An Heiress at Heart (15 page)

W
aves of heat and ice rushed over Lizzie all at once.

She turned to find herself looking into the wrinkled face of a very old man. The coat covering his stooped back had been patched and mended dozens of times, but was probably his best. His mouth broadened into a wide, nearly toothless smile. “Lizzie Poole! We thought you was gone forever! But here you are, plain as day, and dressed in such fine clothes! Wouldn’t your dear father ’ave been knocked right over if he coulda seen you!”

The old man’s voice was wheezy and raspy, as if he was bothered by a lung ailment. But his words were terrifyingly clear.

Fear kept Lizzie rooted to the spot. She had known there might be people in London who could recognize her, even after all these years. But she had convinced herself she could not possibly cross paths with them since she would be moving in London’s best circles. Who could have guessed that the Great Exhibition would bring all levels of society into such close contact?

The rich and the poor meet together…

Lizzie was unable to speak. Geoffrey stared at the old man in frank surprise. Even the boisterous Lord Ashley seemed at a loss for words.

“It’s me!” the old man said as he drew a step closer to Lizzie. “Ben Weathers! You can’t ’ave forgotten me.”

Lizzie examined his face. He had a wide, fleshy nose that was decidedly red, and watery blue eyes that were so faded it was as if the color had been rinsed out of them. He was older and more wrinkled to be sure, but Lizzie could not mistake the face of one of her father’s dearest friends.

She fought to keep her expression impassive, even as a multitude of conflicting desires warred within her. Her father had died while she was in Australia, and she knew nothing about his last days. She was sure Ben Weathers could answer all the questions she craved to ask. Weathers continued to watch her with anticipation. Had he seen a flicker of recognition on her eyes? He even opened his arms slightly, as though expecting her to approach him for a warm embrace. It took every ounce of her strength not to rush into those arms. She forced herself to concentrate on the solidity of Geoffrey’s arm as she clung to it. This was her path now. She must deny any knowledge of the man standing before her.

Lizzie leveled a flat, disinterested stare at the old man she had once loved as dearly as her father. Somehow she dredged up the same haughty tone that she had employed with Harding, saying coldly, “To whom are you referring,
sir
?”

She laid an extra bit of ironic stress on the word
sir
, reasoning that a lady would be affronted at being thus
addressed by a stranger who was so obviously beneath her station.

Weathers drew back, as though she had literally slapped him. “Why, Lizzie! What…” Confusion and doubt crossed his features. “You mean, you ain’t Lizzie Poole?”

Lizzie’s throat constricted. She choked out, “I am sure I can be no one of
your
acquaintance.”

In her anxiety to appear adequately offended, she overreached and spoke too harshly. She regretted it the moment she saw Weathers’s look of shame.

She was inwardly thankful when Geoffrey said in an appeasing tone, “You are confused, old man. You are, in fact, addressing Mrs. Edward Somerville.”

Weathers squinted as he studied Lizzie’s face, trying to reconcile Geoffrey’s statement with the contradicting evidence of his own eyes. Lizzie stood very still under his intense scrutiny, not trusting herself to move a muscle.

Finally he seemed to accept Geoffrey’s words. His gaze dropped to the ground, and his face took on the self-effacing expression any poor man would use when addressing his betters. He bowed deferentially. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I meant no harm by it, I’m sure.”

Lizzie’s heart squeezed so tight she thought it might burst. She said nothing.

“No harm done,” Geoffrey said kindly. “Perhaps your aged eyes are playing tricks on you.”

Lizzie would have laid bets that Ben Weathers’s eyes were sharp as a hawk’s. But his humble posture never changed. He nodded and said, “Indeed, sir, I am sure that is what happened.” He bowed again. “I shan’t trouble the lady any further.”

Geoffrey gently pulled Lizzie away from the staircase to clear the way for Weathers. She looked away then, pretending to peer with interest through one of the windows that opened onto the landing. She hoped Weathers would take this as a sign that he was already out of her thoughts.

Even with her back to him, she could feel his curious gaze resting on her as he made his way toward the stairs. She let out a sigh of relief when the sound of his steps on the staircase faded away.

“How extraordinary!” Lord Ashley exclaimed. “What do you make of that?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t possibly guess.” Lizzie tried to speak nonchalantly, but to her dismay, it came out as a croak.

“Clearly he thought he knew you,” Geoffrey said.

“Yes, well…” She swallowed in an effort to loosen the knot in her throat. “As you said, his eyes were playing tricks on him.”

Geoffrey shook his head. “I only said that to spare the old fellow some embarrassment.”

“Why should you want to do that? It was impertinent for him to address me that way.”

“Perhaps you resemble the daughter of someone he used to work for,” Lord Ashley offered. “He mentioned something about her father.”

“That’s a reasonable guess,” said Geoffrey.

Both men were taking the event far too seriously. Lizzie had to find a way to make the whole thing seem preposterous. What would Ria say? “I must say I find the whole thing horribly distressing.” She spoke lightly and punctuated the remark with an exaggerated pout.

This brought a look of consternation from Geoffrey.

Lord Ashley said, “Distressing? How so?”

“I am horrified to think there may be someone out there who resembles me. It is so unflattering.” She tilted her head proudly. “I should like to think I am undeniably unique!”

“Right you are, my dear!” Lord Ashley said with amusement. “It was unpardonable of us to discuss any other possibility.”

She gave him a sunny smile. “I forgive you.” She peered once again through the window with a show of curiosity. “Shall we go inside? I am all anticipation to discover everything about this quaint little cottage.”

Lord Ashley motioned her toward the open door. “You will be impressed, no doubt of that…”

Lizzie thought she expressed a credible amount of interest as the earl showed off the modern conveniences in the simple dwelling. He pointed out the bedroom for the husband and wife, and two smaller rooms for the children.

“Separate bedrooms!” he exclaimed happily. “To encourage modesty and high morals.”

In the tiny scullery, he bubbled with pleasure as he demonstrated the separate chutes for coal and waste.

Lizzie smiled and nodded appreciatively. She even managed to ask a few pertinent questions, although her mind kept returning to her encounter with Ben Weathers.

Her actions had hurt and disappointed the old man, and she was sorry for that. It must have been at least ten years since he had last laid eyes on her. He wore those years plainly on his hunched figure. Yet he had recognized her. How many more of London’s lowliest denizens could still identify her?

Only an hour ago she had been excited about attending the Great Exhibition. Now she was uneasy to think of spending hours in that vast building with hundreds—perhaps thousands—of people from every corner of London.
The rich and the poor meet together…

She would have to be very careful.

*

Geoffrey sat opposite Ria, watching her as the carriage skirted the southern edge of Hyde Park, heading east toward Mayfair. She sat with her head tilted back and her eyes closed, sinking more deeply into the cushioned seat with each rock and sway of the carriage. Everything in her face and posture indicated utter exhaustion. She had not spoken for some time.

Geoffrey chastised himself for keeping her out so long, adding to her exertions by taking her to see the Prince’s Cottages. At the time she had seemed up to it, and had even shown a genuine interest. It was not until they had parted from Lord Ashley that signs of Ria’s fatigue began to surface. She had become subdued and watchful, carefully scanning the faces of everyone they passed as they returned to Geoffrey’s carriage. Perhaps she was looking for the old man who had spoken to her earlier.

He was still mulling over the strange event. The fellow was convinced he knew Ria, though he had called her by another name. Ria had dismissed the incident out of hand, yet Geoffrey sensed that it upset her more than she acknowledged.

Ria must have realized that he was studying her. She opened her eyes. Geoffrey thought he saw a certain vulnerability
in her look, a sadness that he was tempted to think he understood. Her brows drew together, as though she were trying very hard to remember something. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, as one might comfort a lost child.

He was glad he resisted the urge, because in an instant Ria’s expression changed to something altogether different. A mischievous smile wiped away any trace of the quiet, lost girl. She brought her hands to her cheeks and said, “Oh, dear—do I have a smudge on my face?”

Geoffrey forced a smile and shook his head. “I was merely wondering whether you are well.”

“Oh, yes. Perfectly well.” She reached up to check the placement of her bonnet and tucked back a stray lock of hair. “I confess I am tired, but that is no matter. It has been such an
interesting
morning.”

The carriage stopped. Geoffrey peered out the window and saw that they had paused at the intersection with the wide avenue leading to Lady Thornborough’s home. Carriages, carts, and wagons streamed up and down the busy street. The driver must be waiting for an opportunity to enter the fray.

“The Crystal Palace is such a marvel!” Ria said sprightly. “I cannot wait to see the inside.”

“When will you go? Tomorrow?”

“Oh, no. James says we must wait until Saturday, when the crowd is smaller due to the higher admission fee.”

Ria was speaking in a light, silly tone, like so many of the society misses he’d met in London this season, and it chafed him. “You plan to avoid persons of the baser sort,” he said with a touch of sarcasm. “A brilliant plan.
After all, you would not want a repeat of what happened today. Someone mistaking you for a commoner.”

Ria’s face reddened. She must have caught the reproof in his tone. He was, therefore, taken aback when she nodded as though his words were perfectly sensible. “Quite right. I certainly would not want another such incident. That would be—”

She was cut off in mid-sentence when the carriage lurched forward without warning. The driver must have found an opening and raced to take advantage of it. The unexpected movement threw Ria from her seat and she fell forward, landing on the floor of the carriage.

“—awkward,” she finished.

Instantly Geoffrey moved to help her up. His hands found their way around her slim waist, which sent an unpardonable array of sensations through him. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice hypocritically cool.

Her face was mere inches from his. “I—I don’t think so,” she stammered.

Slowly she managed to get her feet back under her. They both had to struggle for balance against the movement of the carriage as Geoffrey helped her back to her seat.

When she was settled, Geoffrey dropped back into his own seat. The carriage continued to make its way briskly up the avenue, and Geoffrey was glad of that. It would be a relief to get Ria safely home and be on his way. She had stirred up entirely too many emotions today.

Ria gave a little tug to her gloves and rearranged her shawl as the carriage pulled up to Lady Thornborough’s home. Her cheeks were tinged with pink—a vivid contrast to the day he first laid eyes on her, sprawled unconscious on those white marble steps.

The coachman opened the door. Geoffrey descended from the carriage and turned to help Ria. Once she was safely down she stood unnervingly close, looking up at him, making no effort to move away. Every time she drew near like this, he found their surroundings seemed to fade, and only Ria was in sharp outline. The subtle scent of roses reached out and enveloped him.

“Thank you for bringing me home, Geoffrey. I know it was an inconvenience for you.”

Her tone was subdued.

Again he felt that strange need to console her. “I think we can safely blame James for any inconvenience.”

“Then we must also ‘blame’ him for affording us an opportunity to resolve some of our differences.” She smiled. “I know I chatter on like a silly woman sometimes, but I am glad we had this time together today.”

“So am I.” He meant it, for here was another glimpse of the Ria he wished to know better. He cleared his throat. “Might I come round tomorrow?” Somehow he felt like a fool for asking, as though he were some sort of suitor, so he added, “I would love to hear anything you can tell me about Edward.”

She seemed genuinely pleased at his request as she replied, “Of course. I shall enjoy it.”

Like everyone else in London, Geoffrey found himself eaten up with curiosity about how Edward had spent his final years. Although
unlike
most of London, he had a right to know. There were other things Geoffrey knew he should discuss with Ria as well, although he did not say so. Certain legal matters would need to be addressed regarding her status as Edward’s widow. But these could wait until tomorrow.

The door to Lady Thornborough’s home opened. Harding stood there, watching them expectantly. Geoffrey led Ria up the steps.

“Until tomorrow, then,” she said with a smile, and disappeared inside.

In spite of his earlier urge to be gone as soon as possible, Geoffrey stood for a moment, unwilling to move, watching as the door closed behind her.

                                                          
Chapter 15