Page 13 of The Curious Life of the Unfortunate Duchess
Relief shone on both men’s faces and Lord Gordon nodded approvingly.
“Thank you, daughter. Off you go before you lose sight of her. She is much like a toddler—off in the mere blink of an eye. Do not permit her to remain out too late. She must rest, despite what she believes.”
“Indeed, Father,” Elizabeth agreed. “Good night.”
Elizabeth did not need to be reminded of her sister’s aptitude for disappearing. When she turned, Elizabeth realized Frances had skirted off across the field toward the bright lights of the lanterns hung outside. She gathered her dress in the clutches of her palms and started toward the festivities.
In truth, Elizabeth could have used rest of her own but she did not wish to put a damper on Frances’ enthusiasm. She marveled at the bountiful energy of her oldest sibling who had already flung herself into the center of activity as if no one watched her, swirling alone through the courtyard. Bernadette, Elizabeth’s abigail was forced to run to keep an eye upon Frances as always.
What I would not give to have a fleeting moment in her mind,she thought with affection. Elizabeth stood in the shadows, permitting her sister the freedom to enjoy herself. A liveried butler stood nearby and Elizabeth was forced to look a second time to ensure he was not a statue. He remained perfectly still, his hand extended to hold a silver tray aligned with goblets. Elizabeth took a glass, noting how his eyes never wavered from a blank stare ahead.
It defied reason that he was made of flesh and bones and Elizabeth could not help but stare at him with undue interest.
“You mustn’t mind Charles,” a voice chirped in her ear. “He does not much care for parties.”
She turned to face the man at her back and stared at him quizzically. She was stunned that a mere stranger would so boldly approach her without being introduced. As uncouth as it appeared, it would be much ruder for Elizabeth to ignore the forward man in her midst, especially one of noble birth.
“Charles?” she murmured uncomprehendingly. The young man gestured at the servant who had yet to make one move, even to blink an eye.
“Charles,” he repeated. “He has been a member of this household since my grandfather held the title of Baron.”
Elizabeth realized at once with whom she spoke. It could only be Alexander, Earl of Cooke and cousin of Lady Fife, the bride-to-be.
“Lord Cooke,” she murmured. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Miss Elizabeth Follett, daughter of Percival, Viscount of Gordon. How do you do?”
“Andyouare Miss Elizabeth Follett,” he remarked, a bemused but interested expression on his baby-face. “Although I daresay even without being told, I would know your beauty anywhere. I must admit people have not done it a modicum of justice. You are truly a vision to behold.”
Elizabeth felt herself vaguely uncomfortable by his words, an underlying implication troubling her as he continued to speak. Bernadette was nowhere in sight, and Elizabeth found herself without a chaperone.
“Thank you, my Lord. You flatter me.”
“I only speak in truth. You will learn.” His leer was beginning to trouble Elizabeth but it was not a matter in which she was unaccustomed to dealing. She had encountered many men in her life who had been unable to see past her stunningly beautiful face. Lord or peasant, their overt gazes were the same.
“Shall we dance?” Lord Cooke proposed and Elizabeth’s instinct was to refuse but she knew how rude it would seem if she did. Inherently, she was wary of the Earl but she was left with little choice in the matter, not when her father and brother had retired for the night. There was no one to rescue her from the offer.
“Yes,” she agreed, accepting his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”
They fell into a waltz, their steps mismatched and Elizabeth became quickly aware that Lord Cooke was a terrible dancer. She bit back a grimace as he fell heavily on her foot but instead of apologizing for his misstep, he leaned in close to her, causing shivers of apprehension to slither down her spine.
“I cannot tell you how long I have yearned to see you in the flesh,” he murmured. “I do hope my peers are watching now.”
He craned his neck to peer over her shoulder and Elizabeth was struck at how small a man he was in her shadow. She was hardly considered a large woman yet she towered over Lord Cooke. Elizabeth was embarrassed for him and herself but the young man was undaunted by the uncomfortable situation. To her chagrin, he pulled her closer to him, his grip tightening. He stepped on her toes again and Elizabeth bit back a cry.
“I have been told I am a wonderful dancer,” he muttered in her ear. His breath was hot and too close for her desire. Tactfully, she pulled her head back and offered him a tight smile.
“Indeed, my Lord,” she replied. “It is my pleasure to share this dance with you.”
“Is that all you can share with me?” he purred. Elizabeth was instantly tense, the timbre of his voice unmistakable now.
“I do not think I understand what you are asking, Lord Cooke.” She jerked herself back, the smile frozen on her face as she regarded him with cold eyes. She knew precisely what he suggested but she dared him silently to speak such crass request aloud. He was taken aback by her forwardness. Apparently whatever tales he had been told about her had not included her backbone and fire. She captured his gaze unwaveringly and willed him to give her an excuse to untangle herself from his arms.
“Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth,” he muttered and released her. There was no smugness to him, his cocksureness vanishing beneath her withering stare. Relief swept through her instantly but she maintained her smooth appearance.
“Whatever for?” she replied sweetly. “Thank you for the dance.”
He bowed quickly as she curtsied and Elizabeth was left in peace. Despite her calm exterior, however, she was shaking inside. It was not the first time she had been met with such lewd context and she feared it would not be the last.
For years, Elizabeth had been the subject of vile gossip. For her part, Elizabeth certainly had no known enemies which she could count. Yet as she blossomed into the fine and pious young lady she was, whispers had begun to reach her ears, terrible words which stunned her at first. Someone had spread the word that Elizabeth had dishonored herself with a stable boy when she was barely older than David. There was no truth to the rumor nor had there been a stable hand young enough to fit the role at the manor during the time in question but the damage to her unsullied reputation had been done. It was two years before Elizabeth learned the truth, that her best friend had started the bile in a fit of jealousy. When Elizabeth told her father about it, Lord Gordon had been fit to be tied.
