Chapter 20

Elizabeth woke, and for a moment, she had forgotten the turmoil of the last few days. The memory rushed in, scalding and heartbreaking. I shall shed no tears today, she silently whispered, getting off the bed. She rang for a lady's maid to assist her with morning toiletries, and an hour later, Elizabeth was dressed in a dark golden day gown, with her hair artfully styled in a simple chignon.

She descended the stairs of her aunt's townhouse. It was quite early still, only ten in the morning, so she made her way to the breakfast room, only to be informed she was needed for a family meeting in the drawing room. Elizabeth did not respond right away to the summons. She went into the breakfast room, took up a plate, and placed slices of ham, bacon, three thinly sliced and buttered toast, and some strawberry preserves onto her plate. She ate, drank two cups of hot chocolate and then made her way to the drawing room.

Her mother and aunt sat, their heads lowered over a newssheet.

"Mother, Aunt Sally," she greeted, making her way over to the sofa and sitting on the sofa opposite them.

Her mother did not speak, merely handing her a section of the newspaper. Elizabeth unerringly found the piece that concerned their family. A tight knot formed in her belly as she read.

Dearest readers,

Another disgraceful scandal involving one of our favorite dukes is spreading like wildfire through the ton. It has been seven days since a certain Miss A was seen in a most salacious embrace with one of society's most delicious dukes. As we all know, Miss A's efforts to secure the hand of the duke is not the first wicked trap the Duke of B escaped. When will our young ladies learn that a certain duke can never be trapped in marriage? Why do they insist on trying?

Given the duke's known apathy to the entire affair, one cannot presume that Miss A might be made respectable through marriage. At least not marriage to the duke! Someone else will have to be brought up to scratch and given that Miss A is an heiress of great wealth, I daresay there will be a line of suitors from which she can make her pick.

This author also wonders if we will soon hear of a duel should Mr. A seek to defend his sister's honor. I declare that Miss A should be ashamed of her social-climbing attempts and return to the shore of her country. This author has learned that the Duchess of B stands in support of her son's decision and would never invite such a bold-faced, outrageous lady to join their family.

I will update our faithful readers more as soon as she ferrets out the truth.

Lady C,

The Daily Gossip

Elizabeth lowered the scandal sheet to the walnut table, glancing up at her mother and aunt, who sat opposite her. They wore the gravest expression as if there had been a death in the family. Her aunt's eyes were reddened by the copious number of tears shed for the last week. She had taken a social blow, for several ladies had thought it necessary to write and withdraw their support for a few charitable endeavors and an invitation to a ball.

"I have called the family meeting to decide what we need to do," Aunt Sally said, staring at her. "We do not have the social influence or power to bring the duke up to scratch."

"I cannot believe a gentleman could be this callous," her mother said faintly. "I keep expecting that he will call and make an offer. His cruel callousness—"

A laugh escaped Elizabeth. "Callous? The duke is not callous."

Her aunt's spine stiffened. "Do you dare defend him after the disgrace that was laid at our door? Have you read the scandal sheet I gave you?"

"It is quite evident I am caught in a most dreadful scandal with the duke. However, this disgrace was brought by both your actions! How could you do this and then lay the blame elsewhere? If I am ruined, it is only because you—"

Her mother pinned her with a fierce glare. "I did what I did for you to secure your future, Bette."

"Mother, you ruined whatever reputation I had! You ruined … ruined the friendship …" Her voice cracked, and her throat closed over the words.

"What is that?" she demanded scathingly. Her mother directed a quelling look at her. "Friendship? Did you think I had no notion of the times you slipped away from a ball to be outside in the gardens with the duke? I saw you both kissing. I had to do something to push his hand, and I promise you will thank me for it."

Elizabeth's heart was shattered. She said, "You will never get my gratitude for compromising me and someone in that shameless manner."

"I caught you a duke!"

She felt a sharp thump of panic, recalling the cold disdain on his face. "You caught me a duke?" Elizabeth cried, tears burning her eyes. "He will never come and make an offer for me. You caught me disgust and resentment from a gentleman who believes I had something to do with this compromising trap! Once his disgust fades, I will then endure his resentment! How could you, Mama?"

"Do not be foolish, Elizabeth. I had the chance to make you a duchess. Do you even try and understand my efforts? There was nothing more important to me than securing a marriage for you. Can you not understand the dread I felt at the thought of you being alone and empty with no children or a husband to call your own? What else can be more important?"

Shocked, she stared at her mother. Who was this creature before her? Surely not the woman who had grown her on tales of falling in love with her father before he had become a magnate, a shipping tycoon revered in their elevated circles in New York.

"Love," Elizabeth said softly, tears stinging her eyes. "Even if not a burning, passionate love, I would hope for a measure of friendship, respect, and affection from the man I marry."

Her mother's expression crumpled. "I only wanted to help you, Bette, and—"

"I did not need that help! I never dreamed of being the Duchess of Basil! I did not dare. When have I ever been so elevated in my ambitions that I thought I could be a duchess? Ladies who are duchesses are born, not American misses who hardly understand the rules of the ton. They are ladies who are taught how to be the perfect hostess for a duke. Duchesses have powerful families and connections to assist their dukes in their political endeavors. I never hungered for that!"

A harsh sob tore from Elizabeth. "I admit it … I fell hopelessly in love with the duke, but I did so knowing our connection was only a moment in time. I would never marry someone through deceptive means, and, Mother, I assure you, His Grace would never bow to such manipulations. He might have returned my sentiments. Then I recall the contempt His Grace had in his eyes when he looked at me and knew I was only being foolish and fanciful. You did not help me. You hurt me terribly."

"You must marry, Bette," another voice said. "If not the duke, someone else. It is the only way to fix this."

She whirled around as her brother walked into the room. His eyes were dark with unnamed emotions, but she was familiar with the way he braced his shoulders in preparation for a fight.

"You are nonsensical," she said, brushing away the tears on her cheeks. "I feel as if my heart shattered, and you speak to me of marrying someone else?"

"Mother told me she saw you clutched in a very intimate embrace with the duke," Brandon said quietly. "That was a few balls ago. She then realized he was taking advantage and tried to force his hand. We cannot blame mama—"

"Do you know so little of my character that you would believe someone has the power to take advantage of me," Elizabeth said softly, standing and walking toward Brandon. "I walked into the duke's arms … willingly. Mama could have spoken to me; she could have tried to understand me or wait to see if what we had could become more. Instead, she was manipulative and deceitful to a man who loathes dishonesty. How … how ..."

Her voice cracked, and she pressed a palm over her mouth, desperate to suppress the awful emotions tearing her apart. "How many times has someone tried to trap the duke into marriage?"

Brandon sighed. "Bette, please—"

"How often," she cried.

"Several times."

"Precisely so. Why would he see mother's effort in a less contemptible light than all others who tried? Why would he see me as different? How can I … resent him for blaming me?"

Her brother tugged her into his arms and hugged her. Shaking, Elizabeth clutched him, sobbing.

"I expect different from Basil," Brandon murmured, "for if he spent time with you, he should have known the measure of woman that you are."

Elizabeth slammed her eyes closed, the pain she had been trying to suppress pouring through her with such intensity that she trembled. For her brother's awareness was one she realized the very first night he walked away from her, that cold, burning contempt in his gaze.

"I am begging you, Bette, please forgive mother and aunt. We need to rally and find a solution, not fight. Marriage is the only way to fix your reputation."

Pulling away from his arms, she stared up at him. Elizabeth gritted her teeth to muster up a rebuke, wanting to let her frustrations and anger at being betrayed out. But what came were more silent tears coursing down her cheeks and a pain so deep she pressed a palm over her chest.

"Bette," Brandon said, sounding shocked. "This is … you … you really love the duke?"

She flinched, lifting her shaking fingers to wipe away her tears. "I never want to speak of the duke again. I am going home."

Her mother frowned. "We are home—" her words broke off sharply.

Elizabeth held her mother's gaze for a few beats, then her aunt's and her brother's. "I am going home to New York, and I am never returning to England."

A reproachful silence lingered, and then her mother sighed heavily. "Must you always be this … decided?"

Elizabeth did not reply. She hastened from the room, ignoring the strident calls of her mother and aunt. Elizabeth went to the library, took a decanter of the viscount's finest brandy, and rushed to her room. She took several swallows, and warmth rushed through her body and unknotted the cold knot of pain and doubt. She drank until the pain blurred, then dropped the empty bottle to the ground, crawled into her bed, burrowed her head beneath the pillow and sobbed.

Elizabeth could not understand the loss she felt. James had not promised her anything beyond their moment, yet how they parted was a burning pain inside her heart that seemed it would never quench. Exhaustion claimed her, and as she slipped into sleep, she silently prayed he would no longer enter her dreams and pierce her heart with love and longing.