The Mysterious Heir (17 page)

“No, Elizabeth, you must not,” the Earl said as he withdrew a clean white square of linen from his pocket and pressed it upon the weeping girl, while saying in real confusion, “Have done. Really. I haven't compromised you, you know. It was only a kiss. I thought you wanted it as much as I. Truly, Elizabeth, you must not weep so.”

Were they actually so provincial in Tuxford? the Earl wondered with alarm. They did not live in such gothic times that a kiss meant a lady's honor, or at least not in the circles he traveled in, and it was not as though he had forced her to
it. She was of age, and had come willingly to this deserted spot with a gentleman, both alone and unchaperoned. Or was it, a small thought intruded, a ploy to wring a declaration from him? Was that what she was angling for with all this sobbing? But taking another look at her as she sat frantically dabbing at her eyes and taking deep breaths to control herself, he doubted she was actress enough to give such a spontaneous performance.

“Come, Elizabeth,” he said gently, taking another tack. “Would you feel better if we had Anthony call me out when we return?”

“Oh, it is not that,” she wailed, a new freshet of tears springing forth.

“No one has as yet written a sonnet to my lovemaking,” he tried again, “but really, I have never reduced a female to a puddle before. I am sorry,” he went on a little desperately, “that you disliked it so, but I promise, I vow, I will never do it again.”

“Oh, no”—Elizabeth turned a streaming face to his—“that is not it at all. I have never had such a kiss before. It was nothing you did to me,” she snuffled, trying to restrain herself. “It was rather what you must have felt. I am so sorry, Morgan,” she went on, in her extremity using his Christian name.

“What I felt?” the Earl echoed in amazement.

“Yes,” Elizabeth said disjointedly, “and knowing what I do, it was cruel of me.”

“What in fiend's name do you know?” The Earl raised his voice in consternation.

“You know,” Elizabeth whispered into the handkerchief. Her companion watched in fascination as even the tips of her ears blushed red.

“I'm a little thick today,” he said slowly. “Pray refresh my memory. Come, Elizabeth, it is not at all the thing to carry on like Niobe, and then tell me that I know why, when I haven't a clue.”

“What Anthony told me,” she said, now foundering in embarrassment, “about your wound.” Seeing his blank look, she added, “Your other wound, why you called us all to
Lyonshall. Your reason for having to select an heir,” she continued, noting the disbelieving look upon his face. “About…” She sniffed, hiding her eyes behind the handkerchief and saying with as much daring as she was capable of on such a sensitive topic, “About your…incapacity.”

Peeking out and seeing a look of startled comprehension beginning on his face, she went on hurriedly, “And it was unfair of me to permit embraces, perhaps even to encourage them, knowing that it could bring you only pain. Or regret.”

“Anthony told you about my…‘incapacity,'” the Earl said slowly. “And where did he get his information from?”

“From Lord Beverly, of course,” Elizabeth said. “I am so sorry. I never meant…” But now she stopped as she saw his look of incredible glee.

“Of course. Bev. It would be from Bev,” he said. “I begin to see it all now. And this ‘other wound'—how exactly did the dear fellow phrase it? Now, it won't do for you to retreat and color up, Elizabeth, for the thing is in the open at last.”

“He said,” Elizabeth said, looking down at hands which seemed to wring his handkerchief of their own accord, “that you have more scars than any man can rightly be expected to bear.”

The Earl's face grew still for a moment. “There's truth in that, at least. And I suppose you are too craven to tell me more?”

“No, there is no more I can directly quote,” she said, her eyes still downcast. “But all was explained. So you see, I feel badly about that kiss.”

“Yes,” the Earl said. “Now, then, let us see if I have it right. Bev told Anthony that I could not… ah, produce my own heir due to my ‘other wound'?”

Elizabeth nodded rapidly.

“And then, it follows that you weep because of sympathy for me?”

“No,” Elizabeth said bravely, “for my own sake as well. I thought it might be pleasant, and a good way of affirming our friendship. I did not expect it to be so…” But here her
courage failed her and she subsided. When she dared at last to look up at the Earl, she saw a wicked grin upon his face.

“Why, then, Elizabeth,” he said silkily, “dry your tears. Because there is no other wound. Not one other. It was only my poor limb that Napoleon's supporters got a clear shot at. And I chose to select an heir for totally different reasons, not due to any ‘incapacity,' but to end an impostor's masquerade. So,” he said happily, reaching for her, “there is no need to pine. I can finish,” he whispered, “anything that I choose to start.”

But she broke free and shot from his arms. She stood and looked at him with alarm.

“But I don't want to finish anything,” she protested. “Indeed, I only know how to start. I felt safe with you, Morgan,” she cried as he rose and came toward her with a determined leer, “and now I do not. I don't want to. No, Morgan,” she cried with panic, putting her hands up to deter him.

The Earl stood still, then drew back his head and laughed. Soon he was so doubled with mirth that he had to sit again. And finally, regaining control of his amusement, he patted the seat next to him and said as he saw her amazed expression, “No, come rest yourself, Elizabeth. A gentleman is free to pay court to a lady here, but not, I am sure, to ravish her. Even though he is not on his own ground. Come, come. I was only joking. A kiss is only a simple thing, rapine is not. And,” he said shrewdly, “now a great many things begin to make sense to me. You believed me to be incapable of ruining you, else you would not have come here with me, nor raised your lips so trustingly. If you had not misunderstood what Bev had said, you would not have come with me today, would you?”

“No,” she said with shame. “The thought never occurred to me, though.”

“Then sit, my dear. And let the thought go out of your mind again. I have had a great deal of mirth at your expense. But I confess, it was delicious to see the look upon your face when you discovered your tame house cat had become a tiger. In all this time, then, you thought me…how did you put it, ‘incapacitated'? Bless Bev, he has given me a rare day. No, don't look so horrified at yourself. It was an honest mistake. Knowing Bev, and his way of speech, and the arrogance of youth, it was only natural that Anthony would leap to the conclusion he did. But, you know, Elizabeth,” he explained carefully, “it was not at all the thing for a respectable young female to accompany a man off into the wilderness as you did, and that is why I imagined you willing to cooperate as you did. And I suppose that is indeed why you did, thinking that I could go no further, burdened as I was by my lack of…shall we say, ‘capacity.' Deuce take it!” the Earl swore. “It's difficult even to discuss the matter with propriety.”

Elizabeth peered up at him, and then, both to her own and to his surprise, began to giggle. In a moment, he joined her in laughter and soon they both were laughing giddily together.

“My dear,” the Earl said finally, when they were reduced at last to only intermittent chuckles, “let us begin anew. Let there be no further secrets between us.”

Elizabeth squirmed for a moment, then stayed him with one small hand.

“Then,” she said slowly, anxious to be completely in train with his desire for honesty, “there is one other thing you were not supposed to notice. And I haven't approved it with Anthony as yet, but I feel I must clear house completely. Anthony is, you see, a bit
radical
in his thinking. And Uncle felt that as the Earl he knew was a Tory, we should hide all mention of his political inclinations. There,” she sighed, shaking her head, “that is, I swear it, all of it.”

“That is not quite the surprise you think it.” The Earl smiled, remembering his cook's agitation at Anthony's interference. “But as it happens, Father became a Whig at Simon's instigation. And Anthony is young yet. The young are entitled to all sorts of excess.”

Elizabeth was relieved to let the statement pass, although privately she thought Anthony's excesses were far in excess of anything her companion might imagine.

“Now, that the lot? You've opened the whole budget? No secret lovers, no dire plots to impart?” he gently chided her.

“All,” she said with relief.

“Then the gentlemen of Tuxford must have execrable taste for you to be still heart-whole,” he commented idly, catching up her hand in his.

“I have no dowry, nor any station. I am only a shopgirl, your lordship, remember, and at three-and-twenty, past all hope,” she answered, allowing her hand to lie lightly in his clasp.

“Not only bad taste, then, but bad eyes as well, and hearts as small as pebbles,” he said, raising her hand and placing a light kiss upon it.

“No, no, do not worry,” he said as she regretfully snatched her hand away, “I will be good. But if it makes you feel better, and as a reminder to myself, let us stroll over to Lyonshall, where you will be completely safe.”

He rose and offered her his hand, and with stately pace he led her to the seat at the opposite side of the pond. Though she laughingly protested, he told her with mock pomposity that now he knew she was such a proper sort of female, it wouldn't do for him to entertain her in a place where she had none of society's protection.

Once they had seated themselves again, he left off smiling. He took up her hand again, and said after a moment's hesitation, “Elizabeth, as you have told me all, it is only fair that I be as forthcoming with you. For I find that I want you to understand why I sent Anthony that invitation, and why I have doubted your every gesture. And again, much as I want to relate it, I find it is a tale that is difficult to tell with propriety.”

“Then,” Elizabeth said, watching his grave face carefully, “as it is a matter of propriety, let us go back to the other bench again. And then you need have no qualms. For I should very much like to hear it.”

“Elizabeth,” he sighed lovingly, “the gentlemen of Tuxford are very great fools.”

And leaning back against the bench, he found himself telling her first about the impostor and then, quite naturally, the story of his marriage, as he had told no other human being in all the years since that evening in London when he had first seen his future wife. He became so lost in the tale, he did not notice how on occasion his companion's cheeks paled or reddened. For though he told the story with delicacy, certain facts were unavoidable and she was watching the remembered pain that came and went in his own face. And though he was never explicit in his relating each incident of the past, she could read him well enough to see the whole of it.

There were times in the telling when she felt that she was standing beside him, seeing his wife's betrayal with her own eyes. When he spoke hesitantly, seeking the right words, of his wife's confession of her past, she felt her own stomach knot up and knew the infinite despair at a wife's deceit, as if she were a hurt and confused young bridegroom. She saw Kitty through his eyes: young, beautiful, and mysterious in her allure. At the same time, she saw Kitty through her own eye's window: young, beautiful, but selfish beyond belief. In those moments, looking at the Earl's strong face and hearing his soft, deep, almost bewildered tones, she yearned to forget her own position and to lift one tightly clenched hand to try to smooth the lines of concentration from his solemn face. How, she thought again and again, almost as counterpoint to his story, how could any female leave such a man, deliberately lose such a man, heartlessly wound such a man?

The time slipped past and he scarcely was aware of her reactions, for her only comments were soft requests for further information, or gentle prodding to get at some forgotten details. When he had done at last, they sat in silence and watched the sun's late-afternoon path as it shone in the waters of the pond.

“Poor woman,” Elizabeth finally said, “to be so afflicted. And how sad that you discovered her malady so late.”

The Earl looked at her in amazement, and seeing his reaction, she went on, “For it was an affliction, Morgan. That is clear to see. We had a poor simple girl at home with much the same difficulty. But her family kept her close when they discovered it, and the physician in town said that it was not their fault, or even hers, but only an affliction of nature. In fact, he condemned the men that sought her out more than
her, for he said they could help themselves where she could not.”

“And you,” the Earl said with something much like wonder in his voice, “said that it was Anthony that had the radical ideas. My dear, do you not know that you should be blushing, or holding up your hands in horror, or even being furious with me for broaching such a subject to a virtuous lady? No, don't protest. I should be called out for telling you that tale, if not for my behavior previously. My wits have gone begging.” He shook his head in exasperation.