Page 52 of Souvenir of Love

“A small favor.”

“A very small one,” he said dryly.

Alix’s hand, still resting on Rafe’s, caressed his reassuringly. “With so sensitive a purpose, James could never have revealed to her the reason for his visit.”

“No,” Rafe agreed. “He would not.”

“So, Elizabeth cannot possibly know.” Alix smiled encouragingly. “Andthat,you must admit, is a considerably larger one.”

Sitting at her dressing table,Elizabeth stared at the familiar handwriting of Arabella Norcroft, the letters of each word neatly formed, all except for the last, which finished with an odd curl or dash, as if her mind had become impatient with the slow pace of her hand. She loved Arabella’s letters, always filled with descriptions that revealed the quick wit carefully hidden beneath the sober exterior her mother forced her to assume. Arabella’s correspondence was her only link to the outside world. And yet, as she turned the letter over, breaking the wax seal, she couldn’t shake her disappointment that the letter hadn’t been from James.

Mother insists we must leave London for Hartsdale by the end of the week—I’m certain by the time you receive this letter, dear Elizabeth, we shall already be there. My sister, Annabella, is expecting her first child any day now, and Mother is convinced it will be a boy. Nothing must suit her, but that the family should be gathered round Annabella’s bed, as if prepared to welcome the arrival of a long-awaited prince. As for the season, Mother says it shall make no difference if I should miss a few parties since, as she is increasingly fond of pointing out, despite her bestefforts I have failed to attract the attentions of a suitable gentleman.

I might have, I suppose, had I met one. What about My Beloved, Mr. Thomas Stirling, you are no doubt wondering, the dashing gentleman with whom I was so desperate to dance at the Dinsmores’ ball? Alas, upon further acquaintance, Mr. Stirling and his handsome face turned out to be nothing more than a charming cover for a book filled with empty pages. When I think of the fuss I made over him to you, my cheeks flush crimson with embarrassment. When next I cast my eyes upon a man, I vow I shall read well beyond both cover and title.

Elizabeth smiled at her friend’s turn of phrase, her smile broadening as she continued to read:

How I wish I could see you, dearest Elizabeth. I must confess that London and the season are not half so entertaining without you. Hartsdale is so near to Moreham Hall—I believe no more than three days’ ride, even in the worst of weathers. I have asked my mother if you might visit with us.

Her heart leapt. She finished the page and turned it over. Her heart sank. Arabella’s mother had stated such a visit would benot merely out of the question, but beyond speculation, inview of Elizabeth’sscandalous cavorting with that disreputable libertine, James Dinsmore. She had attempted to reason with hermost unreasonable parent whose mind is surely cast more solidly than the iron of any cannon on His Majesty’s ships!But her mother stood firm, her positionappallingly old-fashioned even as we stand, less than a decade shy of a new century!

The last page contained a single paragraph, repeating Arabella’s assurances that the scandal meant nothing to her,less than the feathers on Lady Ellsworth’s turban!She missed Elizabeth, she wrote:Even a day apart from your dear companionship seems much too long. And she concluded, I pray, dearest Elizabeth, that I shall soon see you again.

Elizabeth swept the pages from her desk in a sudden rush of anger.

She’d made a mistake. Even worse—she’d been caught. Sheunderstoodthat she’d been wrong, was ready to repent, to beg society’s forgiveness, but society had no interest. She couldn’t turn the clock back to the night of the Dinsmores’ ball. All she could do was wait. Wait until society decided to forgive or forget—which might take until she was in her dotage. She must hang her head in shame and do nothing, nothing, while James Dinsmore could do anything he damn well pleased. She was ruined, but he was simply notorious—a label, she had no doubt, that only made him seem more dashing. She leaned down to pick up the scattered pages of the letter, determined to rip them to shreds. She tore one into satisfying bits. She reached for another. Then she stopped, staring at the two pages lying nearest her skirts.Hartsdale is so near to Moreham Hall—I believe no more than three days’ ride, even in the worst of weathers. I have asked my mother if you might visit with us.

She reread the brief lines on the other page:Even a day apart from your dear companionship seems much too long. I pray, dearest Elizabeth, that I shall soon see you again.Withthe hateful page that separated them gone, these lines now read like an invitation… Her anger flared anew.

It was appallingly, unrelentingly unfair. James Dinsmore could move on with his life. He could go to France and she couldn’t even go to Hartsdale! She picked up the papers and set them side by side on her dressing table. She wished she’d heard his answer to Rafe’s question. She couldn’t imagine that he’d answered he wished for death. Why involve her brother, and spy networks, and fugitives in France? Why not just put a pistol to his head, fall on his sword, or leap from a bridge?

James Dinsmore didn’t want to die, any more than she did. She’d been walking the bridge, tempting death to take her, because she didn’t know what else to do with her life. They’d been unfairly parted by her brother’s impulsive behavior.A duel, in this day and age!But now…now… She’d bet James was doing the same by going to France. He would most likely deny it. He was accustomed to denying—his desire for responsibility, his ducal title, the estates that went with it, his desire for her. She drummed her fingers on the dressing table in a gesture reminiscent of her brother’s.

She’d always believed the world of rakes was divided into two sorts. There were men like her late father and her brother George, who became bored with life because they’d tasted too much of its pleasures, and then there were men like James, who had become resigned to the notion that they would never truly taste those pleasures.James Dinsmore was blindfolded on a bridge of his own making, and it was time,Elizabeth decided,that someone brought him down to earth.

She pushed aside bottles of perfume, brushes, and pots of powder, clearing a space. Reaching into a drawer, she pulled out several sheets of pink stationery, a sharp quill, and a bottle of nearly fresh ink. She dipped her quill, and then sat for severalmoments more, tapping it against the rim of the bottle. And then she began to write.

“And so you see,”Elizabeth said the following morning as she sat at the breakfast table with Rafe, Alix, and Louisa, “you simply must allow me to pay a visit to Arabella at Hartsdale. Read the letter.” She gestured with a bit of toast.

“Elizabeth.” Louisa tsked. “One really shouldn’t point with food.”

“I’m sorry, Mama.” She put the bread down. “I just want Rafe to see how anxious I am to go. You all have been terrific, really. And I’m sorry, truly I am. I should have listened when each of you tried to warn me about the consequences of my behavior.” She glanced earnestly about the table, her eyes meeting Rafe’s last. “I’ve learned so many lessons since London.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

She caught her breath. In the speech she’d practiced last night, she’d expected her brother to be moved, not skeptical. “So many lessons,” she began, stalling for time. “I hardly know where to begin.”

It was Alix, surprisingly, who came to her rescue. “Rafe,” she said gently, “we all know how Elizabeth has suffered and what she has undoubtedly learned from the experience. I hardly think it necessary to grill her over breakfast. And you were saying just the other day you thought a visit with Arabella might do her good.”

“I had in mind for Miss Norcroft to come here…”

Elizabeth leapt at this opening. “And I should have preferred her to visit at Moreham Hall as well. But as you can read in the letter, her sister is lying in and her mother wishes the family to be at her side…”

“Yes, well, I suppose that’s understandable,” he muttered, eyes sliding over Alix’s expanding shape.

“Arabella will be so bored and I…”

“Have been bored buried here in the countryside as well,” he finished.