by Mary Balogh
Further, she was convinced that Hetherington still had strong feelings for her sister-in-law. She believed that the marriage could be revived.
"I assure you he is not indifferent to you, Elizabeth," she said. "Why else would he have accompanied you here and stayed for ten whole days? It is not as if we are able to offer much in the way of entertainment. He loves you, you may be sure."
"Nonsense!" Elizabeth protested. "He stayed here merely to provoke me. He did not miss an opportunity to set me down or to sneer. And he has said good-bye, Louise. This is the end of it. I shall not see him again. And I must say, I am greatly relieved to know it. I shall be able to settle to my tranquil life again."
Louise cast her a skeptical look but said no more.
John upset Elizabeth in a different way but on the same topic. He apologized to her for not having taken a firmer stand and ordered Hetherington away from the house at the start.
"It was just so deuced awkward when he had just done you the service of bringing you here so quickly," he told her. "And then afterward he did us so many kindnesses and he really did seem to lift Louise's spirits. I am sorry, Elizabeth."
He proceeded to comfort his sister by abusing Hetherington for the heartlessness that enabled him to behave toward them all as if nothing had happened in the past, and for his hypocrisy. Elizabeth, surprisingly, was not comforted. She found herself suppressing the urge to defend her husband to her brother.
And she could not forget him when she was alone. Try as she would to convince herself that she was happier since he had left, she found herself reliving some of those days when he had been there. He had appeared so lighthearted most of the time. And it was his laughter, his teasing, and his smiling eyes that she had fallen in love with six years before. She remembered his always keeping the conversation alive at the dinner table, his ability to entertain Louise. She often pictured him with the baby, who would bounce with anticipated delight at the mere sight of his uncle.
His uncle! She had caught herself several times when Hetherington was still there wishing that they had a normal marriage. A few times she had had to restrain herself from joining him in a game with the baby. She would have enjoyed sharing some of that relaxed warmth. She would have liked just one of those radiant smiles to be directed fully at her.
She found that she particularly hugged to herself the memories of the brief physical contacts they had shared. Looking back on that morning at the inn when she had awoken to find herself lying in his arms, she realized with a pang all that she had missed through her broken marriage. Every morning should be like that morning, except that she should have been able to wake him and see him smile at her, turn to her, and pull her into a close embrace. She remembered those moments in the nursery when they had all realized that Jeremy was finally out of danger. He had laughed at her, teased her, but there had been some tenderness surely in the way he had held her and comforted her until her tears had dried. And surely there had been some feeling in his good-bye. He had kissed her on the mouth and said that he wished their marriage had turned out differently.
Elizabeth smiled bitterly. Was he regretting what he had done? Was he wishing that he had stood by his marriage vows even when circumstances changed? It was satisfying in one way to believe so. But it was a hollow victory. She had lost him. It mattered not that she still loved him against all reason, and that perhaps he regretted losing her. The truth was that they could never revive their relationship. There was too much hatred, bitterness, and distrust behind them. They could never forget, and she did not believe that she could ever forgive entirely. Even if she could, she would never be able to trust him again.
It was better this way. He had gone, and to London, not Ferndale. Clearly he did not intend that their paths should cross again. She knew that her only chance of attaining peace of mind was never to see him again. Yet how could she forget him? Dear God, how was she to live without him?
And so that week passed, with Elizabeth alternately relieved and tortured. The only solution was to go back to her position and begin all over again the task of reconstructing her serenity and her independence. She appointed a Monday for her journey, and resisted all the entreaties of both John and Louise to stay longer or forever.
At John's insistence, Elizabeth traveled in his coach and took with her a maid as companion. It was a very different journey from the one she had made a few weeks before with Hetherington. The coach was ponderous. Although they set out in the morning, they were little more than halfway by nightfall. Elizabeth and the maid stayed together at an inn, where they received deferential treatment because the innkeeper had not much business. They enjoyed the comfort of a private parlor as well as a roomy bedchamber that boasted an extra cot for the maid. The coach finally rolled to a halt in front of the Rowes' house in the middle of the following afternoon.
Elizabeth received a warm, if confused welcome. Mrs. Rowe was quite incapable of deciding what she should call her employee, until Elizabeth laughingly put an end to her stammerings.
"Ma'am," she said, "circumstances forced the Marquess of Hetherington to reveal what neither of us would otherwise have told a soul. We were married for a very brief time. But it was a mistake. It was six years in the past, and although we are still married in the eyes of the law, we are in reality strangers whose paths happened to cross again for a while. But we mean nothing to each other. I beg that you will treat me just as you did before you learned the embarrassing truth. Indeed, I am the same person."
"Well, it is very gracious of you to say so, I am sure," Mrs. Rowe replied. "But I always did say that there was something quite distinguished about you, Miss Rossiter. I shall respect your wishes, of course. And indeed we are honored to have you as Cecily's companion. But I do feel it a sad shame, my dear, that you and the marquess are estranged. Such a charming gentleman! I did think he was sweet on Cecily at one time, but I can see now that it was just his manner to appear courteous to all ladies. Now, Cecily, my love, you must be sure to do as I do and treat Miss Rossiter just as if she were not a marchioness."
Cecily's eyes twinkled. "I shall endeavor to remember, Mama," she said meekly. "Beth, do come upstairs if you have finished your tea. I shall help you unpack, though I do believe you have brought back with you almost as little luggage as you took."
Elizabeth got to her feet, but she turned to Mrs. Rowc before following Cecily from the room. "May my brother's coachman and maid rest here for tonight, ma'am, before setting out for home tomorrow?" she asked.
---
News of Elizabeth's return spread quickly, and most of her acquaintances paid a visit to the Rowe house within the next few days. All of them were driven to a certain extent by curiosity. News of her real identity and exalted rank had not escaped anyone's ears. All, though, were brought equally by a genuine affection for Elizabeth, who had won respect during her years as Cecily's governess and companion.
Lucy and Ferdie Worthing were the first to call the day after Elizabeth's return. Ferdie greeted her with courtesy, but it was clear that the real object of his visit was Cecily. Elizabeth watched with some amusement as the girl reacted with impatience and contempt to his account of a cockfight that he had attended the day before. He answered her just as sharply. Soon they were in the throes of a full-scale squabble. Elizabeth wondered if they would ever achieve a more tranquil relationship. It was difficult to tell if they loved each other well enough to consider matrimony at some time in the future. But it did not matter. They were both mere children. They had time.
Lucy was making stilted conversation. They soon exhausted the topics of the weather, Elizabeth's health, and that of all her family. The girl stammered her way through an account of the Reverend Claridge's sermon the previous Sunday. Elizabeth finally decided that she must intervene.
"Miss Worthing," she said, "do you not know me? I am Elizabeth Rossiter, with whom you have been most comfortable these several years past. Are you shy with me now because of the story you have heard about me?"
Lucy darted her a glance and blushed. "I am sorry," she said. "I cannot forget, you see, that you are the Marchioness of Hetherington. And I do not even know what I should call you."
"You must call me what you have always called me," I Elizabeth said laughingly. "I was a marchioness when you first knew me, Lucy, and I have not changed since then. It is just a word, you know. I have never really acted the part of such a grand lady, and I have no wish to do so."
"Oh, but are you very unhappy?" Lucy asked. "The marquess is such a very dazzling man. I like him. Does it not hurt you to live apart from him?"
Elizabeth smiled. "Not at all," she lied. "Our marriage happened a long time ago, Miss Worthing, and lasted but a very short while. We have both made a new life since. Now we are no more than strangers."
"I do beg your pardon," Lucy said. "I should not have asked you these questions. But, you see, I cannot imagine marrying someone and then leaving him. Was yours an arranged marriage?"
"I am afraid we do not even have that excuse," Elizabeth replied. "No, at the time we supposed it to be a love match."
"I do not understand," Lucy said. "When Ira and I marry, we shall be blissfully happy for the rest of our lives."
"And I hope you are right," Elizabeth replied fervently. "Your attachment to Mr. Dowling still exists, then?"
The girl's face lit up so that she looked almost pretty for a moment. "He has decided that he will spend the winter in London too, Miss Rossiter, so that we may see each other occasionally. It is a great sacrifice for him, because he hates the city, but we cannot bear to be apart for several months, you see." She giggled. "Mama will be furious when she knows."
The quarrel between the other two occupants of the room could no Longer be ignored.
"Cruel!" Ferdie scoffed. "What's cruel about matching two cocks to fight each other, Cec? They have an equal chance."
"Indeed it is cruel," Cecily cried, "when you know that one of them must die."
"You're too softhearted," Ferdie said indulgently.
"And you are a hard-hearted brute," she shot back.
"Cut line, Cec," he said, nettled. "All I did is watch, for goodness' sake. Next you will be trying to tell me that fox hunting is cruel."
"And so it is," Cecily replied, her eyes flashing a challenge to battle.
Lucy rose. "Ferdie, we must go," she said hastily. "You know that Mrs. Claridge and Anne are coming to tea and we promised Mama that we would be back."
Ferdie bowed distantly to Cecily. "There is no reasoning with you when you get into one of these silly moods, anyway, Cec," he said. "I shall see you when you have cooled off."
"I do not enjoy conversing with persons who condone the killing of innocent animals," she replied loftily, and proceeded to take a warm farewell of Lucy, to show Ferdie just what he was missing.
Mr. Mainwaring called the following afternoon while Elizabeth was helping Cecily make arrangements of the flowers they had cut from the garden. Both of them quickly removed their large aprons and smoothed their hair into place when summoned to the drawing room by Mrs. Rowe.
He rose to his feet when they entered the room and greeted both warmly. He asked politely about Elizabeth's journey and about the health of her nephew. The conversation became general for a while.
Finally Mr. Mainwaring turned to Elizabeth and asked if she would care to take a short drive with him, provided that Mrs. Rowe could spare her, of course. Mrs. Rowe was all smiling acquiescence.
Elizabeth went to her room for her bonnet. It was a perfect late-summer day, with sunshine and the merest suggestion of a breeze. She did not need a pelisse to wear over her gray cotton dress.
They drove out along the country road away from the town. Elizabeth soon had the impression that he drove without any destination in mind. It was good to be with him again. She felt none of the heightened awareness and self-consciousness that she experienced with Hetherington. She felt relaxed, as with a friend.
After several minutes he smiled down at her. "It is good to have you home again, Elizabeth. I have missed you."
"Indeed," she replied, "I have felt a warmth of welcome from several people. It really feels like a homecoming."
He smiled at her again. "I believe you have avoided the point I was trying to make," he said. "Have you missed me, Elizabeth?"
She considered. "Yes, I have," she said. "I feel relaxed and at home with you, William."
"Nothing more?" he asked ruefully. "I cannot say I feel relaxed with you. I love you, I believe."
Elizabeth said nothing. She kept her eyes on her clenched hands, searching for a suitable reply.
"You do not have to say anything," he said gently. "I really do not have the right to make such a declaration to you. You are the wife of my closest friend. But I have considered carefully those few weeks when he was here. I would never have suspected the relationship between you. Neither of you showed any signs of attachment to the other. It is my hope that you will agree to marry me so that I may go seek out Robert and ask if he will release you. I know that a divorce will cause an enormous scandal for you. But if you are prepared to live here or in Scotland with me, that need not affect us to any great degree."
Elizabeth was agitated. "William, please do not say these things," she said. "We cannot talk of marriage."
"There cannot be any love between the two of you any longer," he probed, "is there?"
"No, of course not," she answered quickly.
He noticed her haste and said nothing for a while. He maneuvered his curricle carefully past a slow-moving farmer's cart and called a greeting to the driver.
"You love him still, then," he said when they had moved out of earshot.
Elizabeth decided not to lie. "Against all reason, yes," she said.
He transferred the ribbons to his left hand and clasped her hand with his right. "I am sorry," he said. "And is there any hope that you will patch up your differences and live together, Elizabeth?"
"Oh, absolutely none," she replied candidly. "I love him, yes, but I could not possibly agree to reconcile our differences even if he wished it."
"Then marry me," he said. "Agree to let me persuade Robert to divorce you. You like me, do you not, Elizabeth? We could have a good friendship, I believe, a good life together. I have enough love for both of us. I should never demand more than you are prepared to give."
Elizabeth was much affected. It was true; she did like him. It seemed unfair that she could not love this man when she agreed that they could have a good life together, while she loved the man she despised.
"It would not be fair to marry you when I do not love you, William," she said. "Such a marriage would not work."
He drew the horses to a stop and faced her eagerly. "And did love work, Elizabeth? How long did youi marriage to Robert last? I do not know."
She looked down in embarrassment. "Two days," she replied.
"Two days?" His voice registered shock. "Do you think B marriage based on respect and friendship would so soon come to an end? Marry me, Elizabeth, please."
She looked at him, shaking her head slowly. "I do not know if I could," she said.
He smiled suddenly and visibly relaxed. "I take hope from your words and your manner," he said. "Will you promise that you will consider my proposal, Elizabeth? Indeed, I shall be greatly honored if you consent."
She smiled too. "I shall think about it, William, I promise," she said. "But I cannot at all guarantee that the answer will be yes."
He gave the horses the signal to start again and soon they were traveling lanes and roadways that brought them closer to home.
"There is to be another ball at Squire Worthing's next week," Mr. Mainwaring reminded Elizabeth. "Are you to attend?"
"Oh, yes," she said. "I shall be expected to chaperone Cecily while Mr. and Mrs. Rowe play cards."
"May I expect an answer on that occasion?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied, "by next week I shall have decided."
He reached fo
r her hand while keeping his eyes on the road ahead. "I shall live in suspense until then," he said, squeezing her fingers almost painfully.
---
The following days were not tranquil ones for Elizabeth. She was unanimously elected to accompany Cecily, Anne Claridge, and Lucy Worthing on a shopping expedition to Granby to buy new accessories for the ball. Since there had already been several entertainments that summer, it was imperative that they wear something different for this, the grandest of all occasions so far. It was Sir Harold and Lady Worthing's five and twentieth wedding anniversary and no expense was to be spared to make it a memorable occasion. As she sat with the three girls sipping lemonade, their purchases all done, before beginning the journey home, Elizabeth listened to their girlish chatter. Cousins and aunts and uncles had been invited from other counties, Lucy announced. That news certainly set Cecily and Anne fluttering, both of them quizzing Lucy about the possibility of any young and handsome male cousins. Lucy's reply that there were several, if only they came, did nothing to dampen their excitement.
Mrs. Rowe had also chosen this particular week in which to make an inventory of all her household effects. Elizabeth helped her count sheets and pillowcases and towels and dozens of other items, classifying them all as good enough for guests, good enough for the family, good enough for servants, in need of mending, or ready for the rubbish heap. When there was no bustling about to be done, she sat and mended and darned, though there seemed to be no bottom to the pile of articles still to be tackled.
But through all this activity, Elizabeth's mind was occupied by the one pervading question: what answer was she to give to William Mainwaring on the night of the anniversary? For the first few days, her inclination had been all for refusing him. She did not love him. And she did love Robert. She was married to Robert. Even if she could extricate herself from that marriage, she did not feel that she had enough to offer Mr. Mainwaring. She liked him well enough and enjoyed his company, but how could she give herself to him when her heart belonged to another man? It would not be fair to accept him, especially as he did love her.