A Chance Encounter (3 page)

But Elizabeth was aware only of the slightly jerky movement made by Hetherington as he heard the name and turned in her direction. For a timeless, frozen moment their eyes met. Blank disbelief, sudden recognition, and shock flashed across his face all within seconds. It was unlikely that anyone except Elizabeth even noticed.

Then, his expression wiped clean of all expression except polite reserve, he inclined his head with a muttered “ma'am,” while the others were presumably doing the same, and Elizabeth, snapping back to reality, rose to her feet and curtsied.

He seated himself with his back to her and engaged Cecily in conversation while Mr. Mainwaring and Mrs. Prosser talked to Mrs. Rowe. Mr. Prosser, a man in his early forties, Elizabeth estimated, balding and slightly paunchy, strolled over and conversed with her for a few minutes, though she could not recall afterward what had been the topic. After twenty minutes, the company departed with promises of future visits and invitations.

Another half-hour passed before Elizabeth could escape from the raptures of her employer and her charge. Mrs. Rowe was vastly impressed with the good looks and the presence of the owner of Ferndale. Cecily seemed more pleased with the rank and the charm of the marquess. But on one thing they were agreed: Cecily would surely be able to engage the interests of one of the two men, or possibly of both. Had not the marquess had eyes for no one else? Had not Mr. Mainwaring positively glowered when his friend sat next to Cecily before he had a chance to do so himself?

At the earliest opportunity Elizabeth retired to her own room on the pretext of having to wash her hair before dinner. She was very badly shaken by the unexpected encounter and felt that she needed a few hours in which to assess what had happened and what its implications for her immediate future would be.

She had never really expected to meet Robert again. She had known, of course, that he was now Marquess of Hetherington. The vast difference in their ranks should have ensured that their paths would never cross. Elizabeth had tried to make doubly sure by taking a position with a less-than-prominent family in a place quite remote from London, where she assumed he spent most of his time, and from Hetherington Manor in Sussex, where he had his country seat.

But it had happened by some bizarre twist of fate. And she thought again of how achingly familiar he had looked in the drawing room earlier before he had become aware of her presence. She supposed there must have been some changes had she had the chance to look more closely to show that he was now a man of eight and twenty rather than two and twenty, but the experience of six years before seemed to have left no mark on him. He had appeared as friendly and as charming as he ever had. Elizabeth wondered if there were any visible sign of change in her. But she knew that there must be. Even though her name had brought his eyes in her direction earlier, it had taken him a moment to recognize that she was the same Elizabeth Rossiter he had known.

Of course she had changed! Elizabeth thought back to the young, eager girl that she had been when she arrived in London at the age of twenty. She had worn her chestnut hair long, in thick curls and ringlets. Her aunt's hairdresser had advised her not to imitate the current fashion for cropped hairstyles; her hair was too rich and too healthy, he declared. Her aunt's dresser had decided that Elizabeth's complexion needed no artificial aids. Her cheeks always had a natural bloom. Her gray eyes were large and always looked directly into a companion's. Her figure was slender but unmistakably feminine. She was of average height.

Elizabeth remembered that she had had many admirers, who had shamelessly flattered her beauty. But although she had laughed, she had had to believe in their sincerity. She had no wealth or dowry that could have attracted mere fortune-hunters. After the hard years spent keeping her father's home, she had thrown herself with unabashed zest into the activities of the Season. The fashion was to appear bored, but Elizabeth had refused to conform. She had ridden, driven with a variety of escorts, and attended balls, routs, Venetian breakfasts, soirees, and a dizzying array of other events.

Yes, Robert must have noted a huge difference in her. Elizabeth's eyes strayed to the mirror over her dressing table. Her hair was as rich and as healthy as it had been, but was worn now in a severe knot. Her face was pale; it appeared to have lost its youthful bloom. And her prim gray governess's gown hardly compared to the white and pastel-colored muslins and silks and laces that she had worn the year she met Robert.

Elizabeth was staring unseeingly now at her own image. She was reliving that first meeting at a particularly crowded and stuffy ball. She could not even remember who the hosts had been. Her aunt had introduced them. He was Robert Denning, younger son of the Marquess of Hetherington. At first he had been just another dance partner. But it had not taken many minutes for Elizabeth to respond to his charm and his obvious enthusiasm for life. He, too, ignored the trend toward affected boredom. He was very different from the languid, dandified young men with whom the ballrooms were usually filled.

When the supper dance had begun later in the evening, Elizabeth was delighted to be claimed yet again by Robert Denning. He had led her to a table apart in the supper room instead of joining a group of acquaintances, and they had talked animatedly for a full hour, sharing stories of their childhood. She had learned that he had been a lonely boy, eleven years younger than his only brother. His mother had died at his birth; his father was almost constantly in London, very involved in the business of the House of Lords; and his brother had been away at school or university during his boyhood. Robert had spent those years at Hetherington Manor with a secretary, a tutor, and a housekeeper for companions. His father, a man very conscious of his own superiority, had discouraged him from making friends of his own age in the neighborhood.

But for all that, he did not speak with bitterness about his family or his childhood. Somehow a natural sunniness of nature had carried him through unscathed. But he was restless. Life did not have much in the way of challenge to offer a younger son. He wanted to enlist, but his father had steadfastly refused to buy him a commission.

Elizabeth had parted from him at the end of supper to dance with other partners. She would not, she reflected now, have been heartbroken if she had never seen him again. It had certainly not been a case of love at first encounter. But she remembered feeling a pleasant hope of meeting the charming, fair-haired man again. She had thought they could become friends.

Elizabeth became conscious of her own reflection again. How she wished now that they had not met again! Or did she? Someone somewhere had said that it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Did she agree? She was not quite sure. But she did know that if she arrived at the dinner table with unwashed hair, someone might think to comment on the fact.

She rang the bell and instructed the maid to bring several jugs of hot water.

Elizabeth finally calmed herself that night by deciding that she need not see Hetherington again. It was true that he was a house guest at Femdale for an undetermined length of time, true too that there was almost certain to be some social interchange between the Rowes and the Ferndale party. But she need not be a part of any of the meetings. She was a mere servant. And even though she was Cecily's companion, she guessed that Mrs. Rowe would herself be anxious to accompany her daughter to any social functions that might arise from the new arrivals. Elizabeth's presence, then, would be superfluous. She went to sleep comforted by her thoughts.

Two days later she did not feel so hopeful. She and Cecily were outdoors sketching in the warm summer air when a servant came from the house to say that Mrs. Rowe wanted them immediately. Elizabeth did not recognize the phaeton drawn up before the door, but that very fact alerted her to the identity of the visitors who were obviously inside. She went straight to the schoolroom with the easels and sketching pads while Cecily, fluffing the muslin of her light summer dress around her and checking her curls with eager hands, disappeared in the direction of the drawing room.

Ten minutes later Cecily herself appeared in the schoolroom, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining.

“Mr. and Mrs. Prosser and the Marquess of Hetherington have invited me to walk with them,” she said breathlessly, “and Mama says I may go, provided you come too. We may even go as far as Granby, Beth, as Mrs. Prosser wants to purchase some ribbons.”

Elizabeth arranged the charcoal pieces more neatly on their shelf, her back to Cecily. “It is a delightful day for a walk,” she said calmly. “You must go, Cecily, but I cannot think my presence necessary. I am sure your mama will consider Mrs. Prosser chaperone enough.”

Cecily pulled a face. “But I particularly wish you to come, Beth,” she coaxed. “You see, I feel shy. I shall not know what to talk about.”

Elizabeth smiled. “What?” she teased. “I have never known you to be at a loss for words before, Cecily.”

The girl looked rather shamefaced. “Say you will come, please, Beth. You are always so sure of yourself. I know you will not feel a qualm at being in such company.”

Elizabeth felt completely trapped. “Oh, very well,” she said finally, and went to her room to fetch a straw bonnet.

Mr. and Mrs. Prosser smiled cordially when the two ladies returned to the drawing room. Hetherington bowed stiffly in Elizabeth's direction and smiled dazzlingly at Cecily.

“You look most charming, Miss Rowe,” he said, eyeing appreciatively the blue bonnet and parasol that complemented the white muslin of her dress. “Shall we leave?” He extended his arm to the girl, and she laid her hand within it.

On the stroll to Granby, two miles distant, Elizabeth was left to walk behind with the Prossers. She found them good company. Mrs. Prosser, a plain but sensible woman in her middle thirties by Elizabeth's estimation, did not say much, but her husband conversed easily, not suggesting any condescension to the inferior status of his companion. He made her feel a social equal, in fact, as he talked about the welcome they had received from several families in the neighborhood. He talked about his life in the diplomatic service, about a year he had spent on government business in Lisbon.

All the while Elizabeth watched the couple walking ahead of them, arm in arm, talking and laughing together. Hetherington was obviously turning the full force of his charm on this new victim, she decided bitterly. She had once considered that charm to be natural and unforced. Elizabeth felt an actual pain in the region of her throat as she saw the fair head bend closer to Cecily's to listen to something she was saying. As he had once done with her.

When the group reached Granby, Cecily immediately led the way to a haberdasher's and turned eagerly to Mrs. Prosser, so that the five people came together.

“Mrs. Leigh has a fine selection of ribbons,” Cecily said. “Shall we see if she has what you need?”

“Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Prosser answered. “And do come with me, Henry. You always say I do not have a fine eye for color.”

Elizabeth made to follow the trio into the shop but was forestalled.

“I am quite sure you do not need four people to help you choose one length of ribbon, Bertha,” Hetherington said. “Miss Rossiter and I will entertain each other by taking a turn down the street. Ma'am?”

He was holding out an arm to her. Blue eyes that she had never seen so steely were boring into hers. The other three members of the group disappeared inside the shop. Elizabeth ignored the proffered arm. She could not bring herself to touch him. But she did turn away from the doorway and begin to move along the street.

They walked in loud silence for a few yards.

“I did not expect to find you so come down in the world, Miss Rossiter,” he said without looking at her. Could that icily polite voice be Robert's?

“Being a governess and companion is respectable employment, my lord,” she replied stiffly.

“But you expected more, did you not?” he asked.

Elizabeth looked across at him in astonishment. His words had been sneering. “I do not know how you can say that,” she said, trying desperately to hide the slight shake in her voice. “I was never wealthy, and never looked to be.”

He looked back at her now, and the sneer was in his face too. “Except once,” he said, and looked away from her again.

Elizabeth would not ask him what he meant. She raised her chin and continued to walk beside him. It was he again who broke the silence.

“Time has not been kind to you,” he said quietly. “You look a perfect fright, Elizabeth.”

Had she not been almost blinded by hurt, Elizabeth might again have been surprised by his lack of manners and by the anger in his voice.

“Thank you,” she said, her own voice now shaking with suppressed anger. “I am six and twenty years old, my lord. Alas, women cannot be expected to retain their beauty forever. And the clothes befit my station. I did not have it in mind to please you when I dressed this morning.”

They walked on in angry silence.

“We should turn back,” Elizabeth said at last. “The purchase of the ribbons must be almost complete.”

He turned obediently and they began to walk back in the direction from which they had come.

“And what happens to you when Miss Rowe marries?” Hetherington asked. “The day will come quite soon, you know.” The sneer was back in his voice.