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All this time his face had been its customary bored, impassive mask, his voice cool, expressionless. Nonetheless, there was a shadow upon him. Elise perceived it in his eyes and in the set of his mouth. She had suspected. Now she was almost certain. She waited while he turned the wineglass slowly in his hand.
“You have no more heart, my dear, than I do,” he answered. “We are two of a kind, untroubled by heart or conscience. I will speak to your intellect.” He met her gaze. “Lawsuits are time-consuming, expensive, and often exceedingly unpleasant matters. I can spare you the ordeal. I am prepared to settle an annuity upon you. In addition, I have a comfortable house in Kensington. You are welcome to inhabit it until such time as you find a replacement for my cousin. The annuity, naturally, would continue regardless. One thousand a year is not twenty-five thousand in a lump, but you know as well as I what will remain of a court’s award... if, that is, you win.”
She had expected an offer. She had not dared imagine one so generous. She said, “Two thousand.”
A pause. “Two thousand, then.”
“I begin to think you have a conscience after all,” she said smiling.
The green eyes flickered. “I have a responsibility,” he corrected.
“Oh, certainement. To your family. To your honour.”
“To the girl. I should be happy to let Robert pay for his mistakes. I cannot permit an innocent young lady to pay for mine. Had it not been for our wager, I doubt she would have met my cousin, let alone fallen in love with him.”
“Ah, love. The English are so romantic—and the men worse than the women.” She shook her head. “Pauvre homme, I think she has dealt you the death blow, the proud widow. I was wiser than I guessed.”
His face had frozen, but he made no answer.
“A moment, milord, if you please.”
She stepped out of the room briefly. When she returned, she carried a small enameled box. She handed it to him.
“Robert’s letters,” she said. “All of them. On top, you will find the letter you so much desired from me. It suits the purpose, I believe. One does not require many words to refuse one’s hand.”
He opened the box and read the topmost letter. Then he refolded it and tucked it into his pocket. “Thank you,” he said. “You are most gracious, mademoiselle.”
She laughed. “I am merely a common slut, not gracious at all. I have but lost a lover. I will find another—and better. When one has money, one may be more selective. Your generous recompense will ease my little pride’s ache.”
“I am gratified to hear it.”
“But there will be no ease for you, I think,” she went on, not troubling to conceal the triumph she felt. “You say you have no heart. But my champion, she has found yours—and cut it to pieces—has she not?”
He smiled faintly. “Now it is you who wax romantic.”
“I see what I see.”
“Do you? What is it you see, I wonder? Is my neckcloth askew? Perhaps a dust mote upon my boots leads to the conclusion I am in romantic extremity?” He placed his wineglass upon a small table. “Naturally, one cannot be altogether pleased with failure. That is a new experience, but not so amusing that I plan to make a habit of it.”
“Of course. To lose is not agreeable. Still, you will go to Paris, and you will forget.”
“Yes.” He took up his hat and gloves and walked to the door. Then he paused. “We are two of a kind, you know—a pair of precious knaves.”
“So we are,” she said. “Ames damnees. Fortunately, we are beautiful, and still young enough.”
“I leave for Dover on Sunday,” he said as he drew on his gloves. “Perhaps you would join me. It has been many years since you visited the land of your birth, I believe.”
Elise eyed him with critical appreciation. He was a beautiful man. Not golden, like Robert, but far more striking was the marquess, with his dark, arrogant looks. Tall and strong, his hair thick and black, and his eyes—ah, they were calculated to make a woman’s heart drum to wild music. But not hers.
“Merci, milord, but I think not.”
“As you wish. If you change your mind, feel free to send me word.”
When he’d gone, Elise walked to the table and picked up the glass he’d left there. He’d scarcely touched it. She shook her head. “I will not pity you,” she said softly. “The revenge is too sweet, my great and powerful lord. You would have crushed me if you could. No, it is just as you deserve.”
At four o’clock Bella Martin arrived, to show off her new chaise and patronise her less fortunate friend with a drive in Hyde Park.
It was there Elise spied the widow, riding in a carriage with her betrothed and his relations.
“How ill she looks. The widow,” she explained as Bella peered curiously about her at the parade of vehicles.
“Oh, her. I expect she should. Reggie said she and the girl—that blonde dab of a thing he’s so taken with, you know.”
“Miss Glenwood.”
“Yes. Sick in bed for two days, and the house shut up tight. So Reggie sends enough flowers for six funerals.” She gave the widow another contemptuous glance. “Appropriate, I’d say. I always thought she looked like a corpse anyhow.”
“Her complexion is very fair,” Elise said thoughtfully, “but she never looked so ill before, I think.”
“Maybe someone’s been keeping her up late nights,” was the sly retort.
“Lord Brandon was here?” Lilith said as she took the package from her butler.
“He said it wasn’t a call, madam. He wished simply to leave that for you. He seemed to be in rather a hurry.”
“Yes. Yes, I expect he was,” she mumbled. She turned and headed up the stairs to her room.
She’d hardly taken off her bonnet when Mary appeared.
“There, now,” the maid said disapprovingly, “didn’t I warn you to keep to your bed? You’re tired to death. You’d better take a nap if you mean to go out tonight.”
“I’m not going out,” said Lilith. “I’ve asked Lady Enders to take Cecily to the Gowerbys’. If you’ll just undo the buttons, I’ll manage the rest myself.”
The abigail opened her mouth to protest, then shut it tightly, did as she was bid, and quietly left the room.
Her hands shaking, Lilith undressed and wrapped herself in an old cotton robe. Then she sat in the chair by the window and stared a long while at the package.
An hour passed before she could bring herself to unwrap it. As the paper fluttered to the floor, her lower lip began to tremble.
Mansfield Park. The book she’d been reading that day at Hookharn’s... and dropped, in her agitation.
“Oh, Julian,” she murmured. She opened the first volume to the flylea
f. The handwriting was black and bold, as arrogant as its owner. The words were simple: “May life with your ‘Edmund Bertram’ be, truly, happily ever after. Brandon.”
There was something more, however. In the middle of the volume, pressed between a piece of silver paper and a note, was a small, white orchid, tinged with mauve.
The note informed her that Mr. Higginbottom had been instructed to deposit all her payments towards Davenant’s debt into a separate account at her bank. Lord Brandon hoped she would make use of these funds as she required— as wedding gifts for her nieces, if she liked, or for any other estimable purpose.
Lilith lay note and orchid upon the table beside her, opened to the first chapter, and began to read.
Chapter Nineteen
Though Lord Brandon did not return to his town house until sunrise, he found his cousin waiting up for him. The marquess had scarcely stepped through the front door when Lord Robert burst into the hall.
“Gad, Julian, you’re enough to drive a chap to Bedlam. Where the devil have you been?”
“Oh, here and there.” The marquess calmly strode past him into the library, dropped his hat and gloves onto a chair, then headed for the tray of decanters. He poured himself a glass of brandy and proceeded to make himself quite comfortable in his favourite chair.
“I say, Julian, I do believe you’re doing this just to punish me. I know I’ve lost two stone from the suspense. What’s happened? Have you talked to her? Have you been talking all this time?”
“No.”
“Julian!”
“I do wish you would not jump about like a frantic puppy, Robin. I am tempted to swat you with a newspaper. Really, you are very tiresome. A puppy would be less trouble, I am certain. Thank heaven I shall not have the house training of you.”
“Julian!”
“There is writing paper in the upper left drawer of my desk,” Lord Brandon said, waving his glass in that direction. “You’d be wiser to occupy your time composing a letter to your father-in-law-to-be. No, on second thought, I shall compose it. Your grammar is shocking, your punctuation and spelling execrable.”
Robert gazed blankly at him for a moment. Then he rushed to his cousin and began pumping his free hand up and down. “Oh, good show, Julian. Good show. Gad, but you’re amazing. You can do anything!”
