Page 2 of Lady Elizabeth's Winter Stranger
Except through all her brave words, that niggle of fear persisted.A niggle that rendered her defiance unconvincing.
Because unlike lucky Imogen, Elizabeth didn’t come into a huge fortune at twenty-five.While she’d bring her husband a generous dowry, that was at her father’s discretion.There was a small inheritance from her grandfather, but she couldn’t get her hands on that until she was thirty.Unless she married first.
What an irony.
Her present delightful existence relied on her father funding her activities and buying her gowns and offering her a luxurious place to live in London.He’d never before threatened to take his support away.If he really was serious about exiling her to the windswept desolation of Caithness, she supposed she could stay with friends here in London, but she was wise enough to know that offered no long-term solution.
So if she didn’t marry Stanton Morley-Bridges – and that wasn’t an option – she was stuck with moving in with Great-Aunt Agatha.Who was sour-natured and demanding and never bathed unless there was an emergency.And there never seemed to be an emergency.
Ugh.It was enough to make Elizabeth want to pick up the Meissen shepherdesses from the mantelpiece and hurl them at the wall.Their smug smiles hinted that on this occasion, she was going to lose the battle.
She sucked in a shuddering breath and told herself not to panic.Even as panic surged in her throat like vomit.
Because her father had her trapped between two unacceptable choices.And he knew it.He generally wasn’t a bully, although like most men, he preferred his own way.But right now, Elizabeth felt bullied.
She loathed feeling so powerless.
She loathed recognizing that right now shewaspowerless.
Gritting her teeth, she resisted the sensation of the walls closing in on her.The way an unappealing fate closed in on her.
Elizabeth refused to cry.She didn’t want to cry.She wanted to fight.But there was nobody to fight with on this day of goodwill to all and peace on earth.And she had a horrid presentiment that if she started to cry, it was the first inevitable step toward caving in to her father’s orders.
She would not countenance that.
Desperate to release her frustrated rage, she slammed out of the library and into the empty hall.Usually this opulent house in Lorimer Square bustled with family and servants and callers.But at this hour on Christmas morning, the rooms around her were unnaturally silent.
With a shock, she realized that for the first time in her life, she was completely alone in the house.In any house.The principal servants had traveled to Cumbria with Lord and Lady Tierney and would return with them.Any London-based staff had been released from their duties to visit their families for the holiday, although they would have worked this week, preparing for the opulent Tierney Christmas dinner tonight.
Elizabeth hadn’t been expected back until this afternoon, but in Surrey, her maid Flossie had come down with a bad head cold.Worried for Flossie’s health, Elizabeth had ordered the carriage for dawn.On the way home from the Wetherbys’ house party, Elizabeth had dropped Flossie in Stepney where the girl’s large, noisy family lived.
Even her coachman had gone for the day to visit his brother’s family in Essex.He’d suggested staying so someone remained in attendance, but Elizabeth sent him on his way once he’d brought her home.The other servants would trickle back later in the afternoon and her parents would arrive before five, if all went to plan.
Well-bred young women were granted many privileges.The chance to bask in their own company wasn’t one of them.In London, well-bred young women never left their homes without an escort either.A relative or a female friend or a chaperone or a servant.Her reputation would suffer, if she took to wandering the streets of London unaccompanied.
Right now, she was furious enough not to give a fig for her reputation.She just had to get out of this house and find somewhere where she could breathe.Because if she stayed inside, she’d start screaming, and she wasn’t sure she’d stop.
Elizabeth was still dressed for travel.She hadn’t even been upstairs yet.She’d come through the front door and found the mail set out on the hall table.A pile of invitations for her, as befitted one of London’s fashionable belles, even at this quiet time of year.A couple of letters from friends who were celebrating Christmas in the country.And her father’s unwelcome ultimatum.She’d brought the pile of correspondence straight into the library where Jones, her coachman, was lighting the fire.Because Elizabeth was home so much earlier than planned, the house hadn’t been ready for immediate occupation.
She didn’t mind.Under her London polish, she was a practical creature.Fending for herself for a few hours wouldn’t be too onerous.What she did mind was her father disposing of her like a book overdue at the circulating library.
The house came with a large garden, but right now, something about walking within her family’s domain only stoked her temper.She strode across to collect her bonnet and gloves.With shaking hands, she jammed the hat on her head and tugged on her gloves.She slipped her house key into her reticule and for the first time in London, she set foot outside all alone.
Elizabeth paused on the top step of the short flight leading down to the icy pavement.She sucked in what felt like the first free air that she’d enjoyed since opening her father’s letter.
Lorimer Square was as empty as the house, although churned-up snow on the road showed that the few residents who hadn’t left Town had ridden to church in their carriages early this morning.Pristine white covered the garden in the middle of the square.With the cold, nobody was hanging around outside to admire the greenery.
And if she didn’t move, she was likely to become as frozen as the trees and bushes that she stared at without really seeing them.Her mind was on the horrors of Great-Aunt Agatha’s drafty, leaky castle on the clifftop facing a gray, stormy Pentland Firth.Great-Aunt Agatha who never had a caller under eighty, and not many of those either.Elizabeth would just die, if she was exiled to that gusty, dreary outpost.
Rancid nausea heaved once more in her stomach, and those pesky tears threatened again.To outrun the danger of crumpling into a sobbing heap, Elizabeth descended the steps and started to tramp around the square.Her dark green half boots crunched across the dry snow, and chilled air filled her lungs.There was a faint aroma of coal smoke, but with so many people away, the air was fresher than usual.
Most of the houses had taken their door knockers down to signal that the residents were away.The square, always full of activity, was rather eerie, covered in snow and without any signs of life.She didn’t see so much as a stray cat.Which given the cold was lucky for the cats.
Elizabeth felt rather like a stray cat herself.Cast out in the wilderness to make her own way.
Even in the depths of her tantrum, she couldn’t contain a snort of contempt for that idea.If she was a stray cat, she was an expensively dressed one.Like most of her clothes, the ensemble that she wore had cost a fortune and the cut was right up to the minute.
Elizabeth loved clothes.During her London seasons, she’d become something of a style leader.She’d been very pleased with how the color of her traveling ensemble contrasted with her blond hair and dark blue eyes.But that was part of the problem.She’d dressed to be noticed when, right now, that was the last thing she wanted.
