"Good night," she said, and moved past his chair.
He caught her wrist as she passed and stopped her progress. "You are right," he said, his words slightly slurred. "I have been drinking. And drink makes me sentimental. Tomorrow I shall be able to see you as you really are again and I shall despise myself for having detained you here. But for tonight, Elizabeth, I find you infinitely desirable."
He lifted her hand toward him and pressed his lips to her palm. He held her wrist afterward, closing her fingers over the spot that he had kissed. He got abruptly to his feet, dropped her hand, and faced the window. "Go now," he said harshly, "before I forget that there can never be anything but enmity between you and me."
Elizabeth turned and found her way out of the room more by instinct than by conscious direction. She stood outside, her back against the door, for a whole minute, fighting the bitter tears, deliberately taking deep, slow breaths to calm herself. Finally she forced herself to climb the stairs again and enter the ballroom. She made sure that there was a dance in progress before she did so, and made her way to an obscure alcove of the room, where she escaped attention until the final dance, when Mr. Rowe found her.
"Ah, Cinderella," he said, "I thought you were lost. I was convinced that Prince Charming must have chased you away already."
"Yes, he did, sir," she replied cheerfully, "but I considered it too far to ride home on a pumpkin, so I crept back inside through a rear door."
"Ah," he said. "Wise, if unromantic. Do come and dance, Miss Rossiter."
Chapter 7
The weather turned rainy the next day and remained gloomy for most of the following week. Cecily was restless. She had become used to the increased activities of the previous few weeks. Mrs. Rowe fretted. She had set such store by the arrival of distinguished visitors in the neighborhood, yet already the round of social activities had slowed down. And neither of the unattached gentlemen seemed likely to attach himself to Cecily. Perhaps just as provoking was the fact that the girl seemed not to mind.
Elizabeth was relieved, though. She wanted to see as little as possible of the Ferndale residents for the time being. She dreaded seeing Hetherington again. That last, strange meeting with him in the library had unnerved her more than she would have expected. She found his coldness and his anger easier to cope with than the melancholy and near tenderness that drink had induced in him that night. It had taken all her willpower in the hours following the ball not to allow the reserve she had built around herself in six years to crumble away. But she had held on and would continue to do so, perhaps, if she could just stay away from him.
And she was pleased, too, to avoid an early meeting with Mr. Mainwaring. She liked him, and her woman's intuition told her that she could attach his affections quite easily if she set her mind to the task. Common sense had already told her that she must not do so. But common sense sometimes seemed a dreary taskmaster. The previous years had been dull and lonely ones. It was pleasing to know that one was admired, especially when the admirer was a handsome and personable man. She felt that he could become a very close friend. And to a lonely person, friendship can seem a likely substitute for love. Elizabeth was tempted, yet she wished to resist temptation. The tedium of being forced to spend the better part of a week indoors was not wholly unwelcome to her, then.
She did have visitors one afternoon. Mrs. Rowe and Cecily had driven over to the vicarage in a desperate attempt to cheer themselves up. Lucy and Ferdie Worthing arrived on a similar errand, Elizabeth decided after one look at the gloomy faces of the pair.
"Went out this morning for a gallop, rain or no rain," Ferdie told her, "and lamed my best horse when he skidded in the mud. Ruined a good coat and pair of breeches, too."
He wandered off to the stables to examine a pair of horses that Mr. Rowe had recently added to his stable.
"I must confess that I had.hoped to have private talk with you, Miss Rossiter," Lucy said hesitantly as soon as her brother was out of earshot.
"Indeed?"
"Yes. I am so miserable," the girl continued, "and there seems to be no one else to talk to."
"What is it?" Elizabeth asked encouragingly.
"You must know that I have an affection for Mr. Dowling and he for me," Lucy said. "Mama says I am being absurd, that I merely imagine I love him because he is the first gentleman to take any notice of me."
Elizabeth did not comment. She had to admit to herself that the same thought had passed through her mind.
"It is not true," Lucy continued anxiously. "I know everyone thinks him dull. I know he is not excessively wealthy or very important. But he suits me, you see, Miss Rossiter. You taught me how to converse with people, and it works. Mr. Dowling has much to say to me. And I find him interesting. I like to hear about his farm and his livestock and his plans for the future."
"I am very glad to hear it, Lucy," Elizabeth said gently. "But would you not like to try your newfound skills on other people? Perhaps you will find other gentlemen even more interesting."
"Oh, I think not," Lucy replied. "You see, I have always been shy and awkward. I never feel that other people will like me. But Ira makes me forget that I am not pretty or clever or witty. I feel comfortable with him, Miss Rossiter. And he loves me."
"He has told you so?" Elizabeth asked.
"Oh, yes," the girl said earnestly, "and he has offered for me, you know. But Papa has refused."
"Oh, dear," said Elizabeth lamely.
"Mama will not understand," Lucy went on. "She insists that she has my best interests at heart. I will soon forget Ira, she says, when I get to London and meet other gentlemen. Oh, but I shan't, Miss Rossiter. I know I shan't."
"How old are you, Lucy?" asked Elizabeth.
"Almost eighteen."
"And Mr. Dowling?"
"He is six and twenty."
"Perhaps you should agree to your mother's plans," Elizabeth suggested. "A winter in London can do no harm, you know. It will give you experience and polish and some connections. It will also help you know beyond a shadow of a doubt whether your feelings now are lasting ones. I cannot speak for your parents, but I believe they are not tyrants. Perhaps if they can see next summer that your feelings and Mr. Dowling's feelings have not changed, they will consent to the match. A year is really not that long a time."
"A year is an eternity when you know that nothing will change," Lucy said firmly. "I know our love will never change."
Elizabeth smiled. "Then being separated for a few months cannot really harm you, can it?" she suggested.
Lucy looked doubtful but did not reply for a while. She looked up finally. "You are right, Miss Rossiter," she said, “I believe I must do as you say. But what if he does not wait for me that long?" she added on a wail.
"Then you will be hurt," Elizabeth replied carefully, "but at least you will have discovered before it is too late that he did not really love you. You will have escaped a bad marriage."
Lucy smiled ruefully and got to her feet. "I shall go to London," she said, "and I know that Ira will wait for me and that I shall continue to love him. Papa must consent eventually. Thank you, Miss Rossiter. You always speak such common sense that I wonder afterward why I did not think of the answer myself." She held out a hand to Elizabeth. "I wonder you did not marry. Cecily has told me that you were in society once. You are so beautiful and so wise, I wonder all the men did not love you."