Shaking his head, Paul muttered, “Never met a more handsome chap who could care less about his appearance.” He walked over to Robert’s chair and slid it back easily. “You are coming with me, brother, whether you like it or not.”
With a long suffering sigh and a covetous glance at the newspaper, Robert followed Paul out of the house.
Elizabeth watched the exchange with affectionate amusement, liking both of her new brothers immensely.
Elaine arched her brows as she lifted her teacup. “Don’t let his surliness disturb you overmuch.”
“Paul’s?”
“No, Marcus’s. Marriage is an adjustment, that’s all. I still wish you would consider going away. Allow yourselves to settle in without the pressures you’ll find here in Town.”
“We intend to, once the Parliamentary session is over.” It was the excuse Marcus had suggested they supply. With the journal a hanging weight over her head, they couldn’t afford to leave London. Waiting until the end of the Season seemed the reply least likely to raise suspicion.
“But you are unhappy with this decision, are you not?”
“Why would you say that?”
Offering a sad smile, Elaine said, “You’ve been crying.”
Aghast to have her torment known, Elizabeth took a step back. “A bit tired, but I’m certain a drive in the crisp morning air will cure that.”
“A lovely idea. I’ll join you.” Elaine pushed back from the table.
Stuck in a position where refusal would be rude, Elizabeth released a deep breath and nodded. With a strict warning to the staff to leave the lord of the house undisturbed, Elizabeth and Elaine departed.
As the town coach lurched into motion, Elaine noted, “You have a fair number of outriders to accompany you. I believe you are more heavily guarded than the king.”
“Westfield is a bit overprotective.”
“How like him to be so concerned.”
Elizabeth seized the opportunity to learn more about her husband. “I’ve wondered, is Marcus much like his father?”
“No. Paul is most like the late earl, in appearance and disposition. Robert is a bit of an anomaly, God love him. And Marcus is by far the most charming, but the more reserved of the lot. Always has been difficult to collect his aim until after he’s achieved it. He hides his thoughts well behind that polished façade. I’ve yet to witness him losing his temper, but he has one I’m certain. He is, after all, his father’s son and Westfield was a man of high passion.”
Sighing inwardly, Elizabeth acknowledged the truth in the words spoken to her. Despite hours of physical intimacy, she knew little about the man she’d wed, an exquisite creature who drawled when he spoke and shared few of his thoughts. Only when they were alone did she see the passion in him, both his fury and desire. In her own way, she felt blessed to know those sides of him, when his beloved family did not.
Elaine leaned across the carriage and captured one of Elizabeth’s hands with her own. “I knew the moment I saw you together how perfect you would be for him. Marcus has never appeared so engaged.”
Elizabeth flushed. “I would not have thought you would endorse me after what transpired four years ago.”
“I subscribe to the ‘reason for everything’ school of thought, my dear. Life has always come too easily for Marcus. I’d prefer to think your . . . delay contributed to his grounding these last few years.”
“You are too kind.”
“You wouldn’t think so if you knew the things I said about you four years ago. When Marcus left the country I was devastated.”
Riddled with guilt, Elizabeth squeezed Elaine’s hand and was touched when her hand was squeezed in return.
“Yet you married him anyway and he has grown much from the man who first offered for you. I hold no ill will toward you, Elizabeth, none at all.”
I wish Marcus felt the same, Elizabeth thought silently, and not a little sadly.
The coach slowed to a halt. Before they had the opportunity to alight from the carriage, the employees of the shops lined the curb to greet them. Having spied the crest emblazoned on the door, they were anxious to assist the new Countess of Westfield and reap the rewards of her husband’s largesse.
The morning passed swiftly, and Elizabeth found a respite from her melancholy with Elaine, appreciating the older woman’s suggestions and advice while relishing the maternal companionship she’d lacked all her life.
Elaine paused in front of a milliner’s window and sighed at a lovely creation displayed in the window.
“You should try it on,” Elizabeth urged.
Elaine blushed and confessed, “I have a fondness for millinery.”
Waving her mother-in-law inside, Elizabeth strolled to the neighboring perfumery, leaving the two outriders who followed her at the door.
Once inside, she stopped before a display of bath oils and removed the stopper from a bottle to sample the fragrance. Disliking the scent, she put it down and picked up another.
“I hear congratulations are in order, Lady Westfield,” rasped a masculine voice behind her.
Startled, she almost dropped the fragile bottle, her stomach tightening in recognition of the unique voice. She spun to face Christopher St. John, her heart racing and eyes wide.
In the light of day, without a mask or wig to hide his features, he was a splendid looking specimen, angelic in appearance with his d
ark blond hair and vivid blue eyes.
Arrested at first by his exceptional handsomeness, she quickly came to her senses and changed her mind. Fallen angel was a more apt description. The signs of hard living were etched on his countenance. Shadows marred the skin beneath those amazing eyes, betraying a life that had no place for restful slumber.
His lips curved derisively. “Has no one told you it’s not polite to stare?”
“Do you intend to stab me again?” she asked curtly, taking a step back and bumping against the display. “If so, get on with it.”
St. John threw his head back and laughed, drawing the attention of the clerk behind the counter who gazed at him with blatant admiration. “Feisty, aren’t you? I can see why Nigel liked you so well.”
Her eyes widened as the familiar address. “And how would you know how my husband felt?”
“I know a great many things,” he replied arrogantly.
“Ah yes, I forgot.” She was frustrated by his confidence in the face of her fear. “You somehow learned of Hawthorne’s journal and have been threatening me for it ever since.” Elizabeth gripped the bottle of bath oil so tightly her hands ached.
St. John glanced down. “Put the bottle aside before you hurt yourself.”
“Don’t worry about me. It’s you who most stands to be hurt by it.” She hefted the bottle in warning before dropping it carelessly onto the shelf, ignoring the roiling in her stomach. “What do you want?”
St. John stared at her, his face reflecting an odd mixture of emotions. “It took me all morning to lose those lackeys Westfield has hounding me.”
Through the glass front of the store she saw the backs of the two outriders who stood guard. “How did you get in here?”
“Through the rear entrance. It has been extremely difficult to approach you with those damned outriders and Westfield guarding you at all times.”