Lady Knightley's Secret

Chapter Two

With all the exuberance of an excitable child, Lady Dartwood uttered a shriek of delight as she watched the carriage pull up outside the front entrance and saw a young woman in a very fashionable fur-trimmed travelling outfit step gracefully down the steps.

‘She’s here, Brin! She’s arrived at last!’

‘Will you stop jumping up and down that way!’ her husband admonished with a passable attempt at sounding severe. ‘For heaven’s sake remember your condition!’

‘I can hardly forget it, now can I?’ Glancing down at the rather large, figure-damaging protuberance at the front of her gown, the Viscountess’s expression managed to betray dismay as well as a deal of motherly love for her unborn child. ‘And Elizabeth’s so beautiful, too. I know you’ll fall instantly in love with her!’

The Viscount rose from the comfort of his armchair and took his young wife gently in his arms. ‘I promise I shall like her for your sake, Verity. I know how very fond you are of your old school friend. But you’re the only girl for me. How many times do I need to assure you of that?’

She rewarded him for his sound good sense, but quickly extricated herself from his embrace as the door opened and a young woman in her early twenties swept into the room and came tripping lightly towards them, looking so gracefully ethereal that the Viscountess couldn’t help but feel a tiny stab of resentment, but hid it quite beautifully as she gave her friend an affectionate hug.

‘I swear, Elizabeth, you get lovelier each time I see you. And slimmer, too!’

‘And you are blooming, my dear Verity. The very picture of health!’ Elizabeth then turned and held out one hand to the Viscount. ‘How do you do, my lord. Your wife mentions you so often in her letters that I feel I have known you for years.’

‘And I must reciprocate, Miss Beresford,’ he responded, executing an elegant bow before releasing his brief hold of the slender, tapering fingers. ‘My wife has spoken of nothing else since she received your letter accepting her invitation to be our guest.’

‘How odiously stuffy!’ Verity’s expression of staunch disapproval drew spontaneous chuckles from both her husband and her friend. ‘Now you must know that in my delicate condition it isn’t very sensible to vex me. So let’s have no more of this unnecessary formality!’

‘In the circumstances it might be wise to indulge her, sir,’ Elizabeth suggested. ‘But only on condition,’ she added, casting the most winning smile up at him, ‘that you refrain from addressing me in any one of those repulsive abbreviations so widely used where my name is concerned. I cannot abide Lizzie or Eliza. And I’m not enamoured of Beth, either.’

The Viscount readily agreed, thinking what a graciously charming young woman Verity’s friend was, her manners open and wonderfully unaffected, and by the time she had left them a short while later to dress for dinner, he had decided, without any further coaxing from his wife, that he liked Elizabeth Beresford very well.

‘Why in heaven’s name isn’t that charming young woman married? She’s not only extremely pretty, but intelligent too.’

Not in the least surprised that he had been captivated so easily by Elizabeth’s engaging manner, Verity smiled with satisfaction. ‘I honestly don’t know, Brin.’ The smile faded. ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised, though, if it didn’t have something to do with her upbringing. She had quite a miserable childhood. From odd things she has let fall from time to time, I gather her parents’ marriage wasn’t a happy one. I believe Elizabeth was quite close to her father, but didn’t deal at all well with her mother. And as for that sister of hers…!’

‘Mmm.’ He glanced thoughtfully at the logs burning brightly on the hearth. ‘I hope you’ve forewarned her that it isn’t unusual for Lady Chiltham to pay us impromptu visits?’

Verity’s sudden scowl betrayed her feelings quite beautifully. She disliked Elizabeth’s sister intensely and considered Lord Chiltham a pompous nincompoop. The Chilthams, however, resided less than three miles distant and for the sake of neighbourly harmony she had managed to conceal her dislike whenever they had happened to meet.

‘She was so spiteful to Elizabeth when they were children. Elizabeth never returned to school after a vacation without having acquired at least one livid bruise from that sister of hers.’

‘It isn’t uncommon for brothers and sisters to quarrel, my dear,’ his lordship countered fair-mindedly.

‘I realise that. But Evadne’s seven years Elizabeth’s senior. It was nothing short of malicious bullying.’ A sudden gurgle of laughter escaped her. ‘I’d like to see her try it now,’ she went on, the wicked glint in her eyes betraying how she would relish the prospect of an unfriendly encounter between the sisters. ‘Elizabeth has changed out of all recognition since she went to live with her grandmother. I think darling Evadne’s in for a rather severe shock when she does see her again.’

‘Well, Elizabeth certainly didn’t strike me as a shrinking violet. She certainly is nothing like her sister, though, not even in looks.’

‘Very true,’ Verity concurred. ‘She was painfully shy at school, but thankfully that’s no longer the case. She appears to be remarkably resilient too, now. Which is a blessing considering her recent loss. I must say she seems to have got over her grandmother’s demise very well.’

In this, however, Viscountess Dartwood couldn’t have been more wrong, as Elizabeth’s personal maid and lifelong devotee could have enlightened her if asked.

None knew better than Agatha Stigwell, who had been employed as nursemaid in the Beresford household, what a miserable existence her young mistress had endured in her formative years. She had witnessed, first hand, the petty cruelties the pampered Evadne had inflicted on her sister and had been appalled by the sheer indifference Mrs Beresford had always shown when dealing with her younger daughter. The only displays of affection and kindness Elizabeth had ever received had come from her maternal grandmother when she had stayed with her in Bristol, and from her father, but as his visits to the family home had been infrequent and of short duration, Elizabeth’s periods of childhood happiness had been few and far between.

Agatha had never regretted the decision she had taken, after her master had died, in aiding Elizabeth in running away to her maternal grandmother. Elizabeth had seemed to blossom overnight under that wonderful old lady’s constant loving care. Although, even then, weakened by years of ill-health, Mrs Smithson had been more than a match for Elizabeth’s mother when she had come hotfoot to Bristol, demanding her daughter’s return.

Agatha herself hadn’t been privileged to overhear what had passed between Mrs Smithson and her daughter that day, but whatever the old lady had said, it had been sufficient to send Mrs Beresford on her way again rather abruptly. Agatha was honest enough to admit that she hadn’t been sorry to see the last of her old mistress; honest enough to admit, too, that she had been completely unmoved when she had learned of Mrs Beresford’s death two years later. What Miss Elizabeth had felt was difficult to judge. She certainly hadn’t shed any tears over her mother’s unexpected demise; but the poor girl had wept bitterly when her dear grandmother had passed away the previous autumn. She just hadn’t been the same person since; but then, Agatha reminded herself, her young mistress hadn’t been the same since their return from Brussels last summer.

‘Why are you staring at me with that peculiar look in your eyes, Aggie?’

Unable to hold her young mistress’s gaze, she went across the bedchamber to collect a shawl. ‘You’re imagining things, miss. I was merely thinking how sensible it was of you to accept Viscountess Dartwood’s kind invitation. You’ve locked yourself away from the world for far too long. You know your dear grandmother didn’t want that.’

‘No, I know she didn’t. She even begged me not to deck myself out in mourning.’ A sigh escaped her. ‘I kept that promise at least. I’ve never once even donned black gloves.’

Rising to her feet, Elizabeth remained only for the time it took to have the shawl arranged about her shoulders, and then went back down to the salon, where she had left her host and hostess earlier, to find them looking the picture of marital bliss, seated side by side on the sofa.

The Viscount rose at once and went over to the table on which several decanters stood. ‘I believe Verity omitted to inform you that we’re expecting another guest, a friend of mine from my army days, but I’m not quite certain just when he’ll be arriving—it could be today, or tomorrow.’

He watched Elizabeth seat herself in one graceful, sweeping movement before handing her the glass of Madeira. ‘You were in Brussels last year, on hand, as one might say, to celebrate that famous victory. And I understand from Verity that you stayed to nurse some of our brave soldiers back to health.’

‘Yes, I was there,’ she admitted in a colourless tone, ‘but I saw little worth celebrating. The sight of that endless procession of carts, filled with the dead and dying, pouring into the city after the battle was over is an experience I shall never forget.’ She shook her head at the all-too-vivid recollection. ‘Where is the glory, sir, in all that waste of life…that suffering?’

Verity noticed a look of respect flit over her husband’s features before he raised his head, his acute hearing picking up a sound from the hall.

‘What is it, Brin? Has your friend arrived, do you think?’

‘Yes, I believe so. I’ll go and see.’

Verity waited until he had left the room before turning to Elizabeth with a rather impish smile. ‘I never realised until a few moments ago how similar your shade of hair is to Brin’s.’ She studied her friend’s beautifully arranged locks once again. ‘Except, perhaps, yours contains a little more red. Why, you might be brother and sister!’

‘I should have very much enjoyed having him as a brother. You’re a lucky girl, Verity. He’s a charming man.’ She cast her grey-green eyes over the Viscountess in a swift appraisal, deciding that marriage and the prospect of imminent motherhood suited her very well. She looked glowing and so utterly contented with her lot. ‘When is the baby due? Any time now, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Great heavens, no! Not for several weeks, unfortunately.’ Verity noted the slight frown. ‘I know I’m huge already. And to think I’ve still another month to go!’

Her pained expression vanished as the door opened and she watched her husband return with a tall and ruggedly handsome gentleman in tow. She had never met this particular friend of Brin’s before and was instantly aware of his aura of powerful masculinity. So captivated was she by Sir Richard Knightley’s spontaneous and most engaging smile, as her husband made the introductions, that she failed completely to notice the effect the very personable gentleman’s presence was having on her friend.

With a hand which trembled slightly Elizabeth took the very sensible precaution of placing her glass down on the conveniently positioned occasional table beside her chair, before she foolishly disgraced herself by spilling the contents down the folds of her rich green velvet gown. No one’s unexpected appearance could possibly have unsettled her more, but with a supreme effort at self-control she contrived to appear as composed as ever.

‘There is absolutely no reason to introduce Sir Richard to me, Brin,’ she interrupted when he turned, about to do just that. ‘I knew him quite well when I was a child.’

Looking a trifle pale, but maintaining quite beautifully that self-assured air, she rose to her feet and even managed a semblance of a smile at the three rather startled expressions bent in her direction. ‘It has been several years since you last set eyes on me, sir, so I’m not in the least offended by your all-too-evident bewilderment.’ She held out her hand, which thankfully no longer trembled. ‘Elizabeth…Elizabeth Beresford.’

He didn’t utter ‘Good Gad!’ but the expletive hung in the air, none the less, drawing forth a gurgle of wicked amusement from the irrepressible Viscountess.

‘I’m not in the least surprised, either, that you appear dumbfounded, sir, especially if you haven’t seen her for some time. When I met up with Elizabeth again last year I could hardly believe that it was my old school friend sitting in that famous Bond Street modiste’s.’

‘Indeed, you are vastly altered, Miss Beresford,’ he agreed in that attractive deep voice that she remembered so well, ‘but I ought to have recognised you.’ His dark eyes rested for a moment on the charmingly arranged rich red-brown hair before returning to the delicately featured face turned so enchantingly up to his. ‘Unlike your sister, you always did bear a marked resemblance to your father. With your unusual colouring you are unmistakably a Beresford.’

‘I cannot express strongly enough how relieved I am to hear you say so, sir,’ she responded with feeling, before turning and bestowing such a dazzling smile upon the Viscount that Sir Richard experienced a most unexpected and rather unwholesome spasm of jealousy gnaw at his insides.

‘Your darling wife, Brin, has recently remarked that we might well be mistaken for brother and sister. You must be aware that she has never been known to put a guard on that unruly tongue of hers. Before you know it, rumours will begin to spread and we shall find ourselves on the receiving end of some rather strange looks!’

He laughed heartily at this before offering her his arm and escorting her across the hall and into the dining-room. Verity, following with Sir Richard, experienced a deal of wicked satisfaction when she noticed that her husband’s very personable friend seemed incapable of preventing his gaze from wandering in Miss Beresford’s direction.

Elizabeth became increasingly aware of this fact too as the evening wore on but, unlike Verity, found nothing satisfying in those all-too-frequent dark-eyed glances. Never in her wildest imaginings had she considered the possibility that the Dartwoods’ other guest would turn out to be none other than the man she had secretly, and quite foolishly, loved since she was a girl.

Calling upon that all-important inner reserve of self-control, she managed to conceal this all-too-painful truth. However, trying to behave towards him as she might have done any other acquaintance of long standing, with a kind of polite, friendly interest, inevitably took its toll. So, when Verity announced her intention of retiring early, Elizabeth wasn’t slow in making her own excuses to leave the gentlemen to their own devices.

Managing, still, to retain that serene look that suggested she hadn’t a care in the world, Elizabeth accompanied her friend up the staircase. She accepted with alacrity the Viscountess’s invitation to come to her suite of rooms later so that they could enjoy a comfortable coze before finally retiring for the night, but the instant she entered the sanctuary of her own bedchamber her expression changed dramatically.

‘Ha! I knew it. In a right fix you are, and no mistake!’

Elizabeth flashed her maid a glance of impatience. ‘I might have guessed that you’d have got wind of his arrival. And don’t stand there gloating! Come help me off with this gown!’

Completely undaunted by the brusque tone, Agatha helped her young mistress get ready for bed. ‘What are you intending to do, miss? You mark my words, he’ll find out.’

Elizabeth pulled a brush through her silky russet-coloured hair with impatient strokes as she stared at her maid through the dressing-table mirror. ‘How can he possibly do that? Only you and I know. And if you ever reveal my secret, Aggie, I’ll never forgive you!’

‘Wild horses could never drag it from me, miss. You know that. But he’s no fool. You might let something slip.’ Her expression betrayed her concern. ‘It might be best if you make some excuse to leave,’ she suggested, but Elizabeth shook her head.

‘I cannot deny that that solution is very tempting, but it won’t answer. It would look most odd if I suddenly upped and left.’ She gazed sightlessly at her own reflection in the mirror, her mind deep in thought. ‘No, that course of action would certainly give rise to conjecture. And besides, I’m quite adept at keeping a guard on my tongue, and concealing my feelings. I’ve had years of practice, after all.’

She saw sadness replace the concern in her maid’s dark eyes and gave her arm an affectionate squeeze before rising from the stool to collect her robe. ‘I must confess, though, that I’m more than a little annoyed with the Viscountess. I think for friendship’s sake she might have taken the trouble to forewarn me that this friend of her husband’s was none other than Richard. But—’ she shrugged ‘—annoyed though I am, I couldn’t with a clear conscience desert her now.’ A worried frown suddenly marred the perfect symmetry of her own brow. ‘Have you by any chance caught sight of her ladyship since we arrived, Aggie?’

‘I have that, miss. Spied her crossing the hall when you all went into the dining-room earlier.’

‘In your expert opinion, when do you consider the baby will be born?’

‘Any day now, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Just what I’ve been thinking!’ The frown of disquiet grew more pronounced. ‘The Lord only knows what kind of practitioner has been in attendance upon her ladyship. Some antiquated old fossil who hasn’t picked up a medical volume in years, I shouldn’t wonder. I can perfectly understand why Tom works himself into such a passion over the old-fashioned notions of many of his colleagues. It’s a thousand pities he isn’t here now!’

She moved across to the door, but turned back to enquire, ‘I don’t suppose you happen to know precisely where her ladyship’s bedchamber is situated, by any chance?’

‘Turn left at the end of the passageway and it’s the second door on the right.’

Elizabeth, marvelling at her maid’s quite remarkable ability for acquainting herself with the layout of strange houses within a relatively short space of time, went along to her ladyship’s apartments and discovered the Viscountess sitting up in bed, supported by a mound of frothy lace-edged pillows. She received a warm smile and was invited to sit on the edge of the huge four-poster bed, but she remained standing, her eyes betraying her very understandable resentment at her friend’s rather heartless disregard for her feelings.

Verity was not slow in perceiving the look. ‘What is it, Elizabeth? What’s wrong?’

‘Why didn’t you inform me that you had invited Richard here, too?’

The enquiry was uttered lightly enough, but Verity couldn’t mistake the note of censure in the soft voice and was frankly puzzled by it. ‘I didn’t realise until a few days ago that he would be coming. Brin met up with him in London the other week and invited him to stay. Why, you don’t object to his being here, surely? You seem to get along quite well.’

Elizabeth cast her a look of comical dismay. ‘Sir Richard, my dear Verity, is the gentleman my parents wished me to marry. At least,’ she amended with a rueful smile, ‘my father certainly desired the match. Don’t you recall my telling you that when we met in London last spring?’

In truth, she did not, although she vaguely recalled Elizabeth mentioning that there was someone she had refused to marry because she had been convinced they wouldn’t suit.

‘Oh, I am sorry! Does it make you feel so very uncomfortable…his being here, I mean?’

There could be no mistaking the genuine distress, the undoubted concern her friend was experiencing on her behalf, and Elizabeth found those slight feelings of hurt and annoyance ebbing away.

Accepting the invitation at last, she seated herself on the edge of the bed and gave her friend’s hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘I should be a liar if I said no. But you mustn’t concern yourself on my account.’ A wistful little smile hovered around her very attractive mouth. ‘Richard, I should imagine, was as relieved as I not to be forced into the union.’

Verity subjected her friend to a rather long and thoughtful look, her husband’s bluntly voiced amazement at Elizabeth’s unmarried state echoing in her ears.

Yes, now that she came to consider the matter, it was most odd that Elizabeth had chosen to remain a spinster. The reason might well be what she herself had suspected: that Elizabeth recoiled at the mere thought of contracting a marriage so desperately unhappy as her parents’ union had been. Or the answer might simply be that she had never as yet met a gentleman with whom she wished to spend the rest of her life. A sudden vision of Sir Richard—tall, muscular and perfectly proportioned—appeared before her mind’s eye, drawing a rather puzzled frown to crease her forehead. If, in truth, Elizabeth had never married because she had yet to meet a man to her taste, then she must be very hard to please, for how many gentlemen were there as handsome and personable as Sir Richard?

She found herself unable to quell her rampant curiosity, and after a moment found herself asking outright what her friend had glimpsed in his character to give her a dislike of him.

‘Oh, I don’t dislike him, Verity,’ she responded without the least hesitation. ‘Far from it, in fact. As you might have gathered earlier, I like him very well. I cannot see how any female could take such a well-mannered and intelligent gentleman in dislike.’

Just what I’ve been thinking myself, Verity thought, and said with that bluntness which was so much a part of her charm, ‘Then, why in heaven’s name did you refuse to marry him?’

Elizabeth, far from discomposed, smiled rather serenely. ‘Because, my dear, I couldn’t bear the mortification of going through life knowing that in the eyes of my husband I would always figure as second best.’

Verity’s jaw dropped perceptively. ‘Do you mean that he was in love with someone else at the time?’

‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, exactly,’ Elizabeth responded after giving the question due consideration. ‘But you must remember that it was our respective fathers who desired the match. They had been close friends since boyhood, and that friendship continued until Sir Percival Knightley’s death. Richard was, in fact, my father’s godson, and although my father’s sojourns at our home were rare, he did occasionally bring Richard for a visit.’

She paused for a moment to stare blindly at one ornately carved bedpost. ‘From a very early age I knew Richard preferred the company of my sister. Hardly surprising when one considers how very pretty Evadne was in her youth, whereas I…Added to which, they were of a similar age, Evadne being only a year his junior.’

‘Are you trying to say that he wished to marry her?’ The Viscountess not only looked astounded, but sounded it too, and Elizabeth couldn’t prevent a gurgle of laughter escaping.

‘Most young men who met my sister swiftly became infatuated. And Richard was no exception. I came upon them together in the shrubbery one day, and overheard Richard saying that he wished she were the one his father had wished him to marry…Then he kissed her.’ Her amusement faded and the grey in her eyes seemed to intensify. ‘I think that must rate as one of the lowest points in my life. But I made up my mind, then, that I would never marry unless I was certain of my future husband’s regard for me.’

Verity shook her head in disbelief. ‘And here I was thinking that Richard was a man of sound good sense. How could any gentleman of discernment prefer Evadne to you?’