The Lady Confesses

Chapter Four

‘Do you take some cruel delight in humiliating me?’ she breathed accusingly.

‘I did not wish you to make a fool of yourself by flirting with one of my aunt’s guests,’ Nathaniel came back coldly.

Elizabeth gasped at the insult, tears of humiliation glistening in her deep blue eyes as she looked up at him. ‘Sir Rufus was the one to seek out my company, not the other way about.’ Her voice was shaky with emotion.

Nathaniel glanced across at the older man as he attempted to converse politely with Mrs Wilson and Letitia Grant. Tennant was obviously ill at ease in female company; the occasional glowering glance he sent in Elizabeth’s direction seeming to indicate that she was the only reason he was putting himself through such discomfort today.

Nathaniel’s mouth twisted derisively as he turned back to Elizabeth. ‘No doubt he would be quite a catch for a lady’s companion.’

She gave a pained frown, not altogether sure what she had done to incur the earl’s displeasure this time, only aware that she had. Sir Rufus Tennant might indeed be ‘a catch’ for a paid lady’s companion—the same could not be said with regard to Lady Elizabeth Copeland.

‘No doubt.’ She kept her expression deliberately bland.

‘Perhaps—’

‘Are you not coming to join me in my endeavours to persuade Sir Rufus into joining our dinner party on Saturday evening, Osbourne?’ Mrs Wilson looked slightly disapproving at her nephew’s continued conversation with her employee.

‘I will join you in a moment, Aunt,’ he answered his elderly relative, once again lowering his voice as he spoke to Elizabeth. ‘Of course, Tennant may be a little old for you …’

She raised dark brows. ‘I doubt that a lady’s companion has the luxury of worrying about such things as the age of one’s husband, my lord.’ She glanced across at Sir Rufus. ‘His looks and manner seem pleasant enough. And he appears to be a moderately wealthy man, too.’

‘And is that important to you?’ Nathaniel looked down the length of his nose at her.

Elizabeth’s lashes were lowered. ‘I am sure it would be important to most prospective brides, my lord.’

‘As a bride’s dowry is invariably of import to the groom,’ he drawled pointedly.

Reminding Elizabeth that a dowry was something neither she nor her sisters possessed …

Their father had been the dearest of men, loving and kind, but always somewhat vague after his wife had left, resulting in him becoming slightly removed from his family and society to such a degree that he had not given his daughters’ future after his demise the consideration that it deserved.

His death had been unexpected, so perhaps their father had believed Diana, Caroline and Elizabeth would all be safely married before that occurred. Although how that should have come about, when none of them were ever allowed to meet eligible gentlemen, Elizabeth was unsure.

Whatever his reasoning, the reading of Marcus Copeland’s will had revealed that he had made no provision for dowries for his three daughters, that lack of foresight instead leaving them to the guardianship and mercy of his distant cousin and heir, Lord Gabriel Faulkner.

Elizabeth smiled tightly. ‘Then let us hope, for your sake, that the two Miss Millers and Miss Rutledge are all possessed of a large fortune.’

Nathaniel frowned darkly, not at all pleased with the way she had turned this conversation towards his aunt’s less-than-subtle matrimonial intentions towards himself.

His two closest friends might have recently succumbed to the idea of marriage, Dominic intending to marry the masked beauty Caro Morton, and Gabriel, more sensibly, planning to offer for one of the three young ladies who had become his wards on his inheriting the title of Earl of Westbourne. But this didn’t make Nathaniel feel any more kindly disposed towards the parson’s mousetrap for himself. Indeed, he considered it his duty to uphold the very idea of bachelorhood for those others of his peers who had also so far managed to escape such a fate.

Elizabeth barely restrained her smile at the look of disgust that had come over Nathaniel’s face at the mere mention of matrimony in regard to himself, revealing to her, at least, that Mrs Wilson’s hopes in that direction were likely to come to nought. ‘You really should join your aunt and her guest, my lord.’ She looked up at the earl challengingly, feeling that she had emerged the victor in that particular exchange.

Nathaniel looked down the length of his nose at her. ‘I am used to doing as I please, not as others might wish me to do.’

She smiled briefly. ‘One would never have guessed!’

Brown eyes narrowed at her obvious sarcasm. ‘You—’

‘Your tea is becoming cold, Osbourne,’ Mrs Wilson cut in imperiously.

Alerting Elizabeth to the fact that she was seriously in danger of incurring that lady’s wrath herself if she did not bring this conversation with her nephew to an immediate end. She did not so much as glance in the earl’s direction again before crossing the room to stand before the older woman. ‘Lord Thorne was merely advising me concerning the safest path for me to take in regard to Hector’s walk.’ She gave Sir Rufus Tennant a distracted smile as he rose politely to his feet.

‘Of course.’ Mrs Wilson gave her nephew an affectionate smile as he joined their group. ‘Such a dear boy, always so concerned for the well-being of others …’

Elizabeth’s snort of disbelief escaped before she had chance to stop it, a snort she quickly turned into a cough as she saw the way her employer frowned up at her. But, really, the mere idea of Nathaniel Thorne as a ‘dear boy’ who was ‘concerned with the well-being of others’ was perfectly ludicrous; the man was arrogance personified, and the only person towards whom he showed the least consideration, besides himself, was his aunt.

‘I do hope you are not coming down with a cold, Betsy.’ That lady delicately raised a lace handkerchief in front of her nose.

Elizabeth could see the irritating earl out of the corner of her eye, was completely aware of the mockery in the smile that now curved those sculptured, and oh-so-sensuous lips. ‘I do not think so,’ she assured the older woman mildly. ‘I am probably just a little allergic to something in the room,’ she added for the smirking earl’s benefit. ‘I am sure that it is nothing that a brisk walk outside in the fresh air will not cure.’

‘I was about to take my leave.’ Sir Rufus Tennant placed his empty tea cup on the table. ‘Perhaps I might walk with you for a short distance?’

Elizabeth felt her heart sink at the suggestion. Her remarks to Lord Thorne a few minutes ago regarding Sir Rufus had been pure bravado on her part; she had absolutely no romantic interest in a man who was not only almost twenty years her senior, but so plain in appearance that she was almost ashamed to admit, as Lady Elizabeth Copeland, she would probably not even have noticed his existence.

‘I am sure my knowledge of the area is far superior to Osbourne’s,’ that gentleman added haughtily.

Not only plain to look at, but pompous too, Elizabeth noted with an inward wince, making sure not to so much as glance in the earl’s direction now, knowing that gentleman was sure to be frowning his disapproval, which was perhaps, contrarily, reason enough for Elizabeth to accept Sir Rufus’s invitation. Except she really did not have the least romantic interest in the older man, as either Betsy Thompson or Lady Elizabeth Copeland …

She drew in a light breath. ‘It is very kind of you to offer, Sir Rufus—’

‘Very kind, indeed,’ Mrs Wilson said warmly. ‘Are the bluebells still out in the West Wood, Sir Rufus?’

‘They are, ma’am.’

‘Oh, then you must allow Sir Rufus to show you the West Wood in bloom, Betsy.’ Her employer smiled her approval. ‘Hector has always liked to frolic in the bluebell wood,’ she added, as if that settled the argument.

Which, in fact, it did, Elizabeth accepted at the same time as she struggled with her inner frustration; Mrs Wilson’s indulgence where her little dog was concerned was limitless, and if Hector liked to go to the bluebell wood then Elizabeth must surely take him there.

Chancing even the briefest of glances at Nathaniel Thorne beneath lowered lashes, in order to gauge his reaction to this conversation, had been a mistake. Horrible, horrible man—instead of disapproving he looked highly amused—no doubt because he was fully aware of Elizabeth’s lack of enthusiasm for Sir Rufus’s company!

Nathaniel’s lips were pressed tightly together, as if to suppress the smile that was reflected in the laughing brown eyes that looked down at her so engagingly. ‘I am sure you will greatly enjoy the bluebell wood, Betsy.’

If it were not for their listening and watching audience she would enjoy telling him exactly what she thought of him! ‘I am sure that I shall.’ She turned to Sir Rufus. ‘If you would not mind waiting a few minutes more, I will go upstairs and collect my bonnet, sir.’

‘Not at all.’ He gave her a curt, unsmiling nod.

Elizabeth’s steps were slow as she made her way up the stairs. In truth, she did not know quite what to make of Sir Rufus Tennant. Oh, he was polite enough in a brusque, no-nonsense sort of manner and did indeed seem desirous of her company, yet at the same time he made no effort to charm or cajole as a younger gentleman might have done in order to secure a lady’s interest. She—

‘I believe that is the first time I have been referred to as an allergy, Elizabeth.’

She turned so sharply on the stairs at hearing that mocking voice directly behind her that she might have tumbled down them if Nathaniel had not reached out to clasp the tops of her arms to help her regain her balance.

Elizabeth moved out of that grasp as soon as she felt steady enough on her feet, rendered briefly breathless as she looked straight into the earl’s rakishly handsome face as he stood on the stair two steps down from her. Standing so close to him, in fact, that she could see the golden shards of colour amongst the brown of his eyes and feel the warmth of his breath against her lips. As soft as a kiss …

Elizabeth stepped back and up another step to escape that sensual pull. ‘I believe it is more an irritation than an actual allergy,’ she bit out frostily.

‘Are you ever at a loss for an answer?’ The earl looked up at her admiringly.

‘I sincerely hope not,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘And you should not have followed me, my lord,’ she added, a perplexed frown on her brow; the role of lady’s companion might not sit altogether comfortably on her shoulders, but for the moment that was indeed what she was.

‘I did not “follow you”, Elizabeth,’ he denied. ‘I only came to the drawing room at my aunt’s behest so that I might say my hellos to Tennant. Having done so, I now have work to finish in the library.’

Elizabeth cheeks felt warm at the obvious rebuke. ‘Work, my lord?’

‘Try to sound a little less incredulous, Elizabeth,’ Nathaniel drawled drily. ‘Despite my recent stay in Venice, I am not completely a man of leisure,’ he added irritably as her expression remained unchanged. ‘As the Earl of Osbourne, I do have estates and such like to attend to.’

‘I would have thought you had estate managers and a lawyer to do those things for you,’ she commented.

‘Well. Yes. Of course that is so,’ Nathaniel acknowledged. ‘But those people are directly answerable to me.’

‘I see …’

His frown deepened. ‘Why is it, do you think, that even the mildest of remarks from you sounds like a criticism?’

Elizabeth looked up at him with innocent blue eyes. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

‘That is not your first untruth of our acquaintance,’ Nathaniel muttered impatiently, ‘but it is certainly one of the more obvious ones.’

Elizabeth instantly felt on her guard as she regarded him warily. ‘I am sure I have no idea what you mean, my lord.’ She had never been particularly good at deceit and prevarication; in fact, she was surprised that she had managed to maintain her role as a servant in Mrs Wilson’s household for the amount of time she had without detection.

If, indeed, she had …

Mrs Wilson had been too caught up in other things since her nephew’s return from Venice to trouble herself in questioning ‘Betsy’s’ origins too deeply, but Lord Thorne had already made it obvious that he was starting to regard her as something of a puzzle that needed to be solved.

Indeed, his next comment confirmed it. ‘Just as long as you are aware that, as my only living relative, my Aunt Gertrude’s welfare is of the utmost importance to me,’ he bit out pointedly.

Elizabeth looked alarmed. ‘I trust you are not implying that I would in any way wish to do that kind lady harm?’

Nathaniel looked at her speculatively, noting the pallor of her cheeks and the way her eyes had darkened. Guiltily? Or was it pain at Nathaniel having voiced his suspicions? ‘Not deliberately so, perhaps,’ he allowed slowly. ‘But my aunt is apt to trust people rather than not—’

‘Whereas you, no doubt, are apt to distrust them until proven otherwise?’ she shot back.

His jaw tightened. ‘Perhaps.’

There was no ‘perhaps’ about it in Elizabeth’s eyes; Nathaniel Thorne had shown only too clearly these past twelve hours or so that the easy charm he chose to present to society—that Elizabeth had also believed to be the nature of the man—was, in fact, nothing but a front for his intelligence and shrewdness of mind. A shrewdness, now that he was back on his feet and out of bed, that was obviously causing him to question her motives for taking employment with his aunt.

She gave a cool inclination of her head. ‘I will keep your concern for your aunt in mind. Now, if you will excuse me …? I have been gone so long Sir Rufus will think that I have changed my mind about taking our walk together.’

The earl gave a wry smile. ‘A word of warning with regard to Sir Rufus …’

‘Another one?’ Elizabeth raised irritated brows.

That smile widened. ‘It would seem to be my day for them.’

She sighed. ‘And what do you now wish to tell me about him?’

Nathaniel considered what he knew of the older man’s history. How Nathaniel, and most of society, had believed that the suicide of Tennant’s younger brother several years ago, and the tragic nature of that death, might have temporarily unhinged the older man. Certainly Tennant’s withdrawal from all society since then had been cause for speculation.

A withdrawal from female company, at least, which was now at an end, if the older man’s reason for riding along the cliff path late the previous night was to be believed, along with the interest he had shown in Elizabeth Thompson by calling upon her today.

And if that interest should prove to be serious, to the point that Tennant actually made an offer for Elizabeth, surely it was then Tennant’s prerogative to relate the tragic history of his own family to the young woman he intended to make his wife? What right had Nathaniel to interfere, after all, when any relationship between himself and his aunt’s companion could go nowhere and was, in fact, highly inappropriate?

‘It is of no import.’ Nathaniel straightened dismissively. ‘Enjoy your walk in the bluebell wood.’

Elizabeth remained on the stairs, looking down at the earl as he moved lithely down to the hallway below before disappearing in the direction of the library. Which was when she began to breathe again.

She had believed Lord Thorne’s personal interest in her to be inappropriate, but the interest he was now taking in her past could only be considered dangerous.

‘Whereabouts in Hampshire do you hail from, Miss Thompson?’

Elizabeth looked at the man who strolled along beside her in the bluebell wood that backed onto Hepworth Manor and then glanced behind them. It had been decided by Mrs Wilson, whilst Elizabeth was upstairs collecting her bonnet, that it was not altogether proper for Elizabeth to go walking alone with a single gentleman and that Letitia should go with them. Although much good that did when the other woman had become so distracted collecting up the fragrant blooms the moment they entered the wood that she now lagged far behind them.

Sir Rufus had chosen to lead his horse by the reins, a fact that Hector, released from his leash so that he might roam free, was taking much delight in. Sir Rufus was less than impressed, judging by the irritated glances he shot the little dog.

Elizabeth smiled. ‘I believe I told you I am originally from Herefordshire, Sir Rufus.’

‘Ah, yes, so you did.’ He nodded, the bright sunlight not in the least kind to the narrowness of his features, but instead emphasising the lines beside his mouth and those pale blue eyes. ‘Whereabouts in Herefordshire?’

‘Leominster.’ Elizabeth named the only town in Herefordshire she’d ever heard of. ‘And have you lived all of your life in Devonshire?’ she enquired politely.

He smiled briefly, that smile lightening the harshness of his features somewhat and, in doing so, lending him a mild attraction. ‘I find very little to interest me in London society.’

As one who had never been into London society, for obvious reasons Elizabeth found this statement intensely irritating. ‘Not even the shops and entertainments?’

Sir Rufus gave a delicate shudder. ‘Taunton is not too far a ride if I should need to shop. As for the entertainments, no, I do not miss them in the slightest,’ he said brusquely.

No, this man did not in the least set out to charm, she acknowledged ruefully. But perhaps his frankness was to be admired? Considered a trait to be appreciated rather than a fault? Certainly her own father had shared Sir Rufus’s opinion of the entertainments London had to offer …

‘In that case, I am surprised Mrs Wilson was able to persuade you into accepting her dinner invitation for Saturday evening,’ she remarked bluntly.

His expression softened somewhat as he looked down at Elizabeth. ‘That particular invitation held another … attraction for me.’

She was not sure she was altogether comfortable with the almost flirtatious note she detected in his tone, especially as it seemed to sit so uncomfortably upon the stiffness of his otherwise tense demeanour. ‘Mrs Wilson does have a particularly fine chef.’

‘I was not referring to her chef—’

‘No, Hector!’ Elizabeth deliberately chose that moment in which to turn and chastise the little dog for harassing the long-suffering Starlight. ‘I am afraid he is rather mischievous,’ she excused as she went down on her haunches to re-attach the dog’s lead.

Sir Rufus’s features were once again austere. ‘Mrs Wilson is somewhat … relaxed in her discipline of him.’

Elizabeth did not in the least care for the obvious criticism; Mrs Wilson might be over-indulgent with the little dog, but for the main part Hector did not take advantage of that indulgence. He was just naturally mischievous—and as such, totally lovable—by nature.

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