Page 15 of The King of Whitechapel (Victorian Outcasts #7)

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E LIZABETH DID HER best to smile as she and Pearce announced their courtship to her parents.

Pearce shook hands with Father, and Mother seemed about to cry of happiness.

“So have you chosen a date yet?” Mother said.

“We have invitations to print.” Father checked the calendar on the table. “A summer wedding would be ideal. And your brothers travel often. They’ll need to know when they should come to London.”

Elizabeth slid her arm out of Pearce’s. “Pearce and I agreed to a courtship. It’s too early to choose a date.”

“We’ll have to book an appointment with Mrs. De Bellefort.” Mother wasn’t listening. “Heaven knows she’s busy. She’s sewing gowns for every bride in London.”

Father chuckled. “I’m sure she’ll find time for us.”

Was she speaking English? She wasn’t sure. “Mother, an appointment with the modiste would be premature.”

“No harm in getting prepared, darling.”

“Your mother is right,” Pearce said. “Better be ready.”

“But we aren’t engaged.” She gazed around, but her parents seemed too giddy to listen.

After another round of ‘ wonderful news ’ and jokes about not inviting Uncle Robert to the wedding because he had an odd laugh, Pearce left with Father to go to their club, and Elizabeth wondered what had just happened.

“He proposed. Isn’t that wonderful?” Mother’s eyes were shining with too much delight.

“It’s a special courtship, Mother.”

Mother hugged her. “My clever girl. I wasn’t sure what you would do. You’re so unpredictable. All those weeks spent negotiating with the duke were worth it.”

“Excuse me?”

Mother didn’t catch the tone in Elizabeth’s voice. “Your father and I have been discussing with the duke a possible marriage to you.”

She shouldn’t be surprised. Now Pearce’s interest with her at the ball made sense. It was all planned. “You should have told me.”

“I’m so happy for you and for us! Perhaps next year, I’ll call you Your Grace.”

Elizabeth made an effort to stay calm. “We haven’t talked about our engagement yet. Nothing is official. There’s time.”

“But a wedding is going to happen.” Mother took her face, becoming serious. The merriment vanished. “You can’t refuse a duke’s proposal, and he’s young and handsome. You can’t ask for more.”

“What about love, respect, and affection?”

Mother removed her hands. “What about your family? All your brothers and sisters married well, but a duke! We’ll have a duchess in our family. Mary and Anne married when His Grace was too young, and I thought it was a shame, given how close your father and the late duke were. But you are His Grace’s same age. Perfect.”

Nothing of what Mother had said mentioned happiness or love.

“What if, after I get to know him, I really don’t like him?”

She played with fire, but her family wasn’t impoverished or on the brink of bankruptcy. She didn’t need a good match to save her family’s financial situation, and she was the last in the family to be married. Like her sisters, she had a sizeable dowry, but a marriage with a duke was all about prestige, wasn’t it?

Mother pressed her lips. “You won’t disgrace this family by refusing a duke who’s also a family friend.”

It was amazing how Mother’s tone changed from thrilled to menacing in the span of a moment.

Elizabeth matched her mother’s attitude. “If I dislike him, yes, I will.”

Mother leant closer, tensing as she’d done that time she’d slapped Elizabeth. “Listen to me. I’ve put up with your odd behaviour too many times because you were the youngest. Your stubbornness about wanting to study mathematics instead of French, your horrible behaviour when you cheated during that contest, attracting all that attention on us?—”

“I can’t believe you’re bringing that up!”

“And your obsession with that awful young man.” Mother lowered her voice. “Enough. You aren’t a child anymore. You’ll do your duty and marry the duke.”

Tension thickened the space between them so much that Elizabeth could feel its pressure on her chest.

“I don’t want Pearce as my future husband,” she said in a low tone. She hadn’t planned to tell the truth so soon, but Mother knew exactly how to provoke her.

“You’ll be a duchess. What you want doesn’t matter.” Mother showed her teeth.

“My lady,” the maid said, breaking the moment. “Miss Norton wishes to see Lady Elizabeth.”

Mother straightened with an air of triumph. “Show her in.” She leant closer to Elizabeth. “Rebecca and her mother set their eyes on the duke. Too late.”

As if it were a competition. Maybe it was.

Rebecca’s strained smile made Elizabeth think she somehow knew about Pearce’s visit. She dropped a quick curtsy. “Lady Lincoln, Elizabeth.”

“Miss Norton, what a pleasure.” Mother entered the sitting room where the scent of Pearce’s cologne still lingered.

Elizabeth followed reluctantly. She had no intention of being paraded as a trophy. They sat on the sofa and armchairs in a swish of silk and rivalry.

“I hope you don’t mind my calling on you,” Rebecca said without sounding apologetic at all, “but I was walking by and wondering if you’ll be present at the Duke of Grafton’s ball. He sent a formal invitation to me.”

Elizabeth was sorry for her because Mother was about to wipe any traces of gloating from Rebecca’s face. Although she had no idea if Pearce had mentioned a ball.

“We will,” Mother said. “His Grace came here himself to invite us. We’ve just had tea with him, haven’t we, Elizabeth? I’m surprised you didn’t meet him on your way here.”

“Mother,” she whispered. “Will you be present as well, Rebecca?”

Rebecca blinked a couple of times. “Of course. I’m thrilled to go.”

Mother inched closer to Rebecca and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone, but the duke proposed to Elizabeth.”

“Mother!” Elizabeth closed a fist.

The colour drained from Rebecca’s cheeks. “Oh.”

Elizabeth had to endure a scorching glare from her mother and a desolate one from Rebecca.

“You must be happy,” Rebecca said in a quivering voice.

“What about you, my dear?” Mother asked. “Are there any suitors who caught your eye?”

Rebecca flushed to the roots of her hair. Her red cheeks clashed with her glossy chestnut hair. “Baron Hatley seems to show interest.”

Mother waved a hand. “A baron. It seems a good match for the daughter of a viscount. I wish you all the happiness.”

Elizabeth rubbed her temple. If Mother continued, Rebecca would burst into tears. “I wish you well, too.” She meant it.

“Thank you.” Rebecca stood up. “Well, it was lovely seeing you. My lady, Elizabeth.”

“Don’t you want to stay for tea?” Mother asked, all innocence.

“I’d love to, but my mother is waiting for me at home. Another time.” Rebecca walked out of the sitting room with her shoulders slumped.

Mother chuckled when they were alone. “A baron. Oh, goodness. She has no idea.”

“Mother. Please. There was no need to humiliate Rebecca like that.”

“You must be joking. She always tries to overshadow you.” Mother huffed. “And I’m doing her a favour. She isn’t prepared to be a duchess.”

“Nor am I, and Rebecca is very pretty. She easily attracts gentlemen’s attentions. She doesn’t try to overshadow me.”

“Tosh. I understand people better than you do, and let me tell you that Miss Norton isn’t the shy, sweet lady you think she is. She’s a chess player. She won’t come to the ball, mark my word.”

“Why not?”

“Because she was humiliated. She thought the duke was interested in her and came here to boast about her good fortune, only to discover she was utterly wrong. Trust me. She won’t show herself.”

“Poor Rebecca.” Again, she meant it.

* * *

The Duke of Grafton’s townhouse in Belgrave Square could be considered a palace. Elizabeth thought everything about it was excessive.

The cavernous rooms had domed ceilings she found unnecessarily high. The sweeping stairs were large enough to allow six people to walk abreast, and there wasn’t a corner without a priceless porcelain vase, a painting by a master, or an expensive piece of furniture.

Generations of dukes and duchesses stared down at her with disapproval from their portraits as if they knew her heart better than she did.

Elegant guests poured into the ballroom, chatting and laughing. The ladies cast curious glances in her direction from behind their fans. The news of the Duke of Grafton’s proposal had spread faster than the most scandalous gossip. She supposed her mother had something to do with that.

Mother opened her fan, surveying the ballroom as a general would a battlefield. “I was right. Miss Norton didn’t come. She’s at home licking her wounds. Serves her right.”

Elizabeth admitted defeat. “Mother, honestly. This vindictive behaviour of yours is unappealing.”

Wasted breath. Mother didn’t acknowledge her.

“Little coward, she is. She’ll learn to stay quiet before spouting nonsense. And look, everyone envies you.” She said that as if it were something to be proud of.

“The duke and I only agreed to a courtship. Elizabeth hid behind her own fan, tired of having to repeat that.

“Nonsense. The moment you and he dance together everyone will understand how perfect you are together.”

Speaking of the devil. Elegant in a dark tailcoat and a white silk bow tie, Pearce weaved his way through the crowd, bowing and smiling, to stop in front of her. She had to admit his excitement seemed genuine.

“Elizabeth.” He bowed, never averting his gaze from hers. “Lady Lincoln, would you mind terribly if I borrow Elizabeth?”

“Not at all, sir.” Mother bowed her head.

Pearce offered Elizabeth his arm. “Please, my dear.”

She slid her arm over his, sensing the gazes of all the guests on her. “Everyone is looking at us.”

“Yes, isn’t that wonderful?” He bowed his head at a passing lady.

Not really.

“I met Miss Norton yesterday afternoon,” he said. “I believe she’s your friend.”

“We’ve known each other since childhood.”

“I’ve met her at Garrad’s?—”

“Garrad’s?” The jeweller.

“She seemed rather out of sorts. I guess that’s why she didn’t come tonight. She did congratulate me on our engagement though.”

“Courtship.”

“Yes.” He led her out of the ballroom and up the stairs.

“Where are we going?” She wished her voice didn’t sound panicked.

“I want to show you something. Something that will make you understand about us.” He showed her to a room that was as excessive as the rest of the house.

Marble everywhere, heavy walnut furniture, and embroidered brocade curtains. She jolted a little when he shut the door.

“Just a moment of patience.” He opened a safe and pulled out a velvet box.

It couldn’t be … They hadn’t been out together yet. Pearce couldn’t possibly offer her an engagement ring so quickly.

He lifted the lid of the box, revealing the brightest diamond mounted on a gold band she’d ever seen.

“What …” Her mouth grew dry.

“When the Koh-i-Noor was found, it was cut by a master jeweller before it became the diamond our queen wears on her brooch. The diamond on this ring comes from a piece of the Koh-i-Noor, the Mountain of Light itself.” He slid the ring on her finger. “You’ll wear the same diamond as the queen.”

Excessive, of course.

Her first instinct was to shrug her hand and remove the ring. A choking sensation crept over her as the walls seemed to close in on her. She was trapped. Everyone was pushing her to do something she didn’t want to do.

“Pearce, our courtship barely started.” She was growing tired of saying it.

His eyes narrowed to slits. “I just wanted to show you what will be yours if you become my duchess.” He removed the ring and put it back in the box. “You don’t have to remind me we’re just courting every other minute.”

“And you don’t have to push me towards a definite marriage every other minute.”

He shut the safe door with a snappy gesture. “Your parents expect us to be together. We’re the best match in London.”

“Is that a good reason to get married?”

He exhaled as if suddenly tired. “No, of course not. But I wanted to impress you, all right? I saw the ring and thought it’d be perfect on your finger.”

She leant against the wall. Great. Between Rebecca and Mother, everyone believed she was to be engaged to the Duke of Grafton. And Rebecca had seen Pearce buying an engagement ring.

Meanwhile, she had no idea what to do. Her plan to buy time had backfired in a spectacularly terrible fashion.

“The ring is beautiful.” Excessive, but beautiful. “But I don’t want to be rushed.”

Pressing his lips together, he nodded. “Forgive me. I thought you would have loved it and agreed to marry me upon seeing it.”

“I didn’t agree to becoming your duchess, and it takes more than a diamond ring to woo me into marriage.”

“You don’t have to pretend you aren’t interested in the title and my money.” He inched closer, flashing a confident smile. “Or me.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“My opinion of you won’t change if you yield to me now. My marriage proposal will still stand.” He caressed her cheeks, and maybe she was melodramatic, but the sensation was like that of spiders crawling over her skin.

And what did he exactly mean by yielding ? A tumble?

She stepped out of his reach, shaking with a combination of frustration and desperation. “You aren’t listening to me. I really am not interested in your title, money, or … being your duchess.” She regretted the bitterness in her voice. It wasn’t needed, and it poisoned the air between them.

Anger glinted in his icy-blue eyes. “Then why did you agree to be courted?”

Dash it all, that was a good question. “I didn’t want … I thought I needed time.”

It was a short version of her thoughts, but she didn’t want to make her situation worse by admitting to having agreed only to reject him more softly later.

“Again,” he said through clenched teeth, “that’s what a courtship is for. You must like me more than you care to admit if you agreed to be courted by me, or you would have rejected me immediately. You like me. Admit it.”

She liked his brother more. “But all of a sudden the courtship has become a sure engagement.”

He flung the door open. “I’ll take you back to the ballroom.”

Where the guests would make more speculation about their absence.

“No, thank you. I need the ladies’ room.” She hurried out of the room and chose a direction.

Perhaps she was just too bitter, as Mother said.

No, the problem wasn’t her. Or maybe she was. She should have refused the courtship right from the beginning.