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“You really should not be wandering alone, especially at a crush this size.”
“Please, Miles, not now.” He was right, of course. She risked her family’s reputation, but staying in that horridly stuffy ballroom had proved unbearable. Besides, she was older than many here. Nothing untoward would happen.
“Shouldn’t you be entertaining a bridegroom by now?” Miles asked.
She rolled her eyes. He acted as though he were her guardian rather than an old family friend. Oh, how she despised his pristine, well-kept appearance! The cravat that was always tied just so and the unblemished features he’d been born with. It was not his fault that he knew nothing of her struggles, of her insecurities.
But to mention her lack of prospects...how utterly uncouth of him. The audacity of his comment rendered her speechless for a moment. This was why she preferred never to see Miles. His blunt ways and teasing smile bothered her to no end. Then there was the unfortunate incident he’d witnessed her fifteenth year... Yes, she avoided him whenever possible.
But most importantly, he possessed the greatest fault of all: the man never opened a book.
That thought uppermost, she leveled a lofty look at him, the one she reserved for ill-trained butlers and staring housemaids. “I will marry for love or not at all.”
“Why, Elizabeth? Love can come with time.” They paused in the doorway of the ballroom, his eyes searching her face. “Don’t you wish to have a family, your own home?”
“Not with someone who does not love me.” She broke their shared gaze, searching the room for her mother. Why wouldn’t Miles just leave? His questions poked tender scars from years ago.
“Haven’t you had several Seasons now?” He continued speaking as though he had no notion of how his words affected her. And maybe he didn’t, for she was well versed in decorum.
A lady did not show her emotions in public places.
“Perhaps I shall start a rumor that you are a heart crusher,” he said.
“Tittle-tattle, all of it,” she responded quietly. She’d experienced many Seasons—though it was no wonder he strove to remember. She was worse than a wallflower. This time of the year was always terrible, but she managed to muddle through. Oh, why didn’t he leave? She had little patience for Miles and his irreverent ruminations. “Go away.”
“You are filled with sharp words today, sweeting.” Before she realized what he intended, he drew her to an alcove to their right, which held a small bench situated behind a potted plant. He released her arm and, gratefully, she sat.
From this vantage point, she could watch the dancing without being noticed. “It is this time of year. I suppose I am irritated with my parents. They are always trying to marry me off.”
Elizabeth dropped her chin into her hands and surveyed the attendees. They chatted and swirled, preened and giggled. The gentlemen wore starched cravats, crisp breeches and such serious expressions one might think the world would end if they didn’t snag a bride. Or rather, a fortune.
“What are you brooding about?” Miles settled beside her, his cologne intoxicating.
“Avariciousness.”
He made a sound akin to a laugh. She scowled at him. “It’s not funny—it’s ludicrous. What do these people hope to become? To dream about? The latest French fashions?”
“Very judgmental, my lady.”
“I’m in a foul mood.” She focused on the people milling about. “My parents refuse to see reason.”
“This is regarding your marital prospects?”
“The lack thereof.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw his hands lift, palms up. “You’re an heiress. Surely you’ve had offers.”
She sniffed. “When I marry, it shall be for love. If I marry. No one shall force me into the cage and if my brother’s career suffers, if my parents’ reputations hold the tiniest smear of disgrace simply due to my hermitude, I care not a whit.”
“Harsh words, my lady.” He leaned forward, mimicking her bent posture. “Marriage can be rewarding. It is not all doom and gloom. If you choose wisely, you will spend the rest of your days residing on a country estate. Why, you might even be allowed to move your bed into the library. Then you may cozy up to your books without interruption and never be parted from them again.”
“You are silly, Mr. Hawthorne.” She scrunched her face at him, realizing that an unacceptable giggle gurgled within. She tamped it down. Firmly. “This is no time for laughter. Do you see those dowagers and my mother watching me? They are assessing my value. Planning, no doubt, for my sale to the highest bidder.”
“Come now, Bitt, that is hardly fair.”
She straightened, suddenly annoyed. “You are not a woman. You do not know what it is like to be picked apart and looked over, only to be found wanting.” Her eyes stung, and she blinked. Oh, rats. Why did this happen when she talked to him? Perhaps because he knew about Luke. He knew what had happened so long ago. “What are you doing here, anyway? This is hardly the place for a widower who has vowed to never marry again.”
As she faced him, she caught the grimace crossing his face. Was that regret in his eyes? Guilt barreled through her. “My brother told me of your commitment to work.”
“I acquired a new factory near your grandmother’s estate, actually. I don’t have time to cater to a wife.” His eyes were dark, stormy, as though a mood had come upon him.
If she was honest with herself, she’d always enjoyed looking at Miles. Almost in the way one admired a violent sunset splashing across the horizon. When she was around him, she felt freer somehow.
As if she too were a myriad of colors spilling into the sea.
“If you are not here for a wife, then you must be here for some other nefarious purpose.” She squinted at him, allowing a bit of mockery in her smile. “Tell me truthfully: Did John send you here to spy on me?”
“Your brother is too busy for meddling.”
“Do not be vague with me, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“Despite my lack of title, I also received an invitation. Does that surprise you?”
“As you are a gentleman, it is not surprising at all.” She stood, suddenly tired of their banter, of the constant irritation that had plagued her from the moment she’d arrived in London. Nay, before that. “I’m in need of fresh air. Do not follow me. If you see Grandmother, please tell her I took a turn in the gardens.”
“Without a companion?”
“Perhaps I shall conveniently snag one on the way out,” she said crossly. She really should keep a companion near her at all times, but what she wanted most was to be alone. Who would bother a wallflower, anyhow?
Miles chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. She steeled herself against any feelings of friendliness toward him.
“You laugh, yet you have never known the restrictions of womanhood.”
“If you mean spending your days reading, shopping and talking, you’re correct. I have never known such freedoms.”
“You mock me!”
“Nay, but I beg you to consider the benefits of your station in life. Most have not the comforts you enjoy on a daily basis.”
“I know that,” she said hotly. Who did Miles think he was? Always needling her, acting as though she was some spoiled, ungrateful wretch. “Would you have me sacrifice myself to the cold system of our society? A system that prefers breeding over character, purse over heart? I think not, Miles. Now, if you would be so kind as to bid me adieu...” She trailed off, for Lord Wrottesley headed toward her, a disconcertingly aggressive look to his gaze. “I really must leave now. Lord Wrottesley has called on me twice since we arrived in London. I do not wish to speak with him.”
“Who is he?”
“A fortune hunter.” Without wasting another moment in useless conversation, she twisted to the right, desiring to dodge several patrons, but she caught her reflection in the large mirrors that gilded the ballroom: a pale wisp of an heiress, the strawberry birthmark covering her right cheekbone, glaring out from the whiteness of her skin.
Averting her eyes from the sight, she charged toward a set of French doors she’d seen earlier.
The exit promised solitude. A rest from the noise of congestion, the odor of too much perfume that clogged her windpipe. She dared not glance back to see if Wrottesley followed her.
She prayed he did not. When he had called last Wednesday, it had been the most stifling thirty minutes of her existence.
Grandmother insisted God heard prayers from every soul, and Elizabeth dearly hoped the duchess was right.
The doors shuddered beneath the force of Elizabeth’s exit, but the damp earth welcomed her slippers a bit too readily. She sank deeply into the ground and, in her haste, almost fell. Catching her balance, she hurried forward to the garden walk, ignoring the sucking sound her slippers made in the mud. They would be ruined, but she owned at least twenty more.
The scent of rain clung to the air. Lighted lanterns cast eerie shadows upon the path ahead, but the stones promised dryness for her feet and where they led, she would follow. Lord and Lady Charleston’s back lawn was a lovely respite, the gardens a comfortable touch for guests. Though situated in London, they’d made good use of their small plot of land.
Oh, for quiet from this dreadful press of a ball. Vaguely it entered her mind that she risked her reputation by entering the gardens alone. Surely a brief rest could not hurt, though. She would return shortly. She reached the stone walkway and heaved a sigh of relief, for her toes squished and the sad, sodden state of her slippers reminded her of her future. Equally dark and muddy.
She should pray. Grandmother exhorted her to do so. Glancing up at the night sky, she saw that the moon hid behind clouds, painting them shades of dark blue and gray. Lord, please guide me tonight. Give me wisdom for I am beset by worries.
She picked her way down the path, passing a couple sharing sweet whispers on a bench. The lanterns guided her feet to a ribbon-festooned gazebo sitting on the edge of what looked to be a pond. Out here, beyond the maddening noise of festivities, she finally felt she could draw a breath. The air was sweet, humid. Crickets welcomed her, their song harmonious and gracious.
She stepped into the gazebo, and it was as though a weight lifted from her shoulders. The half-circle bench beckoned her to sit and wait out the night. Perhaps a half hour, and then she could beg off the event by claiming malaise. A megrim, perhaps, or blisters from too much dancing. Sinking onto the bench, she watched the shimmering reflection of the now-unveiled moon on the water.
Blessed peace descended. It was only her and the night and God’s watchful eye. He had answered her prayer and for that, she thanked Him. She sat for some time, her heartbeat lulled into synchrony with her breaths. She propped her arms on the edge of the gazebo, laying her head down, knowing she smashed the curls Jenna had worked so hard on and hoping her maid would forgive her the transgression.
She did not wish to think of marriage nor her parents. She wanted only to rest here and pretend that their desire to marry her off could be circumvented.
In the midst of her thoughts and the swirling anxiety that never seemed to quit, a twig snapped, cracking the silence.
Her head lifted, her pulse ratcheted. “Who’s there?”
More scuffling, another twig snapping and suddenly she realized just how secluded she was. Perhaps no one went missing at balls, but plenty had been ruined. She stiffened as a shadow fell across the entrance of the gazebo.
“Alone, my lady?”
Chapter Two (#ulink_b0a1ee10-c78c-539c-b83a-7eaaa13cbcf1)
Perhaps Miles ought to follow Bitt. He sipped his punch while eyeing the dandies who stood a few feet away, laughing within a circle of young misses.
Who was this Wrottesley Bitt spoke of? If he was related to the earl who lived near Windermar...no wonder Elizabeth did not like him. They were a slatternly bunch who were facing a mountain of debt, if he recalled correctly.
Elizabeth’s happiness was important to Miles. He hoped her parents allowed her to choose her marital partner. She was kind and naive. He did not want to see her married for her inheritance. Her husband had to pass muster. A Season carried all sorts of disasters of which she knew nothing. Within that time frame, Elizabeth’s future could be decided forever.
She wanted a marriage of love, she had said.
Well, she deserved one, if there was such a thing. She deserved something like he’d had, once upon a time.
A frown tugged at his lips.
He took another swig of punch to hide his mood from the group with which he stood. The ladies chatted with the gentlemen. One particularly forward lady kept sidling curious glances his way. Prospecting for a future husband.
She did not realize that he was infinitely far from husband material.
Miles’s displeasure deepened. Bowing, he pushed away from the wall and decided to find Elizabeth. She shouldn’t be without a companion.
“Miles Hawthorne.” Elizabeth’s grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Windermar, rapped his shoulder, effectively halting his pursuit.
He bowed. “Your Grace.”
She nodded to him, then turned to the couple on her left. “Venetia and Adolphus, you remember young Miles? And, Miles, certainly you have been introduced to Bitt’s father, Lord Dunlop?”
“A pleasure,” he said, bowing yet again in their direction. He had met them briefly during various stages of his childhood. Like most parents of the ton, they did not overly concern themselves with their offspring until the children came of an age to be married off or taught the family duties. As a result, they’d paid little attention to whom their son played with. Now that he was grown up, however, perhaps they were surprised that the friendship between an earl’s son and a factory owner’s son had survived the years.
Surprised and disapproving.
Lady Dunlop sniffed, and he detected condescension from Bitt’s mother. No doubt due to his being a man of business. For some, the ultimate black mark in the ton. Hiding a wry grin, he turned to the other man beside Bitt’s parents. His shock of white hair framed a narrow face and deeply set brown eyes. He looked familiar.
The duchess gestured to him. “This is Mr. Hawthorne. He owns a factory in Littleshire. His father and I were great friends.”
“Lord Wrottesley.” The earl held out his hand.
“A pleasure,” said Miles, hiding his surprise. So this was Wrottesley’s father. Standing with her family... Did they not know of his debts? The man did possess a reputable lineage and a well-respected title. Though the family had come into hard times, possibly due to a streak of gambling that ran through their bloodlines, a well-matched marriage could fill their coffers once again.
Elizabeth’s future was becoming alarmingly clear. Did John know of his parents’ machinations? Surely he wouldn’t approve such a match for his little sister.
“I would not expect to see someone such as yourself at a ball. Are you looking for a wife?” Lady Dunlop fluttered her fan while waiting for Miles to answer.
“Not at all. Lord Charleston and I are business acquaintances,” said Miles.
Her nose wrinkled at the word business as though it might contaminate her reputation.
Hiding his smile, he gave her a curt nod. “A pleasure.”
Turning to the dowager duchess, he offered her a warmer smile. She responded by putting her quizzing glass to her eye. “Now that you’ve bought the Littleshire Mill, I expect to see you more often. It is between our estates, is it not?”
“I’d hardly call my plot of land an estate,” he said.
“It’s your home.” She waved her glass through the air. “What it is called is neither here nor there. Now, did you find that bookish granddaughter of mine?”
“She went out to the gardens,” he murmured. “I was just on my way to fetch her.”
“Very good. A ball is no place for a lady to wander off alone. And well she knows it.” The duchess sniffed, her powdered cheeks wiggling.
“She will return shortly.” Miles excused himself and continued his search for Wrottesley, but the man had disappeared. He threaded his way twice around the room before concluding that his quarry had meandered into the gardens.
Where Elizabeth had claimed she’d go.
He stepped outside, the humid air clinging to him like a tightly tied silk cravat. The recent spring shower served to muck his boots and hinder his walk through the grass to a stony path at the edge of the lawn. He believed there to be a pond nearby. If Bitt had gone there alone, she’d been unwise, for a young lady should always be chaperoned. She was testing her limits, he supposed, and he could not blame her for it.
He had never known her to shirk duty or behave unwisely in the past.
Wrottesley’s disappearance worried him, though. He strode along the path, his boots clipping the stones impatiently. The chirping of crickets and the full moon created urgency rather than calm. Bitt shouldn’t be out here alone. She ought to know better.
He came to the end of the stone pathway, but there was nowhere to sit here and no sign of Bitt, only a quiet pond adorned with lily pads and the reflection of the moon. He turned, scanning the landscape until he caught sight of a gazebo on the other side of the pond. Movement rippled the shadows around it, and then a high-pitched gasp interrupted the steady song of the crickets.
He bolted forward, pushing through the plants lining the walkway and finding another stone path that lead to the gazebo. His pulse thrummed in hot beats through him, his body strained to reach the sound of that anguished cry. It couldn’t be Bitt, he told himself as he ran down the path, but instinct told him it was her, and that she needed him.
