Elizabeth did not know how to reply. The conversation, which had begun as light banter, had taken a turn that she found disturbing. "I am honestly employed because I choose to be, sir," she replied carefully. "And, indeed, these people have always treated me with great kindness. I have never felt condescension, not from the local families, anyway."
He danced with her in silence for a while, still gazing down at her averted face. "I have made you uncomfortable, ma'am," he said quietly at last. "I am sorry. I did not mean to do so. I only meant, in my clumsy way, that I wish I might call on you and invite you to drive and ride with me. But I can do so only if I invite others and have you come along as a companion or chape rone. I resent the situation."
Elizabeth looked up at him, startled again. She could think of nothing to say.
"Have you promised the next dance?" he asked. "I should like to walk with you in the garden. It is lighted and there will be others out there. You need not fear that I mean anything improper."
Elizabeth hesitated. "I should be delighted to dance with you again later in the evening," she said, "but I cannot think it would be quite the thing to leave the ballroom with you, sir. I am but a paid companion, after all."
He sighed as the music drew to an end. "Let it be the supper dance, then?" he said. It was a question.
"It would be my pleasure," she murmured as he led her to a vacant chair close to an open set of French windows. As soon as he had moved away, Elizabeth slipped through the windows and leaned against the rail of the balcony, half-shielded by a large potted plant. The air felt refreshingly cool against her burning cheeks. She forced herself to relax, tried to force her whirling thoughts into some order.
Had Hetherington been right about Mr. Mainwaring? It certainly appeared as if he admired her. And Elizabeth was not quite sure how she felt about that. After several years of living on the fringes of life, so to speak, it was not unpleasant to know that one had attracted the notice of a distinguished gentleman. And Mr. Mainwaring was certainly that. He was undoubtedly handsome, with a very masculine physique. Although reserved to a marked degree, the man had a hidden warmth and intelligence that would surely make him a pleasant companion. Had she met him under any other circumstances, she felt that she might have been tempted to try with him to put the past behind her and make a future for herself that was less bleak than the existence she had been living.
But Hetherington had made that virtually impossible. It was not that Elizabeth was frightened off by his disapproval or his demands. It was simply that, having seen him again, she knew that she would never be free of him. Although she now found his presence oppressive, despised him for his past, was cynical of his false charm, and almost hated him for what he had done to her life, she still felt bound to him as strongly as she had ever been. She could never love him again, but she could never stop loving him, either. She would always know when he was in the same room, and she would always be as physically aware of him across the length of a room as if he were actually touching her. Although she could never be happy in that situation, she could not in all fairness encourage the attentions of another man. Could she? -Elizabeth closed her eyes and pictured how pleasant it would be to allow Mr. Mainwaring to call on her, to escort her on various outings. Of course, it was all a wild dream, anyway. She could never enter into high society again. There would always be the few who might have known and would remember. And it would be unfair to drag an innocent man through that old scandal.
Elizabeth's thoughts were finally penetrated by the sound of voices coming from the far side of the potted plant that hid her from view. She recognized the voices immediately as those of Hetherington and Amelia Norris. Their voices were restrained, but they were arguing, she realized. Elizabeth would have withdrawn; she had no wish to eavesdrop. But she could not move away and back into the ballroom without being seen. And she realized that the conversation had been going on for some time, although she had only just become consciously aware of it. If they saw her now, they would naturally assume that she had been listening. She sank even farther into the shadows, against the stone balustrade.
"You know very well that our friends expect an announcement at any moment," she was saying.
"I know no such thing, Amelia," he replied amiably. "If our friends really do so, their expectations can come only from you, my dear."
"How can you say so!" Her voice shook with suppressed fury. "You have been playing with my affections, Robert. You would make me the laughingstock."
"Indeed not," he denied, his tone more serious. "I have never led you to believe that I held you more dear than a friend, Amelia. I am sure that no one has been misled. Your reputation is in no way sullied."
"You are despicable," she spat out. "You must know that my sister is in daily expectation of hearing that you have offered for me. I am sure that every rustic in this godforsaken corner of England must be expecting an announcement. Have I been dragged here under false pretenses when I could have been enjoying the pleasures of Brighton?"
"Amelia, my dear, please keep your voice low," Hetherington cautioned. "I accepted an invitation here because William is a particular friend of mine. I heard purely by chance that you were also coming as sister of Henry Prosser's wife. I was pleased. I have always found you lovely and pleasant company. But you must not read more significance into our being here together. Indeed, I am distressed to know that you have misunderstood the situation."
"Misunderstoodf" she replied. "It is the little Rowe chit, is it not, Robert? How foolish you make yourself, running after a little schoolroom miss that would not hold your interest for a month. Can you contemplate what marriage with her would be like? You would have that dreadfully vulgar Mama forever visiting you and sunning herself in the glory of having a marquess for a son-in-law. And you would probably be saddled with that solemn drab of a governess, or companion, or whatever she calls herself."
"Amelia," he said, his tone colder, harder than it had been, "I am not contemplating matrimony with any woman, and am not likely to in the future. I am sorry, my dear. I am sure that you can make a brilliant match if you will. But it would not be fair to encourage you to dangle after me. I may not marry even if I wished to."
There was no answer to his words, but after a few moments Elizabeth could hear a rustle of skirts and assumed that Miss Norris had swept back into the ballroom in high dudgeon. She dared not move. She had no way of knowing if Hetherington had accompanied his companion. She was relieved a short while later to hear a deep sigh from the other side of the plant and then the unmistakable sound of his footsteps moving away. Only then did she feel free herself to return to the welcome warmth of the ballroom.
The excitement of the evening was still not over. Mr. Mainwaring claimed the supper dance with Elizabeth, as he had promised, and led her in to supper. He seated her at a table with Cecily and Ferdie Worthing. These two were engaged in a spirited argument about an incident from their childhood when they had been caught by the gamekeeper of the previous owner of Ferndale trespassing and eating apples from the orchard. The argument concerned which one of them had been responsible for getting them both caught.
Elizabeth and Mr. Mainwaring listened in amusement to the epithets that flew between the heated pair. Ferdie was "idiotic, stupid, and clumsy," and Cecily "silly, slow, and shrill."