The Kiss of a Viscount (The Daughters of the Aristocracy) (31 page)

Chapter 25
Decision Day

He’d kissed her as if it would be the last time he ever did so. Elizabeth wondered at the sad look in his eyes as he’d watched her step down from the carriage. As promised, he’d returned her exactly at two o’clock, the bells of a nearby church tolling the hour as she lowered her face to his. Lips parted, she had leaned over him until George had been forced to return what started as a gentle kiss and then become ... something more. She’d wanted to throw her arms around him, beg him to take her back to his townhouse, back to his bed and to the promise of ...
more
. Her entire body shivered, and she gasped.

“Are you alright?”

Elizabeth gave a start as she realized her mother was staring at her. “Pardon?” she replied, her voice a bit breathy.

Lady Morganfield cocked an elegant eyebrow, her aquamarine eyes lighting up with amusement. “You must have had a grand time with Lady Charlotte last evening. And you look as if you’re still there, wherever it was,” she added as her grin widened.

Swallowing, Elizabeth considered her mother’s comment. Her maid, Anna, had mentioned she looked – how had she put it? –
Brighter
. “You must have slept especially well last night. Your complexion is the best I’ve seen it in weeks.”

One of Elizabeth’s hands lifted to her cheek as she glanced down at her breakfast plate, knowing her face was pinking up under her mother’s scrutiny. Couldn’t the woman tell she’d been pleasured within an inch of her life just barely seven hours ago? In response to that thought, a delightful shiver coursed through her belly, and she nearly gasped at the sensation. George wasn’t even touching her, and yet she could still feel the effects of his fingers, his lips, his tongue all over her body!

Her mother was expecting a reply, she remembered, and she struggled to pull her mind into the breakfast room and the conversation she was supposed to be having. Lord Morganfield, wondering at the sudden silence, closed his newly ironed copy of
The Times
and regarded his daughter with a questioning look.

“Why, thank you, Mother,” Elizabeth replied lightly, allowing a brilliant smile to appear. “I did sleep well. I think it helped that Lottie and I spent the evening at the Ellsworth townhouse instead of going out.”

Lady Morganfield’s eyebrow arched again. “I thought you planned to attend the play at the Drury Lane Theatre,” she countered, a bit of disappointment in her voice. “I was hoping for your review this morning. Your father and I may attend this evening.“ She pretended to ignore her husband’s quick shake of his head in her direction; he would go if she insisted they did so. In exchange, she would show up at his bedchamber door wearing his favorite lace and feather confection shortly after their return and make it up to him.

She’d become quite good at encouraging him to be social outside of their home this past year. And in the spirit of good sportsmanship, he had allowed it.

Elizabeth shrugged. “We were planning to do so, but Lottie bought the latest
La Belle Assemblée
, and we ended up spending the night drooling over all the fashion plates. And she allowed me to try on several of the new gowns she had made for the winter season. The new fabrics are just splendid!” The reasons she listed for not attending the theatre nearly matched what she and Charlotte had discussed the day before when they devised the plot to help her escape Carlington House at six o’clock. She’d sent a note when she’d first woke this morning letting Charlotte know she had arrived home safely and that she would tell her more when next they met.

But she had no intention of telling her what had
happened
at George’s house.

Her father was still regarding her, his expression, as usual, not giving away his thoughts on the subject. It was one of the traits that made him an effective politician. “Father, what is it?” she finally asked, wondering suddenly if he could read her mind and knew everything that had happened to her the night before. She could suddenly feel her cheeks heat up, sure he knew
everything
.

He placed the paper on the table. “There is talk that Trenton will ask for your hand,” he replied, neither the tone of his voice nor his expression indicating whether he was pleased or not about the subject.

“Oh?” Elizabeth replied, her eyes widening as sudden panic coursed through her. She hadn’t given the earl a single thought since late last evening. How could she when George had done such amazing things to her, leaving her brain so confused she could barely think?

Lady Morganfield straightened in her chair and gave Elizabeth a tentative smile. “And?” she questioned with a hint of tease in her voice. When Elizabeth didn’t answer right away, her mother’s expression brightened. “Oh, this explains why you’re so addled this morning. Gabriel will probably come calling his afternoon!”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Oh, God, I hope not,” she blurted, her stomach threatening to send up her breakfast.

Her mother’s expression changed to one of grave concern. “Why, daughter, whatever is the matter?” She got up and moved to the other side of the table, reaching her arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder. Elizabeth was aware of her father’s eyes studying her, his face changing to show ... concern, was it? Or disappointment? Or was that ... hope?

“I don’t know,” she replied. It was as truthful a statement as she could make at the moment. “I suppose I am just ... nervous,” she offered, not wanting to tell her mother that Gabriel Wellingham kissed like Lady Hannah’s Alpenmastiff and that what was done
before
intercourse was far more pleasurable than a massive tickle. She couldn’t even imagine anything
beyond
what she’d already experienced!

Adeline Carlington gave her daughter a brilliant smile and kissed her cheek. “Of course, you are. You’re about to be proposed to by one of the richest men in all of England!” she gushed.

David Carlington rolled his eyes, but did not share his opinion of the earl just then. At some point, it would be appropriate. Just not now.

Chapter 26
Charity Means Work in More Ways than One

Lady Elizabeth entered her office in Oxford Street and was relieved to see that both Mr. Overby and Nicholas Barnaby, her new clerks, were busy at the library table. Her desk, completely free of papers only the morning before, was now covered in small stacks of the stuff, leaving very little room for writing correspondence. Both men jumped to their feet, although Mr. Overby did so a bit slowly, his leg having been damaged by mortar in the battle at Quatre Bras. They bowed to her quick curtsy and said their hellos.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said brightly, her expression faltering when she saw all the papers. “Oh, my,” she breathed, moving to look more closely at the top sheet of one pile.

“We were quite ... busy yesterday,” Mr. Overby said in an apologetic tone. His responsibility to the charity was to locate employers willing to hire ex-soldiers. His method for doing so included combing the news sheets for listings of positions and meeting with shop owners and warehouse foremen about positions that might not be publicized.

“Indeed,” Nicholas added, hurrying to stand on the other side of the desk. “If I might explain, milady,” he added, a tooth catching his lower lip. Mr. Barnaby’s job was to meet with applicants, write down their personal and past-work experience information, and collect any characters they might have from prior employment. Judging from the amount of paperwork now covering her library table, it was evident he had earned his first day’s wages.

Elizabeth raised her eyes to meet his troubled expression. “Are all these ... applicants?” she wondered, one eyebrow cocking into an elegant arch.
Whatever happened while I was at the museum with George?
She had to force down the bit of panic that was gripping her.

Nicholas was suddenly behind her, pulling out the desk chair and indicating she should sit down. She did so, thanking him as he moved to stand to one side. “Not exactly, milady,” he said with a hint of reassurance. “The stacks on the left are the positions Mr. Overby found available to be filled. Most are employers who are willing to hire ex-soldiers in exchange for certain ... guarantees.” He straightened the stack in question.

Guarantees being bribes
, Elizabeth reasoned with a roll of her eyes.

“Some are simply employers who have warehouse positions. They usually require a more able-bodied man, but allowances can be made ...”

“Should there be some sort of
guarantee
,” Elizabeth finished for him.

Nicholas reluctantly nodded, the air seeming to leave his lungs. “Yes, milady. And this stack on the right,” he said as he leaned over the desk and picked up the sheath of papers, “Are the applicants that stopped by yesterday hoping to have an audience with you.”

Elizabeth took the papers and leafed through them, counting nine in total. “My. You were busy yesterday. I suppose I should get started then,” she said brightly, the panic quickly subsiding.
I can do this
. Glancing quickly at the addresses of the applicants, she wasn’t surprised to see they lived in close proximity to one another. “And while I do this, I need you to go to this hotel where most of these men seem to reside. Gather them up and see to it they go to this tailor’s shop,” she handed him a pasteboard calling card along with the purse containing the coins the footman had dropped off earlier that week. “Give them fare for the hackney, and go with them if you’re able. They’re to have a suit of clothes made. See to it the tailor is paid fairly. Once that’s done, I’ll get them to one of these employers.”

Nicholas regarded the pasteboard and hefted the purse, quickly realizing the coins inside were not mere farthings. “You
trust
me with this, milady?” he asked, his expression one of surprise.

Elizabeth regarded him for a moment. “It seems I do, Mr. Barnaby. Please do not do anything untoward with the money. Remember, your pay is commensurate with your job performance.” Although her words held no menace, she hoped she made her point quite clear.

Nodding his understanding, Nicholas pocketed the purse as best he could, took the list of applicants Elizabeth handed him, and bade farewell.

For the next two hours, Elizabeth studied the positions available as well as the applications, matching each man to a job that would best suit them based on their prior experience and their particular disability. Meanwhile, Mr. Overby continued his search of the newspaper listings, occasionally using a scissors to cut out a promising position. She sometimes asked about a particular applicant while he countered with questions about suitable employers. Once she had completed her first task, she lined up Overby’s latest job opportunities on one side of her desk, readying them for the next set of applicants she knew would be along soon. Satisfied she had done all she could for the day, she took her leave of the office, entrusting it to Mr. Overby’s care, and headed for home.

Elizabeth might have stayed longer – she
wanted
to stay longer – but according to her father, an earl would be showing up at her home at any moment to propose marriage.

She wouldn’t be able to accept his suit if she wasn’t there.

Chapter 27
Proposal Interrupted

Despite having been warned that Gabriel Wellingham, Earl of Trenton would be paying a call on her that day, Elizabeth was still surprised when the butler, Alfred, knocked on her bedchamber door and announced him. She had only been home a few minutes! “I have put him in the parlor, milady,” he said with the kind of stoicism only those in service seemed to exhibit. “Should I ring for tea?”

Elizabeth caught her image in the looking glass over the vanity.
Frightened
, she thought suddenly.
I look frightened. This will not do
. Tea made everything just a bit better. It certainly couldn’t hurt. “Please, do, Alfred. I’ll be down in a moment.” Straightening in front of the mirror, she regarded her image. Her maid had done her hair in a rather fetching tumble of curls atop her head, a teal ribbon woven through the strands in a perfect contrast to her auburn hair and a near-match for her eye color. The dark mint muslin day gown she had just pulled on set off her complexion in a way that pastel gowns simply couldn’t.
But am I beautiful?
she wondered, thinking that Lady Hannah was because she looked like a fairy princess, and Lady Charlotte was because ... she just was.

How does a man decide if you are beautiful?
she wondered, remembering George’s comment from the night before. Was it her hair color or her eyes or the shape of her face? She touched a finger to her lips, a memory of George’s last kiss making her eyes close as she relived it over and again in her head. The mere thought of his touch made her breasts feel heavy, her feminine core ache for him. She shook herself, remembering that it was
Gabriel
who waited for her downstairs. He of the blond, curly hair and sky blue eyes. He of the ten-thousand pounds a year and who knew what kind of inheritance?
Why couldn’t he be George?
But the sudden thought of George with blond curls caused a giggle to burble forth. Elizabeth saw her joy reflected in the mirror. She could do this. Taking a deep breath, she hurried from the room and headed for the parlor.

When she entered the brightly lit room – the sun was obviously shining, although she hadn’t noticed when she’d returned from her office – she found Lord Trenton leaning against the fireplace mantle, one hand hidden behind his back.
He’s wearing a puce topcoat
, Elizabeth thought suddenly. And wearing the color quite well, although the fit of his coat seemed a bit snug. He did not immediately look up or at her, his attention instead on a miniature in a gold gilt frame.

“Lord Trenton,” Elizabeth greeted him with a light voice. At least, she hoped it was. Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear herself speak.

“Ah, Elizabeth,” he said, a smile showing off his perfect white teeth and forming a dimple in one cheek.

Did I give him permission to use my given name?
Elizabeth found herself wondering again, bristling at the way he said it. Not like a prayer, the way George said it, but rather as if it was a stodgy, old-fashioned name that had to be bitten out as quickly as possible.

Gabriel hurried to stand before her and took her hand as he bowed to her curtsy. “You look as beautiful as ever,” he said, his gaze pausing on her décolletage as it swept up her body.

“Thank you, milord,” she replied with a nod, a sense of ...
disgust
suddenly replacing the joy she’d felt only moments before. “Tea will be here in a moment,” she added, now wishing she had turned down Alfred’s suggestion. Moving to the velvet settee, she took a seat and arranged her skirts. “Please, do sit down,” she offered as she waved toward the nearest chair.

Gabriel took a quick glance at the proffered chair and returned his attention to her. “I was hoping we might ... talk,” he said, his other hand coming from behind his back to shove a handful of mums toward her.

Elizabeth suddenly sneezed. “Oh, of course,” she managed as she gingerly took the flowers from his grasp. Gabriel’s eyes flicked toward the door where a footman hovered.

Taking his meaning, Elizabeth held her breath a moment. “Mr. Thatcher, could you please close the door?” she called out, shoving the bouquet of golden blooms into a nearby vase.

Surprised at being spoken to and even more surprised at the request, the footman glanced about before he stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him. Satisfied that they were now alone, Gabriel took a deep breath and positioned himself directly in front of Elizabeth. “Elizabeth. I am sure you must know why I ...”