Lord Satan (28 page)

The new year, 1810, brought no promise of any betterment of
her life. Mama seemed unlikely to regain her former vigor.

Libbetty’s heart went out to many of the local families who
also fell upon hard times. The Murchisons, whose son would never fully recover
from his accident, suffered through his inability to help and struggled through
the winter. Other families facing problems looked to the Bishops for practical
and spiritual aid.

She had not realized how much her mother did. In place of
the vicar’s wife, she strove to fulfill her duties, organizing the community to
donate food and warm clothing to needy families. Mrs. Berkfield helped her
prepare the baskets of foods and nostrums for each needy family. Sometimes one
of her younger sisters accompanied her on her rounds.

After the new year, the Hogwoods returned from their sojourn
in London. No mention was made of a match for Edwina. Her former friend
seemed prepared to step back into their previous relationship. Libbetty would
not cut her friend but could not regain her regard for her, either. Her busy
schedule kept her from spending time gossiping or discussing books and
fashions.

During the early days, Libbetty had no time for reflection.
However, when she no longer needed to nurse her mother, thoughts of Lord Neil
preyed upon her. After her sisters had fallen asleep, she lay awake for hours,
wondering what he was doing—wishing she could be with him. Wishing he wanted
her to be with him.

She scolded herself for purposely seeking the ache these
thoughts brought. It availed nothing, for she could not force her mind from
remembrance of the few moments they had shared. At times their minds had
seemed so attuned, and she could not doubt he had felt some attraction to
her—the kisses showed her that. He did not love her, though. If he did, he
could not have left her as he did, with nothing concluded between them.

*

Neil went back to his routine in London.

He had no official government position, nor any ambition for
such a role. His place was working behind the scenes.

He called on various members of Parliament to promote
sufficient funds to prosecute the war in the Peninsula, and performed a few
favors for friends in the government.

He went to ton parties, to his club, participated in his
usual sporting events—boxing and racing. He gambled, just a little, as he had
been wont to do. He even attempted to take up again with the widow who had
been his mistress before he accompanied Trevor to Peasebotham. He quickly
dismissed her for good.

He had little heart for the activities that had once
occupied him. The only matter that engaged his wholehearted interest was
exerting pressure on those with power and influence to keep the supplies
steadily moving to the Peninsula, a frustrating and thankless business, but an
essential one.

Frequently, in the midst of his daily rounds, he would find
himself dwelling on Miss Elizabeth Bishop. She appeared to him in her various
guises: soaking wet, holding a wriggling fish; disheveled, with her hair all
undone in the woods; finely gowned in what passed for elegance in that rural
village; togged out in her brother’s clothing and trying not to look nauseated
at the cockfight—and, the picture that gave him the most pain, worn out, and
wounded by his cool treatment at their last meeting. It did not appease his
culpability that he had acted to save her greater pain in the future.

He could see her instinctive, unselfish concern for others;
picture her gazing back at him in sensuous appeal; remembered her unsure of
herself and bristling with defiance. She was as much quicksilver as the fish
they had both taken a ducking to capture, and his heart would never recover.

Then he damned himself for a fool and a coward for not
making her his while he had the chance. Knowledge of the events in Peasebotham
had circulated in London. No one seemed to suspect him of ill-wishing his
nephew. All his arguments against becoming involved had vanished, as had all
the joy in his life.

She will have forgotten her feelings for you by now. She
attends the assemblies in Crossfield, may have fallen in love with someone more
nearly her own age or repledged herself to her farmer. He tried to ignore the
pain such thoughts gave him.

As winter wore on, he was no closer to putting her out of
his mind. Spring brought him new resolution. He could not relinquish her
without an attempt to regain her affections.

This time he intended to forswear nobility and make her his.

Spring, 1810

Slowly, winter gave way to spring, and Libbetty’s spirits
lightened with the lightening of the earth. Like long unused muscles
stretching, she sensed the strength she had attained.

A strength that was hard-won, through pain and loss and love
unrequited. She loved Lord Neil; she always would, but the winter had taught
her she would survive without him.

Mrs. Bishop underwent a renewal as well. At the onset of
warmer weather, she was able to go outside. With periods of rest and
assistance from Libbetty and the children, she cultivated her garden and
assumed part of the household responsibilities again.

On a warm spring day, Libbetty called upon Mrs. Chambliss,
accompanied by Isobel. She often brought one of her sisters with her these
days, to give them a respite from their duties at home, leaving the other one
to mind the younger children.

Her visits to the elderly woman always gladdened Libbetty.
She often thought she gained more from her favorite villager than she gave.
Mrs. Chambliss was a tiny woman who still sported a mass of black hair,
sparkling dark brown eyes, and a disposition that remained cheery despite her
withered nether limbs.

As Libbetty unloaded her basket of foodstuffs among the
meager supplies on the mantel, Mrs. Chambliss, said, “My, what a day of
excitement I have had. Two sets of callers in one day—such a surprise. Lord
Neil came to see me this morning.”

Libbetty’s heart seemed to stumble, to resume beating with a
thundering in her ears. She hoped neither Mrs. Chambliss nor Isobel noticed
how her cheeks had flamed. “Oh, I did not know he had returned,” she said, as
casually as she could manage.

Her attempt at nonchalance was unequal to her inner turmoil,
and she cut short her call on Mrs. Chambliss. Her hard-won peace fled with the
need to steel herself for the inevitable meeting.

In the next days, she heard from others of his presence in
the village, but she looked in vain for him on her outings. His failing to
call at the vicarage told her, even if her practical mind would not, that he
had not come back for her.

Did he have guests with him? Perhaps the woman he intended
to marry? Libbetty could not meet his betrothed so soon. But no other company
was mentioned, so she slowly released that fear.

A week later, she drove the pony cart on her rounds,
accompanied by Catherine. She came face to face with Lord Neil, mounted on
Camisard, a short distance out of Peasebotham.

“Miss Bishop. And Miss Catherine, isn’t it? I planned to
call at the vicarage. How is your mother?” Libbetty couldn’t read the emotion
she saw in his eyes. Was he glad to see her? Her own blood rushed to her
head.

“Mother is almost her old self again. She still must rest
each day, but we are grateful she has recovered so well.” She paused, but her
compulsion to know overcame her caution. “What brings you back to our village,
Lord Neil?”

He patted his horse’s neck, seeming not to have heard. Then
he glanced at Catherine before giving his attention to Libbetty. “Last year
Trevor and I learned, thanks in part to you, Miss Bishop, that a landowner must
appear and discover for himself how his properties fare. Since Trevor cannot
come, I represent him.”

It was the expected answer, but pain made it hard to speak
with him. Civility made her inquire, “How is Lord Cauldreigh?”

“Oh, he is quite the hero. His letters are infrequent, but
he seems to thrive at the center of action.”

Libbetty could not believe how stiff and insipid was the
conversation—as if they hardly knew one another. Of course, all things
considered, they scarcely did know each other. Last year they had a stronger
connection than this formal speech implied.

She must move on before her emotions gave way and she
exposed her folly. She gathered the ribbons, and Lord Neil said, “I will call
upon your father tomorrow if I may.”

She nodded as she signaled the horse to move on. It could
only be parish business he wished to discuss with her father. She must not
allow impossible hope to stir that he intended to discuss her when she knew he
did not share her feelings.

*

Neil watched Elizabeth drive away, unsure how to interpret
the light in her eyes. He had lied to her just now. Perhaps his doubts would
have kept him silent in any case, but he could not make a declaration to her
with her sister sitting beside her.

Her appearance surprised him. From others in Peasebotham,
he knew of her circumstances in the months past. Instead of the gaiety he had
imagined her finding without him, she had faced adult duties. The results
showed in her air of determination and confidence. She was no longer the
heedless girl who had provoked him and yet aroused his caution about their
compatibility.

He felt a leap of optimism. Perhaps he had not thrown away
his chances when he left last fall.

When Neil arrived at the vicarage the next day, Elizabeth
sat with her mother in the garden. He came out to pay his respects. Despite
the warnings he had been given by other villagers, Mrs. Bishop’s appearance
shocked him. Her face had lost its rounded contours, and she lacked the
animation he had seen in her before. Her listless manner drove home to him as
nothing else did how close she had come to death.

“It is good to see you back here, Lord Neil,” she said. “I
hope it means you intend regular visits to your ancestral home.”

He glanced at Elizabeth. “Indeed, it is my plan.”

His little love had nothing to say. He caught a worried
expression on her face. Was she dismayed by his assertion that he planned to
spend more time here? The thought struck a blow at his hopes. Still, it would
do no good to delay his mission.

He excused himself and went in search of Elizabeth’s father.

Mr. Bishop sat in his office, his Bible opened on the desk.
As Neil responded to his invitation to enter, the vicar made a note on the much
scribbled-over sheet of paper in front of him, then looked up. “Lord Neil,
come in. What may I do for you?”

Neil had prepared for this moment. Expecting Mr. Bishop’s
bluntness, he intended to come straight to the point. His plans did not
include the unexpected butterflies that took up residence in his innards, or
the sweat that broke out on his brow. The vicar’s study was so warm, the
window tightly shut, no doubt against the sounds of children playing in the
yard just outside.

“I wish to marry your daughter,” Neil blurted.

“Elizabeth?” The man had not expected this. The surprise
in his voice rang true. “Why should you wish to marry her?”

Neil resisted the urge to pace. The room was too small, and
such action would show his tenseness, put him at a disadvantage. He stood
stock-still. “I care most deeply for her.” He could not say the word “love”
before this stiff, prim man. “I am very well able to support her. I will, of
course, fully discuss any financial arrangements with you before any agreement
is made.”

Mr. Bishop waved aside this irrelevancy, frowning. “Have
you spoken of this to Elizabeth?”

“No. However, I believe she is not indifferent to me.”

The vicar’s frown deepened. “On what do you base this
conclusion?”

Neil decided not to tell him about Elizabeth’s response to
their kiss. “There have been indications—a look in her eyes. She has a most
expressive face, you know.”

A brief, tender smile crossed Mr. Bishop’s face, but the
frown returned instantly. “You are not what I hoped for her.”

“Whom did you expect to find for her to marry?”

His beloved’s father waved this aside again. “Elizabeth has
a distressing tendency toward worldliness. I hoped she would find someone with
whom she would overcome … “

“Poverty provides no warranty of virtue.” Neil wiped a hand
across his sweating brow and tugged at his neckcloth.

“True.” A fleeting smile twitched across the vicar’s face.

“I could make life a little easier for your family.”

Mr. Bishop puffed up. “I can provide for my family.”

“I only speak of helping to ease your sons’ way into
careers. I have influential friends. Elizabeth could help launch your other
daughters, find them suitable husbands. I’d provide help for Mrs. Bishop. I
would not like Elizabeth’s decision whether to marry influenced by her fear
that her mother would suffer by her absence.” Neil walked to the window and
stared out, hoping for some hint of coolness through the glass.

“I assure you, it is not necessary for you to offer such an
inducement,” the other man said stiffly.

“Despite my reputation, I am not truly the devil, you
know.” Neil turned to look at Mr. Bishop in irritation.

The vicar cracked a genuine smile. “I know that. My own
pride prevents me from accepting your offer, not fear for my soul.” He came to
the window himself then, raising the sash a little. The voices of the children
came through more clearly.

Neil realized that whenever he passed the vicarage in recent
days, he had not once seen Elizabeth outside enjoying herself with her
siblings. He should be glad her immaturity was past, but instead it saddened
him. If they married, he would substitute other forms of pleasure to make up
for the loss.

“I must pray about this, talk to Mrs. Bishop, and to
Elizabeth herself. I cannot give you an answer now.”

“When will you know your answer?”

“Come back tomorrow.”

*

The afternoon sun became too warm for Mrs. Bishop, and
Libbetty accompanied her to the drawing room. Isobel also came inside, and
played for her mother on the pianoforte. A little while later, Mrs. Green over
down with Michaela. Lately, she had left her with Mrs. Bishop for a few hours
each day while she went about her duties at home. With the spring planting
season, she had plenty to occupy her and welcomed a break from caring for an
infant.

Libbetty waited for Lord Neil to finish his discussion with
her father. They stayed in Mr. Bishop’s study for what seemed a very long
time.

She hardly dared hope he had come to discuss her, but she
burned to know what they talked about. The way he had studied her when he said
he would call on the vicar, as if his words had significance for her. Oh, even
though she had no evidence he cared anything for her, her mind called up little
things that seemed to say otherwise.

If she were not the reason he called, she would not be able
to bear the disappointment.

She received no alleviation of her suspense, however, for
when he finished his interview with Mr. Bishop, he left, not coming to speak
any further with Libbetty.

Her mother went up to her bedchamber to rest, and Mrs. Green
returned for Michaela. The other children came in, and she read the boys a
story and played games with them until the boys had their supper and retired
for the night.

After the evening meal, Mr. Bishop called Libbetty into his
study. “I had a visit with Lord Neil today,” he told her.

Libbetty nodded, too nervous to say anything.

“He asked permission to pay his addresses to you.” Papa
paused and gazed narrowly at Libbetty, as if to ascertain whether this
announcement surprised her.

She jumped up and took a turn around the room to prevent
herself from some other precipitate action—bursting into tears or screaming
with joy. She managed to work her face into what she hoped was a look of
polite inquiry.

“I personally do not favor Lord Neil as a husband for you,
but I told him you would decide for yourself, that I would not forbid the match
if you wished to marry him.” He paused, waiting for her response, but Libbetty
still felt too overcome to speak. “Well, what do you say?”

“Oh, yes, Papa, I do wish to marry him.”

“In worldly considerations, it would be advantageous. He
has indicated his circumstances to me. You would be comfortably fixed.” He
sighed. “He returns tomorrow to hear your answer.”

“Thank you, Papa.” Libbetty returned to her bedchamber.
Her sisters were asleep, so she could not dance, jump—or give way to a bout of
tears. What did Neil truly feel for her? If only she could talk to him now
instead of this interminable wait for her chance to discuss it all with him.
Could she marry him if he did not love her? She had an obligation to do so.
It answered the worries she had about her sisters’ futures. But how could she
bear to live with him if he did not care for her? Why had he not told her of
his feelings?

She lay sleepless most of the night. The next morning she
dressed in the pale yellow muslin that Mrs. Slidell had made for her the
previous year. Examining herself in the mirror she concluded her restless
night had affected her appearance. She did not possess any cosmetics to
enhance her shadowed eyes. Shrugging away her unusual bout of vanity, she went
downstairs.

After performing her morning tasks, she paced impatiently in
her chamber as she waited for Lord Neil. At last, in the late morning, she
heard him arrive, and hurried down to the drawing room where he sat with Mrs.
Bishop.

He arose at her entrance. His face was pale, and she sensed
his tension in the stiffness of his posture. Her mother showed no inclination
to leave them alone. Lord Neil sat on the settee next to Libbetty and said,
“Your father told you what was discussed between us?”

She nodded. He took her hands in his and said, “Can you
give me an answer?”

Her hands tingled at his touch, and she pulled them away and
jumped up. “No, I can’t answer you now. I need …” She stalked around the
room, almost overcome by the urge to cry.

Lord Neil turned to Libbetty’s mother. “Mrs. Bishop, would
you leave us for a few minutes?”

“Is that what you wish, Elizabeth?”