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Chapter Sixteen
‘Oh...it is good news!’
Elise’s spontaneous sunny smile caused Alex to quizzically raise thick black brows.
‘There is no mention of any scandal.’ Elise suppressed an unladylike urge to whoop with relief. Her animated features lowered and she again scanned the script. ‘Verity has let me know that Jago Clemence has proposed to her and she has accepted. He is going to speak to her father this week on Friday.’
‘That’s good...’
From beneath long curly lashes Elise flicked a look at the owner of that drawling voice. But she wouldn’t allow his idle mockery to dilute her happiness for her friend.
‘Yes...indeed, it is good.’ Elise slipped the note again out of sight. ‘I think it is high time I introduced you to my father before he discovers you have been in his house some while. Then I insist you have some refreshment before you leave. I shall ask our housekeeper Mrs Francis to fetch you some.’
Alex caught at a soft arm as she would have hurried past towards the door. Slowly, deliberately he drew her back so she stood before him.
‘Is there someone living locally you are fond of?’
‘Someone?’ Elise selected a word to echo back at him, her confusion genuine.
‘An admirer,’ Alex clipped out. ‘I realise you accompanied your sister to London with the intention of finding her a husband rather than one for yourself.’ He looked at the lone youth who remained by the curricle. ‘Have you a sweetheart?’
Her eyes followed his and alighted on Danny, a well-built fellow, stationed beyond the front hedge. He was patting the flanks of an ebony thoroughbred harnessed to a sleek low carriage. Nice as Danny was, he was only about seventeen and Elise certainly didn’t consider him a possible mate; she felt rather piqued that Alex appeared to. ‘He is the blacksmith’s son. His name is Danny...and if you are asking if he is my beau, the answer is no.’
‘I didn’t suspect he might be. He is somewhat unsuitable for a start.’
‘He might be an apprentice smith, but he is a good lad. I like him,’ Elise said stubbornly.
‘But somewhat younger than you, I’d guess.’
Elise darted him a sparking look. She had no wish to be reminded by anybody, least of all him, that she and her sister were considered past their marriageable prime.
She pushed away such pettiness. The viscount had mentioned the fount from which all their problems had sprung: Beatrice’s determination to go to London to find a husband. That in turn brought to mind the hazardous method her sister had used to attract suitors. Mr Best must take his share of the blame for the disastrous consequences of that clandestine meeting at Vauxhall, but it had been Lady Lonesome who’d started it all. Inwardly Elise cringed. She supposed she should be grateful he was too gentlemanly to fling that fact in her face.
With an amount of guilt Elise realised that since they’d arrived home she’d been too anxious over her own predicament to give much thought to Beatrice’s disappointment over Hugh. Yet, oddly, she no longer regretted being a part of the drama, or of meeting Alex Blackthorne despite the heartache that fateful episode was sure to bring. But she did very much wish that something good for Beatrice had come out of taking such risks.
‘How is Hugh? Has he sent word to Beatrice? I’m sure, in a moment when we join the others, she will ask you about him.’
‘I’ve hardly seen him, but believe he is now quite friendly with the Chapmans and visits the family since Whittiker stopped bothering them.’
‘Did Hugh know you were coming here?’
‘I imagine he heard from his Aunt Edith that Dolly Pearson had provided me with your address in Hertfordshire.
‘I see,’ Elise said quietly. And she did see. Hugh was not missing Beatrice as much as a broken-hearted man should.
She surfaced from her depressing conclusion to become conscious of him watching her, but not as before when intelligently assessing her reactions during their heated exchange. A polite squabble had not increased the tension between them, making his jaw tauten and the depths of his narrowed eyes appear as if burnished by a smoky fire.
He still desired her, she realised, an ache beneath her ribs stealing her breath, and might be tempted to reach out and touch her...
She stumbled back a pace towards the door. If he again sent her into that blissful state where she clung to him, wanting his kisses and caresses never to stop, she would beg him to marry her. And where must such a marriage ultimately lead, based as it was on cruel necessity tempered with his lust and her love? In less than a year she would be a bitter, jealous wife, wondering where her absent spouse was...and whose bed he shared, during long lonely nights. She might end like her father, obsessed by someone who eventually would choose to stay away rather than live with the oppression of hypocrisy and deceit.
