Miss Armistead Makes Her Choice (20 page)

“Of course, Mama,” her daughter replied in tones of perfect contentment as she moved away from Colin and took up her place next to her mother. This left Miss Katherine entirely free to sink to her place just where she stood. Sadly, it was directly adjacent to Colin.

With an enormous effort, he held back a sigh and invited his sister to sit, whereupon he took his place next to Miss Katherine. At least it was the perfect spot from which to admire Miss Elizabeth though her friend’s words would be much louder in his ear. It wasn’t that he disliked Miss Katherine; it was only that her efforts to attach him were as tiresome as they were unprofitable. At any rate, with her thick, blonde hair, she was much more to Sir Anthony’s taste. Perhaps he would introduce the pair once Tony arrived back in town.

“Mr. Lloyd-Jones, may I place some of this blancmange on your plate?” Miss Elizabeth asked, removing her gloves and taking up the serving spoon placed beside the quivering mass.

“I thank you, Miss Elizabeth, and hope that you shall avail yourself of a piece, as well. It is one of my favorite dishes.”

“I shall keep that in mind, Mr. Lloyd-Jones,” Miss Katherine chimed. “I am persuaded it will be
most useful information to be in possession of when I . . ,” she said, her voice trailing off into a disagreeable silence.

“When you what, Miss Katherine?” Colin asked in all innocence, but the manner in which the ladies all looked down into their plates led him to the truth of the matter. That Miss Katherine should contemplate her role as his wife with such assiduousness was disconcerting in the extreme and he found he could formulate no suitable reply.

“Miss Analisa, have you a favorite dish?” Miss Elizabeth inquired.

“Why, yes, I do. I find that I actually dream of this
macedoine
of fruits in jelly, and quite incessantly, I might add.”

Colin was delighted to see that Miss Elizabeth and her mother laughed along with him, but it would seem that Miss Katherine failed to see this exchange as the very necessary rescue from her indiscretion.

“I only meant that when I am the wife of an Englishman,” Miss Katherine stated as if the topic of conversation had not been successfully turned, “I should know better, due to your revelations, what an Englishman should like for his table. For, as I have said only today, I do intend to remain in England and have decided that an English husband is what is required in order for me to do so.”

Once again Colin looked to Miss Elizabeth to compensate for the indiscretion of her friend but, instead, she reached across the cloth to help herself to a strawberry right from under his nose. Her hand, white as cream and dainty as a teacup of the finest porcelain, smelled of lilacs. He found he could do naught but watch its progress as she placed the berry between her rosy lips and bit into it. Could it be for the first time he noticed the whiteness of her teeth or was it only the depth of the color in the berry that made her teeth appear so? He could not say.

“Goodness, me, I think I shall be quite spoilt by this bounty.” Miss Elizabeth lifted his plate and began to spoon a slice of apple cake thereon. “I am persuaded the peaches are delicious. How many do you wish, Mr. Lloyd-Jones?”

“I . . I can not rightly say,” he replied, removing his own gloves in anticipation of his meal. He would have every one if it should please her, but he could not be certain that was her design. She perplexed him every bit as much as did Miss Katherine and yet it did not displease him, nor did he find it the least unsavory. In fact, he found it to be somewhat divine. Soon he would invite her to walk with him along the river and he would speak to her of his feelings if she proved willing to hear them.

“I find that I quite adore peaches,” Miss Katherine began but Colin shot to his feet before she could complete her thought, as thoughtless as it would prove to be.

“I find that I tire of sitting. Miss Elizabeth, would you be kind enough to accompany me for a walk along the river?”

Three sets of eyes looked up at him in some consternation, but Miss Elizabeth rose to her feet and took his arm without the slightest sign of trepidation. Miss Katherine made an attempt to rise, as well, but Analisa very sensibly placed the entire blancmange in Miss Katherine’s lap, effectively pinning her to the ground. He made another note to procure a fitting gift for his most excellent sister, a resolve he forgot entirely the moment he turned his back.

Determined that they should walk to where they should not be overheard, Colin at first refrained from speaking. He headed for the edge of the river with its masses of greenery and promised privacy. He would not end the day without opening his budget on the state of his heart. Whether or not Miss Elizabeth wished to hear what he had to say was a question he longed to be answered.

So it was that she was the first to break the silence. “Mr. Lloyd-Jones, I must thank you for this outing. What a pleasure it has been! India is either too hot or too rainy to venture out of doors more than rarely. But here . . ” She spread wide her free arm and looked into the sky. “It is such a beautiful, mild, sunny day and I find myself quite content.”

Colin caught sight of only her dimpled chin and red mouth from under her bonnet, but he was persuaded he had never before seen a more fascinating dimple or a more enticing red. Before he said what he most fervently wished to say, he must arrange matters so that he would be allowed to gaze into
her face of an entirety; there was much to learn from her countenance and he would know it all. The fear that she would not like his words and that it might be the last time he would be allowed to gaze upon that face was one he barely allowed himself to feel.

“I have heard it said that it rains in Scotland, every single day.” He knew it was a mistake before the words were out, but he could not seem to refrain from adding upon it. “And that is summer only. The other seasons of the year offer far worse.”

She turned to look at him, but the shadow made by her infernal bonnet rendered her eyes impossible to read. “Mr. Lloyd-Jones, if I did not know better, I should think you felt it your duty to make apparent the errors in my thinking.”

“What errors would those be?” he asked with a bald-faced innocence that rang false in his own ears.

She looked down and he was robbed of all but the sight of her chin. “Mr. Lloyd-Jones, I had believed myself safe in your company; that you comprehended my circumstances; that your honor would not allow you to place me in a position that should compromise my character.”

He thought perhaps her voice shook with tears and he wished to tell her how very remorseful he was. He wished to speak words of approbation for the very character of which she spoke. More than anything he wished to pull her behind the nearest privet and rid her face of that abhorrent bonnet.

To his wonder, she did not object and they stood gazing raptly into one another’s eyes, the bonnet wedged between them.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he breathed. “I cannot ask you to do or say anything that should force you to compromise your integrity. It is that very integrity at which I stand in considerable awe. I should be a fool to mar what is one of your most admirable qualities. And yet I cannot let this opportunity pass without telling you it is far from the only quality in which I most ardently delight.”

“Mr. Lloyd-Jones, I must beg you to stop!”

“Why?” he asked as he tossed the hat to the ground and took her hands in his. “Are my
attentions so unwelcome?”

“No!” she said so quickly that he felt he had reason to hope. “That is to say, there is naught in your manner or your character that I find in the least unwelcome. If I were but free,” she said, shaking her head, her eyes wet with tears, “but it is of no use. I have made my choice and I must abide by it.”

“Then it is not that you cannot love me?” he asked, his feelings a painful mixture of hope and resignation.

“It is not a matter of my capacity to love you, nor is it an event to look for in future,” she said, gathering his hand to her face. “It is because I cannot stop that I am torn in two.”

It was then that he knew the full tragedy of his position. “What sort of madness is this?” he begged as he attempted to consign every aspect of her beloved face to memory. “What madness that I would not wish changed about you the very quality that frustrates my desires? I wish to add to my own your strength, your resolve, your determination to abide by what is right and true. And yet, in so doing, I should destroy your very essence. Is there no way to make you mine without making you somehow . . less?”

To his astonishment, she fell against his chest and began to weep. He put his arms around her and held her tight, far tighter than he ought, and wondered at how perfectly natural it felt to hold her, her cheek against his coat, his own against her hair. He closed his eyes and prayed that she would not soon be shed of all her tears. He prayed that when she proved to be, he should know what it was he ought to say. Lastly, he prayed that she would raise her head to look at him in such a way that he would find it impossible to resist the intense yearning to cover her mouth with his own.

It seemed an eternity, yet sooner than he hoped, when she lifted her face to his, a glossy ringlet pressed to her face like a flower between the pages of a book and her jewel-like eyes sparkling with tears. “How could you make me less?” she murmured. “I have traveled all the way from India only to find that it is you who makes me
whole
.”

He could not say how his hands found their way to her face, one to each cheek, his thumbs just
brushing the boundaries of her mouth. The cast of her eyes implored him to kiss her even as her hands came up to pull his away, but he was stronger than she. He ran one hand across her face and into her hair and dropped the other to her waist, pulling her against him until he could feel the pounding of her heart in tandem with his own.

As she dropped her arms to her side, she closed her eyes and waited, her long, black lashes swimming in tears. Lowering his face to hers, he drew his nose along her cheek, willing her to grant him one last look into her eyes so he might read in them her desires. Instead, tears beaded under her lashes and ran down the creamy perfection of her skin. He rubbed them away with his cheek against hers and then, when he could resist no longer, he brushed his lips very lightly along hers, undemanding and soft as a whisper.

When she still did not respond he knew that his prayer had not been granted. With a shuddering sigh, he loosened his grip and rested his forehead against hers, her mouth still tantalizingly near. “Say something,” he begged. “Please? Will you not say something?”

She did not, but she put her hands around his neck, her fingers twisting in his hair. A tremor went through him at her touch and he marveled that he could have ever thought he loved anyone, wanted anyone, cherished anyone but her. When she pulled her head back, exposing the heated skin of his forehead to the cool breeze, he knew that he had felt her last caress. As such, it came as a shock when she leaned in and placed a lingering kiss upon his cheek, one full of the same longing he had seen in her eyes.

When she pulled away, he saw that she still could not look at him. He bent to retrieve her hat from the grass and placed it on her head to cover the shambles he had made of her coiffure. He tied the bow under her chin and wiped away the last of her tears with trembling hands, and still she would not meet his gaze. Finally, he took her hand, so small in his, and pressed it in his own.

“I have no right. You are soon to be another man’s wife,” he said, though his throat ached and his tongue stumbled over the agonizing words. “And yet I find I cannot part from you without saying
what is in my heart. Miss Armistead … my dearest Elizabeth … I admire and love you more than I ever imagined possible to love anyone.”

She raised her head at the words, but she did not profess her love in return, in spite of the wealth of emotion in her eyes. Thoroughly thwarted, he released her hand and ran his own through his hair. “I know not what you think of love as a predictor of a successful marriage. There are those, rather I should say
many
, if I am honest, who believe the sensibility of love to be of the least use in a marriage. I cannot agree. It is ironic, is it not?” he asked with a rueful laugh. “The tragedy of my life will not be that I was used by a woman who was never worthy of my love, but that I love, with all of my heart, a woman far worthier than I can ever hope to be.”

Finally, she opened her mouth to speak but the words that came to his ears were not hers.

“I cannot imagine what the two of you have been about here in these bushes,” came the voice of Miss Katherine from somewhere behind him.

Elizabeth’s eyes grew very wide. She bit her lip, but she said nothing. It was as if her voice had been stolen away.

“Please,” Miss Katherine said as she stepped around him and put her arm through his. “Have no anxiety on my account. It is not as if I suspect you of any wrong-doing; quite the contrary. Elizabeth is well known at home for her prudishness. Even her betrothed has had naught from her but one brief kiss at their parting.”

Elizabeth’s gaze flew to Colin’s with this admission and her face bloomed with color. He wondered at her capacity to feel such shame when it was her very virtue that was among those qualities he most treasured. “Miss Hale, whatever it is you are about, you shall catch cold at it. Miss Armistead and I are only discussing architecture. We find that we agree on how things ought to be built,” he said, watching her eyes in hopes that the shadows soon departed. “Foundations are of particular interest to me and she has been so kind as to listen to my theories on the subject.”

Miss Katherine made a face. “I cannot conceive of anything more tiresome! Do say you will
rejoin us. We ladies on our own have grown quite restless. Elizabeth’s mother, in particular, feels the possible loss of our outing to Gunter’s quite keenly.”

“But of course we shall go to Gunter’s,” Elizabeth said quietly. “It is a lovely day such that I am not likely to see for years to come. I wish to make the most of it.”