Allison Lane (26 page)

“For which I must be grateful,” she murmured. 

But her mind raced.  The accident in the cave had completely changed his life.  He had even postponed things as sedate as travel because he wouldn’t face the unknown alone.  So perhaps he needed her.  Did he hope to broaden his horizons with her at his side?  Could she help him find that adventurous boy he had once been?  The idea was insidiously enticing.

She was tempted to question Symington further about the young Randolph, but bowed to propriety.  The longer she remained, the greater the risk that someone would discover them together.

Thanking him for the information, she slipped away.

* * * *

Elizabeth paused in the drawing room doorway.  Her head was beginning to ache.  After leaving Symington, she had passed two hours in fruitless contemplation, but she was as confused as when she had started.

Probably more confused.  She had decided to avoid marriage ten years earlier after finding her mother in uncontrollable tears for the third time in a week.  Nothing had tempted a change of mind – until now.

Fosdale’s dictates had grown increasingly cruel in recent years, and she could not convince herself that they were inadvertent.  He was deliberately making his wife miserable, though she had done nothing to deserve such treatment – which made putting herself under the control of another an intolerable idea.

Yet she was faced with a gentleman who not only vowed to eschew such control, but who made her yearn for his company – and more.

His portrayal of a future spent alone had been brutally honest.  She had known that her income was unlikely to cover even a rudimentary staff, yet she had never considered the effort it would take to do the work herself.  She had known that women had no rights and few opportunities in the world of business, yet she had believed that in time she would earn enough to support herself in style.  She had known that setting up her own establishment would sever any ties to her own class, yet she had never considered the gulf that would remain between her and the lower classes.

He had also given her the means to overcome most of those problems.  Yet the biggest hurdle of all would never be cleared with money:  the fundamental loneliness she would face for the rest of her life.  It was a problem she had never even considered until now.

Reality rarely matches expectations.
  The axiom echoed in her ears.  Despite quoting it to Cecilia at frequent intervals, she had never applied it to herself.

Mr. Randolph was right.  In her own way, she was as naïve and unrealistic as Cecilia.  Her dreams might be very different, but she was no more likely to achieve them.  And after just a few days in his company, loneliness loomed as a worse fate than helplessness.

But there was another side to that axiom, she realized suddenly.  She had always interpreted it negatively:  reality could never live up to expectations.  But there was a positive meaning as well. 

Sometimes reality exceeded expectations. 

How often had a fear of the unknown proven false?  Riding had become a joy.  Exposing her writing to the critical eye of a publisher had brought great satisfaction.  Even that brief kiss had been unlike anything she had ever imagined.  Could marriage to Mr. Randolph be another of life’s pleasures?

She shivered, and not in fear.

Yet her growing attachment – she had finally admitted to an attachment during the past two hours – was not as important as Mr. Randolph’s character.  She could not quite bring herself to place her future in his hands.  He seemed honest, concerned, and caring – traits Symington had confirmed – but she could not shake the conviction that something wasn’t right.

And not just with Mr. Randolph.  She had questions about Symington as well.  Both gentlemen seemed unusually tense.  They stiffened at odd times for no apparent reason.  She had attributed it to Fosdale’s pressure, but that was an inadequate excuse.  Even innocuous conversation was odd, for they weighed each word as if conducting delicate negotiations with hostile opponents.  And they often backtracked, changing their words in mid-sentence.

Then there were the facts they had not revealed.  Who was Mr. Randolph?  Why did his connection to Whitfield shift so often?  Could she tie herself to a man even Symington had described as an enigma?

She didn’t know.  Her heart demanded that she accept him, her body frankly wanted him, but her head remained skeptical.

So she had come downstairs, hoping that inconsequential chatter would ease her tension.  A break might offer a different perspective when she returned to the decision she must make.  She had promised an answer by morning.

“There you are, Elizabeth,” said Lady Fosdale unnecessarily.  “Do join us.  Lord Symington is telling the drollest story.”

She met his gaze in surprise.  Why was he entertaining the ladies instead of trying to disgust Cecilia?

“So what happened next?” demanded Cecilia.  “Society would forgive the Season’s diamond anything, so she must now be a duchess.”

“Of course not.”  He paused for a bored yawn.  “Having destroyed her reputation by galloping through the park at the height of the fashionable hour, she had to retire to the country.  Someone claimed that she later married a squire’s son, but I have reason to doubt it.”

“But everyone loved her!” Cecilia protested.

“Hardly.  She was merely the fashion of the moment, replaced within hours by a new Incomparable.  The rules are far more important than one silly girl.  The duke was appalled at her behavior.  Continuing to court her after she had embarrassed him in public would have diminished his own standing.”

“But you are not like that, are you?”

“Not a bit.  I detest Town and go there only when business demands it.  And while I play the game when necessary, I do it only to humor my grandfather.  Once he passes on, I need please only myself.  Society’s opinion doesn’t matter, because I have no use for any of them.”

Elizabeth coughed to hide a smile at the way Cecilia blanched.  It was Symington’s strongest statement yet, and Cecilia was finally realizing that she had backed herself into an untenable corner.

A commotion echoed from the hallway.  Lady Fosdale rang for the butler.

“What is going on, Wendell?”

“There has been a minor accident near the gates, my lady.  Lord Fosdale has invited the gentleman to stay the night while he assesses the damage.”

“Show him in so we may welcome him to Ravenswood,” she ordered.

Elizabeth’s attention shifted to Symington, who had noticeably stiffened – again.  What was the man’s problem?  He seemed on the verge of rising when Wendell returned.

“Lord Crossbridge, my lady.”

Symington’s shoulders sagged.  Crossbridge was already bent over Lady Fosdale’s hand as he murmured greetings and flowery compliments.  Symington’s eyes darted toward the door, but he was too far away to leave without drawing notice.

Fear clogged Elizabeth’s throat as all her uncertainties flooded back.  Something was very wrong.

“Was anyone injured?” Lady Fosdale asked.

“One of the horses pulled up lame.  Morning will reveal how serious it is.”

“May I present my daughters, Lady Elizabeth and Lady Cecilia, and another house guest, Lord Symington,” she said, indicating the others.

Crossbridge turned, his genial smile changing to fury when he spotted Symington.  “Well, well, my lord, how interesting to meet you in Cumberland.”  He straightened, radiating haughty condemnation.  “What kind of rig are you running this time, Sedgewick?  The town tabbies may forgive you everything short of murder, but country sensibilities are sterner.  Haven’t your escapades harmed enough people already?”

Cecilia gasped. 

Elizabeth stared, her heart dropping through the floor.

“May I present Lord Sedgewick Wylie, prankster
extraordinaire
and bane of many a gentleman,” Crossbridge said coldly.  “He tricked Lord Oaksford into parting with his prized team of bays for less than half their value.”

“That is not what—”

But Cecilia interrupted him.  “He came here to buy a rare book from Papa.”

“You’d best count the silver.  The man is a pariah,” swore Crossbridge.

The glare he aimed at Lord Sedgewick contained a hint of triumph.

“You’ve wreaked your revenge for that minor contretemps two years ago,” drawled Sedge before he glared in turn.  “Now suppose you drop the dramatics before you say something you’ll regret.”

Shrieking, Cecilia leaped up to slap Sedge’s face.  “You are no duke and never will be.”

“Quite true, alas.”

“And you would never take me to London?”

“I would see you in hell first.”

“But why this charade?” demanded Elizabeth.

“It wasn’t my ide—”  Sedge snapped his mouth closed.

Fury flared in Elizabeth’s breast, replacing the pain.  “How dare he claim to be honorable when he lied from the beginning?”

Cecilia stared.  “Do you mean that insignificant little man is—?”

Sedge grabbed her arm as she whirled to leave.  “Oh, no you don’t,” he growled as his temper snapped.  “You will leave him alone.  Even if he were not pledged to your sister, I will never allow a conniving little witch to bother my closest friend.”

“You can consider our betrothal broken,” she swore, drawing herself up in hauteur.

He actually laughed.  “Dear Lord, you are incredibly stupid.  I never agreed to a betrothal.  I would leave the country before tying myself to someone as dishonorable as you.  Yes, you have a rather ordinary prettiness of face, but it will never make up for your questionable breeding, minimal dowry, and mean-spirited character.  Perhaps we can pass this off as a childish prank, but if you ever attempt such a thing again, I will spread this tale throughout Society.  You would never be welcome in London after that.”

She tore free and fled the room.

Elizabeth shook away her shock.  “It was his idea, wasn’t it?”

“Not exactly—” he began, but she ignored his words.

“I should have known.  There isn’t a gentleman in the world who cares for anything but himself.”  She glared at him.  “And what was that about being pledged to me?”

“You know he has no choice—”

“Fustian!  He is as bad as Fosdale, but they won’t get away with it.”  She followed Cecilia from the room.

Sedge groaned. 

Lady Fosdale appeared close to tears.  “I must retire,” she managed in a wavering voice, then fled in turn.

“Sit down, Crossbridge,” snapped Sedge as the enormity of the disaster registered.  “Your attempt at revenge has set the cat among the pigeons with a vengeance.”

“It serves you right.”

“Then you will be crushed to learn that my own life has improved immeasurably since your arrival.  Cecilia and her greedy father staged a compromise designed to force me into wedding the chit.  You have my eternal gratitude.  Unfortunately, in freeing me, you destroyed Symington’s chance to win Lady Elizabeth’s hand.  I doubt he will forgive that.”

“Symington is also here?”

Sedge took pleasure in Crossbridge’s pallor.  “Exactly.  Will you never learn to think before you jump to conclusions?”

“Perhaps I can repair the damage.”

“I doubt it.  She is not like any lady you know.  Nothing you say will improve matters, and further interference may well make things worse.  At best, Fosdale will hold a gun to her head while he forces her to the alter, guaranteeing that she will hate every one of us for eternity.  But she may well flee – or kill herself.  She is as stubborn as Symington at his worst.”

Crossbridge paled even further.  “Does that broken arm have anything to do with this?”

He nodded, then explained the whole sorry story.  “Symington is in love with her,” he concluded a considerable time later.  “And I honestly thought she was beginning to care for him.”

“Then perhaps all is not lost.”

But Sedge doubted it.  After their discussion upstairs, he had realized that the imposture would redound against Randolph.  He had even warned Randolph when they talked a short time later, and he had been wracking his brains for a solution every since.  She was not a woman who took deceit lightly.

* * * *

Elizabeth stormed into Fosdale’s study.

“How dare you accept an offer from that man after I had already turned him down?” she demanded.

“Mr. Randolph?”  He shook his head as if bored at addressing the subject yet again.  “You are irredeemably compromised, Elizabeth.  He recognizes that fact.  No gentleman could face Society if he failed to wed an innocent after spending the night with her.  His only concern was that I give him enough time to bring you around because he’d rather have you willing – which only proves what a pitiful specimen he is.  A real man would take what is his instead of pandering to a stupid female.”

“He won’t take me at all.”  She leaned across his desk to emphasize her point.  “I wouldn’t wed him if he were the last man on earth!”

“You will, if I have to tie you up and cart you to Scotland.”

“Even Scotland requires consent.  Nothing will make me agree.”

“You’ll agree.”  He rose to tower over her.  His air of boredom had blossomed into anger, but she no longer cared.

“I won’t.  Intimidation may work with Mother, but nothing you do will force me to take a husband.  Why should I put myself at the mercy of a selfish, brutal beast?  Watching you all these years has truly been an education.”

He slapped her face.

“Go ahead.  Beat me,” she snapped, refusing to rub the bruise.  “Show the world what a wretched excuse for a man you are.  Prove that you are so impotent that only oppressing helpless dependents can give you the illusion of power.”  The words flew from her mouth without thought, and she nearly cringed, knowing that she had gone too far.

“Unnatural daughter,” he snarled, adding several less flattering terms.  “Get you from my house and live in the gutter where you belong.  You’ll be whoring within the week if you can find a man drunk enough to ignore your filthy mouth and ugly face.  But don’t you dare come slinking back here for help.  I’d watch you starve first.”

“You will never have the chance.  I would gladly starve rather than accept a pennypiece from you.”