Elizabeth slumped back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She put her hands, palm downward, on the bed beside her and concentrated on breathing slowly and evenly. The old nightmare! She had thought she was over them. But, of course, the reappearance of Robert in her life was bound to revive some of the old pain. It would pass again, she told herself soothingly, unconsciously assuming for herself the role that John had played for several weeks six years before.
She would not think about it anymore tonight. She must think of something more pleasant. Elizabeth knew from experience that if she tried to divert her thoughts entirely from that episode in her life, she would fail utterly. She must relive some pleasant memory, before things went bad. She set herself deliberately to recalling the evening when Robert had first told her about his grandmother, his mother's mother.
"She lives in Devonshire most of the time," he had explained. "We used to see her once a year when Papa would send us down there for a duty visit. At least, Tom used to come for the first few years. Then I suppose he felt himself too old, so I used to go alone, with a nurse, of course. I used to be terrified of Gram. A crusty old bird, Papa always called her, and I always felt the description fit."
He had gone on to explain how his grandmother, Lady Bothwell, had never treated him like a child, but always conversed with him as if he were a sensible adult. She had demanded a great deal of him and had occasionally referred to "that young fool, your father." She suffered from rheumatism. Her slow, stiff movements, her constantly tapping cane had frightened the child. It was only as he grew older that he came to appreciate the keen intelligence and blunt good sense of his grandmother. He had learned that the bad feeling between her and his father had been caused by her refusal on more than one occasion to help him out of debt.
Robert had always continued the annual visits to his grandmother, from choice once he was old enough to make the decision himself. He had developed a deep, if undemonstrative affection for her.
And now she was making one of her very infrequent, always unannounced visits to London. She had taken a house for the duration of the Season, refusing as she always did on such occasions to stay with her son-in-law.
"I want you to meet her, Elizabeth," Robert had said, smiling eagerly into her eyes. They were waltzing at Almack's. He always chose waltzes with her, because the dance gave them some time to be together and to talk. It was hard to steal time together otherwise.
"Do you really think I ought?" she had asked doubtfully. "She sounds rather frightening."
He had laughed, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, white teeth flashing at her. "She will adore you, my love," he had assured her, squeezing her hand tighter. "And do not try to persuade me that you are afraid. You are always easy in other people's presence. You never seem at a loss for topics of conversation."
"But perhaps she will think a visit from me an impertinence?" Elizabeth had suggested.
His eyes had softened as they gazed back into hers. "I love her, Elizabeth," he had said. "I have told her about you and all that you mean to me. She insists on meeting you. I do believe that if you will not call on her, she will call on you."
"But that will never do," she had said, aghast. "How would it look if your grandmother came calling on my aunt when we are not even betrothed?"
He had grinned, looking suddenly like a mischievous boy. "Then you have no choice, do you, my love?" he had said. The music had been drawing to a close. "Tomorrow afternoon?" he had suggested. "I shall call for you at three."
And so they had gone. Elizabeth's Aunt Matilda had raised no objection to her charge's going with Robert Denning to visit his grandmother. Despite Robert's assurances of the night before, Elizabeth had been nervous. Lady Bothwell was the first member of Robert's family to whom she had been formally presented. And she had wondered what he had said about her. Did the old lady really know that they loved each other? Did she know that they had pledged to wait three years until they were free to marry? Would she like Elizabeth, or would she find her ridiculously young and gauche?
That first meeting had certainly been disconcerting. The old lady had risen to her feet when they were announced, and stood with her back to the fireplace, leaning heavily on a cane. She had watched Elizabeth through an old-fashioned lorgnette as Robert led her forward.
"This is Elizabeth Rossiter, Gram," he had said simply.
"I could have guessed that, boy," she had replied gruffly, still surveying Elizabeth. "Well, if her sense matches her looks, it seems you have made a good choice. Come and sit down, girl."
"Thank you," Elizabeth had replied, and she had perched stiff-backed on the edge of a nearby chair.
Robert had laughed, looking endearingly handsome and at ease in this very uncomfortable situation. "Gram, you old rogue," he had said outrageously, "you are deliberately trying to make Elizabeth uncomfortable just to discover if she has character. Now admit it," he had said.
"Hmm," had been her reply as she lowered herself slowly into a wing chair close to the fireplace.
"I told you that she is not a silly, empty-headed chit, now, did I not?" he had said. "She may sit like that, looking ill-at-ease, Gram, but she will not dissolve into tears or the vapors, I do assure you."
"Hmm," the old lady had repeated. "You never did learn manners living with that young fool, did you, boy? Now, you go upstairs to my room and fetch the paisley shawl I left on the bed. It is chilly here."
And, remarkably, by the time he had arrived back a few minutes later, Lady Bothwell and Elizabeth had been conversing quite comfortably on some topic that Elizabeth had now forgotten. The three of them had taken tea and cakes and talked for an hour or more. For Elizabeth it had been a blissful time. For once she and Robert did not have to steal a little time together in a public place. For once they could talk and laugh and relax together. And for once she felt the delight of being accepted by at least part of his family. There had been better to come. The old lady had finally pulled herself to her feet and grasped her cane.
"I have to go and check on my plants," she had announced. "They almost did not survive the journey from Devon. Old, like me. It takes me ten minutes to water them. No, I do not need any help, boy." She waved aside Robert's outstretched arm and hobbled toward the door. She had shut it firmly behind her.
Robert and Elizabeth had stared at each other incredulously for a moment. Then he had laughed. "Do you doubt now that she likes you?" he had asked, and he had stretched out a hand to pull her to her feet.
They had spent ten shameless minutes in each other's arms, kissing, gazing into each other's eyes, whispering love words, just holding each other. Elizabeth had rested her head against his shoulder at one point. She had closed her eyes and luxuriated in the feel of his warm, masculine body touching hers. How strong his thighs and chest and arms felt! How broad and comforting the shoulder! He was not very much taller than she and she liked him that way. She fit so comfortably against him.
He had nibbled on her earlobe and blown into her ear so that she had raised her head, giggling, to meet his laughing eyes again. They had embarked on another exploration of each other's lips and mouths before they heard the slow but unmistakable approach of the cane again. By the time Lady Bothwell had reentered the room, they had been sitting in their former places, Elizabeth flushed, Robert's fair hair looking less than immaculate.