now. Now she was supposed to be enthralled and charming when she was truly miserable.

Henry would not be here.

His strange note told her as much and that was all it said, which was cruelly disappointing. He had not even told her he missed her or loved her or any of the other things she was longing to hear from his lips. She knew he was likely being overly cautious, and rightly so. But still…one kind word would have gone so far to make her happy this night.

She walked through the gracefully arched Italianate entry to the Astors’ Beechwood on her father’s arm, grateful that he had decided to attend the ball rather than sail off on his beloved sloop. While her father almost always gave in to her mother’s demands, at least he was a strong shoulder to cry on when things were at their worst. He, unfortunately, had been in Bermuda when her mother locked her in her room and so had missed the high drama occurring in Newport. Elizabeth wondered if his presence would even have made a difference. Probably not. But at least he would have given her some comforting words.

Now, it was too late. The duke was here and she imagined it was only a matter of time before he proposed. He hadn’t seemed the least deterred by her rather blunt statement he should return to England. At least she would be able to see her friends who had been barred to her all summer while she remained a prisoner in her room.

The thirty-nine-room mansion was not nearly as large as Sea Cliff, but then, Caroline Astor had wanted to convey the feeling of a true summer cottage. Elizabeth liked it immediately, from its beautiful understated exterior to the welcoming interior. Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile when they walked through the crush of people into the white and gilt ballroom. Her father pointed to the ceiling where smiling mermaids gazed down at her.

“Supposed to be like we’re underwater or some such,” her father said.

The ballroom was not overly large, but it was a whimsical place where guests danced beneath sparkling chandeliers. Dangling from the chandeliers were droplike crystals that Elizabeth guessed were meant to evoke a feeling of floating beneath the sea. Three hundred guests, fairly dripping diamonds, gathered in the ballroom and mingled outside on the terrace overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

“This is your first Summer Ball, is it not Elizabeth?” her father asked. Lately, it seemed as if her father had lost touch with her and found it surprising that he saw a woman coming toward him instead of a little girl.

At that moment Elizabeth wished with all her being that she was still the little girl her father doted on so shamelessly.

“It is. And probably shall be my last,” Elizabeth said blithely. She looked up to her father and was struck by how very sad he looked for a small moment before he forced a smile. It was almost impossible not to plead to him then and there, amongst all these people, to stop the inevitable wedding. He squeezed her hand as if he knew what she was thinking and needed to give her strength.

Elizabeth’s heart wrenched, but she smiled and was glad when her father looked relieved.

“Chin up, eh, Elizabeth?” he said.

She almost gave in to tears, but smiled brilliantly in stead just knowing he understood.

Once she’d read Henry’s note, she’d completely dreaded this ball, for she would have to suffer the company of the duke. Oh, she knew she was being unfair and catty, but she did not care. She could think of him only as “the duke” for that is how she’d thought of him for weeks now. If he did not exist, if her mother had not attended that particular art gallery on that particular day, she would most likely be walking arm in arm with Henry right now.

The orchestra was set up in the Wedgewood room off the ballroom to give more room for dancing, though this early no one was dancing yet. From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth spotted her dearest friend hurrying over to her. Margaret Pierce, fondly called Maggie by her friends, stopped in front of her, beaming her excitement.

“You may make your escape now, Father,” Elizabeth said, leaning up to kiss her father’s cheek.

“Your mother is somewhere about,” he said, pretending to look around for her. Elizabeth knew he wanted more than anything to join the men in the billiard room where whiskey and cigars were not only approved, they were mandatory.

“Where is he?” Maggie gushed when her father had left.

“Who?” Elizabeth truly did not know whether her friend was talking about Henry or the duke.

“The duke, silly. And I hear he brought an earl with him and they were both at the Casino this morning. Mother wouldn’t let me go because I was sneezing even though I insisted I wasn’t sick and that it was very likely the roses she’s placed in every corner of our home was causing me to sneeze. Really, I would have felt much better had she let me attend the Casino instead of being confined with all those roses breathing on me. And then I could have met your duke and his friend the earl.” All this said with hardly a breath. It was so good to see Maggie after her absolutely dismal summer. “Well, is he here yet?”

Elizabeth laughed. “I don’t know.”

Maggie made a quick pout. “Oh.” Then her face sprang into a smile. “But they are coming, are they not? My mother insisted they were and that’s why I’ve squeezed into this dress. How do I look, by the way?” Maggie twirled about, causing her beautiful butter-yellow dress to twirl with her. Very few people could successfully wear yellow, and Maggie, with her dark curls and striking brown eyes, was showing off the dress in spades.

“It’s beautiful. And you know it,” Elizabeth said, feeling rather like an old dog watching a puppy play around it.

“And you look…” Maggie paused, her eyes filling with tears. She was like that, laughing one minute, capable of tears the next. “You look like a duchess.”

Elizabeth made a face.

“You do,” Maggie insisted. “Oh. Don’t you want to?”

“Not particularly,” she said, looking down at the deep blue satin gown, which showed a disconcerting amount of cleavage. It was not a dress for an unmarried nine teen-year-old girl, but her mother had insisted that a duke would want a duchess, not a girl. She felt incredibly conspicuous standing next to Maggie.

Maggie’s eyes swept up to her hair. “How long did that take?” she said in wonder.

Elizabeth laughed. Her mother had found a French woman who could accomplish the most intricate hair-styles imaginable. And her hair, which was wavy and thick and nearly impossible to control, had always been the most difficult aspect of her toilet. A tiara, sparkling with diamonds, perched atop it all. “Two hours,” Elizabeth said, groaning.

Maggie brought a hand up to her own simple style and grimaced. “Ten minutes.”

“I think you look lovely,” Elizabeth said fiercely.

Suddenly, the din in the ballroom quieted as a footman wearing the Astors’ blue livery stepped forward and announced the latest arrivals. “His Grace, the Duke of Bellingham and the Earl of Wellesley, Lord Hollings.”

“Gracious,” Maggie said. Like most Americans, Maggie was completely unused to such lofty titles. “To think, you’ll be ‘Her Grace, Duchess of Bellingwood,’” she said, comically lowering her voice to footman level.

Elizabeth laughed, glad that her friend was there to make light of everything. “It’s Belling ham,” Elizabeth said. “As in pig.”

It was such a ridiculous statement that Maggie laughed aloud, causing everyone around them to shush in unison, which only caused the two girls to laugh more.

“You are terrible,” Maggie said, when she’d finally sobered enough to speak. “You don’t really think him a pig, do you?”

“No,” Elizabeth said rather begrudgingly. “He’s not so bad.”

Maggie touched her friend’s arm. “But he’s not Henry, is he?”

Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. “I know I shouldn’t pine over him. But I saw him today and I cannot stop my heart from beating madly. I wish I could.”

“You saw him today? Will he be here tonight? Oh, this is too delicious,” Maggie said, then quickly added when she saw Elizabeth’s expression, “and awful for you. Of course having the man you love meet the man you’re going to marry would be awful.”

“It is. But I have not agreed to anything yet,” she said, staring blindly at the swirl of men and women before her.

“Oh. I thought it was all but announced. I’d heard you agreed to the match. It’s been pure torture not being able to talk to you these past weeks. Everyone thought you were being a complete snob, cutting us out just because you’re to be a duchess. Of course, I knew better because I know your mother better than anyone else and I told them that if you were not attending balls and such it was because your mother wouldn’t allow it.”

“Thank you for your loyalty,” Elizabeth said.

“Well, to be honest, I was a bit upset when your butler turned me away. And you didn’t return any of my letters.” Maggie stopped, looking at Elizabeth’s stricken face. “You didn’t get them, did you?”

“No,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head in disbelief. She’d assumed it was only Henry’s notes she’d been deprived of. But apparently her mother wanted her cut out of life entirely until she agreed to the match.

Suddenly, Maggie clutched Elizabeth’s bare arm and looked over her shoulder. “He’s coming,” she whispered harshly.

Elizabeth didn’t dare turn to look. “How close are they? Can we escape?”

“Escape to where?” came his voice, clipped and English and so deep something in her chest rumbled.

“I don’t think she meant escape to,” said another male British voice. “I think she meant escape from.”

Elizabeth nearly rolled her eyes but restrained from doing anything so ill-mannered. “Lord Hollings, Your Grace, please meet my dearest friend, Margaret Pierce.”

“Mademoiselle,” Lord Hollings murmured, lifting Maggie’s gloved hand for a kiss.

“Pleased to meet you,” Maggie said, dipping a quick curtsy and darting a look to Elizabeth to see if she’d done the proper thing.

“I think when meeting peers you are supposed to dip to the floor and remain there until they crook their finger at you,” Elizabeth said. And then she demonstrated but rose before anyone crooked their finger.

Apparently, Lord Hollings found her delightful, while the duke did not. He frowned, his eyes so intense on her she wondered what he could possibly be thinking. Certainly that little bit of fun with her deep curtsy could not have made him angry.

Then he leaned toward her and said discreetly, “If I were you, my dear, I wouldn’t lean quite so far when wearing that dress.”

Elizabeth gasped and immediately felt her face heat almost painfully. She quickly recovered, “If you were me, Your Grace, you wouldn’t need to marry.”

His answer was to raise one haughty brow. His non-reaction was completely disappointing. “I’ve come over to make certain I obtain at least one dance with you before the evening is out. A waltz, preferably.”

“I’ll check my dance card,” Elizabeth said, knowing full well it was completely empty. Usually by now at least a dozen young men would have come to her and asked for a dance, but no one had yet approached her. She wondered wildly whether her mother had made some edict forbidding men to dance with her. “Yes, I think I do have a dance open. A waltz, too.”

Before she could stop him, he’d gently taken her lace-covered card, which was attached to her wrist by a thin silk cord, forcing her to lift her hand.

“I see you have another dance available. The Blue Danube by Strauss, a particular favorite of mine. If you would be so kind to save that dance for me as well, Miss Cummings.”

“Of course,” she said, pulling her wrist ungently away from him. Two of the four waltzes were promised to the duke. But it didn’t matter; it wasn’t as if Henry would make an appearance and ask her to dance. It no longer was important who she danced with.

“Pencil my brother in for the Virginia Reel,” Maggie said quickly. “He always dances with me for that and I can never keep up with him. I end up flailing about the dance floor. I do think he does it on purpose.”

“Miss Pierce, I would be honored to dance with you. I fear I’m unfamiliar with the reel, but would enjoy a waltz or polka.”

Maggie beamed. “A polka. I just adore dancing the polka, don’t you? They are always such happy songs, while I find waltzes rather maudlin and sad. I suppose it depends on the author. Strauss, for example, can be uplifting, but the Emperor Waltz nearly brings me to tears every time. Do you think that was his intention?”

Lord Hollings seemed taken aback for a moment, as many people were when they first met Maggie. It was difficult to believe anyone would be as vivacious as she was without pretense. Maggie truly was the happiest person Elizabeth knew. Elizabeth held her breath waiting for Lord Hollings to say or do something; Maggie was, if nothing else, unique.

“You are delightful,” he said finally.

“I am, aren’t I?” Maggie said, smiling brightly. Then she leaned forward a bit as if imparting a grave secret. “I fear not everyone finds me so. Some people find me a bit tiresome.”

Elizabeth let out a laugh, surprised by Maggie’s candor and self-awareness. Nearly everyone said that Maggie Pierce was only tolerable in small doses. Elizabeth had never agreed, for she had needed a large dose of Maggie throughout her rather serious life. Frivolity was something other girls could aspire to, but Elizabeth was always expected to act and look proper. From the earliest age Elizabeth could recall unending lessons in deportment, hours spent holding a book properly, not for the content of the book but to practice proper posture when reading. Maggie had been a bit of sunshine in her otherwise dreary childhood. She often wondered had her mother known how much delight Maggie had given her that she would have forbidden their friendship.

“Let us see if I can grow weary of your charm tonight,” Lord Hollings said, much to Maggie’s delight. “Would you care to dance now?”

Although very few people were dancing, the orchestra was playing a lively schottische, a dance very much like a polka.

Maggie smiled, not even trying to hide her pleasure that the earl had asked her to dance. She was unused to attracting the attention of such handsome, well-heeled men, and was a bit taken aback. He probably was simply being a good friend to the duke, entertaining Elizabeth’s friend so that the duke could be with her. Lord Hollings was an excellent dancer who, unlike so many men, seemed to truly enjoy dancing. After the rousing dance, he asked her to accompany him to the refreshment table, another unexpected surprise.

“Well, Lord Hollings, I must warn you that if you are here looking for a great American heiress, you will not find it in me,” she said, laughing. Perhaps English nobility were under the impression that all American girls were wealthy.

He looked a bit startled, then laughed. “Are all American girls as candid as you are?” he asked.

“Not all. I think I should warn you, there are quite a few mamas who will be more than delighted to find that you have accompanied the duke on this trip.” Looking about the room, Maggie noted that many were looking at them at the moment and few were smiling.

“I’m well aware of that fact, Miss Pierce. And what about your mama?”

Maggie wrinkled her nose. “She has her sights set on one of the Wright brothers. There are four of them, and I suppose they are nice enough.”

“But?”

“But I truly have no desire to marry at all. I know that many girls dream of the day they will marry. It’s all they can talk about. But ever since I was very young, I simply could not picture myself shackled to the same man for the rest of my life. Am I shocking you? I have never told another soul this, and I don’t know why I am telling you, but there you have it.”

Maggie looked at him, fearing he would be staring at her as if she were slightly crazy. Instead, he was smiling. “It seems we are on the same page, Miss Pierce. I have no intention of marrying for at least another ten years, and certainly not an American.”

“Whyever not? Do we have horns? Cloven feet?” She looked down at her own small feet, now nicely encased in a pair of yellow slippers that exactly matched her dress.

He threw back his head and laughed. “I’m fairly certain you don’t have horns, but I have yet had the plea sure of seeing any American girl’s bare feet. I can accept your word, however. My not wanting to marry an American girl is complete snobbishness on my part, I confess.

Given the choice, I’d rather marry a girl from my own country.”

“Very well,” Maggie said. “I can understand that.

However, how can you predict that you will not marry for another ten years? What if you were to fall in love?

Madly so. It could happen, you know.”

“I have known some of the most beautiful women on this planet and have not succumbed to that irrational state. I feel sorry for the men that do. And what of you?

How can you predict the future?”

Maggie tilted her head. “But I’ve already met every one there is to meet and I have not fallen in love, so I can safely say that I will remain unmarried. And happily so.”

He laughed again, and Maggie realized she was having the most fun she’d ever had with a man. Likely it was because she knew he was so far beyond her, she could be herself.

“I have a proposition,” Lord Hollings said, looking around the room with mock horror. “I will save you from the attentions of the Wright brothers, if only for the time we are here in Newport, if you save me from the talons of all those mamas.”

Maggie smiled brightly, loving the idea of such an intrigue. “That sounds perfect,” she said. They shook hands, beaming smiles at each other, then joined in on another dance, just to shock anyone who had noted them. To share two dances with one girl was serious business, indeed. Spying her mother’s beaming face, Maggie hoped she didn’t realize this was her second dance with the earl. All she needed was her mother setting her sights on an English earl. Goodness, it was as farfetched as Elizabeth marrying a convict and getting Alva’s approval.

Elizabeth watched her friend dance off with a bit of trepidation. Whereas she had been brought ’round Europe and attended many balls there, Maggie had led a far more sheltered life and she feared for her friend. She was so very naive of men, especially peers.

“Lord Hollings seems taken with Maggie,” she said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, but obviously failing.

“You needn’t worry. He is a gentleman and knows how to deport himself with debutantes,” the duke said rather testily.

“Have I angered you?”

Rand let out a puff of air. “No. I’m sorry if I am not better company this evening. I find these sorts of entertainments akin to subtle torture. And now it appears the only other person I know here will be duly occupied for most of the evening.”

Elizabeth smiled wryly. “Then we are in agreement on that point, at least.”

Elizabeth fiddled with the cord of her dance card nervously, until she realized what she was doing and dragged her hands to her sides.

“Do you ride?” the duke asked.

“I adore riding my bicycle,” Elizabeth answered with out thinking. “Oh, you meant a horse. I have been on two horses in my life and was completely terrified both times.” The duke looked slightly disappointed, as she thought he might. “Do many women ride in England?” she asked, feigning ignorance. In her short time in England the year before she had been amazed at the horsemanship nearly all the women displayed.

“Every woman rides in England,” he said dryly.

Elizabeth suddenly felt overwhelmed by everything she did not know about living in England and being a duchess. She hadn’t gotten past the idea of not marrying Henry, never mind what her day-to-day life would be as a duchess. Would she sit on a throne and look down upon her subjects with a frown, commanding them to do her bidding? Would she sit about planning balls and soirees? Would this be her life? It seemed gloomy and interminably boring to her.

“You’ve never been on a fox hunt, then.”

He might have asked if she’d gone to the moon. “No.

Not a one.”

“Good,” he surprised her by saying. “Not much for the hunt, to be honest, though you’ll find many are in England. But you must learn to ride. Absolutely.” He said it with a smile, but he sounded so imperious she felt her anger piqued.

“I don’t care to learn. I truly don’t see the need with motorcars becoming more in vogue. And, of course, bicycles. It’s marvelous exercise and when you’re done with it, you simply put it away. Without feeding it or fueling it. Have you ever been on a bicycle, Your Grace?”

Rand looked down at the stubborn turn of her face and suppressed a chuckle. She really was trying to thwart him at every turn, and instead of being annoyed with her, he found her charming. It was difficult to believe this was the same girl he’d had an agonizing dinner with, one who sat stiffly and whose addition to the conversation was a sedate nod. “A bicycle? No. I have not had the chance to try.”

“Well, riding a bicycle is absolutely imperative,” she said, sounding as lofty as he had insisting she learn to ride a horse.

He grinned down at her and she smiled back. “Touché,” he said, doffing an imaginary hat. Her eyes sparkled, even though she was trying valiantly not to smile. It was almost as if she’d made a pact with herself not to like him no matter what he did. No woman, at least none he’d ever heard of, had disliked him. Edward would certainly have told him if one had.

“Ah. Our waltz is next,” he said as the last strains of the country dance sounded.

Elizabeth gave him a startled look, which she quickly masked. Her face completely expressionless, she put a hand lightly on his arm as he led her out to the floor where they awaited the first strains of the Blue Danube.

He nearly smiled again when he realized he might as well have been dancing with a phantom, her touch was so light. Suddenly he decided to have none of it, and as the orchestra began to play, he swirled her about, forcing her to either stumble or grab on for her very life.

“There you go,” he said grimly. “You have not melted from my touch.”

Her cheeks flamed making her look even more beautiful, and it struck Rand that if he had to marry some one, he was damned lucky to be marrying such a beautiful girl. “You should get used to this,” he told her.

She looked up at him and for the first time he realized her blue eyes were speckled with green flecks.

“Used to dancing? I can assure you, Your Grace, that dancing and its many forms has been drilled into me since childhood.”

“No, that is not what I meant. Used to touching me,” he said smoothly, and only grinned wider when she stiffened. He knew he should not torture the girl, but acting as if he were the very devil and not a rather nice man who happened to be a duke was beginning to grate.

“It is difficult to dance the waltz when you are as pliant as a statue,” he went on. “I could kiss you until you relax, but I daresay your mother would not approve.”

The nostrils in the small nose flared. “I would not approve,” she said haughtily.

“Oh,” he said, bringing his voice down a bit, “I think you would.” And then he laughed because she looked so outraged it was all he could do.

“You enjoy making fun of people.”

“Actually, I never make fun of people. Perhaps you bring out the devil in me, Miss Cummings.”

“He must be very near the surface if I do,” she said, which only brought about another laugh.

Someone watching them from the perimeter of the ballroom would have thought them a delightful couple having a delightful time. They would note Elizabeth’s flushed cheeks, her shining eyes, how closely she danced with the duke. And they would also comment on the way the duke kept smiling, how his eyes drifted over her face as if he very much liked what he saw. They would have been wrong, at least halfway.

Elizabeth was not enjoying the dance. The duke was absolutely insufferable. Intolerably so. This must be the longest waltz Johann Strauss had written. It seemed to go on interminably. While all the time the duke laughed at her. She could not wait until the last strains of the waltz sounded and she could escape outside where her cheeks could cool and where she could forget the way just the thought of the duke kissing her made her entire body heat. With embarrassment, of course. How dare he be so forward with her? It was not as if they were already formally engaged. She wondered if he talked to all women so.

Finally, the dance ended and she stepped immediately from him, dropping her hands to give a brief curtsy. “There’s Maggie. If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace,” she said, and turned away before he had a chance to even thank her for the dance.

When Elizabeth reached her friend, she grabbed her arm and led her toward her mother.

“What’s wrong?” Maggie asked. “Did you see us dancing? Isn’t he handsome? And an earl, too. I’ve never danced with royalty. Do you think he’s met the queen?”

“He’s not royalty, he’s a member of the peerage. Whatever that means. And I’m sure I don’t know who he’s met,” Elizabeth said, losing patience with her friend.

“Or care,” Maggie said astutely. “What is wrong?”

“I want to get out of this ballroom. Please come with me for a walk outside.”

A look of real concern crossed Maggie’s face. “Of course.”

“Mother, Maggie and I are going to take a turn ’round the garden,” Elizabeth said when they’d reached her mother.

“Very well. And, Elizabeth, I thought you and the duke made a fine couple. Many have remarked on it.”

Elizabeth said nothing, simply turned away with Maggie on her arm. When they finally reached the terrace and were away from the crush, Maggie gave her arm a squeeze.

“Is he really that awful?” she asked.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, staring determinedly to the Atlantic. And then, “No. He’s not completely awful. I’ve told you that. But he’s insufferable and he enjoys making me angry. I think if I knew him simply as an acquaintance I wouldn’t even like him and I certainly wouldn’t want to marry him.” She felt her eyes begin to burn and squeezed them shut. She would not cry, it solved nothing and only showed weakness of spirit.

“Come on,” Elizabeth said, “let’s walk to the gazebo.

It’s so hot in the house, I feel as if I might faint.”

“I wish I were as wealthy as you. I wouldn’t mind so much marrying the duke.”

Elizabeth turned with shock to her friend.

“Oh, don’t look at me so. You must admit he’s the most handsome man here. By far.”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “Do you really think so?

I find him so…masculine.”

Maggie laughed. “My dear, that is the best part of him.

He looks like a scoundrel. A pirate, even, with that dark hair and piercing gray eyes. How could you not think so?”

“Pirates are romanticized criminals of the worst ilk,”

Elizabeth said, setting her jaw stubbornly.

“I didn’t say he was a pirate, I said he looks like one.

Tall and fierce and…”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Maggie, do be quiet. I don’t want to talk about the duke or the earl or anything. I just want to walk about and get cool.”

Maggie put on a little pout that lasted, perhaps, ten seconds. “I’ll marry the earl, then. He’s nearly as hand some as the duke and not nearly as dour. I do find the duke rather dour, but then again, that adds to his charm, doesn’t it. The dark, tortured duke.”

“Maggie,” Elizabeth said, sounding slightly exasperated.

“Oh, you know I am just joking. You are no fun.”

“I’m plenty fun with the right people,” she said stubbornly.

The lawn was scattered with couples and women strolling about, but was large enough that the two could talk without fear of being overheard. The sky was darkening to night and the first stars were dotting the late summer sky. Servants were hurrying to light lanterns, which had been strung from poles to light the paths crisscrossing the lawn. It was a magical scene and one Elizabeth tried to enjoy as she walked arm in arm with her friend. She let out a sigh and Maggie gave her a searching look.

“I’m trying very hard not to be maudlin, but it’s just—” She let out a shriek of pain as Maggie dug her fingers into her arm. “Ow.”

“Henry,” Maggie said, whispering harshly.

Elizabeth’s heart nearly stopped. “Where?”

“By the beech tree. Oh, Lord, Elizabeth, what are you going to do?”

They had stopped still, clutching each other, aware that anyone walking nearby could see Henry as well as they. But at that moment, no one was close enough to recognize anyone as dusk settled onto the lawn.

The beech tree was one imported from Europe, a huge tree whose large, beefy branches drooped down much like a weeping willow. But the canopy of privacy created by such a tree was unsurpassed. The Cummings had such a tree in their garden, one that had delighted Elizabeth when she’d discovered its secret. For once you passed through the branches that dipped into the ground, you could not be seen. The foliage created a thick screen, a cool cavernous place where one could walk about or picnic. Or plan a secret rendezvous.

“I thought you said Henry wasn’t coming,” Maggie gushed. “I think this is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s what his note said. Oh, Maggie, what shall I do?”

Maggie gave her friend a little shove. “I’ll keep watch,” she said, her eyes lit with excitement. “Go.”

And so, Elizabeth walked as if on clouds to the man she loved most in the world.