words sliced her. She was truly in a mess of her own making. Oh, why had a walk outside seemed like a good idea? That dreadful viscount had ruined everything.
She swallowed hard, summoning the reserve she’d been taught to carry, the fortitude to face unpleasant situations with grace and regal bearing. “You’re avoiding answering me, but the truth is that your response no longer has any bearing on the situation we find ourselves in. There are three things you ask of me. I shall do them regardless of how I feel. And if I do these tasks, you will marry me and not break our betrothal?”
“Yes,” he said.
She found the courage to look at him. His eyes were unreadable, his jaw set in a stubborn line. It reminded her of the time he took the punishment for breaking cook’s favorite bowl when he and John were fighting over the last bit of dough. John had let him take the punishment, too, which she’d deemed quite dishonorable at the time.
Miles would go through with marrying her, no matter how unpalatable he found the union. It was in his nature to fix situations and help others. She lifted her chin and met his troubled gaze.
“This is not ideal for me either. I am giving up the possibility for true love. At least pretend that we are on somewhat good terms. I shall not bother you overly much, Miles. After these first few months, we may go our separate ways.”
His brows lowered and if possible, his glower deepened. “Trust me, madam, I shall not forget that you are only marrying me out of desperation.”
The barouche jolted to a stop just in time, for Elizabeth did not know how to respond. She had assumed he found marriage to her a cumbersome burden, but it almost seemed as though her first rejection had tainted his view of her. But how could that be? He was as resistant to marriage as she, though for quite different reasons.
Befuddled by his response, she waited for the barouche door to be opened. She took the footman’s hand and descended. No matter. They had chosen their course, and there could be no turning back.
She glanced around her. People crowded Gunter’s. It was April, after all. The start of a fabulous Season, and everyone who was anyone knew that ices on a warm day were a perfect opportunity to see and be seen.
She braced herself for the stares and conversation, taking the parasol Miles so kindly handed to her. He had managed to wipe the moodiness from his face and looked the perfect gentleman with his chiseled features and neatly tied cravat. She half expected her skirts to be mussed, but no, as she glanced down, she saw that the silks were in perfect arrangement about her slippered feet.
The purpose of their visit to Gunter’s was twofold. To discuss what Miles expected of her and then let all those who had read that unfortunate gossip see that Mr. Hawthorne was far more to her than an illicit liaison during an overcrowded ball.
Her parents wasted no time in informing her that it was her duty to spread the word that she was betrothed, even if only by action. They were quite unhappy with her betrothal to a man of business but since she’d rejected Wrottesley, they had little choice in the matter. Unless they wanted to bring scandal on the family, her marriage to Miles was the only possible solution.
Mother had refused to speak to her this morning.
Wincing, she forced herself to take in her surroundings. Her windpipe shrank.
Well-dressed ladies milled about the emerald grasses of the park, some carrying their own parasols, others wearing broad-brimmed bonnets. Gentlemen strolled beside them, using stylish canes and carrying ices. Servants darted back and forth, and even the waiters looked pristine in their uniforms as they brought treats to those who’d rather sit in curricles.
Clouds provided the perfect shade for those who chose to walk the paths designed for couples and families. Not everyone wanted to be cloistered on such a lovely spring day. Elizabeth clutched her parasol closer, battling the urge to turn her head at an angle. Why had she agreed to this?
The overwhelming sense of inferiority and failure that accompanied public appearances pounded through her. A duke’s granddaughter should be poised and, if not beautiful, then regal. She supposed she should be thankful she had not been sent to a country house to live out her days, free of the stares of those who had never experienced mottled, discolored skin. She supposed she should be thankful...and yet she was not. How often she wished to live in solitude, with only the company of unseeing books.
This morning’s escape from her parents’ disapproval had seemed a smart choice, but now she wasn’t so sure. Panic edged her throat, circling her thoughts like a vulture feeding upon her sanity.
Pressure on her arm caused her to glance over to see Miles offering her a tender look. “All will be well, dear Bitt. Hold your head up and show these people how the granddaughter of a duke behaves.”
She nodded stiffly. He was right, of course. His confidence bolstered her as she gripped his arm and let him lead her to a pretty little bench situated on the side of the hill. He left her there to get ices, and when he returned, he settled beside her and handed her one.
The treat was as delicious as she remembered. Almost enough to take her mind off the curious glances they received. At last one woman meandered over. Elizabeth knew she should recognize the striking blonde, who was dressed in an outfit that must be eminently fashionable, covered in ruffles and lace and shrieking wealth.
Her lady’s maid followed behind, eyes averted. Oh, yes, certainly a woman Elizabeth should know. A sense of failure threatened to take hold.
“Lady Elizabeth, how good to see you out. And with a suitor, no less.” The woman’s eyebrows twitched, and Elizabeth thought she saw a frown in her smile. She waited, presumably for Elizabeth to introduce them.
Miles had stood in the lady’s presence. Elizabeth forced herself upward, racking her mind for the lady’s name. For something. Anything. But a name failed to form.
“Lady Englewood, is it not?” Miles offered her a crisp bow, to which the lady held out her hand for his perfunctory kiss upon her silken glove. He straightened, offering Elizabeth a twinkling smirk. “We met the other evening, I recall.”
“Ah, yes. Mr. Hawthorne. Lord Wrottesley mentioned you in passing, and I do believe you were a part of our little group at Lady Charleston’s. Such a fashionable woman.” The lady turned her sharp words to Elizabeth, who wavered beneath her peer’s scrutiny. “It is good to see you in the fair weather, my dear. Your parents have expressed concern for your health, citing it as the reason you’ve been in the country for so long. Though I do remember you coming out last year, did you not?”
“I have been out for several years now,” Elizabeth said carefully. And now to play her parents’ plan to perfection. “Mr. Hawthorne has graciously extended me an offer of marriage, and so we are celebrating with ices. There will be invitations going out for a celebratory ball. An event you will not want to miss. It’s sure to be a crush of the most gigantic proportions.”
Miles made a noise that sounded like a cough. She quickly patted him on his nicely muscled arm. “My affianced is quite excited to meet my parents’ circle of friends.”
“Is that so?” Lady Englewood’s nose thrust upward and Elizabeth could almost imagine a quizzing glass stuck to her eyeball. “We shall most eagerly await the invitation.” She gave them one last look, her gaze lingering upon the right side of Elizabeth’s face, as though perhaps wondering how any man could possibly want such a marred human being.
Miles
