"I shall sit with you, Miss Rossiter," she said. "At least I can be sure that if you decide to speak at all, it will be good sense. I have heard nothing in the last few weeks but speculation on which girls will be the lucky brides of our two gentlemen visitors. If you ask me, if these gentlemen are still single-and they are neither of them younger than five and twenty-it is unlikely that they will choose any of ourlocal beauties."
Elizabeth murmured her assent.
"I have warned my Anne not to expect anything more than perhaps a country dance with one or other of them," the vicar's wife continued. "I also hear, Miss Rossiter, that the Marquess of Hetherington is all but betrothed to Miss Norris. I do think it rather a shame, don't you? He is such a charming and attractive man. She seems somewhat disagreeable. However, perhaps that is a false impression."
Elizabeth found that she could lend part of her attention to the continuous prattle of Mrs. Claridge while she watched the proceedings in the ballroom. Thus she saw the arrival of the guests of honor. She could hardly have missed it, anyway. A noticeable hush descended on the ballroom as all attention was directed to the entryway.
All five of the guests looked superb, but Elizabeth found to her own annoyance that she had eyes only for Hetherington. He looked quite magnificent, she thought, in cream satin knee breeches and dull gold waistcoat and evening coat. His white linen positively sparkled. He looked full of healthy vitality in contrast to Mr. Mainwaring, who was dressed in black, a fashion that had shocked the ton when Mr. Brummell had first introduced it.
Hetherington was smiling his particularly attractive smile at his hosts. Elizabeth shrank further into the shadowed corner and tried to look as if she were engrossed in the conversation with Mrs. Claridge, but even so she felt exposed. She had the strange sensation that Hetherington had singled her out immediately.
If he had seen her, he gave no sign. He danced first with Amelia Norris and then with Lucy Worthing, whose hand had just been relinquished by Mr. Mainwaring. Then he danced with Cecily, and his whole manner changed, Elizabeth felt. What had been polite good manners with his other partners became warm interest with Cecily. Perhaps the change was not obvious to other onlookers, but Elizabeth knew him well enough immediately to assess his feelings. And she worried. Cecily was a giddy young girl in many ways, but there was a sweetness in her nature that would develop with maturity if given a chance. She did not wish the girl to be beguiled by such a practiced and heartless charmer. She determined that she would perform her duties as chaperone with extra diligence. Mr. Rowe had retired to the card room already. It was up to her to see that Cecily did not spend too much time with the marquess and that he had no chance to be alone with her.
Unexpectedly, Mr. Prosser asked Elizabeth for the supper dance. She had not intended to dance at all, did not feel it was appropriate to do so, especially dressed as she was. But as she was about to refuse, she saw out of the corner of her eye that Hetherington was asking Cecily to dance again. If she herself danced with Mr. Prosser, she would have an excuse to go immediately into the supper room afterward and keep an eye on her charge. She smiled and placed her hand in his.
It was a country dance. Mr. Prosser led his partner to join the set of which Hetherington and Cecily were already part. Cecily waved gaily to her. The girl's partner looked through her. When the pattern of the dance forced them to dance together for a few moments, he looked at her out of cold blue eyes and remarked, "You are looking remarkably fetching tonight, Miss Rossiter, in your gray silk."
"Thank you, my lord," she replied in kind. "I thought you would appreciate my efforts."
We are just like a couple of spiteful children, she thought in some dismay as the music forced them to move in opposite directions. The next time they came together, neither said a word.
Mr. Prosser led Elizabeth into the supper room and directly to the table already occupied by Mr. Mainwaring and Lucy Worthing, Ferdie Worthing and Amelia Norris, and Hetherington and Cecily. To her further dismay, her partner pulled out for her the chair next to Hetherington and waited until she had seated herself.
Elizabeth was aware that, had she not felt so conscious Of her proximity to the marquess, she might have been highly entertained by the proceedings of the following half-hour. Mr. Mainwaring and Lucy made labored conversation from time to time, but in the main listened to that of others at the table. He was top-lofty, Elizabeth decided severely. He considered himself above his company. Poor Lucy was looking her worst in a lemon-colored evening gown loaded with matching lace. Nervousness made her complexion even paler than usual.
Ferdie and Miss Norris were almost openly tuning in on the conversation across the table, Ferdie glowering moodily at his aristocratic rival to Cecily's affections, Miss Norris showing haughty disapproval.
Hetherington directed his attention to Cecily, talking to her in a bantering manner, almost like father to child, flattering her quite outrageously, and devouring her with his eyes. This last Elizabeth observed in one swift glance. She did not want to be seen watching him. Cecily was glowing happily, apparently quite unaware of the currents of hostility pulsing across the table.
Finally, Mr. Prosser engaged Elizabeth in conversation and she found herself genuinely interested in his accounts of experiences in Portugal. Soon she was engrossed.
Hetherington's voice brought her back to reality. "You must favor us with your opinion, Miss Rossiter," he was saying, directing the full force of his charming smile at her.
Elizabeth looked up, startled, leaving Mr. Prosser in midsentence. "On what topic, pray, sir?" she asked.
"Miss Rowe and I cannot agree on the location for a picnic on Saturday," he explained. "I favor the riverbank on William's estate. There is a particularly shaded and peaceful area about a mile north of the house. Miss Rowe favors the site of a ruined church on a hill three miles away. What is your opinion, ma'am?"
Flustered as she was by the unexpected attention, Elizabeth could still find time to wonder why he should suddenly decide to speak to her on such a trivial matter.
"A great deal depends on the state of the weather, my lord," she replied. "The river site would be perfect for a very hot day. The church site would be more suited to a cooler day because it is more open. Brilliant sunshine would make it uncomfortable."
"Ah, and do you add weather predictions to your other talents?" he asked, looking so directly into her eyes that Elizabeth was having difficulty breathing regularly.
"I am afraid not, my lord," she replied.
"How absurd you are, Robert," the shrill voice of Amelia Norris said across the table. "I would have thought you had outgrown such childish pursuits as picnics."
He smiled brilliantly back at her. "You may stay at home with your embroidery if you wish, Amelia," he said. "But I am sure that Miss Rowe and I will find others to join us. William, I am sure, will come, and Henry and Bertha. How about you, Worthing, and your sister?"
Ferdie glowered at Cecily, and Lucy blushed a painful red, but both accepted.
"And you, Miss Rossiter?" Hetherington asked.
"If Mrs. Prosser is to be present, I hardly think that my presence as chaperone will be necessary," Elizabeth replied calmly.
"Yes, I do not feel that any servants will be necessary to Mir party," Amelia Norris commented acidly.
Hetherington smiled again. "Ah, so you have decided to come after all, have you, Amelia?" he said, and turned back to Elizabeth. "But I was not inviting you as a chaperone, Miss Rossiter; I was inviting you as a guest."
Their eyes held for a painful moment. The orchestra could be heard turning up again in the next room. Mr. Mainwaring stood up. "Shall I return you to your mother, Miss Worthing?" he asked. "I believe the dancing is about to start again."
Everyone rose to return to the ballroom. Under cover of the general bustle, Hetherington spoke quietly to Elizabeth. "I wonder if you have the courage to come?" he said, the cold ice back in his eyes and voice. "And to wear a color other than gray."
Elizabeth did not reply. She turned and took Mr. Prosser's arm. Soon she was back in her shadowed corner, listening once more to Mrs. Claridge. She danced only once more that night, with Mr. Rowe, who asked if her glass slippers were pinching her feet yet.
---
Elizabeth did not sleep much that night. At first she worried about Cecily and about whether she should intervene or not. Someone of Hetherington's charm and experience was dangerous to an innocent like Cecily. And Mr. and Mrs. Rowe might not be able to see behind the facade of charm in time to save their daughter from a broken heart. Only Elizabeth knew that he was capable of subordinating all else to his personal interests. Was it her duty to warn Cecily, or at least Mrs. Rowe?
On the other hand, Elizabeth reasoned, there had been nothing improper in his behavior tonight. He had danced with Cecily only twice; he had danced with Anne Claridge, Amelia Norris, and one other lady as many times. His manner to Cecily at the supper table, although markedly attentive, had not been exactly flirtatious. The man was, after all, supposedly betrothed to Miss Norris, though Elizabeth had seen little evidence of any strong attachment on his part.
And what of Cecily? She had been flushed with pleasure when dancing with Hetherington and at the supper table. But she had looked much the same all evening. She had not looked particularly as if she were languishing after the marquess when she was not dancing with him.
Elizabeth decided that she should wait before saying anything. She was very reluctant to admit to a previous acquaintance with Hetherington. She would observe the two of them at the dinner party two days later and at the picnic on Saturday.
Why had Hetherington so pointedly invited her to that picnic? He had given every sign of loathing and despising her before that invitation. Elizabeth was very inclined not to go, but she really did feel it her responsibility to keep an eye on Cecily. Anyway, the man had dared her to go, had he not?
Why was he so hostile? Elizabeth was completely puzzled. She might have expected him to be embarrassed after the way he had treated her. But hostile?
Their newfound love had developed slowly after that night when, finding themselves unexpectedly alone together, they had kissed. For several weeks they had met as frequently as before, but always in public. Their friendship had grown. Soon Elizabeth had considered him to be her closest friend. She looked forward to meeting him. With him she felt free to pour out her innermost thoughts. It was to him she had confided her worries over her father, who was drinking more and sinking further and further into debt. She had confided her worries over her beloved John, her fear that when the time came, he would have no estate to inherit.
After his one declaration of love, Robert had not broached the matter again for several weeks. Only a new tenderness in his eyes and an occasional squeeze of the hand had convinced her that she had not imagined the episode at the ball. Finally he had spoken. He had invited her to drive with him in the park. He had chosen paths that were somewhat less public than the promenade that all the ton frequented on afternoons when it did not rain.
"Elizabeth," he had begun, "you believe that I love you, do you not?"
"Yes," she had replied, looking across at him. He was tight-lipped and frowning, an unusual expression for him.
"You must wonder why I have made no reference to the fact in three whole weeks," he had continued, his voice strained. "After my behavior on that one evening, I owed you an offer of marriage the next morning."
"No," she had said. "I kissed you too, Robert, and I do not believe we did anything so very wrong. I should hate to think that any man felt obliged to offer for me merely because he had kissed me."
"You misunderstand," he had said, distressed. "I want to marry you, Elizabeth. God, how I wish to marry you! But I am afraid I cannot."
Elizabeth had stared at him, wide-eyed.
His eyes had gone hard. "My father is not wealthy," he had said, "and I depend entirely upon him for my living. He opposes my taking any sort of employment and keeps me very much in leading strings. When I am five and twenty, I shall inherit the money left me by my mother. It is not by any means a fortune, but I shall be able to be independent on it."
"You do not need to tell me all this, Robert," Elizabeth had said doubtfully.
"Oh, yes, I do," he had answered viciously. "Do you not see what has happened? For three weeks I have been trying to persuade my father to allow me to make you an offer. It will not do. I must dangle after an heiress. It is useless to argue that I am a mere younger son, that if he were to turn over my mother's money to me now, as he could if he wished, he would be free of responsibility for me. I must marry wealth. I appealed to my uncle, my lather's younger brother, to intercede for me. Uncle Horace was always an indulgent man when I was younger. But he is worse than Papa. He believes that I should marry both position and fortune. He is as rich as Croesus, by the way. I can see no way out, Elizabeth, except to ask you to wait for three years. I can hardly expect that of you."
"Three years is a long time, Robert," she had replied. "Anything can happen in that time to change the situation. For now, it is enough to know that you love me." But she had been painfully aware that this was probably the only Season in London that she would be allowed, that they might have to spend three years without even seeing each other before they could wed.
Robert had drawn his horses almost to a halt and gazed across at her. "And you, Elizabeth?" he had asked. "Do you love me? Will you wait for me?"
"Yes," she had answered with all the ardor of extreme youth. "I love you, Robert, and I shall wait forever if I must."
He had glanced hastily around, but there were other riders in sight. He had had to content himself with lifting her hand, drawing her glove down to bare her wrist, and pressing his lips to the pulse there.
"I shall always love you," he had said, and Elizabeth had believed him.
She laughed harshly now as she stood at the window of her room in the Rowes' house, made light by approaching dawn. Forever did not last very long, she reflected.