He shut his eyes and smiled. “No, Lizzie.” For a moment, he considered leaving it at that. But the night and the smell of her hair and the realization that she would not remember anything he said was bewitching him. He could not hold his words inside him any longer. “You must know, the way you look tonight, and every second of every day for that matter, is driving me mad.” He held his breath, waiting for her response, but she only sighed. He looked down and ran his knuckles against her jaw, eliciting a dimpled smile. He whispered, “You are beautiful, my darling.” He was counting on the promise of her inebriation that she would not remember his words tomorrow. But if he were being honest with himself, part of him hoped his words would sink into her heart and she would never forget them.
A second later, the door opened and the moment was pierced. Oliver dropped his hand to wrap around her shoulder once again while Rose and Kensworth snuck into the parlor. Kensworth paused and gave Elizabeth a pitying look before squatting in front of her and taking her hand, coaxing her to open her heavy eyes.
She blinked at her brother with a frown.
“My poor little love,” said Kensworth, smiling kindly at his nearly incoherent sister. It wouldn’t be long until the room was spinning wretchedly. He doubted the carriage would come away unscathed from their trip home. “You mustn’t feel too badly. We’ve all been a little jug-bitten at some point in our lives.” Kensworth placed a hand under Elizabeth’s elbow and gently pulled her to her feet. “Let’s get you home.” It was selfish, but Oliver wished Kensworth and Rose had not been so hasty in coming to Elizabeth’s rescue. He would have liked a few more minutes to sit with her in his arms.
“Here,” said Rose, taking Elizabeth’s arm in hers. “Let me be the one to escort her out. It will look more natural and I can hold her up without anyone thinking it too odd.”
“No,” Oliver’s voice shot out too quickly. “I shall escort her out.” He felt reluctant to leave Elizabeth in her state.
Rose shook her head. “We need you to stay behind and spread the rumor of Elizabeth’s sudden illness. Hint at a fever and let everyone begin to draw their own conclusion. But whatever you do—do not outright say that she has influenza, or else no one will believe you. People like to feel as if they are intelligent enough to crack a code on their own.” Leave it up to Rose to concoct a scheme. And as much as he didn’t want to leave Elizabeth, he knew Rose was right. He needed to give a reason for Elizabeth’s sudden disappearance that would draw sympathy for her rather than raise eyebrows.
Elizabeth stumbled a little bit to the side, her eyes looking glazed and heavy as she
swung them to Oliver. “I don’t know what you all are talking about. I’m perrrfectly sober. In fact, I have something I wish to say to Oliver.” She stood straighter and squared her shoulders at him, but still looked like she could fall over at any moment. “Oliver, I’m tired of hiding it. I—” but he didn’t know what Elizabeth was going to say because Rose clapped her hand over Elizabeth’s mouth.
“Shhhh. Yes, darling, I’m sure you are quite sober, but let us wait until we’ve had a good night’s rest to talk with Oliver.”
It was on the tip of Oliver’s tongue to protest, but Elizabeth spoke again. “I’m not tired,” she said with a yawn, stumbling over her own steps as Rose dragged her toward the door.
Kensworth moved ahead of them and peeked his head out the door, and then waved them forward when the hallway was clear.
“Thank you for your help, Oliver,” said Rose before the three Ashburns slipped out the door.
Then they were gone, and Oliver was alone in the parlor. He was thankful for Rose, he really was. But he would be a liar if he said he didn’t miss the way life was before Kensworth had married. He missed the time he had spent with his friend. He missed how uncomplicated his relationship had been before he was aware that Elizabeth was maddeningly beautiful and he would have to let someone else marry her. What was his place in that family now? The Ashburns had been Oliver’s grounding force for the past ten years.
But now, he felt a little washed out to sea—unsure of who he was or where he belonged.
Chapter Thirteen
It was official. Elizabeth despised champagne. It was a vile devil drink that swept her up in the moment with the promise of confidence and happiness. That was not what she had received—not at all.
She pulled her legs up under her and nestled further into the settee in her favorite room of Kensworth House: the gold parlor. Situated in the back of the house, it was the room least frequented by any other members of the household. Which she thought was ridiculous because it had the most wonderful little settee in front of a large bay window overlooking the back gardens. She liked this room—and she could be alone here. Today, it's most important feature. And, despite being surrounded by walls, she still felt free.
Elizabeth—head full of galloping stallions notwithstanding—had been unable to sleep a moment past seven o’clock this morning. But oh, how she wished she could have slept away the entire day. Her stomach still reeled from the previous evening’s overindulgence and every bone in her body ached, not to mention the creeping sense of mortification that grew in inverse proportion to her sobriety.
Elizabeth had opened her eyes that morning, recalled the previous evening as a hazy nightmare, and promptly decided to slip back into an ignorant slumber and avoid facing reality ever again. But she couldn’t. Her head throbbed and sitting upright seemed to be the only thing for it.
Knowing that Rose and Carver would not likely leave their rooms for another few hours, Elizabeth dressed in a simple cream walking dress and retrieved the ridiculous novel Kate had lent her. Kate, of course, had sworn it was the most romantic story ever told. Elizabeth could not stop laughing at the silliness of it, but it would provide just the kind of mindless diversion she needed today. She needed an escape—to somewhere far from the reality of her bungled attempt to catch the eye of any gentleman, much less garner the attentions of Lord Hastings.
She winced as she remembered how many times she had grabbed his arm. And…oh, goodness. Had she told him how fortunate it was that Mary had not married his recently deceased brother? She had surely ruined her chances with him. Utterly ruined.
Elizabeth groaned, running her hands over her face, wishing that was all it took to scrub away her dreadful memories. Well, never mind. She would find a way through it. She would find some way to recover—as long as Lord Hastings was good enough to not besmirch her reputation.
She picked up her book, determined to put all bad thoughts out of her mind and lose herself in a silly novel. She read an entire page before she realized she was comprehending exactly none of it. No, her mind was instead playing—or replaying?—a scene she wasn’t sure was a dream or a memory. It was of Oliver, his strong arm wrapped protectively around her. She closed her eyes and could smell him. She could almost feel his fingers brushing against her neck. But when Elizabeth remembered his whispers of how beautiful he thought her, she realized it must have been a dream. A wonderfully blissful dream—the only good thing that had come of her run-in with the devil's drink. She tilted her head to the side and touched her fingers to the nape of her neck, remembering a touch that had felt all too real.
Elizabeth sighed. Reclaiming her heart was going to be more difficult than she had imagined.
Oliver stepped into Kensworth House as Jeffers closed the front door behind him. The dour butler turned back to level his ever-present glare at Oliver.
“Simmer down, man,” said Oliver. “I’m aware of the time, and I have no intention of being seen yet. You will be pleased to hear that I learned my lesson the last time I attempted to intrude on Lord Kensworth’s morning.”
Jeffers grinned—the sight making him somehow even less attractive. Really, he must talk to Kensworth about finding a new butler. “Pleased, sir? I should never be pleased to hear that you have had an unsatisfactory visit.”
“Shouldn’t be…but you are nonetheless,” Oliver said, turning away from the butler and walking toward the drawing room. “I’ll await his lordship in the drawing room.”
“Very good, sir,” said Jeffers in a way that made Oliver feel as though he was being patted on the head and given a biscuit.