A Most Unconventional Match (20 page)

F
or a long time after Mr Waterman walked out, Elizabeth paced her studio. Just two days ago, she'd been so full of hope and energy, excited by thoughts of the future, believing that her life at last had taken a turn for the better. What false illusion that had been!

She closed her eyes tightly, willing back the tears. When she opened them again, her gaze fell upon the portrait of Everitt over her desk. A wave of grief and longing swamped her, so intense she nearly staggered.

How she craved the sweet peace of her life with him! A tranquillity and comfort that, just yesterday, she had contemplated recapturing by wedding Sir Gregory. Who might instead be thinking of taking advantage of her loneliness and grief by setting her up as his mistress.

She still could not believe him capable of such perfidy. But according to Mr Waterman, her person, if not yet her identity, had already been entered in the famous betting book at White's, to be perused by every gentleman of the
ton
. And once that identity was discovered, as it most certainly would be, her name would be added to the wager for men to lust over and speculate about, as if she were the newest doxy on the London stage. The idea made her feel faint and dizzy with humiliation, as if she'd been thrust on to a London street in nothing but her chemise.

What was she to do about it?

How she longed for Sarah, that she might ask her advice. Or Nicky. If he were here, surely he'd be able to squelch those horrid rumours.

Suddenly furious, she ceased pacing and turned to slam her fist on the desk. Why, just when it seemed simply surviving had grown easier, must she deal with problem after problem, each one more distressing than the last?

The blaze of indignation spent, she sighed and seated herself behind the desk. Unfair or not, equipped to deal with it or not, somehow she must cope.

First she had to ascertain Sir Gregory's true intentions. Focusing her mind on their outing two days ago, she scoured her memory to recall exactly what Sir Gregory had said as they strolled down Bond Street.

He wished to treat her like the treasure she was, shower her with beautiful things, she remembered. Men were known to lavish money on their doxies…but a husband might also wish to bedeck his wife in splendour, mightn't he? A niggle of doubt shook her.

He'd also said he wished to take care of her and smooth every trouble from her brow. She recalled the touch of his finger against her forehead, the warmth in his gaze both shocking and disconcerting. Surely he knew her well enough to guess that she could never feel ‘untroubled' if all society assumed her to be his mistress!

At the time he spoke those words, she had immediately thought he meant marriage. But, her face burning with shame at the realisation, she supposed his vows could just as easily support an intention to offer her
carte blanche
.

He couldn't truly believe she would accept so shabby an offer, did he? she wondered, her anger rekindling. If he dared offer her such an insult, she would toss him out on his ear and never speak to him again!

But perhaps she was maligning him. Perhaps he'd meant exactly what she'd first assumed. How was she to tell?

Use her feminine mind, Hal had advised her.

Leaning her chin on her hand, she stared into the distance, pondering. Then she took up her quill and wrote Sir Gregory a note.

As Elizabeth had hoped, at mid-afternoon Sir Gregory came in answer to her summons. Receiving him in the blue salon, already garbed in her carriage dress, she had to make herself smile in response to his greeting.

Suspend your suspicions, she told herself as he bent over her hand. You may yet discover that his intentions are entirely honourable. Though the enormity of the wrong he was doing her if they were not made it difficult for her to act naturally around him.

‘The fresh air of our last ride must have had a beneficial effect, else you'd not have requested my escort again so soon,' Sir Gregory said as he escorted her down the stairs. ‘How delighted I was to find myself free this afternoon and able to accept your invitation!'

‘I, too, am delighted,' Elizabeth replied after he'd helped her up and assumed his own seat. ‘When one must contemplate a weighty matter, 'tis a relief to move closer to a decision.'

Occupied in setting the horses in motion, Sir Gregory slid her a glance. ‘And what weighty matter is it about which you must decide?'

‘I shall tell you once we reach the park, when I may claim your full attention.'

‘I am ever happy to devote my complete attention to you, dear Lizbet,' Sir Gregory said with a fond look.

After a brisk drive through the busy Mayfair streets into Hyde Park, they at last reached the carriageway, not yet crowded at this relatively early hour. Pulling up the horses, Sir Gregory looked down at her.

‘You intrigue me, my dear. Pray, what is this serious matter you would discuss?'

‘Surely you haven't forgotten already,' Elizabeth said, giving him a little pout. ‘You spoke to me of it just two days ago, while we were walking on Bond Street.'

Sir Gregory's eyes lit. ‘Ah, that matter. You don't mean to chastise me now for speaking hastily, I hope! I assured you I was willing to wait.'

‘Perhaps I am not,' Elizabeth said, peeping up through her lashes at him in what she hoped was a flirtatious manner. ‘Though I would not have you believe that I didn't truly love Everitt nor that I do not still grieve for him, I somehow find myself anxious to contemplate the future.'

An ardent look came over Sir Gregory's face. ‘And you are considering allowing me a place in it? Dear Lizbet, 'twould be my fondest dream!'

‘Of course, nothing could be settled yet. I intend to observe the full mourning period,' she cautioned.

‘I would expect no less.'

‘Still, I understand an estate can take a very long time to settle, and I must anticipate what I might need.'

‘Only give me the right to cherish you, my dear, and you need worry about nothing.'

‘You are so gallant, Sir Gregory! But it wouldn't be fitting for you to supply my bride clothes.'

Sir Gregory's smile faltered. ‘Bride clothes?'

‘Indeed, for I could not contemplate being married in my blacks! Then there is the matter of which residence we would occupy. I would need time to secure new positions for Everitt's servants before I closed up the house, as I assume you would wish your wife to preside over one of your own properties?' She gazed up at him, trying to keep a look of innocent inquiry on her face.

An attempt that grew ever more difficult as Sir Gregory looked away, obviously uncomfortable. ‘Well…with more than six months of mourning left, it's far too early to concern yourself with such matters now.'

She had no need to feign the blush of embarrassment—and rage—that mounted her cheeks. ‘Why, Sir Gregory!' she exclaimed, trying to look confused. ‘Did I misunderstand? I thought you said you wished to cherish and—'

‘Yes, yes, I did,' he cut her off. ‘You must know how much I treasure you.' He attempted a reassuring smile, which did not quite succeed.

‘You wanted to shower me with beautiful things,' she pressed on, ignoring his obvious desire to terminate the conversation. ‘Remove the frown from my—'

‘So I did!' he snapped. Catching himself, he smiled again and patted her hand. ‘But your cheeks are so flushed, I can see it distresses you to speak of this, while you are still so overset by Everitt's passing. Let me take you to Gunter's for some cooling ices.'

It would take more than ices to cool the rage building in her chest. Determined to push him into the denial she was now certain he meant, she said, ‘I am only distressed that you no longer seem willing to discuss what you were so anxious to broach to me only two days ago. You were speaking of marriage, were you not? As Everitt's dearest friend, surely you could mean nothing else.'

‘Remarriage before the end of your mourning period would be most improper,' he said primly, as if he could slough the perfidy of his desires off on her. ‘You must be feeling out of sorts, to persist so in these thoughts. I think I'd best return you home.'

Though she'd not managed to manoeuvre him into denying he'd meant to offer marriage, his failure to reassure her that he did during the several opportunities she'd given him was telling enough.

‘Yes, perhaps you'd better take me home,' she said, suddenly finding it required all her self-control not to seize him by the lapels and scream at him like a fishwife.

Silence reigned during the short drive back to Green Street. Once they arrived, she stayed his hand when he would have dismounted to help her down. ‘James the footman can assist me to alight,' she told him. ‘You'd do better to return to your club and assuage your disappointment over losing that wager.'

Sir Gregory's eyes widened. ‘Wager?'

‘Since I now have a clearer idea of just how you meant to “cherish” me, you needn't call here again. Ever.'

Comprehension flashed in his eyes. ‘How did you know—Waterman! It must have been him. I can't believe he repeated such salacious nonsense to you—or that you believed him. How despicable to sully the ears of a gently born lady with such a thing!'

‘Do you deny that there is such a wager?'

He remained silent for a moment, obviously casting about for an answer that would mollify her.

‘No matter.' She cut him off before he could begin. ‘So it's not despicable for someone to wager on the probability of my becoming your mistress? For you to allow men I don't even know to sully my reputation? 'Tis only despicable for Mr Waterman to warn me of it? What a twisted code of honour you embrace!'

‘Lizbet, you misunderstand,' he protested. ‘I'll come back later, when you're calmer. We'll discuss this…'

She stared him back into silence, her hard blue gaze cutting off his attempts to explain. For a moment, beyond the furious beating of her heart, Elizabeth heard only the jingle of harness as his restive horses shifted their feet.

‘My name is “Elizabeth”,' she said coldly. ‘And I do not recall giving you leave to use it.'

Nodding to the footman standing beside the curricle, she let him hand her down, then mounted the stairs to the front door without a backward glance.

Late that night, Hal returned to his club. He'd spent the afternoon and evening in another meeting of investors. Their agreement on funding complete, the engineer on the new project would be leaving for the north to begin the initial phases. Hal had promised to travel there shortly to oversee the initial construction and bring back a report of its progress to the other investors.

He might as well leave London. He'd done all he could to put the Lowery finances in order, save file the still-missing will for probate. Everything else could wait until Nicky returned to take up the reins. Having alienated Elizabeth Lowery, there was no need for him to call again. A dull ache throbbed in his chest at the thought.

David would miss him if he just took himself off with no warning. He'd have to arrange a time—early in the morning, when Elizabeth was working—to visit the boy and explain the obligations that required him to leave London.

Then there was the pending matter of Elizabeth's artistic work. He supposed he could pen her a note asking if she wished him to begin a list of potential clients from among his industrialist contacts in the north.

Sending a note would be far better than seeing her in person, standing before her while she stared accusingly at him, her eyes brimming with tears of hurt and outrage. It felt like someone drew a knife across his chest, just remembering it.

He only wished his speech had been clever enough to warn her while somehow sparing her feelings. Having been warned, he felt confident she was intelligent enough to somehow ferret out Sir Gregory's true intentions. In any event, having made it quite clear she had no desire to become the baronet's mistress, she would know to avoid appearing with him in places that might cause the idle and evil-minded to draw wicked conclusions.

A sudden idea sent a surge of new purpose through him. Perhaps there was one more thing he could do to help her.

Glancing around, he noted most of the denizens of White's, having dined some hours earlier, were now occupied in gaming or deep in their cups. Those who chanced to walk by gave him no more than a nod in passing.

Quietly rising from his seat, Hal strolled unhurriedly to where the betting book was kept, waiting until the waiters were all occupied serving the crowd that had assembled around a table where four members were finishing a hard-fought game. Seizing the book, he slipped it beneath his coat and walked to the hearth.

A few moments later, a great shout went up as one of the players won—or lost—a hand. While the outcry continued, Hal flipped to the page on which Carleton's wager had been recorded, tore it out and tossed the page into the flames, then ambled back to replace the book.

Every day some new scandal became the most talked-about happening at the club. As long as Elizabeth avoided being seen with Sir Gregory—and Hal felt sure she now would—the idle gentlemen who'd made the bet, finding it impossible to determine her identity, would turn their attention to the next salacious story. Should they ever pick up the book to review the wager, Hal thought it unlikely they'd care enough about so minor an event to protest much over the missing page.