Educating Elizabeth (39 page)

Elizabeth sat bolt upright and jabbed her needle into her embroidery with unnecessary violence. She clenched her teeth as her grandmother gave yet another gentle sigh. She had hoped her grandparents would welcome the addition of an intelligent, capable young woman into their household, but she feared she was something of a disappointment.

Not that the Waterstones were unkind. They had offered all their deceased son's children a home after learning of their plight from the Duke of Diable Delamere. Only Elizabeth had been obliged to accept their kind offer, as Hugh was set to rejoin his regiment and Michael had obtained employment elsewhere.

Elizabeth glanced across at Mary, who sat listening to Mrs. Violet Waterstone as she explained how to embroider a flower in chain stitch. To Elizabeth's relief, the Waterstones had offered Mary a home as well and seemed to have taken a great liking to her.

"Girls, don't forget that Mr. Gutheridge is coming to give you a music lesson at eleven and that fittings for your new gowns will occupy the rest of the day."

The lace ribbons tied beneath Mrs. Waterstone's dimpled chin quivered as she peered at Elizabeth over her spectacles, as though anticipating a refusal. She was a petite woman who resembled a plump, well-feathered hen. Elizabeth had found that her amiable demeanor concealed a stubbornness that equaled Elizabeth's own.

"I haven't forgotten, Grandmother," Elizabeth replied, aware that her unconventional behavior was a constant worry to her elderly grandparents. In truth, she almost preferred the fierce disagreements with her grandfather to the gentle lectures of her grandmother. Mary was proving far more malleable and acceptable then Elizabeth could ever hope to be.

Elizabeth sighed as the mantelpiece clock ticked away the stifling seconds of her life. Another hour sitting in the stuffy, over-furnished morning room would be followed by a pointless music lesson. She had begun to understand why most young ladies of the
ton
seemed so vapid and uninspired. If she had been deprived of exercise and the means to use her mind from an early age, she too would be a simpering empty-headed mess of giggles and artfully arranged curls.

Unwanted memories of her busy days and nights at Delamere House flooded her mind. She slid her hand into her pocket and retrieved the note that had been delivered to her four weeks previously.

She already knew the words by heart. In it, a treacherous Michael informed her that he had taken over as the duke's secretary, and that the duke would be out of town for the foreseeable future. Elizabeth stuffed the letter back into her pocket. She was glad Michael had found such superior employment, but was quietly furious at his choice of employer.

Whatever Michael's reasons for sending her the note, the duke's return was a matter of indifference to her. She swallowed hard. She had no claim on him after her unforgivable display of temper, yet she missed him more than she could ever have imagined.

Her embroidery slid off her lap and she stared down at her hands. The duke had said that he loved her even when she had abused him and claimed to hate him. He had said that he
loved
her...

Despite every accusation she had flung at him, she knew she loved him and even understood why he'd behaved as he had. Deep in her heart, she feared he would never allow her the opportunity to tell him how wrong she had been. She knew how he dealt with the women he despised.

A discreet tap on the door announced the appearance of the housekeeper to discuss the menus with Mrs. Waterstone. While her grandmother was distracted, Elizabeth slipped away to catch up on her reading.

She hadn't been allowed to attend the preliminary trial of Sir John Harrington and the Foresters because the prosecution had intimated that they might need to call her as a witness. In an attempt to keep abreast of the court case, she had asked to read the newspaper reports, but Mrs. Waterstone considered reading newspapers to be an unsuitable occupation for unmarried women. Though Elizabeth had argued that she was no green girl, her grandmother had been adamant. Elizabeth had resorted to subterfuge.

After a swift glance around the imposing entrance hall, Elizabeth hurried down the back stairs to the basement. She found the butler in his room, ironing the pages of the general's morning newspaper.

"Good morning, Miss Waterstone. Would you care to have a look at yesterday's paper? It is on the table."

Elizabeth smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Carter. That would be delightful."

She had formed an unlikely alliance with Mr. Carter after he discovered her, on her knees, emptying out the wastebasket in the general's study. When she explained her purpose, Mr. Carter confessed that he usually kept the newspaper to read in the evening and that she was welcome to have a look at it after the general had finished. Elizabeth suspected her grandfather knew what she was doing and was happy for her to continue as long as she didn't bring it to the attention of his wife.

With a sigh of satisfaction, she settled down at the scarred oak table to leaf through the closely written print. A cup of tea and a scone appeared at her elbow and she gave an absent thank you to the cook.

She had also argued with her grandfather as to why she was forbidden to attend the upcoming trial. Her whole existence would be affected by the outcome, and yet she wasn't even considered intelligent enough to read about it. To her dismay, Elizabeth was beginning to find that one of the penalties of living a settled and decorous life was an intolerable lack of freedom.

Through her previous reading, Elizabeth already knew her mother had been convicted of a lesser charge after claiming that the two men had forced her to help them. She had offered to turn King's evidence to lessen her sentence and would spend the next few years in gaol. To Elizabeth's secret relief, her mother had avoided being transported or subject to the hangman's noose, which was the likely fate of Mr. Forester and Sir John. Although she deplored her mother's blatant bid for survival, Elizabeth couldn't help but be glad she wouldn't have to testify against her.

Elizabeth found the relevant paragraph in the paper and ascertained that the trial of Mr. Forester and Sir John Harrington was set to take place at the Old Bailey in November.

Mr. Carter gave a gentle cough and looked at the clock, warning Elizabeth that she must hurry. With guilty haste, she flipped over a few pages, ran her finger down the society column written by 'Lady Lucinda Lallygag' and searched for the duke's name.

"The infamous Duke of
D
-- has been absent from our fair city, apparently enjoying the country air with an exotic unknown lady. Is the devilish duke about to settle down, we ask ourselves? Has he finally been trapped into matrimony?"

Elizabeth disguised the pain in her heart with a disgusted snort and tossed the paper back onto the table. "I doubt it, my dear Lady L. He is far too busy breaking hearts to want to settle down with just one woman. Where would the fun be in that?" She frowned at Mr. Carter. "Why doesn't Lady Lucinda say something useful about when the duke will return?"

Mr. Carter was just about to speak when the bell, connected to the above stairs front door, jangled. Mr. Carter put on his coat and ushered Elizabeth out of the room. "Excuse me, miss, I've to answer the door and you will be late for your music lesson if you don't run along."

Elizabeth turned toward the stairway. Even Mr. Carter treated her like a five-year-old. How was she to stand it for the rest of her life? She would have to marry soon. At least marriage would give her a modicum of independence. She paused at the top of the stairs. It seemed that fashionable men wanted as their wives spoiled children who never grew up. She couldn't bear it...

As she opened the green baize door and stepped into the hall, she became aware of a peculiar silence around her. Her heart gave a mad jolt. The Duke of Diable Delamere stood next to the butler, calmly removing his gloves and hat. He glanced her way and then appeared to ignore her as Mr. Carter preceded him at a stately pace up the stairs to the morning room, where her grandmother received visitors.

Elizabeth ducked back into the servants' hallway and ran up the back stairs to the next floor. She reached the morning room just before Mr. Carter and the duke ascended the final stair. Ignoring her grandmother's startled inquiry, Elizabeth resumed her seat just as the butler announced the duke.

Breathlessly, she watched as he crossed the room and took her grandmother's hand in his, conversing with the ease of long acquaintance. He waited to be introduced to Mary and Elizabeth and barely touched Elizabeth's fingers with his own.

With a growing sense of indignation, Elizabeth rang for tea and then listened for a torturous quarter of an hour while the duke talked about the weather, about his daughter, Eloise, and about an impending visit to the Royal Gardens at Kew.

When he got up to leave, after a socially correct fifteen minutes, Elizabeth found herself standing as well. With a last murmured compliment, he was gone. Elizabeth stared after him, her mouth agape and her thoughts in turmoil. Without any further consideration, she ran down the stairs after him. He turned as she confronted him in the hall.

"Don't you dare leave without talking to me," Elizabeth gasped, one hand pressed to her bodice. "Don't you
dare
treat me as though I'm nothing more than a passing acquaintance."

The duke raised an eyebrow and turned to Mr. Carter, who held open the door to General Waterstone's study. Elizabeth marched inside, her nose in the air, and Gervase followed, closing the door behind him. She folded her arms as the duke walked past her and halted behind her grandfather's desk.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to continue, but the duke made a decisive motion with his hand.

"Please sit down, Miss Waterstone, otherwise good manners will compel me to stand as well, and I'm still rather weak from my wound."

Elizabeth cast him a suspicious look and grudgingly subsided into the chair in front of the desk. Her conscience tugged at her as she looked at him properly for the first time. He did seem a little weary.

"I apologize if you thought I was avoiding you, Miss Waterstone. I was under the impression that you wished me to the devil. I only called to reassure myself and Eloise that everything was well with you." He paused. "Was there something in particular you wished to say to me?"

Suddenly, Elizabeth lost all desire to speak. His disarming apology had stripped her of any wish to fight with him, and yet she couldn't quite bring herself to apologize either.

"I merely wanted to thank you for employing Michael, Your Grace," she said primly, wishing she had the strength to say exactly what she felt. "I'm sure he will make you an admirable secretary."

He smiled at her and she fought the urge to smile back. "He reminds me of you, Miss Waterstone, and I've no higher compliment to pay him than that."

Elizabeth felt herself blushing and still couldn't think of a thing to say.

"I expect you might also want to know what has happened to Mr. Llewelyn?"

"Only with regards to his employment, Your Grace." Elizabeth said quickly. "I would hate to think he is suffering because I could no longer pay him."

The duke looked pained. "There is no fear of that, Miss Waterstone. Mr. Llewelyn appears to have many sources of income. In truth, I've a suspicion that he was deliberately put in your way by another party to learn all he could about the assassination plot." He shrugged. "I don't know the details, but he has given me his word he doesn't work for the French, and with that I've had to be satisfied."

He looked down at his hands. "If it brings you any comfort, Elizabeth, I spoke to your mother this morning. She didn't realize Sir John meant to kill you when she ordered him to take you away."

Elizabeth allowed his words to soothe the aching wound her mother's betrayal had opened inside her. "Thank you, Your Grace, that is indeed good to know."

She blinked as the duke shot to his feet and began to pace the room. If she hadn't known him better, she would have sworn that he was nervous.

"Miss Waterstone, I'm afraid that I started off on the wrong foot the last time that we spoke. I prosed on about duty and patriotism without really getting to what I wanted to say, or apologizing to you properly."

Elizabeth found her voice. "I'm the one who should be apologizing, Your Grace. I deeply regret everything I said to you on that occasion."

The duke didn't seem to hear her. He sat down again, fiddled with the quill pen on the desk, and rearranged her grandfather's papers before sparing her a glance.

"I understand that your grandparents are happy for you to stay here, and intend to bring you out in society." He hesitated. "But I wonder if that is what you really want. Have you thought about the restrictions a young lady at home is forced to endure?"

Her heart threatened to explode from her chest. She gave him a wary smile and returned to her perusal of the view from the window.

He laughed softly. "God forbid that the
ton
ever discovers that you are a bluestocking. Believe me, your grandmother will not encourage you to speak your mind to anyone, let alone gentlemen suitors."

Elizabeth folded her arms and lifted her chin. "You are being ridiculous, Your Grace. I'm too old to be treated like a seventeen-year-old ninnyhammer. I'm sure my grandparents will realize this soon."

"
Soon
? Do I understand you to mean they have already questioned your choices and curtailed your activities?"

Elizabeth blushed. She had forgotten how well he read her. "What are you suggesting, Your Grace?"

He gazed into her eyes, "I've another position to offer you."

"I think we tried every position possible, Your Grace."

His lips quirked. "Not quite, my dear." He placed his hands flat on the desk and took a deep breath. "The position I'm speaking of is as my duchess."

Elizabeth stared at him until his gaze dropped to his outstretched fingers. "What did you say?" she whispered.

"I'm asking you to be my wife. You have all the attributes I require. You are exceptionally bright, you are loyal to a fault, and you fill my bed admirably." He let out his breath. "I meant to ask you to marry me the last time we met, but I handled it rather badly."