Author: Beverley Oakley
Category: Nonfiction
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And either he didn’t seem to notice or he didn’t care.
“Good man. You brought linen. You administer to Miss Scott’s injuries while I look for some soothing ointment. I don’t think it’s going to scar for it appears merely reddened, but I do know that burns can grow worse than one expects.”
“Eet look verrry terrible, lovely lady,” the man remarked in a thick accent. “You all right?”
Dazed, Lizzy nodded. The sight of a naked man kneeling in front of her and sponging her thigh was so extraordinary she wondered if she were dreaming.
“Please say something, Miss Scott.”
Now Lady Quamby was back, looking anxiously down at her.
“I…I promise I’ll say nothing of this to your husband.”
“Oh, he’d only be concerned as to your welfare, my dear. My husband is like that. Very kind.” Then, realising what Lizzy meant, she laughed. “Why, my husband is probably similarly engaged in another chamber with someone just as nice as my Angelo. He certainly wouldn’t mind if he knew about us.” She sat down on the bed beside her and added kindly, “That is one of the advantages of making the right marriage. And you, my dear, are contemplating your own union.” She patted Lizzy’s hand and enquired, “Is there a young man here who has taken your fancy?”
Lizzy hesitated. “I...am not sure.”
“What do you think of Mr Dalgleish?”
Lizzy jerked her head up. “Mr Dalgleish?”
“I believe Mrs Hodge is anxious for the pair of you to make a match.”
“He is handsome. And I quite like him, but…” She sighed. “I am not sure I want to marry him though it would be very much easier if I did.”
Lady Quamby removed a few singed threads from Lizzy’s gown as she nodded. “Yes, I can see that, for I’m sure you have no desire to stay with Mrs Hodge longer than you need. In which case, you have to marry someone,” she added, reasonably. “Ah, thank you, Angelo.” She nibbled her thumb as the naked man rose in front of them as he squeezed water from the sponge he’d used on Lizzy’s thigh. “Perhaps you should put on your banyan, my love. I doubt Miss Scott has seen a naked man before. You are a very fine specimen though. I’m sure a bit of ogling would be quite understandable. What do you think of my Angelo, Miss Scott? He’s from Italy and speaks little English, but I think I prefer that. He fulfils all my requirements perfectly.” Lady Quamby reached out a hand to caress his naked flank. Blushing fiercely, Lizzy knew she took too long to look away.
Was this really what a gentleman looked like without his clothes on?
“So, if you don’t want to marry Mr Dalgleish, is there anyone else you’d rather marry?”
Lizzy blinked, trying to keep her mind on the conversation. “Yes, but he’s marrying someone else,” Lizzy said simply.
Lady Quamby nodded as if she were expecting this. “I know very well of whom you speak, and while I admit that I too found him charming, I have it on good authority that he is not the husband for a girl like you.”
“Why?”
“Why? He is a bounder. A fortune hunter—”
“As is Mr Dalgleish.”
“But Mr Dalgleish has not shown himself to be the kind of gentleman with whom society does not wish to associate. Have you noticed how few friends Mr McAlister has? How no one invites him into their midst?”
Lizzy didn’t want to admit that she had. And that it troubled her.
“And would you want that for yourself? Of course you would not. He wants to use your fortune to pay his gambling debts. That’s all you are to him.”
“I told you, though. He doesn’t want to marry me,” Lizzy said forlornly.
“Then isn’t that fortunate?”
“That he’s marrying someone else? I suppose so.”
Lady Quamby stopped in the midst of interrupting. “I trust you’re not talking of Miss Harcourt?”
“I thought that perhaps it was her, but then they didn’t speak to each other all evening.”
“And you were watching, were you?”
Lizzy blushed. “Nor did they dance a single dance together.” She hesitated. “I’d hoped they might have argued, but at the end of the evening, Mr McAlister told me once again that he was marrying someone else.”
“Hmm.” Lady Quamby rose and drew an Indian shawl from the kist at the end of the bed. “You’ll need to cover yourself with that. Now, Lizzy, I hope your senses are not too disordered. Do you think you’ll be up to making your way to your bedchamber?”
She laughed at Lizzy’s wary expression, adding, “No, I wasn’t going to suggest Angelo accompany you. Now, you go to your bed, and I,” she reached up a languid arm to touch Angelo’s cheek while the handsome Italian gazed down at her with liquid brown eyes before kissing her hand tenderly, “have decided not to return to mine.”
Chapter 18
It had been a long and difficult night, and Lizzy was certain it was dawn before sleep finally claimed her.
Sitting quietly at her dressing table, she watched as Mabel poured the contents of the water jug into the porcelain bowl for her to wash her face and hands. The morning was bright outside and so was the fire that burned in the grate.
But her mood was very low.
“Are you sure Miss Harcourt said nothing to you last night?”
“Miss Harcourt don’t say much ter anyone, miss.”
“But…you never stop talking, Mabel. How can you have absolutely nothing to report to me?”
“Ain’t no use tryin’ ter get me ter tell yer wot I can’t unless I make it up an’ yer don’t want me ter do that.” Mabel tugged at her mistress’s hair, adding with energy, “No matter ʼow much I chattered, Miss ʼArcourt were not goin’ ter chatter back. She jest stared at the ceilin’, then said thank yer an’ waved me ter the door. Glad I don’ ʼave ter work fer ’er, miss.”
There was nothing more Lizzy could say. Feeling very blue devilish, she went down to the breakfast parlour where Mrs Hodge greeted her. “Mr Dalgleish was looking for you.”
“Indeed.” Lizzy barely acknowledged her words as she helped herself to smoked haddock and scrambled eggs.
“Yes, he wondered if you liked to go walking with him.”
“I think I’d rather walk alone,” Lizzy said, concentrating on her food, not caring who else considered her rude to Mrs Hodge.
But she was surprised when she stepped outside half an hour later, having changed into a blue velvet pelisse, and Lady Quamby accosted her. Lizzy wondered how their hostess could look so dewy fresh even in the harsh sunlight when she had had such a very late night. Lizzy herself felt woolly-headed and heavy-lidded.
“I was worried about you, Lizzy. Would you mind if I accompanied you?”
“Of course not.” Surprised, Lizzy stepped onto the path that led towards the lake. Lady Quamby must be concerned about the obviously scandalous liaison Lizzy had witnessed.
“I am a woman of my word, Lady Quamby,” she assured her as they reached the lake’s edge in silence. They stopped and gazed out at the swans.
“I am sure you are, Miss Scott. And I am not concerned in the slightest over my reputation, I assure you. It’s hardly a secret.”
Lizzy couldn’t help her short intake of breath, but she kept her gaze averted and overlooked the calm waters until, after a while, Lady Quamby said, “Shall we continue to the folly? There’s someone there who would like to see you.”
“Mr McAlister?” The words were out before Lizzy could help herself.
Lady Quamby looked regretful. “You do recall all the very good reasons why you, yourself, acknowledged he’s not the man for you, Lizzy. “No, my dear, I’m talking about Mr Dalgleish whom I found as cast down as a kitten in a pond. He’d been waiting for you, he told me, but you hadn’t made your appointment.” She touched Lizzy’s cheek. “You told me you were confused about your feelings for him, something which I perfectly understand. Handsome young men with rakish reputations have that effect.”
Lizzy took a long time answering as
she watched the water lapping gently at the edge of the lake. Far ahead, the countryside stretched into the distance, white and magical. “I suppose so.”
“You do like him, don’t you? You certainly seemed to earlier. Is there anything you dislike about him?”
Lizzy was silent.
“He’s handsome, isn’t he? He’s been good to you?”
Lizzy thought of his crinkled smile, the humorous quirk to his lips, his curling dark-brown hair, blue eyes, and the admiration with which he showered her.
She nodded when Lady Quamby prompted her.
“Then what is it that concerns you? Have you kissed him?”
Lizzy swung round. “Under the mistletoe. It was a very quick kiss.”
“But it put you into a state of disorder and you feel guilty.” Lady Quamby looked satisfied, as if she’d read the situation correctly when it was so far off the mark.
“I wished I felt more,” Lizzy said urgently. She sighed. “If I am to marry him, then surely there is so much more to expect.”
Lady Quamby was looking at her as if she were a very interesting specimen. “Oh yes, there is so much more to expect.” She took Lizzy’s arm. “And perhaps we should go to the folly where Mr Dalgleish is waiting for you. Perhaps it is only right that you should discover what you really should expect from marriage.”
Lizzy wasn’t sure what to think or say. Obediently, she allowed herself to be led along the path to the little stone castle just beyond the rise, tucked out of sight as it nestled by the lake’s edge.
Mr Dalgleish was waiting for her? Lady Quamby thought Lizzy should learn more of what to expect?
Did she want to?
Should she?
But then, Mr McAlister didn’t want to marry her. Or rather, if he did, he was in no position to be able to do so. The more she thought about it, the more she thought he must have compromised the young lady she’d seen him dancing with. She wasn’t exactly sure what being compromised entailed, and she wasn’t sure if she would be compromised by stepping through the door that was suddenly right in front of her.
But if Lady Quamby was sanctioning it—no, encouraging it, then wouldn’t she be shielding herself from the very thing she ought to be experiencing if that was the reason she gave herself for objecting to him? After all, the kiss had been but a brush of the lips.
And when she’d kissed Theo, the feelings inside her had grown exponentially with the length of the kiss.
Perhaps that’s what would happen if she allowed Harry to kiss her, now.
And it would be convenient for everyone if she simply accepted him.
Happily, and with good grace.
So, with a small sigh of acquiescence, she stood mutely by the door to the folly as Lady Quamby knocked quietly upon the solid wood.
Casting aside all reservations despite the rapid beating of her heart, Lizzy stepped in with new determination when she heard the obvious pleasure at her arrival in the familiar, masculine voice.
Theodore stood at the drawing room window and stared wretchedly at the two small figures by the lake. He’d stood in exactly the same place beneath those trees several evenings before, discussing with Amelia how they might leave Quamby House unobserved at the height of tonight’s festivities. She, to escape a forced marriage to Lord Leighton at the hands of her uncle and he…
He stilled. Why, exactly was he doing it?
When he was in love with another woman?
For there was no escaping the fact that he wished above all to be down by that lake, secretly caressing Lizzy’s hand, listening to her artless way of describing her day or exactly what she was feeling. He’d answer truthfully the state of his, if he could.
But he couldn’t.
Lizzy was an heiress, and Theo was not a brazen, mercenary fortune hunter. Not like Dalgleish who, fortunately, had just wandered down the lawn a few minutes before and was now out of Lizzy’s sight. Theo didn’t think he could have stomached seeing Lizzy gazing soulfully across the lake beside Harry Dalgleish.
For it was Lady Quamby with whom Lizzy was conversing. The golden curls that cascaded down the back of the countess’s pink and white dress from beneath a neat straw bonnet were unmistakable. Now Lizzy was walking by her side following the path towards the copse of trees where Theo and Amelia had finalised their plans.
When they disappeared from view, he stepped away from the window, his heart heavy yet feeling relieved that Lizzy was properly chaperoned by their hostess.
Not that it should matter to him what became of Lizzy since he was marrying another woman.
Yes, he was marrying another woman, one he didn’t love but it was for the right reasons. If he could do exactly as he chose, he’d be whisking Lizzy away tonight, instead, and the world would say that their assessment of him as a brazen fortune hunter had been confirmed.
They would say the same when they heard he’d eloped with Amelia though it wasn’t for her money.
And it certainly was not for the reasons Amelia thought.
He looked about the room and considered his options. He could risk the cold shoulder if he tried to join either of the several groups of gentlemen standing about talking.
Or he could wander into the town and check on the chaise-and-four he’d ordered to take Amelia and himself towards the border tonight, though the transaction had already been concluded to his satisfaction. Still, it would be better to ensure that the horses and postilions were in good order and that nothing would delay their departure at the allotted time of 9 p.m. that night.
The thought of it made him feel ill inside.
Hesitating, he scanned the snow-covered slopes in the hopes of seeing Lizzy and Lady Quamby, but no one emerged from behind the hill.
So as there was no forthcoming offer of companionship, Theo headed for the door.
He wanted this marriage as little as Amelia did, but right now, there seemed little alternative for either of them.
It took a moment for Lizzy’s eyes to adjust to the gloom as Lady Quamby closed the door upon them, her hostess’s neat kid boots sounding a satisfied tread upon the gravel path that led back towards the house.
Yes, Lady Quamby had sanctioned this, and Lizzy ought to be obedient for once to the strictures of her superiors and save everyone—not least herself—a lot of bother, she supposed.
Besides, in the gloom of the room, Harry looked handsome and masculine, and she knew she’d be the envy of a great many young ladies if she marched him up the aisle. He had a reputation, it was true, but somehow he’d risen above his past sins.
Unlike Mr McAlister, she reflected with a pang, banishing him from her thoughts as Harry’s arms came about her.
“I’m so glad you came, my love.” His voice was tender, his chest hard, and his breath sweet with some kind of herb. That was important. If one were marrying for attraction and not solely money, there’d be a lot of kissing involved in order to do all the wifely things expected of her.
It wasn’t surprising Susan disliked marriage for Lizzy had been conscious of Sir Richard’s unpleasant breath the first time she’d met him.
“May I kiss you?”
Lizzy felt herself melting. He was so gentle and respectful, and yes, she really did want to reassure herself that an extension of the kiss they’d shared beneath the mistletoe would decide her, unequivocally, on the merits of marriage with Harry.
“Yes,” she breathed, closing her eyes and tilting her face so that he had access to her lips.
She shivered in expectation; her mind consciously blanked to all but the heat of his body, the pressure of his hand cupping her cheek and then…
His lips upon hers.
She sighed, opening up her lips to his, conscious of his body pressing closer, gently pushing her backwards until her back was against the stone wall of their dark, intimate, trysting place.
She felt her body begin to respond. He was handsome and honest about his dealings, she reminded herself. And he was being gentle. She liked that.
“You like it?” His voice was breathless, his body pressing harder against her. She could feel something pushing into her stomach, and barely thought to wonder what it was until his hand moved to the front of his buckskins and began to fumble between them.
It felt strange and uncomfortably intimate and Lizzy tried to move her mouth away to take a breath—and to take stock—but he pushed her back; his mouth fused to hers, it seemed.
She felt a moment of suffocating panic, but almost at the same time reminded herself that perhaps this was the threshold at which Susan had baulked; and that this was the reason she’d been bitterly derided by her husband.
And Lizzy knew how insipid and lacking in courage Susan was. No, if this was the test Lizzy must pass in order to satisfy herself about her marriage bargain, she would do it.
So, she let her body slacken just sufficiently to let him do what he wanted. And she let him continue kissing her, even though concern and discomfort were beginning to curdle deep in her belly.
Then she felt his hand on her thigh and was tugged slightly downwards as he—what was he doing?—felt for her ankle before his palm was sliding up her leg, her skirts were rucked up, and now his fingers were probing—dear lord…between her legs.
Her mind was in disarray. What was happening? There was a disconnect between what she’d thought was happening and what really was happening, and she had no idea what it was.
She’d enjoyed the kissing to the extent that she’d hoped she would. But now, the unwelcome things Harry was doing to her had jerked her back to reality and made her realise just how much more she’d enjoyed Mr McAlister’s kisses.
She didn’t like this horrible, intimate, crass fumbling up her legs.
Yet with his mouth so firmly upon hers, and his actions so single-minded, he did not seem to register her attempt at protest.
She tried to push him away, but his bulk loomed over her with even more forcefulness.