Chapter Twenty

Widow Abbott's cottage…

Elizabeth dumped another drawer over in Widow Abbot's boudoir. "Damn it!" she muttered. It simply had to be here.

According to that overly pious and simple Vicar John, the widow possessed a necklace. It had been given to her by her late husband and was said to be a family heirloom worth a fortune. Even though the widow had been forced to economize somewhat when her husband passed, she never dreamed of parting with it.

Unknown to Frances, the widow had confided to the Vicar that she intended to leave the necklace to her niece. Elizabeth rolled her eyes—what a perfectly good waste of fantastic jewelry.

There was one untouched drawer remaining, and just as she reached for it, she heard his voice.

"It isn't in there." The deep baritone rumbled over her.

She froze, her heart pounding through her chest, her mind racing a million miles a minute, her breath catching in her throat. This was it; this was how it all would end. She knew that all her lies would catch up to her somehow. Somehow, she just didn't think that today would be that day.

"Are you even going to look at me?" he rumbled again, this time closer.

She hadn't even heard him move. By now, he was almost upon her, and she closed her eyes like a child trying to pretend he couldn't see her if she didn't see him.

She felt his gloved hand tilt her face, and it was then that she realized she had been crying. This wasn't where she should be. This wasn't what she should be doing. This wasn't who she was.

"Look at me." His voice was firm.

She shook her head no, but he grasped her chin more firmly.

"Now, Elizabeth," he demanded, and her eyes flashed open in irritation at his command. He smiled faintly. "There's the woman I know. What have you done with your maid?"

"I sent her to the village," she said stubbornly.

He nodded briefly. "Clean this up as quickly as you can. I've just had an enlightening conversation with your uncle. It would seem you are about to be wed."

All the color fled from her face. "When did you see him? What does he want?"

"I imagine speaking with you about the many debts you have. Gracious, Elizabeth, it's astonishing how many times you gave your vowels out, knowing you hadn't the coin to repay. Not to mention extravagant bills at the dressmaker's, mantua maker's, haberdashery—shall I go on?"

She sank onto a chair, a shaking hand coming to her throat. "No, that is quite enough, thank you."

"That's why you were trying to rob the Widow Abbott, is it not?" he ground out, disgusted.

She hung her head in shame. "Yes."

"And struck your mother with a bottle?" he added incredulously.

She flushed hotly. "You think you know everything! You sit there judging me, always judging me. You and your brothers and my cousins have always hated me. Do you know what it's like to know, even from a young age, that you are not wanted? Are you so unlovable, even unlikable, that people don't want to be in the same room? I know that I've done wrong. I've done so many, many things wrong. Maybe there isn't any good in me. But you have no right to tell me how to treat my mother when you have no idea what happens between us. Now, please leave. I have a lot of work here if I'm going to get this all cleaned up."

He looked at her, clearly taken aback. Elizabeth was shaking with emotion, her eyes glowing and her voice trembling. Did she feel that she was unlikable, unlovable?

She turned away quickly and started to replace the items in the drawers. He knelt and assisted her. There wasn't another word spoken between them.

It took almost an hour, but when the last item was put away, he turned to her and offered his arm.

Elizabeth sighed and placed her hand through it, feeling his strength. She needed his physical and emotional support, knowing it was time to face the music. "Let's go home, Robert."

---

At dinner, the Baron had dropped a little bombshell of his own.

"You've arranged a marriage for Cousin Elizabeth?" Eli asked hesitantly.

The Baron looked quite pleased with himself as he slurped his pea soup. "Indeed, I have found a country squire in Bedfordshire willing to take the chit. Devil of a time finding a man willing to take that tart after the mess she's made, but I did get one up to scratch. I knew I could."

CeCe winced at her father's vulgar manners and wondered if they had always been thus. It was true. They had spent little time in his presence.

No one knew how to reply to such a statement, but Eli tried to offer a somewhat sickly smile, and Spencer tipped his cup toward the Baron.

Charles simply stared at CeCe, which did not go unnoticed by the Baron.

"Is there a reason the Rotherford boy looks at you like a love-sick calf?"

Eli and Spencer suddenly developed a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

"If I could have a moment of privacy with you, my Lord," Charles asked.

But the Baron, always difficult, said, "Don't see why I should leave my dinner; the pheasant is getting ready to be served."

CeCe bristled. "You are seriously thinking of speaking marriage contracts over dinner and in mixed company?"

"Marriage contracts?" the Baron looked confused. "Why on earth would I need to draw up those? The Rotherford family has more money than Midas. He certainly doesn't need anything else from me. It's clear he already intends on taking my only daughter."

CeCe looked at the man she had thought to be her father for much of her life and saw him for the first time for what he truly was: a selfish, bitter, lonely old man. Perhaps they could have had a loving father-daughter relationship. They could have even had a close niece-uncle relationship. But what they had was essentially nothing. They were strangers.

Charles broke the silence. "Baron Mangrove, I'd like to ask for permission to officially take your daughter's hand."

"If she wants you, she can have you," he said gruffly, digging into his Teaberry tart, but not before adding a dig at Cousin Elizabeth for being a much bigger tart than the one he was currently enjoying.

And CeCe knew that was about as sentimental as her father was likely going to get.