Page 25 of The Curious Life of the Unfortunate Duchess
“I do not wish to tame her, Lord Gordon,” he replied, truthfully. Percival snickered loudly.
“And I find sensitivity to be an attribute in both men and women. Perhaps less in men,” Leonard continued.
“Then perhaps you might have a chance with Elizabeth after all,” Percival replied. The words filled Leonard with a new confidence and he smiled at the reassurance until the Viscount spoke again, his pitch almost mocking.
“Now you are tasked with finding Elizabeth and convincing her that you are worthwhile—even though you are the kind of man who ends his engagement in the middle of a wedding ceremony.”
Chapter 8
“Everyone stares at us!” Frances giggled, pointing rudely at the townsfolk. “Are we the subject of gossip, Liza?”
The question was not meant to be hurtful but it troubled Elizabeth all the same and she hurried her sister along, ignoring the blatant looks. She knew precisely what they said for she had caught wind of it every day for a fortnight. They did not bother to whisper in her presence but even if they had, it would not be difficult to have heard what the talk of the town was about—the Duke of Pembroke and his broken engagement.
As if I am to be faulted for the actions of the Duke of Pembroke,she thought miserably.
For her part, Elizabeth had not learned the sordid details of how the Duke had abruptly and mercilessly left Miss Priscilla in Fife after declaring he was unable to wed her. Some claimed that he was in love with another while others maintained the union was no longer fruitful for the duchy for reasons unknown. Whatever the cause of the split, everyone agreed that his manner was most uncouth and ungentlemanly.
Of course, Priscilla had escalated matters by fuelling the gossip, insisting that the Duke had been stolen from her by an unscrupulous witch. Elizabeth had no doubt whom Priscilla meant and apparently neither did the townsfolk.
It mattered not how Elizabeth defended herself against he busybodies who gaped and whispered. It was reminiscent of what had happened all those years earlier. She was subjected to rumors which she had no control over.
“Pay them no mind,” Elizabeth insisted. “They simply have little else to do than involve themselves with the affairs of the nobles.”
“What do they blather about?” Frances insisted. “Do they speak of me and my new love?”
Elizabeth stopped in her path and stared at her sister, her previous woes all but forgotten in the wake of Frances’ question.
“Your new love?” she repeated, her pulse quickening with dread. “Who might that be?”
A dozen awful thoughts flooded Elizabeth as she wondered who might have had occasion to take advantage of her innocent sister.
“Why, Mr. Barlough, of course,” Frances chirped. Elizabeth’s brow furrowed with concern. She had feared that Frances might develop an unhealthy fancy for Herbert Barlough following the wedding but Frances had not mentioned him since—not until that moment.
“The barrister from Pembroke? You have not seen nor spoken to him since the union of Lord and Lady Curry. How can you say he is your love?”
A wide beam fell on Frances’ guileless face and she shook her head in denial, strands of hair falling from her unkempt braid. It did not seem to matter how many times the abigails struggled to keep her hair in array, Frances unfailingly found a way to muss her long tresses.
“On the contrary,” the older sister replied gleefully. “I see him in my dreams.”
Elizabeth exhaled with relief and reclaimed Frances’ arm. She was happy to learn that it was merely a fleeting fancy, one which would undoubtedly be forgotten when enough time had passed.
“Do you?” she replied. “How lovely, Franny.”
In the interim, Elizabeth would not shatter her sister’s good cheer. She moved them further down the street but Frances was not finished with her tale. The older girl moved in to whisper conspiratorially in Elizabeth’s ear.
“And he writes me often.”
Again, Elizabeth was forced to stop in her tracks and stare at Frances in shock.
“He writes you often?” she demanded but as the words left her lips, she realized that there was little way such a matter could occur, not when the mails were so slow.
Even though Pembroke is not terribly far away, she could possibly have received one letter, no more. She is imagining this love affair.
Elizabeth had gauged the distance between the duchies herself in the aftermath of the wedding in Fife. She hoped that no one ever found out that she had. It shamed her to know she still thought of the Duke with more frequency than she would have liked.
“I have three letters thus far. He tells me we will see one another soon,” Frances continued and Elizabeth felt a pang of concern. Her sister must have been delusional, of course, but Elizabeth dared not put a damper on Frances’ excitement.
“How lovely,” Elizabeth commented again, unsure of how else to reply. “I am happy to hear of it.”
