Charlotte Louise Dolan (2 page)

“Because it is all his fault that you ... that you ...” Her Aunt’s voice trembled, and she started dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, the way she had done at least a dozen times a day since she had seen Elizabeth carried unconscious into the house a week earlier.

That my face is dreadfully scarred? Elizabeth mentally finished the sentence her aunt had never once been able to complete. “I will see him, Aunt Theo. Doubtless he merely wishes to assure himself that I am all right.”

“But you are not all right, you’re ... Oh, dear!” Overcome by emotion, her aunt rose to her feet, clutched her handkerchief to her mouth, and with scarves fluttering, made her way back toward the house.

Elizabeth picked up the small leather-bound volume of Wordsworth’s poems, which had been an engagement present from her brother. She opened it and stared down at the page but was unable to focus her attention on the verses printed there.

She was a coward, she knew. It would be better if Simon did come today, so she would know how things stood between them. He had sworn undying love when he proposed so romantically on bended knee—but he had given his heart to the Season’s incomparable, and she could no longer claim that honor. For herself, she cared nothing about society. She wanted a home and children ... and a husband, too, of course.

But what did Simon truly want? Was it really love she saw shining from his eyes when he led her out in a dance? Or was it merely pride, because he was escorting the most beautiful girl in the room?

Oh, she was wicked even to think such a thing about the man she loved. Of course he would stand by her—he was an honorable man. Only the most despicable cad would ask to be released from a pledge to marry, and Simon was a gentleman of impeccable honor.

She looked up to see a stranger in scarlet regimentals approaching her. He had black hair and skin darkened by the sun. Although near Simon’s size, standing a good six feet tall and weighing, she estimated, about thirteen stone, he was not nearly as handsome as her fiancé.

Of course, no other man in London was as handsome as Simon Bellgrave—there was no one who would dispute that.

Not that Captain St. John was bad-looking. Far from it. His broad shoulders set off the uniform to perfection, and his features were regular, although a bit harsh. His expression did nothing to soften the angular lines of his face, however, and his gray eyes held no warmth.

“Miss Goldsborough?”

She acknowledged that she was. “Won’t you be seated?” she offered automatically, indicating the bench beside her.

“No, thank you.” He remained standing. “I have come to see if you have need of any assistance,” he said stiffly.

She looked at him blankly.

“Financial assistance,” he added. “I have learned that you are an orphan.”

“Oh,” she said, too surprised at first to respond. “Oh, there is no need. My father left us well provided for.”

“Us?” he queried bluntly.

He not only was harsh-featured, she thought, but also quite rag-mannered. “I have a brother,” she clarified, although she was not really obligated to answer his question.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white card and extended it toward her. “Here is my card. I have scribbled my direction on the back of it, in case you have need of anything.”

Unwillingly she took it, glanced at it distractedly, not sure what she was to do with it, wishing she could simply hand it back to him. Finally she slid it into her reticule.

The silence between them stretched out, making her feel uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure how she should go about ridding herself of his presence. It was an unexpected relief, therefore, when she saw Simon approaching them from the house. His expression made it obvious he was not in a good humor. The scowl on his face, however, was not directed at her.

Without even pausing to greet her, Simon walked up to the other man and slapped the captain across the face with a glove.

Elizabeth could not have been more shocked if the sun had turned bright purple. Never would she have believed her fiancé capable of such behavior.

Still ignoring her presence, Simon Bellgrave stood with his hands clenched into fists, glaring at Captain St. John, but the captain directed his question to Elizabeth. “Your brother, I presume?”

She started to reply, but Simon interrupted. “I’m not her brother, I’m her fiancé,” he snapped.

The captain looked him up and down, his face impassive. “Just so,” he said mildly.

Although his countenance bore no hint of a smile, Elizabeth had the inexplicable feeling that inside he was mocking Simon, who must have received the same impression, because he was now quite livid with rage.

“Are you then no man of honor, that you can take such an insult without responding?” he sneered.

The captain’s voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear his reply. “If it is honor you seek, you will find it on the battlefield, not on a dueling field.” He turned to Elizabeth, gave her a curt bow, and strode away in the direction of the house.

“That sniveling coward,” Simon muttered. “If it were not for the respect I bear that uniform he wears, I would have struck him down on the spot.”

“Simon! How can you even talk that way!”

He turned, his expression lightening as he gazed down at her. “Oh, my dearest, I am so sorry you had to witness that.”

She had an impulse to remind him that it had been well within his power not to enact such a scene in front of her, but she restrained herself. “Whyever did you slap him?”

“Oh, my sweet darling, how could you imagine I should allow any man to cause you injury without seeking to punish him?” He turned toward the house, and once again his features tightened. “I cannot think what your aunt was about, to allow you to receive that man. He should be horsewhipped for indulging in a curricle race on such a narrow lane.”

“Or perhaps I should be horsewhipped for not keeping a better watch over Robbie?” She kept her voice light, wishing in her heart to be done with such useless assigning of blame. “Or should we blame my aunt’s cook, for having the audacity to marry the butler and have a child?”

“Exactly,” Simon replied. “Your aunt should have turned her off without a reference as soon as it was apparent she was increasing. Servants have no business procreating like rabbits.”

“Simon!” This time Elizabeth was unable to keep the shock out of her voice.

“Oh, my dearest darling, forgive me.” At once all solicitous attention, Simon seated himself beside her on the bench. “I should never have spoken so crudely in front of you.” He picked up her hands and kissed them both. “I am simply overcome with emotion every time I think about what has been done to you.”

She retrieved her hands and touched her cheek. “Does this bother you?”

He sprang to his feet and began pacing back and forth in the short confines of the rose arbor. “Of course it bothers me that you have suffered so. I cannot bear even to think of you in such pain.”

“I meant,” she said quietly, watching his face carefully, “does it bother you that I ... that I shall have a scar?”

The pause was so slight it was barely noticeable, before he threw himself on his knees in front of her, with protestations of undying love.

But she had noticed.

She also noticed that he did not directly mention the subject of her scar, but instead assured her over and over of her great beauty and his great devotion.

After he had gone, she sat for hours in the rose arbor, not reading, not noticing anything around her, just thinking about that brief hesitation...

* * * *

She was lucky it had missed her eye. That’s what the doctor had told her this morning when he had removed her stitches. Elizabeth looked at her reflection in the mirror and didn’t feel particularly lucky.

Experimentally, she turned her head to the right and saw the classical perfection of the left side of her face. But when she turned back, her eyes saw nothing except the jagged scar, which extended down the right side of her face from cheek to chin.

It was even worse than she had expected it would be—so red and swollen and angry-looking.

There was no way she could pretend otherwise. Aunt Theo had taken one look at it and had begun sobbing so hysterically the doctor had been forced to give her a dose of laudanum.

Nor had it been otherwise with her cousins, Florabelle and Dorinda. Kindhearted Dorie had tried earnestly to reassure Elizabeth that her face did not really look too frightful. But Florie had pointedly said nothing, and after the doctor left, Elizabeth had even noticed the older of her two cousins preening herself in front of the bedroom mirror, a rather smug, self-satisfied expression on her face.

Elizabeth tried to remind herself what her mother had always told her. A renowned beauty in her younger days, Catherine Goldsborough had said that since physical beauty was a gift from God, wholly unearned, one could not therefore take pride in it, but should strive instead to develop an inner beauty.

Elizabeth had taken her mother’s words to heart and did not feel that vanity had ever been one of her weaknesses. But now ...

She looked in the mirror and wanted to weep at what she saw. It wasn’t that she minded for herself, but what about Simon? He cared so much about appearances, was so particular about his own dress, and since their engagement had been made public, had even taken it upon himself to be the arbiter of which colors, fabrics, and fashions best set off her beauty.

He could not complain about the dress she wore today. It was the exact shade of blue as her eyes, and its graceful lines gave her the regal look of which Simon particularly approved.

But the dress did nothing to draw attention away from her face. Perhaps she should have worn her new ivory morning dress, she thought wryly. The red ribbons on it exactly matched the color of the scar.

Her feeble attempt at humor did nothing to raise her spirits, and she turned away from the mirror, which she was beginning to hate, and walked toward the door. Simon was waiting for her in the rose garden, and delaying joining him was only postponing the inevitable.

* * * *

“Did you hear that Worthington is quite rolled up? The bailiffs were at his house on Tuesday last. I heard it from Deverill, who bought his breakdowns.”

“Simon—”

“It was gambling that did him in, you know. I have always been particularly proud that the Bellgraves are not cursed with that affliction. You need have no worries on that score, my dear.”

He was meticulously shredding a rose, and the petals strewn like drops of blood at his feet gave mute testimony to the similar demise of several other blossoms.

“Simon, please—”

“Young Arbuckle has bought his colors, and I hear his family is much relieved. Let us hope that the army can settle him down a bit.”

The despair that had been building in Elizabeth since she joined her fiancé could be no longer contained.

“Look at me, Simon.”

* * * *

Hours later her brother found her on her favorite bench in the rose arbor, white-faced and staring into the distance.

“Good God, Beth, what are you doing out here like this? You’ve got goose bumps all over your arms. If you needed a little solitude, you might at least have fetched a shawl.”

She looked up at her twin, so tall, so boyishly handsome, so ... so unscarred. “Oh, Nicholas ...” Her voice broke, and she burst into sobs.

“Beth, what’s wrong?” He joined her on the bench and pulled her into his arms. “What’s happened? Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’ve broken off with Simon,” she finally managed to say through her tears.

“You’ve what?” Her brother held her at arms’ length. “Are you joking? You assured me you cared for him.”

She could read his thoughts clearly on his face, and could tell the exact moment he realized she might be trying to protect her erstwhile fiancé.

“That blackguard! I’ll cut out his liver.”

He sprang to his feet, but she caught his arm and with difficulty restrained him.

“No, Nicholas. He was a perfect gentleman. It was entirely my own wish to break off the engagement.”

Her brother stopped straining against her grasp, but did not reseat himself on the bench. “If you want me to believe that, you’ll have to have a mighty good explanation. I can’t swallow that you’ve suddenly decided you don’t suit.”

“I found ... I found that I cannot marry a man who is unable to look at my face,” she finally replied, blinking quickly to control the tears that were once again pooling in her eyes.

“Damn him. May his soul rot in hell.”

“It wasn’t his fault. He tried ... he tried ...” She bowed her head and covered her face with her hands, tormented by the memory of how the man she loved had struggled so hard to hide the revulsion he now felt.

No longer could she control her tears, but her brother forgot his anger and held her once more in his arms, giving her the comfort no one else was able to offer her.

“What do you wish to do now?” he asked a long time later, when she was finally quiet.

“I wish to go home to Oakhaven,” she said simply. “It is more peaceful there.”

“You won’t have to put up with Aunt’s histrionics there, is what you mean,” her brother said bluntly. “Are you sure you want to go through with this, Beth? If you give up Simon, you may not have another chance for marriage, especially if you hide yourself away in Somerset. Not that I won’t be happy to be back at Oakhaven.”

“I’ve already given Simon up,” she replied, remembering the look of intense relief on his face. No, there was no going back.

She had learned acceptance the hard way, first with the deaths of her parents, and then with the deaths of the two little sisters she had loved and cared for like a mother. Now she had to find the courage to face the fact that she was destined to live and die a spinster.

“Well, Nicholas,” she said, trying for a smile, “it looks as if it will be up to you to provide me with lots of nieces and nephews to love.”

“Damn, Beth, this isn’t right.” He surged to his feet and began to pace. “You were born to be a mother, not merely an aunt.”

“Wishing doesn’t change things,” was all she could say.