Two days later he had drawn her to one side at a garden party they had both attended. His grandmother had also had an irate visit from his uncle, he had reported. Horace Denning had demanded that she stop receiving Miss Rossiter. But Lady Bothwell was not the sort of person to whom one dictated terms. She had called in her grandson and had a long talk with him. The outcome was that she had offered to use her contacts with a bishop in order to help him procure a special license. She had made an agreement to give her grandson a living allowance, which he was to pay back as soon as he received his mother's inheritance. And Elizabeth was to travel to Devon in her coach in three days' time, while Robert was to accompany them as an outrider. In Devon they were to be married before informing their families of their whereabouts.
"Will you do it?" he had asked anxiously.
"Yes." Elizabeth had regarded him unwaveringly.
"I must not stay with you any longer, my love, or contact you in the next few days. I do not wish to attract the attention of either your father or my family. Can you leave your aunt's house on the morning of Thursday and come to Gram's? I must not come to fetch you."
"It will be easy," she had replied. "I often go shopping in the morning. It should be simple to get away from the maid and the coachman."
"I shall see you then, Elizabeth," he had said. "Three more days and we shall be together for always."
She had smiled brightly for the benefit of an approaching acquaintance. "Yes, sir, it is a perfect afternoon," she had said.
How young they had been. Despite the anxiety of those few days, how easy it had been to believe in a forever-after. Why did young people so readily believe that all problems ended at the altar, that happily-ever-after began right there? Elizabeth, staring through a window at Ferndale at a gradually lightening sky, smiled sadly in memory of her former self, the girl who had believed in fairy-tale endings. No one could have convinced her six years before that the day would come when she and Robert would sleep under the same roof, in separate bedrooms, not only strangers to each other, but bitter strangers.
She raised her eyes to the sky and breathed a prayer of gratitude at the changed weather. She had to get away. She could not stay this close to him and yet this far away from him for much longer. If it would not appear grossly bad-mannered to her host, in fact, she would not wait foi morning, but leave now when the sky was light enough to guide her home in safety.
---
Mr. Mainwaring insisted on taking Elizabeth home himself in the phaeton the next morning. She had had an early breakfast and had tried to insist that she would enjoy the walk across the fields, but he would not hear of her doing so. One thing she was thankful for. She did not see Hetherington. He had gone out riding with Mr. Prosser.
The sun was actually breaking through the clouds when they left the house.
"Ah, I do hope the rainy spell is over," Elizabeth said. "It is so dreary to have to stay indoors for days on end."
"Yes," Mr. Mainwaring agreed. "I have certainly missed meeting my neighbors in the past week. Will you be avoiding me now, Miss Rossiter?"
"Avoiding you?" she asked in surprise. "Why should I do that, sir?"
He smiled wryly. "I made unwelcome advances to you last evening," he said. "I hope you will allow me to remain your friend."
"Indeed, yes," she replied earnestly. "I value your friendship more than I can say, sii. And I am truly sorry about the other. It is just that I-I cannot love. And I could not accept your attentions unless I were free to offer that."
"You do not need to explain," he said quietly. "I shall be here for you, Elizabeth, if you should ever need me. That is all. May I call you by your first name?"
"Yes," she said.
"And I should be honored if you would use mine," he added.
They traveled in silence for the rest of the short distance home. Elizabeth felt strangely comforted. This was how she would want to be loved, with a warmth and an unselfishness that demanded nothing in return. She did not believe that William Mainwaring would abandon her if circumstances changed as Robert Denning had done. If only she could love him! They could have a good life together. And she did not believe he would care even if the old scandalous story were to surface. He cared nothing for London. And town gossip did not reach easily into the countryside to harm one's peace.
She allowed herself to dream as Mr. Mainwaring guided the horses carefully through the mud, of living at Ferndale with him, helping him improve the estate, socializing with him in the neighborhood, bringing up his children. But images of Hetherington intruded. How could she even dream of life with another man when just thinking of him made her heart turn over? She could picture him now as he had looked the night before, sitting relaxed in the chair by the fire, his book resting on his raised leg. It had seemed such a domestic scene and she ached now, as she had ached then, to be a part of it. Instead, she had sat twenty feet away, as far removed from him in spirit as if she had been twenty miles away. Yet she loved him still. Not as she had before, when she had loved him as if he were a prince in a fairy-tale romance. He had been perfection itself. Now she loved him as a woman, with knowledge of all his faults and with full realization that they could never be together again. But she loved him. And for the first time since it had happened, she admitted to herself that she would not have altered any of those events even if she had known of the separation and pain ahead. At least she had known love and at least there was one man in this world who meant everything to her. No, she must never allow her resolve to weaken as far as William Mainwaring was concerned. She could never make him happy. She had nothing of her real self to offer him.
"Here we are," Mr. Mainwaring said cheerfully, "and I did not once upset you into the hedge."
"What a dull and unadventurous life this is sometimes," she replied, matching his tone and allowing him to grasp her by the waist and lift her across to dry ground.
He paid a brief courtesy call in the house before driving | away again. But he left with Mrs. Rowe an invitation to dinner and an evening of charades the following week.
Mrs. Rowe turned to Elizabeth in some excitement after he had left. "How splendid for you, my dear Miss Rossiter," she said. "I was just saying to Mr. Rowe yesterday that I should not have allowed you to venture out into that dreadful weather and that you must have got caught in the rain somewhere and caught your death of j cold when Mr. Mainwaring's messenger came galloping up to the door. I was never so gratified in my life. Did you join the company for the evening?"
Elizabeth smiled calmly and gave a brief account of the card games they had played.
"You have all the good fortune, Beth," Cecily sighed. "I knew I should have gone to town with you."
"In fact, Cecily, it was an embarrassment," she said soothingly. "I wore a gown of Miss Norris' that was too long and too low in the neck, and slippers of her sister's that I left behind if I did not concentrate on taking them with me as I shuffled along."]
"Oh, bless me," said Mrs. Rowe. "But really, my dear Miss Rossiter, I do believe that Mr. Mainwaring is developing a tendre for you. It was really uncommon civil of him to escort you home himself when he could easily have called out his carriage and sent you home."
"Oh, Beth," Cecily chimed in brightly, "do consider me for a bridesmaid. I have never been one, you see."
Elizabeth blushed, but noticed that the girl's eyes twinkled. "I believe you should look around for another bride to befriend," she said. "You may be an old maid rather than a bridesmaid if you wait for me."