Miss Armistead Makes Her Choice (14 page)

“Your birthday fete could hardly be deemed an ordinary event! I was at great pains to take care that it was exceptional,” her mother said with a sniff. “Still, I do not refer to that particular meeting. There is no doubt that he admired you most excessively from that night on, but I speak of the occasion when you began to admire him in return.”

“Somehow I think there are few who should be entertained by such a story,” Elizabeth said in a low voice.

“You needn’t relate it if you do not wish to,” Miss Lloyd-Jones suggested warmly, followed by what Elizabeth thought to be a look of consternation cast upon Mr. Lloyd-Jones.

“Truly, Elizabeth was a great heroine. I am vastly pleased at her courage and strength,” her mother insisted. “If she does not relate the story, then I shall.”

“Very well, then,” Elizabeth agreed. “I shall tell you the circumstances to which my mother alludes as she is sure to embroider it past all recognition.” She looked to Mr. Lloyd-Jones to ascertain his feelings on the subject but he wore a slight smile that said nothing of his thoughts. “India is truly a far different country than is England, but those of us who hail from Britain pass the time much as you do. Though it rarely is truly cold in Bengal we do have a rainy season of some duration. In point of fact, it rains so heavily during the same months you enjoy summer that one must grasp upon any opportunity to spend time out of doors. I love to ride and on this particular morning, I had taken advantage of a clear sky in order to acquire exercise.”

“Are you a horsewoman, then, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Lloyd-Jones queried.

“Yes, a tolerable one. However, my enjoyment of it is doubtless far greater than my abilities. On this particular morning, I was a few miles from home when it began to pour. I was just about to turn back when I heard a cry. I was riding alongside the river and could see where a horse had struggled and slipped in the mud of the verge between the road and the bridge.”

“This is the part that is so very astonishing,” her mama interrupted.

“I dismounted as I did not wish to suffer the same fate of who ever might be found and very carefully made my way onto the bridge so as to look down below without fear of being washed into the river. It was all very muddy, but I could see the red of his coat . . and there was red for other reasons, as well,” she added in a small voice that she feared revealed too much of her horror.

“It is difficult for Elizabeth to speak of this, but he was injured and bleeding quite severely,” her mother revealed.

“And this was Mr. Cruikshank?” Mr. Lloyd-Jones queried.

“Yes, it was,” Elizabeth replied. “It was required that the horse be shot, of course, but that was not the most distressing part. Mr. Cruikshank had been struck in the face by the hoofs of the horse. I’m afraid I wasn’t terribly useful except that I rode for help which, thankfully, was found not too far off.”

“It was a service of inestimable worth, of course, as it saved his life,” her mother added. “However, it was the weeks she spent by his side at hospital that buoyed his spirits and prevented him from succumbing to his injuries.”

“There was a good deal of infection,” Elizabeth explained, “and there were surgeries, as well. I am aware that there is no common sense about it, but I felt somehow responsible, having been the one who discovered him. I found I was unhappy and fretful if I were not by his side and, as Mama has said, I spent a good deal of time at his bedside, reading and talking. It resulted in our becoming acquainted with one another.”

In spite of Katherine’s spirited playing, the atmosphere of the room became a bit somber and Mr. Lloyd-Jones in particular appeared to have been greatly stirred by her story.

“Mama, you should not have so insisted on my relating such an affecting tale,” Elizabeth scolded lightly.

“Pray, do not regret your words, Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Lloyd-Jones cried, “as I do not. It has shown me a deeper view of your character. Indeed, I must say that it is little wonder that I love you so.”

As if these words of affection were not enough, Elizabeth was astonished to feel Mr. Lloyd-Jones’ hand upon her own where it lay against his arm. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that the Lloyd-Joneses were creatures of such friendship and goodwill that she would sadly miss them when she married and repaired to Scotland.

“I must add my words of admiration to my sister’s,” Mr. Lloyd-Jones said quietly, as if for Elizabeth’s ears alone. “It is clear that you are possessed of more than your share of virtues of every kind.”

Elizabeth looked up to deliver a heartfelt denial of his words but when she looked into his eyes she encountered an expression so extraordinary that she failed to remember what it was she had wished to say.

“I pray that Mr. Cruikshank appreciates the treasure he has in you, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Lloyd-Jones said as he curled his fingers over hers against his arm. “I am persuaded that I should never doubt such love.”

The steps of the dance separated them for a moment but when they again came together she said in a low voice: “That you should acknowledge the sincerity of my feelings for him means more to me than I can adequately express. It has constituted in me a willing trust that you are, indeed, my friend.” This capitulation from admirer to friend created a sensation in her with which she was most unfamiliar. Once a man had been caught in her net, as her friend had so put it, Elizabeth had never known a man to concede so quickly. It troubled her even as she found that she greatly appreciated his honoring her feelings. “And I, Mr. Lloyd-Jones,” she continued, “do greatly admire your regret in being forced to end your betrothal, as needful as it is said to have been.”

“I thank you for your kindness and hope that we are, in truth, friends, Miss Elizabeth.” He followed his words with that smile of his that broke her heart, if only because she might never again bask in its glow. “I pray that it shall ever be so.”

“Do you know,” she began a bit hesitantly, “I believe, you are the only male outside of my family for whom I have felt such a kinship. It is as if I might say anything to you without fear that you should take my confidence as a sign of anything more than friendship.”

His laugh was rueful, but his words were all she could have wished. “You needn’t me to tell you that your beauty is such that it must routinely put a period to even the notion of mere friendship in the mind of any man possessed of a pair of eyes. Surely, you must have enjoyed male friends when you were too young to think of marriage.”

“No, never. By the time I was even the least interested in anything but dolls, I bore the
appearance of a woman grown.” She thought her reply sensible enough in spite of her distraction at his remark. “I wonder, Mr. Lloyd-Jones, as to your choice of words. I don’t believe I have heard anyone phrase it quite as have you.”

“What words would those be, Miss Elizabeth?” She was grateful that he leaned his head close to hers so as to catch her reply as she dared not speak any louder.

“Those having to do with ‘any man possessed of a pair of eyes’.”

This time his laughter was free of strain. “That is quite simple; he would have to be blind not to be swayed by your beauty, that is all.”

“Yes,” she said firmly, “I have had that thought and, at risk of sounding haughty, I do believe it to be truth. It has long been my burden and my curse. That you see it all so clearly is a blessing I had not looked for.”

“Miss Elizabeth, I can’t speak to anything akin to a burden or a curse, indeed, I can hardly credit such a notion. Nevertheless, I do comprehend how difficult it must be for anyone, man or woman, to see past your appearance. I am obliged to your mother for insisting upon the story you related to us of your betrothed; it has demonstrated to me that you have an inner beauty that eclipses that of your so exquisite face.”

The balm his words afforded her soul was spoilt by a sudden doubt; there had been too much talk of blindness for her to feel easy. “Have you been speaking with my mother, sir?”

“If by that do you ask if I have exchanged words with her when you were not present? No, I have not. When should I have had the opportunity? And of what should we have spoken?”

“Pray, do not be wounded, sir. It is my mother whom I accuse of having sought you out, but I believe that I was wrong to suspect her.”

He looked down at her from the corner of an eye that gleamed with mirth. “Ah, I see. I suppose it would be fruitless to ask what intelligence you fear she might have divulged.”

“Yes, you do comprehend, most fully, Mr. Lloyd-Jones, and for that I am most grateful.”

There followed a prolonged period during which the four of them marched in companionable silence. Miss Lloyd-Jones was the first to brook it.

“Miss Elizabeth, when I entered the dining room this evening, I could not help but notice your interest in the painting my brother has selected to replace the quite tiresome one that had formerly hung in that selfsame spot. My eyes were drawn to it quite frequently during dinner and I must admire your taste in art. Colin has promised to take me to view the treasures at the British Museum day after next and I am persuaded you should enjoy it every bit as much as we. Do you find that you are free to accompany us? Of course, my invitation is meant to include you, Miss Hale.”

Katherine’s skill at the pianoforte required too much concentration for her to speak, but her smile proved that she willingly fell in with the plan.

“I can’t think why we all shouldn’t be quite free,” Elizabeth’s mother remarked. “Augusta, are we engaged day after next? We have all been invited to the British Museum with the Lloyd-Joneses.”

“If we are already engaged, we shall simply make our excuses,” Aunt Augusta declared.

“Oh, I am mortified,” Elizabeth whispered to her dancing partner. “I would find an outing to the museum delightful but I simply cannot exclusive of Mama and the others. She and Miss Hale are determined to spend as much time with me as possible as we soon shall part. I pray their presence tomorrow shall not inconvenience you in any way.”

“Not at all. It shall be my pleasure to escort five lovely ladies to the museum. Indeed, I cannot think of a more pleasant way to spend an afternoon.”

“I know that they shall both be very grateful.” That Katherine would be extremely vexed if she were to be left out of the excursion was a fact Elizabeth refrained from revealing. If there were to be a romance between her friend and Mr. Lloyd-Jones, it would be without her assistance.

“There is no need. I, that is to say, Analisa and I shall be grateful for the company. Is Miss Hale a lover of art as well as yourself?”

“I cannot say that it would be accurate to label even myself an art lover,” Elizabeth said with an
unaccountable stab of annoyance at Mr. Lloyd-Jones’ interest in Katherine. “I so admire your new painting because it depicts all that is familiar to me, so much of which I have left behind, perhaps never to see again. However, I find that I am every bit as interested in paintings of life in England, as a history lesson, I expect, more than for a love of art.”

“It is true, we British have excelled at depicting history, both national and personal, with the expert strokes of a brush.”

“Precisely! It is to that which I refer. I find I cannot get enough of it; not the history, nor the art, nor the books. I most recently spent four days abed with an abominable cold and passed the time most pleasantly with one book after the next.”

“You were recently ill, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked with some consternation. “I pray that you do not experience a recurrence. Springtime in London can be quite chilly.”

She smiled, ruefully. “I see you did not miss my presence at all of those parties we had been so adamant we would attend.”

“Would you believe me if I said that I have not attended a single function since last we met? The redecorating of the dining room has taken up most of my time and energy. I half expected Analisa to give me a dressing down in front of you ladies tonight as I have not escorted her to a single ball or rout five nights running.”

“She is a most loyal sister. I am persuaded I should have taken out an ad in the paper and exposed all to your perfidy.” Elizabeth laughed.

“Never say so! It is most self evident that you are made of kindness. And yet, you retain such a liveliness of spirit, in spite of all you profess to have endured, that I can only wonder. Analisa has that same liveliness but has nothing of which to complain. Her parents capitulate to her every wish and I must count myself complicit in that, as well.”

“Are they not your parents, too?” Elizabeth asked.

“Our father, yes, but my mother succumbed to sickness when I was very young. I do not even
remember her, at least, not with any great detail.”

“That is sorry news, indeed, Mr. Lloyd-Jones,” she replied, remembering that he had spoken of his mother’s early death when last they met. “But how remarkable that you and your sister bear such a resemblance to one another.”

“You are not the first to remark on it, nor shall you be the last. Yet, it is not in the least odd amongst the Lloyd-Joneses; we are both much like my father just as he is much like his siblings and father, in turn. It is how your mother recognized me the day we first met.”

“Not immediately, but yes, I believe you are correct. I recall that she commented on your likeness to the previous generation. I expect your children shall bear all the exact same characteristics even if you were to wed someone such as Miss Hale? Her coloring is quite as striking as is yours.”

“I’m afraid there is only one way to know for sure, Miss Elizabeth,” he replied in a tone so enigmatic she could not know if the prospect of marriage to Miss Hale were a welcome one or not.

She pushed aside the sudden dashing of her spirits and reminded herself that her present happiness in her pending nuptials should be her wish for all about whom she cared. It was then that the music came to a triumphant end and there was naught to do but remove her hand from Mr. Lloyd-Jones’ arm, the same one yet covered by his warm fingers. She yearned for nothing more at that moment but that the two of them should remain exactly as they were, but she could find no means to justify it. In spite of the much coveted kid glove that adorned her hand, the cold that assailed her skin when it was free was nearly unbearable and quickly, she clasped her hands together.