Authors: Miranda Davis
“Clun, don’t do this. I said I’ll accept your terms if you’ll accept mine.” she pleaded with him.
The more she talked, the less he believed her and the more he hated himself.
“No, Elizabeth, listen to me.” He gripped her by the shoulders. “I won’t marry you.”
She stared at him. “You don’t mean that,” she finally said.
If he hadn’t still been reeling from the aftershocks of her marriage proposal, he might’ve anticipated her response. To end to his torment, Clun spoke harshly, “Believe me or don’t, Lady Elizabeth, it’s of little consequence. I’ve no more patience for your back-and-forth-ing. First, you won’t have me then you will until you won’t again. And now, you say you will. Yet, I expect you’ll change your mind and one of us is bound to suffer for it in the end. I’m leaving Town on Christmas as I’m to host New Year’s festivities in Shropshire. So you may cry off at your leisure.” He couldn’t meet her gaze as he lied and lied and lied.
“But, Clun—” she began to argue.
“Good-bye,” he said and roughly pulled her close to kiss her quiet. He waited for her to slap him. Instead, she gave him a thoughtful look. Her fingers stole up to her bruised lips, feeling their last kiss, the kiss he couldn’t help.
“You couldn’t kiss me like that if you didn’t love me a little.”
“There, you see?” He pounced. “Say what you will, everything will always devolve to that.”
His outburst shocked her. He retreated a pace. She stepped back, too, as if to see him more clearly. She stood under a skylight and he watched her expression shutter up into a tear-less, remote dignity. The disenchantment in her faraway eyes strengthened his resolve and sealed his lips. He couldn’t bear to be the cause of that expression time and again for the rest of their lives.
They stared at one another in silence until she backed away from him.
“As you wish. It will end by Twelfth Night, I hope that will be satisfactory.”
She hurried from the Dome Room and out of sight. He heard the murmur of Soane’s butler, the front door open and close and silence refill the cluttered, oppressive space.
Clun hardened his heart and let her go. He let her walk away because, like Hercules, saving her was his impossible task and to succeed he must turn to stone.
Chapter 30
In which doubts assail our heroine while a grub’s prayers are answered.
C
hristmastide was festive in most regards. In fact, consistently cold temperatures produced thick ice on the Serpentine ideal for skating parties. Sadly, Clun’s rejection dulled Elizabeth’s enjoyment of such pleasures.
She had to admit reluctantly that her intuition about Clun might be wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time either. After all, she’d failed to make her father happy after twenty years of trying. She certainly didn’t relish the prospect of making another fruitless effort for the balance of her life. Perhaps, she conceded, Clun would be the second man she could never please. This tiny worm of doubt burrowed deep in her heart and left her expression wan with strain.
Constance remarked upon this alteration and suggested, or rather insisted, Elizabeth accompany her to Hyde Park for a skating party. Thus, on Christmas Eve, Viscount Speare and his friends provided carriages, rolls of warm, wool blankets, baskets filled with food, sweetmeats and insulated jugs of mulled wine and hot toddies to fortify the skaters while Constance, Lady Jane and Lady Iphigenia brought extra skating blades and their pretty friends.
The young ladies wore their warmest flannel petticoats, woolen gowns and pelisses, velvet bonnets, mittens and fur tippets around their necks.
Elizabeth found herself skating beside Lady Iphigenia, who burbled on and on about Lord Clun. The shy thing’s eyes sparkled as she spoke. And Elizabeth had to acknowledge that when the lady giggled, she was quite fetching.
“Lady Elizabeth, you are the envy of many, I must tell you. My very best wishes to you both,” Lady Iphigenia whispered. “Lord Clun is most gentlemanlike. Oh, he forbade me tell anyone, but I may speak plain with you, for you of all people know his sweetness. He may put on the airs of a misanthrope, but it will no longer wash. His true character is known and many ladies are green with envy that you comprehended his true nature first. Lord Holmsbury, my particular friend, is the tiniest bit jealous of my enthusiasm for your lord. I think it does one good to feel the pinch of jealousy, don’t you?”
“What? Oh, yes, certainly. Though there’s only a pinch where there’s love in the first place,” Elizabeth whispered.
Lady Iphigenia did not attend to Elizabeth’s last comment because Lady Jane teased her about Lord Holmsbury’s absence from the party.
“He has the grippe,” Lady Iphigenia said to Lady Jane with a laugh, “and I shall make him sad to have missed our sport when next I see him.”
The skaters drew the admiration of pedestrians and riders in the park. It was a picturesque scene to be sure. Handsome young men in colorful, wool redingotes and tall beaver hats, hands clasped behind their backs, circled the ice. The young ladies, bundled in furs and woolens, glided more cautiously in pairs and threesomes with their hands linked. They laughing aloud for the joy of it.
One man riding by the scene brought his hired hack to a standstill and stared fixedly once he recognized Lady Elizabeth on the ice.
Of the young ladies in her party, she seemed oddly out of spirits, smiling only when another turned her way. When no one looked, she was sober and her eyes downcast. Her wind-chapped cheeks had the only healthy color in her complexion.
Mr. Wilder decided to wait nearby. Anyone not stone deaf had heard the rumors about her foundering betrothal. And he wished to see if at last the strain of gossip and uncertainty would goad her to seek solace in a new courtship. Fate rarely offered one such an opportunity, he thought with complacency.
He had not long to wait. The group left the ice to have hot refreshments on the bank. Liveried footmen had their hands full, offering blankets and pouring mulled wine. Mr. Wilder approached Lady Elizabeth as she clambered onto the frozen bank. Her skate blades hindered her so when he offered her his hand, she took it without looking.
When she did glance up, she said, “Mr. Wilder, I did not see you there. Thank you.”
“At your service as always, Lady Elizabeth. You made a charming picture on the ice.”
“Hardly. I hobbled along on my ankles, towed by others who are far more adept than I. Still, it was refreshing to be sure.”
“Yet you look less than refreshed by your exercise.” He gave her a meaningful look before proceeding. “I must speak as a friend, for I pray you consider me at least your friend.” Mr. Wilder cast a glance about and drew her away from the others. “I am alarmed.”
“Alarmed, whyever for, sir?”
“Are you well?”
“Quite well.”
“Yet every day for these past weeks I have seen more of your vivacity fade as if you suffered some malady. I beg you put my mind at ease.”
“I have told you, sir, I am well.”
“Then why is it this is the first time in too long I see a bloom in your cheeks and the cause of it is cold air?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“If I am ridiculous, it’s only a consequence of my concern. As each evening passes, there is less sparkle in your eyes as if something, or dare I say someone, is weighing on your spirits.”
“Nothing disturbs my spirits, Mr. Wilder. I wish you would school your features into something other than dismal apprehension, I am not wasting away from disease or low spirits, thank you.” She stepped away to leave him, but he stayed her with his hand.
“The symptoms I see I would attribute to heartache. Has Clun really withdrawn from you as I’ve heard?” He watched her flinch as his question hit home. “The cad, I would whip him if you asked me.”
Elizabeth laughed at this absurdity, her first genuine amusement in days. Her levity did not amuse Mr. Wilder in the least. “No, he has not,” she reassured him. “Clun is ever the gentleman.”
“I fear he attempts to force your hand by subtler means then. It’s common knowledge the alliance has not—” he stopped, seeing Lady Elizabeth’s cross expression. “Well, I’d rather not say.”
“Oh, do not hesitate to be explicit,” she snapped. “What is said about our betrothal behind my back?”
“My dear, I would not hurt you for the world. Let us talk of pleasanter things, shall we?”
“No, let’s not. You shall tell me what you meant to say.”
Mr. Wilder looked at her. Even the cold-induced flush was fading from her cheeks. He timed his hesitation carefully, looked deep into her guarded eyes and murmured, “It’s said the match has not prospered. There is an unmistakable aloofness on his part and a growing desperation on yours.”
“Desperation!”
“I meant to keep this from you, but I cannot remain a silent witness to your distress,” he said with a regretful air. “You alone can bring your torment to an end. Clun seems reconciled to that eventuality, with so many ambitious mamas thrusting daughters at him. When I knew him, he wasn’t much for the social whirl. Yet, he basks in his popularity now that he’s decided to marry. Always was a man of purpose. He sets his mind to a task and sees it done. Makes him quite effective in a battle, and perhaps a bit heartless in a drawing room.”
“You know him well, Mr. Wilder? I’d heard otherwise.”
“We were never friends,” he admitted. “We’ve been acquainted for many years. Both of us fought with the Blues.”
“I’ve heard men suffer broken hearts in war. They fall in love with an exotic miss and have to leave her behind on campaign.”
“Not Clun. Famously immune. Whilst the rest of us lost our heads in calf love with some dark-eyed
señorita
, he remained unaffected.” Satisfied by her increasing pallor, Wilder concluded sweetly, “But then, one cannot expect honey from a stone, Lady Elizabeth.”
Constance came up to interrupt their
tête-à-tête
, saying, “Lizzy, you look chilled to the bone, hurry while the drinks are hot!”
Elizabeth bade Mr. Wilder good-bye and let Constance return her to their party.
Chapter 31
In which all hell breaks loose.
D
uring the Haverford Christmas Eve ball, Elizabeth gracefully fobbed off what Clun referred to as ‘her fops and fribbles’ with light banter. In reality, she was heartsick and unsure what to do. The man she loved would not meet her gaze.
As the evening dragged on, her doubts compounded.
Elizabeth attended the ball on her father’s arm. Unfortunately, Constance and Lady Petra had not come, so Elizabeth wasn’t able to confide in her friend. She felt pressure building as time ran out on her betrothal. The day after Christmas, the earl would send her to Devonshire, where she would remain until the fuss fizzled. And Clun would be off to make merry in Shropshire.
As was often the case, Mr. Wilder hovered nearby. Again, he expressed his concern for her with gentle sympathy and offered his assistance as her friend unto death. While their heads were together, Elizabeth spied a stormy-eyed Clun glare at her and stalk away. He might keep his filthy looks to himself.
When next she spotted the baron, he was dancing with a petite, fair-haired girl who was Elizabeth’s opposite in every way. Adding to Elizabeth’s misery, Lady Clun sidled up to point out that her son’s dance partner was none other than Miss Horatia Mangold.
“They make an attractive pair,” Lady Clun murmured.
In fact, Elizabeth thought the two of them looked like a carnival act of freak opposites so extreme as to be morbidly entertaining, but she refrained from expressing her opinion. While she stared, Clun led the girl off the dance floor in an overly-solicitous manner that disgusted her. She excused herself to follow the retreating pair.
If only she’d turned to look, Elizabeth might’ve seen how Lady Clun’s eyes danced and suspected mischief.
Even before Elizabeth stormed after Lord Clun, this ball promised to be the talk of the
ton
for weeks to come. Lord and Lady Haverford succeeded in attracting numerous notables, including all Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. No one would’ve guessed three of the Horsemen, the Duke of Ainsworth, Mr. Percy and Lord Seelye, only attended to keep an eye on their fourth, Lord Clun. This was the Duchess of Ainsworth’s doing.
On several occasions, Her Grace overheard Lady Clun wholesaling rumors about the end of her son’s betrothal. So Prudence invoked Woman’s Intuition and insisted Ainsworth rally the troops to Clun who was, she predicted, in trouble.
When the duchess noticed Elizabeth and the baroness, she sensed something malicious afoot. While her husband and his friends muttered about how insupportable such to-do’s could be, Prudence caught a glimpse of Clun escorting a little blonde through a doorway with Elizabeth in pursuit. Her Grace excused herself to go to the withdrawing room and followed them. She overtook Elizabeth in the hallway, where she stood stiffly by a door left ajar. Before Prudence could say a word of greeting, Elizabeth rushed away.
The duchess peered through the gap.
Inside the room, Clun hovered over Miss Mangold, who obviously feigned illness in order to cling to him. The former apothecary knew perfectly well no fainting female had such healthy color or so tenacious a grip.
* * *
Christmas Eve was an unmitigated disaster from Clun’s perspective. He went to the Haverford ball in the hope that Elizabeth suffered a sudden bout of amnesia, forgot his refusal and would grant him his waltz.
She remembered. And she preferred the company of Wilder and her other brainless diddlebugs. Her being of sound mind soured his mood. Next, his mother introduced him to the Hon. Horatia Mangold, her own candidate for the next Lady Clun, and maneuvered him into dancing with her. This curdled his sour mood further.