Chapter 26 Upon the Horizon’s Verge
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
UPON THE HORIZON’S VERGE
Elizabeth very nearly groaned at the sight of Lord Saye. He had a strange little stick dangling from his mouth, and he removed it to smirk and drawl, “Well, well… What is this I see?”
“What on earth is that?” Mr D asked, his gaze having sharpened onto the stick.
Saye looked at his stick as if he was surprised to see it. “My sweet. Want to taste it? Some are calling it a lollipop.”
He extended it towards Mr D’s mouth and Mr D recoiled, raising one arm to push it away. “Lord, no! Get that away from me. What a ridiculous affectation, even for you.”
“More the fool you, it is quite delicious if I might say so. Like a pipe, but the ladies do not object to kisses afterwards.”
“Lord Saye,” Elizabeth interjected. “I seem to have lost Anne and Lord Rawlings.”
“Oh, people get lost at Vauxhall all the time,” he said dismissively. “She is likely exchanging spit with Rawlings while Jenkinson plays dead beside them.”
Elizabeth exhaled gustily. “So you know where she is, then?”
“As much as I wish to,” he informed her. “She is safe enough. In truth, I was more worried about you.”
Relief made Elizabeth feel weak. “I really wanted to see the Cascade,” she said in a small voice. “I left them to go see it. Very stupid of me, I know.”
Lord Saye’s interest had turned to Mr D. He eyed Mr D up and down. “I did not realise the pair of you were acquainted.”
“We are not,” said Mr D sternly. “And would like to remain thus.”
Lord Saye put his candy back in his mouth and gave it a few vigorous sucks. “Are you certain about that?”
“Very certain,” Elizabeth said quickly.
His lordship cocked a brow and looked about expressively. “Wandering about in the dark with a nameless stranger? Could give some the wrong idea.”
“We were seeking her lost friend,” said Mr D. “There was nothing more to it than that.”
“Friend, hm.” Lord Saye quirked a brow. “And you found me instead.”
A pause ensued until Elizabeth said, “I-I find myself with an aching head. My lord, perhaps you would see me home?”
Lord Saye heaved an annoyed sigh. “I suppose I must. Come.”
“Miss L, a moment, pray,” said Mr D in a rush.
She turned to look at him. He, in turn, gave Lord Saye a look. Lord Saye merely stared back at him, removing his candy long enough to take his flask from his breast pocket and take a drink.
“Saye, if you would be so good as to give us a moment?”
“Take all the time you need,” said Lord Saye without moving, looking interested.
Mr D watched him a moment, then pointed down the walk. “Go over there.”
“Rather officious, ordering me about,” Lord Saye retorted. “Might I remind you who is the elder and the superior in consequence?”
Mr D rolled his eyes. “Go over there, and I will give you that brandy you like so much.”
“Fine attempt, but I already drank it all.”
“I hid several bottles from you, and I will give you one of the hidden bottles if only you will go.” Mr D gestured. “Over there. A few minutes is all.”
“Several bottles? I want two.”
“One.”
“Two.”
“Very well, none. Miss L, let us meet in the park tomorrow.”
With an aggrieved look at them both, Lord Saye stalked off the indicated distance, and Mr D turned, putting his full attention upon her. Elizabeth felt her heart skip a little beat.
“It seems our little game has come to its end,” he said.
“Has it?” Elizabeth laughed through her discomfort. “I do not think—”
“Perhaps we have not been introduced, but I know you are Anne’s friend and you know…I daresay you have known for some time who I am. Here is what I wish to do. I want you to come to my home—”
“A lady calling on a gentleman?” She raised a brow at him. “I believe, sir, we have already established that I am not that sort of woman.”
“Forgive me, I did not mean to imply anything of that sort.”
“I know.” She smiled, hoping to placate. “I have a tendency to tease at the worst possible moments for teasing.”
“I like your teasing,” he said. “In fact, I love it. I love you.”
She inhaled sharply. “How can you possibly say so? You do not even know me.”
“I know you are clever and kind and good-hearted,” he insisted. “I know you are beautiful. I know your eyes haunt my dreams. I know that you are the one person I can really be happy with, and I think I am that person for you as well.”
She could think of no reply to such a declaration and soon, he continued.
“I want you to come to me, that I might show you where we will live when you become…” He caught himself. “Mrs D.”
“It cannot be,” she said softly. “And we must both stop thinking of it.”
He took a step nearer to her. “So you do. You do think of it.”
“I have indulged in girlhood fancies,” she said, meeting his gaze squarely. “Silly, nonsensical dreams that will come to nothing. You would never marry me once you really know my situation, and I know I cannot marry you.”
“I do know your situation.”
“Then you must know that you would not, in ordinary circumstances, ask me to dance. Nor even be introduced to me.”
“What? I most certainly would have—”
“No, you would not have,” she said more firmly. “And I know that because at the assembly in Meryton you would not so much as be introduced to my family.”
He could say nothing to this.
She drew a deep breath. “I am not good enough for you. I am a gentleman’s daughter, it is true, but the gentleman lacked in consequence even while he was alive.
My father died, leaving me and my mother and four sisters very little to live on.
My mother is ill-behaved and vulgar and desperate to see her daughters married, and you, I happen to know very well, were disgusted by her behaviour that night.
That night and…and other times as well.” She swallowed.
“And if I am being honest, perfectly honest, I am not always comfortable with her behaviour either, certainly not since Papa died, and she became almost frantic to see her daughters settled.”
“What has your mother to do with you?” he demanded. “You are neither vulgar nor desperate.”
“And she was the daughter of the town solicitor,” Elizabeth continued. “She raised herself through marriage, but her relations, my relations, remain in trade. Could you call such a woman your own mother? Would you embrace my family in trade as your own? I think not. I know not.”
“You do not know what I would or would not do.” He sounded angry.
“In fact I do know, beyond a doubt,” she said. “You stopped your friend from admiring my sister. Even within the last days, you have campaigned against her.”
“How do you mean?”
“When she and my mother called on Mr Bingley’s sisters,” she said. “She returned to the hall for something my mother had left behind and overheard the truth. Your disgust is plain. Why would you want for yourself what you have so energetically warned your friend against?”
“It has nothing to do with disgust, only that I do not believe she loves him,” he said. “And I did not wish to see him bound in a loveless marriage. Is that not fair that I would want to protect my friend from—”
“From being a life buoy?” She had grown too shrill, and she made herself speak calmly when she continued.
“Yes, she heard that, and I assure you nothing is further from the truth. She loves him. She is shy, and perhaps at times it makes her seem disinterested, particularly when she is being humiliated by our mother or sisters. But yes, she loves your friend desperately, even as she realises the futility of her sentiments. You are not the only person who would be disgusted by their marriage. I do not doubt everyone of your ilk would talk of it.”
“Everyone of my ilk.” He shook his head. “You do not comprehend the half of it.”
“Your opinion of my family was made known then, even if you did not realise they were mine back then. But with all that they are, good and bad, I love them and could not bear to be parted from them by a husband who wished me to forget them.”
“You know little about me if you think I would make you do that,” he said.
“Of course you would! You have turned your back on your own family, have you not? In that case we know, quite well, that being right is more important than the idea that you have hurt them.”
“They have treated me—”
“Despicably, I know,” she said. “I do. But you have treated them despicably too. Your silence on this matter implied consent. No one had any idea, and it was shocking, very distressing, to have the truth revealed in such a manner. Your aunt is—I believe—dying and greatly fears leaving her only child alone. Anne fears being unloved and unlovable, and she fears marrying someone who will only take her money.”
“Lord Matlock fears for nothing,” he retorted. “Surely you must know that much.”
“Everyone has fears,” she insisted softly. “Perhaps his is to see his niece made miserable in a bad marriage when he ought to have prevented it. Failing in his duty is something most men fear, I think. Most of the good ones, anyhow.”
“These fears you speak of—they have all been laid to rest, have they not? Anne has found a husband. They will live together with more fortune and property than anyone could ever imagine and be happy along with it.”
“All has ended well, perhaps better than it would have, had you been a dutiful nephew. But the hurt remains.” She took a step away from him. “This has all been a dream, and reality has at last caught up with us. Pray think of me no more as I will endeavour to do for you.”