Chapter 23 #2
Lizzie was stunned by such frank flattery, and in spite of herself, she was thrilled. She did not want to care about his praise. “We all change, Tyrell. I believe it is called growing up.” She hesitated. “I think you have changed, as well.”
He flinched, meeting her gaze. He finally said, softly, “Life is full of surprises, Elizabeth. Not all of them are pleasant.”
Lizzie wondered what he meant. She was afraid to ask. “How is your family?” Now she thought about Ned.
“They are very well,” he said.
Lizzie bit her lip, desperate to ask about her son and knowing she must never bring the subject up. If she did, she would die of grief all over again. A terribly awkward moment descended. She thought of Blanche and his impending wedding. “And the lady Blanche?”
He avoided her eyes. “She is well.” And his next words were shockingly direct. “We remain utter strangers.”
She froze. First there had been Blanche’s odd visit, and now this sudden call.
First there had been her strange confession, now there was his.
Hope leapt in her breast. Lizzie reminded herself that he had to marry an equal rank and fortune and she was too poor and too insignificant to ever be his wife.
She closed her eyes. Since last summer, it had become her secret dream—one that only came to her in the darkest hours of the night.
Her heart yearned for her to be his wife, no matter what her mind rebutted, and the rebuttal remained clear.
Even if a chasm was there between him and Blanche—and that was a huge “if”—it did not change a thing.
“Elizabeth,” he said softly.
She looked up.
“I do not wish to overstay my welcome, and I see that you have supper guests.”
She felt herself nod and panic began. He was about to leave!
How could she calmly let him go? She had managed to survive these past few months without him, but his presence made one fact clear—she never wanted to be without him again.
If she must settle for a friendship, then so be it.
As dangerous as this was, she reached out and touched his arm. “Tyrell.”
At her touch caused him to flinch and he looked at her, heat gathering in his eyes.
Lizzie understood. The sudden storm of desire was all too clear.
He still wanted her in bed. Somehow they must fight the attraction that still raged between them, she realized.
She swallowed. “I am glad you called. Can we…can we somehow remain friends? I mean…genuine friends. I should wish for you to call again some time, at your convenience, of course.”
“Thank you,” he said, relief evident in his tone. “Elizabeth…I should like to call again, very much.”
Her heart lurched and sped. It was like being swept back in time, to all the romance and passion they had shared at Wicklowe.
He remained so impossibly seductive, so terribly handsome, so strong and safe.
Lizzie fought the urge to move into his arms. She wanted nothing more than to lay her head on the broad, hard plane of his chest.
She walked with him to the front door. He paused. “Elizabeth. You have not asked about Ned,” he said, staring closely at her.
She flinched as if struck. She quickly turned away so he could not see the depth of her anguish and how close she was to becoming completely undone. She could not speak and therefore she could not explain that she could not ask about his son.
“He is very well,” Tyrell said softly. “He is a brilliant child, and as arrogant as ever. He is also very happy. I adore him,” he added.
She nodded, finally looking up. Tears had gathered in her eyes.
“I see this remains difficult for you.”
“I…miss him.”
He was silent.
Lizzie wiped her eyes, fought for composure and faced him with a painful smile. “Thank you for calling, my lord,” she said, retreating into the utmost formality.
“Elizabeth.”
She tensed, their gazes holding.
“You may visit him. I will gladly arrange it.”
Hope flared, consuming her, and she found her senses. “That is not a good idea!” she cried. If she saw Ned, it would hurt more than she could possibly bear. It would be as if she was still his mother. She knew she could never walk away from him another time. “No, I cannot!”
Tyrell waited a moment. “If you change your mind, I will arrange a visit.”
She held her head high. “I will not change my mind. Good night, my lord.” She curtsied.
He did not bow. Instead, he stared at her with an unnerving degree of speculation.
At dawn, she gave up.
Sitting at her desk, she penned a note, which she sealed and had delivered to Harmon House at precisely eight o’clock.
Lord de Warenne,
Your offer was a generous one which I have reconsidered. If it remains, I should so like to call upon your son. I am at home today and I look forward to your reply.
Miss Elizabeth Anne Fitzgerald
Tyrell’s reply was swift, arriving at half past eight.
Dear Miss Fitzgerald,
My offer stands. You may see Ned at your utmost convenience, you need only specify a day and time and I shall arrange it. I look forward to your reply.
Tyrell de Warenne
Faint with excitement, Lizzie had penned a reply by nine and had sent the footman on his way.
My lord de Warenne,
If my suggestion is not too terribly bold, I should love to call upon Ned today. I should be able to call at any time convenient for you both.
Sincerely, Elizabeth Anne Fitzgerald
Tyrell had clearly not left the house, as his reply came within the hour.
Dear Elizabeth,
You are not terribly bold. Would four o’clock suit?
Tyrell
Lizzie could barely believe she would see Ned that afternoon. And as she read Tyrell’s reply, she could feel his smile and even a tender regard toward her. She refused to dwell on that and scribbled her own acceptance, tears of joy marring her script. She did not care, she sent the note, anyway.
My lord Tyrell,
I will call at four, as agreed upon. Thank you.
Elizabeth
She did not expect a reply, so she was very surprised to receive one before a quarter to eleven in the morning.
Elizabeth,
I look forward to your call.
Tyrell
He was waiting for her when she arrived at Harmon House, promptly at four o’clock.
Lizzie hadn’t been certain he would even be at home.
He could have easily left instructions with his staff regarding her visit with Ned.
But he answered the door himself and she dared to hope that he was as eager for her company as she was for his.
The doorman stood behind him, attempting a stoic expression but appearing somewhat sheepish.
“Elizabeth,” Tyrell bowed, allowing her to precede him into the front hall. He was formally dressed in trousers and a dark jacket, a bronze waistcoat and cravat.
Lizzie had chosen her gown with care, and she wore a pastel green dress with long sleeves and a high neckline.
The fabric was so expensive and elegant that she knew she looked as regal as a queen.
She had acquired some jewelry in the past year, as well as an expensive wardrobe, and now she wore small jade earrings set with diamonds and a gold brooch to complete the ensemble.
Once, in a different lifetime, she had not been able to afford much in a wardrobe.
Now she knew she was as fashionable as Lady Jersey or Cowper.
Tyrell’s gaze slid over her and she sensed that he approved entirely.
She could not help but be pleased. “My lord, good afternoon,” she breathed. Tyrell’s look was entirely male and she knew, in that instant, that he was thinking about taking her to his bed.
That could never be. Carnal relations were not a part of the new friendship she wished to forge. She skittered past him, straining to see past the spacious front hall. She could not wait another moment before seeing Ned and she trembled with excitement.
He took her arm as the doorman closed the front door. “Ned is in the Blue Room,” he said, clearly understanding.
Their gazes met again. She was carrying a small bag and in it were two wrapped parcels. “I have brought gifts,” she whispered.
He smiled at her, his eyes warm. “I am not surprised,” he said, leading her from the hall.
Lizzie had never been in Harmon House before, but she could barely look at her elegant surroundings. Her heart beat hard, racing, and she heard Ned’s childish voice and a dog’s excited bark.
“I have told him that his aunt is visiting,” Tyrell said.
Lizzie staggered in her tracks, facing him, stunned. “What?” she cried, for one instant thinking that somehow Tyrell had learned the truth about Anna.
He regarded her with some mild confusion. “I thought it best to bring you forward as a relative,” he said.
Lizzie realized she had covered her racing heart with her hand. “Yes, of course,” she whispered.
Tyrell took her arm, guiding her down another corridor. Now he seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts.
Nervously, Lizzie said, “Your mother has been kind enough to write me from time to time, so I might keep abreast of all that Ned is doing.”
He was surprised but not displeased. “I should have guessed,” he said as they traversed the house. “But then, Mother was always quite fond of you. They get along well,” Tyrell added, glancing sidelong at her. “Ned and the countess. He adores her. She dotes on him.”
“I am glad, terribly so,” Lizzie said as they paused on the threshold of a pale blue salon. And then she saw Ned.
She managed not to cry out. Ned stood beside a shaggy dog twice his size, instructing it to sit. The dog simply looked at him, panting. Rosie was sitting on the sofa, knitting.
Lizzie fought not to cry. She felt Tyrell watching her closely, but she could not look at him now, not when the joy of her life stood a few feet from her.
He was far taller than she remembered, dressed in knee breeches and a little jacket, looking so terribly grown up.
He remained darkly handsome, and she finally felt a tear falling as he managed to make the shaggy dog sit down.