Page 16 of Souvenir of Love

“Afterwards perhaps?”

“I need to purchase some new handkerchiefs.”

Pale-blue eyes met deep-blue ones. Anne shrugged. “Very well, but you shall miss all the fun.”

“I can only imagine.”

Anne continued as if she had not caught the acerbic note in her brother’s voice. “I shall express my regrets that such a scandalous thing should have occurred in my home.” She placed a hand dramatically on her chest. “Our families are so close; I vow I feel responsible for this dreadful situation in which Elizabeth finds herself.”

“You missed your calling, Anne,” James said with a bored lightness that had nothing to do with the weight that was compressing his heart. “You really should have been an actress.”

A chill crept into her eyes. “Do not compare me to that slatternly lot. I am the daughter of the Duke of Dinsmore. I will be spoken of with respect.”

“Anne,” James said, studying his sister over his coffee cup, “how long do you intend to carry on this vendetta against Moreham?”

“For as long as it takes for him to experience all the humiliation and rejection I have. To wonder, every time he passes people at a party, clustered together laughing, if he is the subject of their amusement.” A brittle smile stretched her lips. “For as long as it takes for him to regret he ever laid eyes on that little French bitch, Alix de La Brou.”

“He wouldn’t really killJames, do you think?”

Elizabeth and Alix were monogramming table linens in a small sitting room off Elizabeth’s bedchamber. The house was quiet. Rafe had told the butler to inform callers—of whom there had been few—the family was not at home to visitors. Still, Elizabeth couldn’t resist glancing out the long windows of the sitting room to see if anyone was coming down the drive.

“I wouldn’t underestimate him, Elizabeth. He’s angry.” Alix pulled her needle through the downward sweep of an elaborate M. An understatement; Rafe was furious. Last night it had been all she could do to prevent him from storming back to the Dinsmores and calling James out. Toward the early hours of the morning, she’d finally convinced him a scene on the Dinsmores’ dance floor would only make the scandal worse.

She studied the figure of her sister-in-law. Elizabeth looked remarkably fresh. The rose of her fichu brought a soft glowto her cheeks, her eyes were bright, and her hair was loosely but artfully arranged in gleaming chestnut waves. As Elizabeth turned her head toward the window for what must have been the hundredth time, Alix couldn’t help thinking she resembled one of the rosebuds on her gown.

“Elizabeth,” she said with a sudden surge of suspicion, “are you watching for James?”

“Certainly not,” Elizabeth replied, pulling a stitch so tight the fabric pleated.

Her sister-in-law was a terrible liar.He’s not coming, Alix wanted to say, but she knew Elizabeth wouldn’t listen. In her own way, Elizabeth was as stubborn as Rafe.

Silence stretched as tautly as the linen in their embroidery hoops.

“Elizabeth.” Alix stopped stitching. “Marriage to James Dinsmore might resolve this difficult situation.” Her finger traced the M. “But marriage to a man you barely know…”

“I’ve known James Dinsmore my entire life.”

“You know one facet of his character, the charming social James Dinsmore…but there are others…”

“Are you referring to his fondness for horse racing? For gambling? His debts? His drinking?” Elizabeth paused, then added almost casually, “Or his reputation for seducing women and frequenting houses of ill repute?”

“Elizabeth.” Alix’s voice was shocked. “A young lady should not know of such things.”

“Shouldn’t know, or simply shouldn’t speak of such things? Let us not pretend, Alix, only consider how I was raised. You didn’t know my father or my brother George, but let me assure you, they drank and gambled and whored and made no effort to hide their pleasures from Louisa or from me.” She examined her needlework. “Did you know they considered Rafe, withhis careful planning, his studies, his interest in economics, an oddity?”

“He has told me some things.”

“I will not repeat my mother’s errors. The only veil that will be over my eyes when I walk down the marriage aisle will be one made of lace.”

“Are you so sure you know James Dinsmore, then?”

Elizabeth glanced at the window. “No.” She turned to face Alix. “But there is something about him…a goodness, a sense of honor, buried deep perhaps, but still there. I can feel it.”

Alix said nothing, but her expression clearly conveyed her skepticism.

“Haven’t you ever met a person, looked into his eyes, and known in that instant that you could trust him?”

Alix thought of the first time she’d seen Rafe. “I have.”