Rebel Marquess (14 page)

“For my own part, I did not have any designs upon the marquess. In all truth, this engagement is the result of an unfortunate misunderstanding. I tried to convince him it was unnecessary; however, due to the incorrect conclusions drawn by the extensive witnesses, Lord Rutherford felt compelled to do the honorable thing.”

“Of course he did the honorable thing,” the dowager replied with haughty certainty. “The boy was caught with his hands down your dress.”

Eliza did not recall including that detail in her previous explanation and realized the lady must have heard of the debacle prior to their arrival.

“Releasing a spider,” Eliza clarified. “Nothing more.”

“Yes, as you say.” The skepticism in the lady’s voice was unmistakable. After another long moment, Lady Rutherford gave a decisive wave of her hand. “Sit down, Miss Terribury. It hurts my neck to gaze up at you so.”

“Of course, my lady.”

Eliza returned to her seat on the sofa. She made sure not to slouch against the back cushion and kept her hands folded demurely in her lap.

The two women stared at each other for an awkward few minutes. This time, Eliza refused to be the one to break the silence and she returned the formidable lady’s assessing gaze with an open and friendly smile. After a short while, Lady Rutherford narrowed her gaze and gave a heavy sigh of annoyance as she apparently lost her patience.

“Miss Terribury, you say you want nothing from my grandson.” Her voice was thick with skepticism. “What then do you want?”

Since they had begun this conversation in all honesty, Eliza saw no reason to stray from that purpose. Besides, she rather enjoyed taking advantage of the few opportunities she had available to shock the older lady free of her rigid composure. “I intend to be a published novelist.”

Lady Rutherford had been adjusting the folds of the blanket across her lap, but at Eliza’s confession, her hands stilled.

“Pardon me?”

Eliza leaned forward and raised her voice a bit, though she did not suspect the lady was the least bit hard of hearing. “A novelist. I write novel-length stories of a gothic and romantic nature. I hope to have my work published.”

After an annoyed scowl at Eliza’s raised voice, the elderly lady arched her fine eyebrows in imperious disbelief. “You admit it so readily?”

Eliza had years of preparation for the attitudes of contempt most of society held for her chosen genre. Her own family had given her enough grief on the subject to last a lifetime, but she was steadfast in her goals and she met Lady Rutherford’s gaze directly and without apology. “I see no shame in it.”

The older lady harrumphed, but said nothing further. Several minutes passed as Eliza forced herself to sit still and refrain from gazing curiously about the room.

Finally, Lady Rutherford gave a small cough to clear her throat and spoke again. “Have you read
A Lady’s Confession
?”

“Of course,” Eliza replied, a little surprised at the question. “It was published in 1783 and was an instant success as I understand. It tells the scandalous tale of a young woman of high society who entered an arranged marriage to a gentleman who ended up being a right scoundrel. When her husband ran off with his mistress, the lady was left to fend for herself amidst a London society that was selfish, hedonistic and reckless.”

Lady Rutherford stared intently at Eliza as she spoke and then gave a dismissive wave of her blue-veined hand. “A dramatic, self-indulgent tale, wouldn’t you say, Miss Terribury?”

Warming to the subject, Eliza broke her stiff posture and leaned forward conspiratorially. There was nothing she adored more than discussing novels and writing.

“On the contrary, it is ingenious. Though presented as a work of fiction, many have suspected, and I am inclined to agree, that the author, Mrs. Hunter, was actually a noblewoman and that the novel holds some hidden truths borrowed from the lives of her contemporaries, hence the title
A Lady’s Confession
. I would even go so far as to say I believe it is really a cleverly disguised commentary on the scandalous lack of moral inhibitions present in society at the time.”

Lady Rutherford’s thin lips quivered for a moment and then pursed a bit unnaturally into a faint tenuous smile. “Interesting.”

She seemed inordinately pleased by Eliza’s review of
A Lady’s Confession
. Eliza tilted her head as a sudden suspicion entered her head. Surely, Lady Rutherford…

Eliza considered what she knew of the mysterious Mrs. Hunter, who had only ever written that one title, and added in all the speculative rumors that swirled about the novel’s true origins and intentions. It was certainly possible.

She settled her gaze firmly on the older lady’s face. “Did you write it?”

Lady Rutherford gazed down her nose at Eliza in a way that was frightfully similar to a look Eliza had received from the marquess far too many times already.

“Of course not, Miss Terribury. The Marchioness of Rutherford would
never
write such useless drivel.” Lady Rutherford’s tone was commanding and disdainful, but Eliza saw the undeniable twinkle in the lady’s dark eyes and there was no hiding the satisfied grin that deepened the creases of her weathered features.

Eliza opened her mouth to challenge the denial, but at just that moment, the marquess reappeared in the doorway. Both ladies turned to him, but not before Eliza caught a flash of warning in Lady Rutherford’s gaze. Their discussion was to remain private.

The marquess paused at the threshold and assessed each woman in turn as if checking for battle wounds. When he saw they were both fine, he released his breath and came forward into the room.

“Is this the shawl you wanted? I did not realize you possess so many.”

“That is what happens when you get old,” Lady Rutherford replied smartly. “Everyone fears you will freeze to death in your own home and they ply you with shawls and rugs and warmers.”

“I will be sure to avoid the temptation at your next birthday,” the marquess answered in a dry monotone Eliza was coming to recognize as evidence of his distinct humor.

He carried the woolen shawl to his grandmother, who swiftly waved him off. “I do not need that now. I am warm enough.”

With a subtle display of infinite patience, the marquess draped the shawl over the back of the lady’s chair. “I will leave it here in case you should catch another chill.”

Turning back to the sofa at an angle where his grandmother could not see his face, the marquess eyed Eliza with a narrow gaze.

Eliza grinned widely in response.

Let him wonder what she and his grandmother had discussed in his absence.

He returned her grin with a look of blatant suspicion, causing her grin to widen even more.

Once the marquess settled back into his corner of the sofa, Lady Rutherford reached out to grasp the handle of the walking stick beside her chair and curled her arthritic fingers over smooth brass handle. She brought the stick forward and tapped it once on the floor as if she were calling a meeting to order.

“Now, I haven’t got all day. Tell me about the magnolias.”

Chapter Eleven

Eliza sat with her mother in the front parlor. They said nothing as they both watched the ticking of the clock. It was a rarity for neither of them to have anything to say, but anxiety ruled the moment and kept their mouths closed, though for very different reasons.

Eliza, because she had been making excellent progress on the highwayman’s story when her mother had fetched her down from the attic. She had stuffed her notebook and pencil into the deep pocket of her skirt and the weight of the materials lying against the side of her leg were a constant reminder of what she would rather be doing that morning.

Eliza glanced suspiciously at her mother, wondering at her abnormal silence.

Lady Terribury had been in a twitter of excitement since the Southwick party, yet now, as they sat in the parlor awaiting the marquess’s arrival, Lady Terribury seemed to have completely run out of steam. She sat stiff and contemplative as the minutes ticked closer to the appointed hour. Every now and then, Eliza thought she heard a faint mutter and saw her mother’s lips move with her thoughts, but nothing was said outright.

It made Eliza nervous. She hoped it was simply an adverse reaction to having nothing more to scheme and plot, but she worried her mother might still be trying to set a more secure hook. Lady Terribury likely wouldn’t be fully satisfied until Eliza was firmly ensconced in Rutherford’s household as the marchioness.

The idea sent a chill over Eliza’s skin. She shifted on the sofa and wished Rutherford had not insisted upon calling on her today.

After they had left Lady Rutherford’s the other day, he’d suggested they should behave as though they were resigned to their fate while he looked into a possible remedy to their situation. She agreed with the plan but didn’t think that meant he needed to be a particularly attentive betrothed. His stiff reply had been that he would do what was proper and expected in their circumstances and he would call on her in a couple of days.

The clock on the mantel struck the hour at the exact same time a knock sounded at the front door, jolting Lady Terribury from her internal musings.

The marquess was disturbingly punctual.

Lady Terribury swung her startled gaze to Eliza. “Sit up straight, Lizzie. Knees together. And smile.” As she bit out the swift instructions from the corner of her mouth, Lady Terribury followed her own advice.

In contrast, Eliza took a more relaxed posture in the corner of the sofa. It was a testament to her mother’s distraction that Lady Terribury did not even notice her daughter’s rebellion.

A few scant moments later, their butler appeared in the doorway to announce the arrival of the Marquess of Rutherford.

His large imposing form filled the doorway and Eliza lost her breath.

When is that going to stop happening?

She gave a small cough to start up her lungs again as her mother stood and graciously greeted their guest. All evidence of Lady Terribury’s prior agitation was gone as she smiled and gestured for the marquess to join them.

“Lord Rutherford, do come in and have a seat. Lizzie and I were discussing what a lovely time she had on your drive the other day and how gracious Lady Rutherford had been.”

The marquess glanced at Eliza through Lady Terribury’s lime-green feathers.

Eliza gently rolled her eyes at her mother’s fabrication as she rose from the sofa.

Stepping around Lady Terribury, the marquess approached Eliza and executed a respectful bow over her hand. “Miss Terribury, a pleasure to see you again,” he stated without emotion as he straightened.

Eliza could practically feel the resistance running through his body. She gave him a smile before she replied pertly, “And you, my lord. What an illustrious occasion to have you here in our little parlor.”

Lady Terribury stepped forward. “Ah, yes. Quite.” She cast Eliza a swift reproachful glance, apparently having detected the note of mockery in her daughter’s tone. Then she turned to the marquess with a generous smile as she indicated the empty space beside Eliza. “Do have a seat, my lord.”

Rutherford lowered himself into the corner of the sofa. Though he settled back with an air of confident ease, Eliza could see the tension present in his tight jaw and the obvious distaste in the firm line of his mouth.

Poor man, she thought not without some bit of sympathy.

They were all seated for barely a moment when Lady Terribury made a low sound of distress and rose abruptly to her feet. Rutherford also stood as proper manners dictated.

“My word,” Lady Terribury exclaimed with wide eyes and a frantic wave of her hands. “I completely forgot to address a matter of grave importance with our housekeeper. I must see to it at once.”

Eliza watched with smothered amusement as her mother rushed to the door, leaving the marquess standing somewhat stunned in the center of the room. Once Lady Terribury reached the door to the hall, she turned and gave a convincing sigh. “I apologize for the swift departure. I will return as quickly as I can but the matter will easily take no less than an hour. I am afraid the two of you will have to manage unchaperoned for that time.”

She intoned the last statement with a lilt of expectation. Eliza nearly groaned at her mother’s obvious hope that the forced privacy might lead to another display of indiscretion between Eliza and Rutherford and therefore ensure a more a solid engagement. It seemed her mother was not going to take any chances and would continue her manipulations through to the wedding day.

Without waiting for a reply, Lady Terribury passed into the hall and pulled the door closed behind her. Not to the point that it clicked shut, but nearly.

The marquess turned to look down at Eliza in the corner of the sofa.

“Subtle,” he muttered dryly.

“As an African giraffe,” she agreed with a wry grin.

“It would seem we have a full uninterrupted hour to spend,” he said and gave a bored glance about the room before settling his sharp gaze back upon her. “What shall we do?”

Eliza knew she was imagining the suggestion she heard in his low tone, yet it did not stop a wave of heavy warmth from flooding her limbs. Of course, he did not intend to make use of their time in the way her mother implied.