Lady Beauchamp's Proposal (36 page)

The stranger smiled and raised a hand in
greeting. “Pardon me, madam.” He held her gaze as he approached.
“If it’s no’ verra much trouble, would ye mind directin’ me to
Queen Street. I seem to ha’ lost my way.”

“It’s behind you. You’ll need to retrace
your steps, sir.”

The man glanced back over his shoulder
toward the copse. “Och, so it is.” He took a few steps closer and
peered at the lapel on Elizabeth’s coat. “I see ye have a watch
there. Might I ask ye fer the time?”

God, was he a thief?
Elizabeth didn’t
bother to glance down. She refused to take her eyes off the man for
a moment. Although her rational mind told her she was overreacting,
her instincts screamed that she was not. “I believe it’s just past
one o’clock, sir.”

His craggy face broke into a gap-toothed
grin, and Elizabeth instinctively recoiled backwards, tugging
Annabelle behind her skirts. Where in God’s name was James? If she
screamed would he hear her?

“Och. Yer English are ye?” The man’s gaze
suddenly flickered to a point behind her and his bushy eyebrows
plunged into a deep frown. “I’ll bid ye a good day, madam. I
mustna’ be late.” He doffed his hat, took a few steps back, and
then all but bolted back toward the copse.

“I didn’t like that man,” stated Annabelle
as the stranger disappeared into the trees. “He had mean eyes and
he smelt like Papa’s dogs when they’re wet.”

“Beth?”

Elizabeth was so relieved to hear James’s
voice, she nearly sagged into the pile of wet autumn leaves at her
feet.

“Are you and Annabelle all right? Who was
that man?” The moment James reached her, he pulled her swiftly into
his arms. “Sweet Lord, you’re shaking Beth.”

“There was an ugly, smelly man who said he
was lost, and then asked Mrs. Eliott the time,” said Annabelle.
“But I think he was lying. He was probably a pick-pocket. Miss
Palmer and Nanny say you must always look out for
pick-pockets.”

“We’re fine,” Elizabeth said shakily,
wanting to stay within the circle of James’s arms, but she drew
back, acutely aware of Annabelle’s curious gaze on them. She made
an effort to steady her voice. “And I don’t know who that man was,
or what he really wanted. But there was something not quite right
about him. He asked me directions to Queen Street.”

James’s eyes darkened and his mouth thinned
to a grim line. “Wait here.” He released his hold on her arms and
took off toward the other side of the park.

Elizabeth knelt down and held Annabelle
gently by the shoulders. For all her youthful courage, the child’s
wide blue eyes were clouded as they darted between her and the
trees.

“You were very brave, Lady Annabelle,” she
said gently, catching her gaze. “Your father will be all right and
back here before we know it.”

“I know. He fought for the Duke of
Wellington at Waterloo, and has lots of medals. I’m not worried
about him.” Her forehead dipped into a slight frown. “But I was
just wondering. Are you going to be my new mother, Mrs.
Eliott?”

Elizabeth bit back a gasp. She and James had
both underestimated the child’s perceptiveness. She concentrated on
taking a calming breath and cleared her throat. “Your father…Lord
Rothsburgh and I, we are just good friends, Lady Annabelle.”

Annabelle shook her head, her golden curls
bouncing. “Papa loves you. I think he wants to marry you. He called
you ‘Beth’ and hugged you.” Her frowned deepened and a shadow of
sadness darkened her eyes. “He and Mama never hugged. Mama didn’t
like it.”

Before Elizabeth could draw another breath,
Annabelle threw her arms about her neck and buried her small face
in the black wool of her coat. “I’m glad you like hugs. And you
smell nice. Like flowers. I want Papa to marry you too.”

Elizabeth’s heart contracted so painfully it
took her breath away, and she tightened her hold about Annabelle.
She knew that this sweet child had been through so much, and it was
nothing more than innocent yearning for a maternal figure that
caused her to make such an impulsive pronouncement. But
still…Elizabeth also wished with her whole heart that she could be
a mother to the little girl. She opened her mouth to speak, but
truly didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to give Annabelle
false hope that James would marry her anytime soon. So she simply
cradled the girl in her arms and tried to swallow past the hard
lump in her throat as she blinked away her tears.

A loud boyish whoop in the distance burst
the stillness around them, and Annabelle pulled away. “That’s
Charlie,” she said with a moue of annoyance. “I’d better go and
tell him to be quiet, otherwise he’ll frighten the swans.” She ran
off and as Elizabeth stood, James emerged from the copse.

“There was no sign of him,” James told her
when he reached her side. Although his hair was ruffled, to
Elizabeth’s surprise he was barely out of breath, belying the fact
that he’d just been racing through the park. “I think he scaled the
fence. I certainly don’t think he’s one of the local residents by
the way you and Annabelle described him.”

“Who do you think he was then?”

James shrugged. “Probably just a chancer, a
pickpocket like Annabelle suggested.” He grasped her hand and held
it against his chest. “I’m just glad that you and Annabelle are all
right.” He glanced around. “Where is she by the way?”

Before Elizabeth could reply, Annabelle,
with Charlie only a step or two behind, hared past them toward the
edge of the pond.

“We have bread. Nanny had some,” called
Annabelle back to them, waving a brown paper packet in the air
which Charlie promptly snatched from her. Annabelle squawked and
snatched it back.

James smiled at Elizabeth and took her arm.
“Perhaps some supervision is in order, my dear Mrs. Eliott. I’ve
already been for a run. I certainly don’t fancy a swim to fish
these two out of the pond.”

They advanced to the edge of the water and
Elizabeth smiled quietly to herself as she watched James with his
daughter and nephew. It was obvious he loved children. And he so
deserved a child of his own. But would she be the woman to bear him
one?

What if she wasn’t barren?

Since their reconciliation at the inn in
Dundee, James hadn’t been careful about taking precautions against
pregnancy. And she hadn’t wanted him too. Part of her knew she must
be mad. Any other woman, a sane woman, would feel both
mortification and dread at the idea of becoming pregnant to a man
who wasn’t her husband; of bearing an illegitimate child. But she
didn’t.

Oh how she’d fallen, so, so deep. Despite
all of the risks, all of the potential censure, she would love to
be the mother of James’s baby.

She placed her hand against the flat of her
belly, and let herself contemplate for one wild moment that perhaps
she might already be carrying James’s child. A joyous feeling
fluttered within her heart, as fragile and delicate as a
butterfly.

She glanced at James and it was if he felt
her gaze. He immediately turned to look at her, over the heads of
Annabelle and Charlie—who were now quietly throwing breadcrumbs to
the swans—and gave her a slow, heart-stopping smile. The one that
made her knees feel like butter and made her skin tingle with
awareness.

She smiled back in helpless thrall. How
could she not? If this was madness, it was the most beautiful,
fulfilling feeling in the world. And she never wanted to lose
it.

* * * *

After they farewelled Annabelle and the two
youngest Maxwells, James escorted Elizabeth back to Rothsburgh
House in St Andrew’s Square. As the afternoon was still clear, he
had suggested that perhaps she might like to see the Palace of
Holyrood, and its extensive park. But they needed his curricle to
make the trip, hence their detour via Rothsburgh House.

It was the first time she’d set foot in
James’s Georgian townhouse since she’d arrived in Edinburgh. Not
because James hadn’t wanted to have her there, but because she had
insisted that she needed to remain as inconspicuous as possible.
Rothsburgh House wasn’t a remote, isolated castle on the very edge
of the North Sea, and it certainly wouldn’t do for the marquess to
be seen housing his latest mistress here, in full view of
Edinburgh’s
tonnish
society. It would be noticed and
remarked upon. And Elizabeth couldn’t countenance that at all.

As she hovered uncertainly in the vestibule
watching James issue instructions to Malcolm, his butler, she knew
without a doubt that her taking up residence in Herriot Row had
been the right decision. Even though James had introduced her to
Malcolm as Mrs. Eliott—the recently bereaved widow of one of his
fellow comrades from the Gordon Highlanders—she didn’t think the
stony-faced butler believed a word of it. She’d caught the man’s
cold stare of appraisal when James offered his arm to escort her to
the drawing room for a quick cup of tea while they waited for the
curricle. The dour Malcolm would never be as accommodating as
Roberts, of that she was certain.

It was nothing short of a relief when the
curricle arrived and they departed for the Park.

The trip through the wide New Town streets
to Calton Road, and then onto the lower end of the Royal Mile, the
Canongate, took no time at all. As soon as it came into view,
Elizabeth knew straightaway that she much preferred the Palace of
Holyroodhouse compared to the grey brooding bulk of Edinburgh
Castle at the top of the Mile. Even though, the turreted,
honey-stoned palace was smaller than she had anticipated, given it
had once been the royal residence for the now deposed line of
Scottish monarchs, it was elegant all the same— rather like a
refined lady basking in the pale autumn sunlight.

Elizabeth recalled from her long-ago
childhood history lessons that the ill-fated ‘Bonnie Prince
Charlie’ had been the last of the Stuarts to reside there—albeit
briefly—before he’d had to flee after the failed Jacobite rebellion
of 1745. And there hadn’t been a monarch in residence since.

“It’s lovely,” she said as James drove the
curricle down the last stretch of the Canongate toward the Palace,
and its surrounding parklands. “Is the Comte D’Artois still staying
in the Royal Apartments?” It was well known that the exiled French
nobleman had been offered a place of sanctuary at Holyrood after
the French Revolution.

“I believe he left some years ago,” replied
James as he drew the curricle up in the Forecourt. “The Duke of
Hamilton’s staff still maintains Holyrood though. We’ll just need
to speak with the housekeeper to arrange a tour of Mary, Queen of
Scots’ old apartments, over there in the left tower.” He jumped
down then helped her to alight. “I thought you might like that,
given you and Mary have something in common,” he added, flashing
her a smile.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, puzzled. “How
so?”

James took her hand, and as he tucked it
into his elbow, bent towards her ear. “Why, her second husband,
Lord Darnley, was rumored to have the pox.”

Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. “No!” She had known
that Mary and the nobleman had not had a happy marriage, and that
the Earl of Bothwell, her lover and third husband, had been
implicated in Darnley’s murder. But her governess had certainly
never taught her such an unsavory detail, that Darnley had
syphilis.

James shrugged. “There are accounts that
Darnley’s body was covered in pock marks when it was discovered
outside of the tavern at Kirk o’ Fields, which isn’t far from here.
Like Bothwell, Mary was also questioned about her husband’s
untimely demise, but no charges were ever laid. Not that it
mattered in the end. Queen Elizabeth had Mary arrested shortly
after that on suspicion of treason.”

Elizabeth shivered. “Heavens. Queen Mary
certainly led a tumultuous life.”

James squeezed her hand. “But unlike Mary,
you will have a happy ending, my love.”

She made herself hold James’s warm gaze and
with some effort, smiled back as they stepped into the dark shadows
beneath the triumphal gateway where a footman from the Duke of
Hamilton’s retinue waited.

What if he was wrong?

A strange sense of foreboding suddenly
settled over her. A certain feeling that this existence with James
would have to end.

And it wouldn’t leave her. Like the
heart-broken ghosts of Holyrood itself, it clung to her throughout
the entire tour, even followed her into the pale, late afternoon
sunshine when she and James emerged from the Palace an hour later
to take a turn about the grounds and the adjacent ruins of the
Abbey Church of Holyrood.

“What is it Beth?” James halted in the
middle of the nave, one of the arches from an aisle window casting
a dark shadow across his face so she couldn’t see his eyes. “Have
all the ghosts and tales of dastardly deeds made you melancholy, my
love?”

She shrugged a shoulder and forced a smile.
“Perhaps. This whole place is beautiful, but terribly sad.
Especially in here. I don’t think there’s anything sadder than a
ruined church, don’t you agree?”

She released his hand and stepped carefully
over the uneven, stone slab floor to study the inscriptions on the
grave plaques that remained in the south-eastern corner of the
nave. She didn’t want to talk about what was really bothering her,
the real reason for her unease. The talk of Mary and Darnley’s past
had indeed resurrected her own guilt about leaving Hugh. She could
try to bury it, but it was always there. James wouldn’t want to
hear that.

She felt him behind her, his body warm and
solid against her back, his hands on her shoulders.

“Beth.” He turned her to face him and lifted
her veil, his eyes studying hers. “You can’t hide from me, my
sweet. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm, but she
didn’t look away. He was right—he knew her too well. “It’s just
that…” She swallowed. No, she couldn’t, didn’t want to talk about
Hugh and her own misgivings. It wasn’t James’s burden to bear. It
was entirely her own.