Midnight Bride (3 page)

"And you believed him? You believed that a gentleman would marry a girl from a workhouse?" Elizabeth looked at the girl, her eyes clear and straightforward. The maid's eyes dropped at once.

"I hoped . . ." she began. Then she straightened up, her eyes angry. She looked at the room and then her mistress, elegant as always even in the plainest of her traveling gowns. "I thought it was a chance to get away from all this, scrubbing floors, polishing windows, dusting. Besides, he promised. He's a gentleman and gentlemen keep their promises."

"Only if it is a promise to pay gambling debts.
They rarely keep them to women." Elizabeth's tone was bitter. "I am sorry that you had to learn your lesson so cruelly, but you must see that the gentleman did not mean what he said. And in these circumstances you cannot stay here." Elizabeth spoke quietly and much more gently than she had first intended because she too could remember the hurt of broken promises.

"You won't turn me off. Not with what I can tell." The girl glared at her mistress. "I won't be treated like some garbage to be thrown away once its usefulness is gone." She took off her cap and tossed her hair so that it hung wildly around her shoulders and down her back. The housekeeper moved toward her as if to force her to cover her head, but Elizabeth put up a hand to stop her. Susan ran her fingers through her hair, arranging it so that it hung around her face in tangled curls, giving her a gypsy-like appearance. Satisfied, she said. "You may hide in the country once a gentleman discards you, but I won't." She smiled belligerently.

Elizabeth's cheeks paled. She straightened her back, all her charity forgotten.

Her two servants were horrified. They both reached the girl at the same moment. "Be quiet!" Jeffries had the maid by one arm while the housekeeper had the other. They pulled her to the door. "Be quiet, girl!" Jeffries hissed. "Miss
Beckworth
took you from that place, gave you a chance,
paid
you an honest wage. How dare you insult
her!
" Together they rushed Susan from the room, the girl still screaming her threats.

Elizabeth, horrified, stood frozen to the spot. She was still there a few minutes later when the butler returned. He glanced at his mistress and hurried to a small table by the wall where a decanter was always kept. He poured her a glass of port and, putting the glass in her cold hand, led her to her favorite chair, its deep azure a perfect background for her golden brown hair. Wanting to offer more comfort but afraid of overstepping his bounds, he stepped back and waited. Finally Elizabeth drank the port and handed him the glass. Her voice was as colorless as her face when she said, "Get rid of her. Give her a reference and tell her to see my agent."

"You don't mean to give her any money?" Jeffries asked, horrified.

"Her wages and something to tide her over until she finds another job.
I'll write a note to
Carstairs
immediately." She crossed to the small desk where she dealt with her correspondence. "I want her gone tomorrow." She dashed off the note and sanded it. "And keep her away from the men." Elizabeth's face was as cold as she felt.

Her butler cleared his throat, hesitated, and then hurried on. "Master Charles wishes to speak with you. He has been waiting in your rooms." He bowed slightly and walked stately out into the hallway, glad that for once he would not be a party to the argument he knew would follow.

Elizabeth's head now seemed to pound with a thousand drums. She rose from her desk and left the room, heading up the staircase. Charles was waiting to see her. With each step she climbed her anger grew. Her brother invaded her home with a party of his friends, and she was the one who had to bear the insults. So deep in her own thoughts that she was oblivious of anything else, she ignored Dunstan, who passed her on the stairs with a pleasant greeting. Surprised at the cut, he stood still for a moment and watched as she moved gracefully up the stairs, the skirts of her traveling gown moving in the same swaying motion as her hips. When she disappeared, he continued on his way, wondering what had caused that glazed look on her face. He wondered too at his own reaction. He glanced upstairs once more and then turned, walked down the hall, where members of the hunting party whiled away their time, waiting for another meal.

Tension filled Elizabeth's sitting room. "Elizabeth, where have you been? Cousin Louisa said you would be up in a minute," her brother said, his voice anxious. "You really should
come
visit Mama so that I don't have to come all the way here to see my big sister. I miss you." Charles
smiled,
the impish, boyish smile that had made his governesses fall under his spell and continued to enthrall young women. He reached out and hugged Elizabeth exuberantly, pressing her face into his cravat. He never remembered that she was not as tall as his six feet plus.

She remained stiff in his arms. He pulled away from her, his face worried. "What's wrong, Elizabeth? Is anything the matter with Amelia and the brats?" Taking her silence as a no, he pulled her to him, reaching behind her to massage her neck. "Is your head hurting? What can I do to make it better? Shall I call your maid?"

Her head pounding and her spirits bruised, Elizabeth for once failed to see the love shining out of her brother's bright blue eyes. His affection for her was evident in the worry on his face. She pulled away from him and walked across the room her back to him, her face set in a calm mask. "You could leave," she said, her voice as cool as water off a glacier.

Charles stepped back. Puzzled, he ran a hand through his already carefully disheveled gold hair. "Leave? But you just got here? I thought—"

"No, you didn't. You never think. You do what you want and let others pick up the pieces." Elizabeth turned and glared at him, her sense of outrage magnified as she took in the casual elegance and almost classical beauty he achieved without effort. In the last few years his appearance, a sharp contrast to her own, had been a constant reminder of her own inadequacies.

"Elizabeth, what's the matter? You just got home." Charles tried to put his arm around her again, striving as he always did to reassure her with a hug.

"And what met me when I arrived? My brother, without letting me know, has brought a party of—of how many men?" She paused for his answer, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Seven.
Eight counting me.
But you—"

"You didn't even have the decency to write to let me know you were coming?"

"You weren't here. So what difference would writing have made?" Charles's face had lost its usually pleasant expression. He glared at her.

"Good manners require that the mistress of the household be warned if guests are coming to her home. Perhaps if you had discovered I was not at home, you could have made your visit later. This is my home. I should have the right to decide if I want guests." By the time she had finished, Elizabeth's low and throaty voice had
risen
several octaves.

"Well, if you want to talk about whose home this is, let me remind you that Papa left this manor to me. You only have the right to live here until you marry. So don't talk to me about who has rights." Little realizing how much like a nursery argument their discussion sounded, Charles shook his finger at her.

"Then I suppose you want to talk to
Carstairs
about the fields your friends destroyed during that fox
hunt "
Elizabeth asked in the prissy voice he had always hated.

At that Charles had the grace to look embarrassed. He mumbled, "I tried to get them to stop, but the fox was just ahead. No way to stop the dogs. I told
Carstairs
I'd make the damage good."

"For the damage to the fields and to the crops too?"
He nodded. "Good." Then she looked at him scornfully. "I wish you could make good the damage to Susan." Elizabeth, who had been standing near the door during the last exchange, crossed to a chair and sank into it. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore her brother.

"Susan?" Charles's voice was indignant and his face flushed. "That maid is a hussy. She's the one did all the chasing. And she didn't care who it was." Charles laughed ruefully. "After Robert turned her down, she tried all of us before Sebastian finally took her up on her invitation."

"Sebastian? Sebastian Hartley? He's not here?" Charles nodded sheepishly. "You promised Mama and me at Christmas that you would have no more to do with that man." Elizabeth was worried. "You know what Lord
Ramsburg
said about him."

"My stepfather thinks anyone but his colleagues in Parliament is a loose screw. Sebastian is a good chap." Charles glared at his sister and sat down on the chaise, crossing his long legs and admiring the shine his valet had put on his boots. Since it was a simple hunting party, all the men had agreed that there was no need to dress for dinner.

"Good chap is he? Susan said he promised to marry her." Elizabeth stood and walked over to her brother. She stood in front of him, glaring. "Charles, I had to turn her off and pay her to keep quiet!"

"Pay her off? Elizabeth, if you gave that bit of muslin a sixpence, it was more than she deserved. She knew what she was about. She tried to trap Hartley." Tired of feeling as though he were on trial, he stood, looming over his sister. "You should have talked to me before you did anything."

"And what would you have done? Allowed her to go to the magistrate? Allowed her to smear our name across the country? Or perhaps you would have married her yourself?" She crossed to the bell pull and gave it a yank. "I'm tired. Please give my excuses to my cousin. I shall have my meal in my room." She turned to stare at him haughtily as she had done when they both were in the same schoolroom and she had grown tired of their arguments.

His earlier delight to see her again forgotten, Charles let his hurt feelings and guilt
take
control of him. "Hiding away again, are you? Well, let me tell you, sister
dear, that
had you shown some ability to get married yourself, this incident would never have happened. I could run this estate any way I pleased without your interference." Charles stalked to the door and put his hand on the latch. "Now you are too cowardly even to look anymore," he said scornfully. Elizabeth stepped back as though she had been struck. She kept her hurt from showing on her face but only with supreme effort. "I will be happy to give your message to Cousin Louisa. We have no need of a Friday face in our gathering." He walked out and slammed the door behind him, his face a thundercloud.

Inside the sitting room, Elizabeth once again sank to a chair, rubbing her head, already regretting her hasty words, their hasty tempers. Even as children, an angry word from one or the other could cause a flash fire of anger to sweep over both. Each had learned to strike the other where it hurt the most. Elizabeth laughed ruefully, thinking what her old nurse would have said to them. Charles and she usually were the best of friends. Most of the time Charles was a loving and caring brother, if a little self-centered, she reminded herself. Then she frowned slightly as she realized she was making excuses for him as she always had done, just then her maid bustled in, noticed the frown, and hurried her mistress to bed. "A cold compress and you will be feeling more the thing. You shouldn't let Master Charles upset you, with that headache and all. He never thinks," Miller said soothingly. From the moment that she had been hired as Elizabeth's maid, Miller had aligned herself with her mistress, trying to ease her life. And lately Charles had been the chief source of her mistress's worry.

The words were different, but two floors below, Sebastian Hartley had Charles
Beckworth
as much in hand as his sister's maid had her mistress. Seeing Charles come storming down the stairs, his face angry, Sebastian had made one of his usual quick decisions. Ever since Christmas, he had noticed a slight cooling in Charles and was not yet willing to let this pigeon escape. Nor could he afford to. Charles, whether he knew it or not, would be providing Hartley's support until the next quarter day. He took a moment to survey the situation, running a hand through his pale blond hair, already thinning to a degree that worried his valet. He straightened his waistcoat and felt for the fob he always wore, its surface smooth from his rubbing it unconsciously