Page 12 of The King of Whitechapel (Victorian Outcasts #7)

twelve

Five years later

E LIZABETH SMILED, FANNING herself, only to have something to do other than pretend she was enjoying the evening.

The ball at Viscount Keadew’s townhouse was considered the event of the month because of the latest music being played by an orchestra of talented musicians, the most fashionable dances, the exquisite food, and the exclusive guests. The ballroom sparkled with the light from two crystal chandeliers, and the white marble floor gave the illusion the room was bigger than it was. The scent of fresh roses filled the air.

All lovely, but she couldn’t focus on the conversation she was having with Rebecca and her two friends—Maude, Lady Bletchley and Irene, Lady Worthington.

Her old governess, Miss Martin, had been right when she’d complained about Elizabeth’s lack of focus, but it wasn’t Elizabeth’s fault if she found the conversation rather dull. Maude didn’t stop chatting about how happy she was to have returned to London after years abroad without seeing her friends, but Elizabeth didn’t remember where the lady had gone. France, perhaps. Not that Elizabeth cared about that.

Her thoughts easily drifted away to more pleasant subjects, like the latest issue of the American Journal of Mathematics . Fascinating. An American mathematician developed a clever theory about the?—

“Isn’t that true, Elizabeth?” Rebecca asked.

“Yes, I love Paris,” she said.

The ladies showed matching frowns.

“We weren’t talking about Paris,” Irene said.

“I beg your pardon. I was distracted.” She waved a hand.

“We were recalling the awful Great Blizzard that hit Dartmoor years ago. Some of the houses that collapsed under the snow have still to be rebuilt. Isn’t that terrible?” Irene said.

The houses weren’t the only things that needed to be rebuilt.

Elizabeth had never recovered from the blizzard. Physically, she was in excellent health. Her body had flourished, developing nice curves. But her heart was still frozen in a small cottage battered by the wind.

She hadn’t received a single word from Christopher or a piece of news about him. His name was forbidden in her house, even after the Duke of Grafton had died.

“You were there, weren’t you?” Maude said. “Rebecca told me you survived the storm after getting lost along the way to the forest.”

“How dreadful.” Rebecca shook her head. “I remember visiting you. You were so pale and nervous.”

Yes, because Rebecca had asked a lot of questions.

“How did you survive?” Irene asked.

“I found shelter in my father’s hunting lodge close to the forest,” she said without thinking. No one had asked her about the dreadful blizzard in a while.

Maude frowned, exchanging a glance with Rebecca. “The lodge south of Spencer Hall next to Stormy Tor?”

“So close, yet so distant. It takes me less than half an hour to walk there from Spencer Hall, but after the storm, it almost took me the entire day.”

Rebecca narrowed her amber eyes. They reminded Elizabeth of those of a lion.

“And a detour, if I remember correctly,” Rebecca said. “You told me you wandered a lot.”

Dash it . Elizabeth didn’t remember exactly what she’d said to Rebecca.

“I don’t understand,” Maude said. “I was there. I found shelter in that lodge with my parents after the storm surprised us while we were taking a walk. We were rescued by a party of our footmen three days later. My father resupplied the lodge as a thank you to the earl, your father.”

Elizabeth fiddled with her fan. Botheration . She’d never cared to verify if someone had been there, and her father had never mentioned anything. How was she supposed to know someone had been there? Five years had passed, for Pete’s sake.

“That’s odd,” Maude continued without mercy. “I didn’t see you. You must be mistaken. You must have found shelter somewhere else.”

She gazed around, searching for inspiration. “Well …”

Irene closed her fan with a snap. “Were you in actual danger, Elizabeth? Or perhaps you fabricated a story just to draw attention to yourself. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Maude nodded. “I believe you confessed to cheating to win a competition.”

She released a breath. “I was a child, and I didn’t lie to attract anyone’s attention.”

“But you weren’t a child during the Great Blizzard,” Irene said. “What truly happened? Where were you? Safely at home, making up stories?”

“No,” Maude said. “I believe Elizabeth was indeed away from home during the blizzard. The question is where. Not her family’s hunting lodge.”

Three pairs of judgemental eyes set on her.

“I must have been confused,” she said with an unconvincing shrug. “It was such an ordeal that I probably don’t remember well. Perhaps it was another hunting lodge.”

“There aren’t any other hunting lodges for miles. Where were you?” Maude was like a bloodhound who caught a trail. “A friend’s house? You can tell me who this friend was. I know everyone in the village.”

Great. Elizabeth opened and closed her fan. “I don’t recall.”

“We can easily clear up this misunderstanding,” Maude continued. “We’ll just ask your father what he knows about his hunting lodge. Surely he remembers that my father thanked him.”

Irene laughed. “Not if the earl has his daughter’s memory.”

Oh, no. If Father were aware of Elizabeth’s lie, he’d never said anything, and she’d rather avoid any discussions with him.

Mother walking towards Elizabeth spared her from finding another excuse. “Sorry to interrupt, but the Duke of Grafton is here, fashionably late.”

Rebecca let out a small, ladylike gasp, patting her curls. Maude finally averted her gaze from Elizabeth, and Irene smiled.

Elizabeth searched around the ballroom, her pulse speeding up for a silly moment. Of course, the duke wouldn’t be Christopher but his half-brother, Pearce. And here he came, tall and elegant, bowing politely to the hostess, the viscountess.

The resemblance to Christopher was striking, though. Same peculiar silver-blond hair, same build, and same strong jaw. She’d been with Christopher for a short period, but she could tell the duke moved with the grace and elegance Christopher didn’t have. Not that she preferred Pearce, for that matter. Christopher had a bumptious gait she found charming.

“Elizabeth, come with me and have a chat with the duke,” Mother said, excited.

Elizabeth shared her mother’s enthusiasm, despite herself, only because the duke reminded her of Christopher, and perhaps she might learn something about his whereabouts from his brother.

In the past years, she’d never managed to talk with him vis-à-vis, also because he’d travelled a lot, and the opportunities to see him had been rare. Then his father had died, and she’d seen him a handful of times and always with her mother present. Never a chance to ask about Christopher.

“We must, Mother.”

Mother’s face brightened at Elizabeth’s agreement, likely misunderstanding her eagerness.

Rebecca tilted her chin up. “My father does business with the duke and they attend the same gentlemen’s club. I shall come with you as well and make a formal introduction.”

Mother’s expression turned serious. “We need no introduction, my dear. My husband the earl and I were very close to the late duke, and we’ve met His Grace on several occasions. Unfortunately, the last time we saw him was at his father’s funeral. So, thank you, Miss Norton, but no formal introduction is needed.”

Rebecca was flustered. “Of course, I was aware of your mutual acquaintances. I meant simply that … I was happy to go with you.”

“Not necessary, my dear.” Mother smiled coldly.

Elizabeth didn’t care how the greeting would happen as long as she could get closer to Christopher. When the late duke died, Christopher must have lost any protection he had. She burned to know where he was.

Right then, the duke lifted his gaze and stared at her as if immediately captured by her. She stared back because those eyes had the same shape and colour as Christopher’s, and she missed them. Sometimes, if she focused, she could taste on her tongue the honey they’d shared in the cottage.

Mother was gloating when she was close to the duke. “Your Grace, what a pleasure meeting you here.”

“Lady Lincoln, Lady Elizabeth.” He offered a perfect bow but kept his gaze on Elizabeth.

“It’s been a while since you’ve seen my daughter.” Mother beamed proudly. “Time flies, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed.” The new duke smiled at her, but the smile lacked the charm Christopher had.

“Your Grace.” She bowed her head. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”

Not so wonderful the fact her longing for Christopher hadn’t diminished a bit. She blamed it on the lack of news about his well-being. If she knew how he was faring, if she was certain his father’s death hadn’t caused him further suffering, she would bring the dramatic experience of meeting him to an end and move on. She needed a closure of sorts. The silence and secrecy around him drove her mad with uncertainty and made her curious, obsessed even.

“You’ve deprived us of your company for a long time,” Mother said.

“Alas, ducal duties keep me busy.” Pearce glanced at Elizabeth again.

She didn’t know what to make of his attention.

A lively country music started.

“Oh, a galop,” Mother said. “I’m afraid I’m too old to dance it. But you do go on, darling.” She raised her eyebrows at Elizabeth.

He offered her his arm before she could say anything. “Would you give me the honour of dancing with me?”

Well, refusing a gentleman was rude, and dancing was her best opportunity to talk to him without her mother’s control.

“I’d be delighted, Your Grace.” Elizabeth could almost touch the wave of satisfaction coming off her mother.

The moment she took his arm, disappointment bothered her, which was silly of her.

His arm didn’t feel like that of Christopher. The shape and the tension of the muscles were wrong. It broke the illusion she was actually seeing him, but the disappointment was her fault.

In a way, she despised the fact she kept hoping to meet him. Five years had passed since the blizzard happened. She didn’t blame him for not having sent word to her, and even if he had, Mother would have made sure Elizabeth never received it. But the lack of certainty in their brief but intense relationship was like a disease from which she hadn’t recovered yet. Perhaps she was as proud and stubborn as her mother said.

The duke led her onto the dance floor gracefully. Not once did his leg brush her skirt or his elbow touch hers. He smiled when he positioned himself in front of her before the beginning of the dance. His hand on her waist was firm but light, but the contact didn’t stoke any flame within her.

Whispers from other women reached her. Sideways glances were tossed in her direction. Likely, the gossip about an impending engagement between them was already circulating. If the ladies only knew. They had no reason to be jealous of Elizabeth.

“It’s astonishing we haven’t seen each other in such a long time, considering we’re almost neighbours,” she said, turning at the upbeat music.

“I spent a lot of time out of London after my father’s untimely passing. I underestimated the amount of work that fell on my shoulders from one day to the next.” A shadow crossed his face as he twirled her around. “I wasn’t ready to take my father’s place. He had a lot to teach me but left me too soon.”

The pain sounded genuine, and some of the tension bothering her left.

“I’m so sorry.”

He let her spin gently, careful not to tramp on her skirt. “I keep travelling throughout the country to manage my estates. I confess I long for some quiet time to enjoy the company of a beautiful lady.” Another smile.

“I gather, in your many travels, you’ve never been to my father’s estate in Dartmoor.”

“Alas, I haven’t.”

“You must. Dartmoor is beautiful. Your father visited us after the Great Blizzard.” Not very subtle, but it was the best she could do.

His smile vanished, and his hand gripped her waist more tightly. “I believe you’re mistaken, my lady. Father didn’t travel during that unfortunate time. Why would he?”

“But he met my parents.”

“He didn’t.” His clipped tone held all the authority of a duke. That he’d learnt quite well.

She didn’t press the matter further lest he avoid her at future encounters. But his denial meant he was aware of the reason for his father’s visit to Dartmoor.

“It’s a pity you don’t have any siblings, a spare perhaps, who might help you with your work.” She couldn’t help herself.

His eyes turned positively hostile. “Yes, a real pity.”

The worst thing wasn’t that he was upset, but that, from his tone, she couldn’t guess anything aside from his dislike for Christopher.

They performed the rest of the galop without talking, not even while performing the slow chassé steps during which the other couples chatted. Her fault. She was as subtle as an avalanche. On these occasions, she regretted not having paid attention to Miss Martin’s lessons. She might have learnt something about political negotiations.

“I hope to see you again soon,” the duke said when the dance ended. His tone was flat and neutral, and she couldn’t understand if he meant it or not.

“So do I, sir.”

He was about to leave when she said, “Your Grace, I apologise if I offended you. Please forgive me.

His expression didn’t change. “It wasn’t you who offended me,” he said, walking away.