Читать книгу Marry Christmas - Jane Goodger - Страница 9

Rand stood at the entrance to the Newport Casino’s Horse Shoe Piazza and thanked God he’d thought to invite Edward along with him. The lush grassy area, surrounded by the shingle-style building with its dark green trim, was crowded with Newport’s elite. Summer whites and pastels were nearly blinding in the morning light, and when Rand stepped into the sun from the shadows, it seemed as if every body in the place turned his way.

“Brace yourself, old man, you are about to be thrust into the midst of the wolves,” Edward whispered in his ear.

“You are an unattached earl. Perhaps you should watch out more than I. From what I’ve learned so far, few people thwart a Cummings and I have been marked with a bright red ‘X.’ But you, my friend, are fair game.”

The two men took bracing breaths before proceeding, pleasant smiles plastered on their faces. “Save me,” Edward whispered, causing Rand to laugh aloud.

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Cummings gushed, hurrying to be the first to greet him. “Let me introduce you around.”

“First I would like to introduce my good friend, Lord Hollings, Earl of Wellesley.”

Mrs. Cummings gave a quick, awkward curtsy. “Lord Hollings,” she said. “How nice of you to accompany His Grace.”

For some reason, Rand got the feeling Mrs. Cummings was not at all pleased that Edward had come along, and he wondered if she wanted her daughter alone to be seen with English nobility.

During the next fifteen minutes, Rand met at least a hundred mamas who fawned over him but fairly beamed at poor Edward. As yet, he had not caught sight of his future bride among the throng of pastel-wearing young women. At some point, Edward managed to escape, the cad, and left him alone to face the adoring throngs. He was called everything from “Your Lordship” to “Your Dukeship” and didn’t bother correcting a single person. Americans, after all, were completely ignorant of the peerage. A small orchestra played rather badly in one corner, though no one seemed to notice. Or perhaps they simply did not recognize the bad play for what it was.

Ah, there was Edward, standing by a table laden with pastries. He craned his neck over Mrs. Cummings, whose large and feathered hat blocked most of his view, and wished most ardently that he was with Edward alone in their cottage instead of in this crowded piazza.

“Is Elizabeth here?” he asked, when it appeared Mrs. Cummings had run out of people to introduce him to. The older woman smiled, revealing a mouthful of crooked teeth. He wondered suddenly, if Elizabeth didn’t smile because she was so afflicted.

“I believe I just saw her standing in the corner with her cousins. There,” she said, nodding her head in the opposite direction of the food. With an inward sigh, he begged to be excused, and headed to where Elizabeth stood looking completely miserable at his approach.

“You could at least pretend to be happy to see me,” he said lightly when he reached her side. The two girls next to her giggled.

“My cousins, Miss Julia Cummings and her very much younger sister, Miss Sarah Cummings,” Elizabeth said, frowning at the giggling girls.

Rand gave them a sharp bow, eliciting more giggles from the pair.

“Go find your mother,” Elizabeth said, and the two girls rushed away. But not before Rand overheard one say to the other, “I thought she said he was horrid. He seemed quite nice to me.”

Elizabeth had the good grace to turn violently red.

“Horrid?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

“I don’t believe that was the precise word I used,”

Elizabeth said with a small groan. “I do apologize. They are very young.”

Rand looked longingly toward the table of food.

“Would you care to accompany me to the pastries?”

Rand wished he could capture the look on her face at that moment, for she looked so ridiculously pleased by his suggestion he wondered if, in addition to everything else, her mother starved her. At least she was smiling and showing a mouth of even, white teeth. She had a lovely smile that transformed her from a pretty girl into a beauty and he was nearly struck dumb by the change in her. “I see you are as famished as I.”

Elizabeth gave him a startled look. “Oh. Yes,” she said almost absently, for her heart was racing madly as she drank in the sight of Henry standing by the refreshment stand staring at her like, well, like a starving man looks at food. She couldn’t believe her mother hadn’t noticed his appearance yet, though she didn’t know what Alva would do if she did. For now, he was here, Henry was here and looking at her and smiling the way he only smiled for her.

The duke held his arm for her and she placed a gloved hand as lightly as she could without ignoring it completely. He was taking far too long to reach the other side of the lawn where Henry stood in a small circle of people.

“I’d like to introduce you to my friend, the Earl of Wellesley. He’s accompanied me here to keep me company. I have asked your mother to include him in any invitations I receive and she graciously has agreed,” he said. Elizabeth was hardly listening as he went on about his friend and his estate and for goodness’ sake how could she think of anything but her Henry who was standing just a few feet from her?

The duke had finally stopped talking and was looking down expectantly at her. “I’m sorry, it’s so noisy here, what were you saying?” she asked. She should at least attempt to pretend interest in him.

He gave her a strange look, then smiled briefly. “My friend, Lord Hollings, the Earl of Wellesley,” he said, obviously repeating himself. Elizabeth turned to find herself looking up into the face of a dashing fellow, with bright blond hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. She quickly curtsied. “Pleased to meet you, Lord Hollings.”

“I see Rand has dragged you to the pastries. He eats like a fiend and not an ounce of fat on him,” Edward said.

Elizabeth forced herself to look at the two English men, though she felt as if her head were being pulled by a magnet in Henry’s direction. She could still see him from the corner of her eye and she longed to go over to him, just to let him know she loved him still. How awful it must be for him, she thought, to see her walking arm in arm with the man she was to marry. She dropped her hand then and dared to look his way, being careful to school her features before she did so.

Oh, Henry, Henry. He looked so wonderful, but so very sad. He took a hesitant step toward her and her heart nearly beat from her chest.

“A friend of yours?” said a deep voice by her ear. She started so quickly she nearly knocked heads with the duke.

“An acquaintance,” she managed to say, chastising herself for allowing the duke to note her interest in another man.

“Your acquaintance is coming over,” he said, then moved to face Henry as he approached.

Elizabeth darted her eyes around, frantically looking for her mother. Please, please don’t let her mother see them chatting together as if all were right in the world. She realized that this might be the last time she would ever see Henry if Alva discovered them. No one had more social power than her mother and she would guarantee that Henry would not appear on anyone’s guest list for the rest of the Newport season.

“Your Grace, Henry Ellsworth,” Elizabeth said, proud that even through her frayed nerves she sounded calm.

“A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” Henry said smoothly. He nodded to her as if, indeed, she was simply another woman he slightly knew. And then, he grasped her hand and squeezed without looking at her eyes, pressing something into her palm. Elizabeth’s heart sang as she closed her hand over a folded piece of paper. No matter what it said, she would cherish it forever, for Henry had written it, had kept it with him on the chance he might pass it to her.

She nodded genteelly, then turned back to the two peers, who were politely waiting for her attention, knowing she had managed to fool them and anyone else who had been looking. Though her heart ached with a terrible combination of joy and pain, no one would know. No one would ever know, she thought, smiling up at the earl.

Rand clenched his jaw, his eyes glancing down at her still-fisted hand and he had the most curious urge to force her fingers open so he could read the missive. Now he knew why his lovely bride-to-be did not want to marry him. It was far worse than not wanting to marry a duke or not wanting to marry at all. She was in love with another man. For some reason, that thought bothered him far more than it ought. After all, hadn’t he told her just the day before that their marriage was nothing more than a way for him to get money and an heir? Perhaps it was the thought of her trying to be brave in the light of such a tragedy. While he hadn’t expected a wildly enthusiastic bride, he’d hoped for one who was not mourning a lost love.

Rand longed to pull her away so he could speak privately to her. Obviously this Henry fellow was considered part of the New York Four Hundred else he’d not be among this crowd. He wondered why, when the two so obviously loved each other, they had not been allowed to marry. He made a mental note to find out more about the man who moved so easily among those gathered in the piazza.

“Rand, did you know Miss Cummings speaks four languages?” Edward asked, apparently already smitten with his future wife. How she managed to be so charming to every man but him, he couldn’t fathom.

“English, of course. French, German, and a bit of Italian.”

“Very impressive, Miss Cummings,” he said, meaning it. He’d had no idea she was so educated.

“My mother always stressed the value of education for women.”

“Ah. So your mother is a student of Emmeline Parkhurst,” Rand said, referring to England’s most ardent suffragist.

“She’s not so radical as your Mrs. Parkhurst, but she does admire her ideals,” Elizabeth said.

“And what of you, Miss Cummings?”

“I do believe women deserve the same rights as men. It makes no sense to me that we cannot vote,” Elizabeth said. “I’m not quite so enthusiastic as my mother. I am the product of her zeal, which meant for me long hours in the classroom learning tedious lessons while I longed to play outside,” she said, smiling.

Rand had a picture in his head of a small girl with an unruly mop of hair sitting in a gloomy classroom being browbeaten by a tutor. “Like you, there were many times I wished to be anywhere but the classroom,” he said.

“I think I’ll wander to the tennis courts, if you don’t mind. I play a bit myself and would like to see your American courts,” Edward said, smoothly removing himself from their company.

“Would you care for some pastries?” Rand asked when Edward had left.

Elizabeth looked at the table rather longingly, then seemed to abruptly change her mind. How, indeed, could she hold a plate and eat while clutching an illicit note? Again, Rand had to remind himself he should not be jealous of a girl he wasn’t even certain he liked. Strangely, he already felt possessive of her even though nothing had been formally settled between them. In fact, nothing informally had been settled either. Her parents had made the rather gauche offer, which he was, also rather gauchely, considering. Still, the fact she so ardently held a note from her lover while standing next to him was more than disconcerting.

“Perhaps you should put the note in your reticule,” he suggested in an overly pleasant tone. She blushed scarlet, as he intended she should. She started to speak with a small shake of her head, as if she was about to deny having a note, but then she stopped.

“That is a good suggestion,” she said, looking straight at him, as if challenging him to take the note away. And damn if he didn’t want to. She took the note, not bothering to hide it, and slid the pink-tinted paper carefully inside. Rand couldn’t help but wonder what sort of man used pink stationery.

“I would ask that you not make a spectacle of yourself. Or of me,” he said, feeling uncharacteristic anger shoot through him. His anger must have come through in his voice, for she shot her chin up.

“I have done nothing of the sort,” she said.

“Accepting a note from another man while standing with your intended would qualify as a spectacle had even one other person seen what you did,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I am many things, Miss Cummings, but I am not a fool. Nor will I be made to look like one. I have come here in good faith, at the request of your parents, and I will not—”

“Your Grace, if I might interrupt, I would like to introduce you to Mrs. Astor,” Mrs. Cummings said.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Mrs. Cummings that she may not interrupt, but good breeding prevented him from doing so. “Of course,” he said, looking quickly to Elizabeth, whose cheeks were flushed with anger, before bowing toward the acknowledged leader of the New York Four Hundred. But from the corner of his eye, he saw Elizabeth clutch her reticule containing the precious note even harder.