Page 5 of Love Abandoned

It appeared Walford took direction well and had no issue dancing with his own wife before making an effort with others. Strains of the next dance were beginning, wafting through the air from the far side of the room where the orchestra assembled on a stage. It would be beastly to leave Elizabeth to sit while her friends were on the floor. He, too, held out his hand. “Lady Thornwood?”

She seemed to hesitate before placing her hand in his, and even with the glove as a barrier, it sparked a heated reaction in his body. God give him strength.

*

Richard let goof her hand to take his place in the line on the other side. Elizabeth slipped in beside Catherine. Sophia and the duke, having more superior ranks, were positioned closer to the lead of the line. Catherine smiled at her but quickly returned her attention back to her husband. Lord Walford was grinning lasciviously back at his wife, and Richard, in contrast, seemed to want to look anywhere but at his.

Despite his disinterest, Elizabeth remained attracted to him. She didn’t want to be. Life would be so much easier if she weren’t, but she could not lie to herself. She yearned for him daily and wished nothing more than to return to the early days of their marriage. When he’d touched her hand a moment ago, she was certain a frisson sparked between them. She was sure he’d felt it too, but he’d dropped her hand as quickly as he’d taken it.

The line moved, and she shifted, continuing to eye Richard. She didn’t often see him in knee breeches anymore. Of course, she didn’t often see him at all. He spent more time in London than he did in the country. While she respected his excuse of attending to parliamentary and business matters, being left to rusticate in the country had become tedious. His Christmas visit had been short and altogether unsatisfying. He’d spent more time with the boys and the horses than he had with her. Each time she’d tried to broach discussion of their relationship, he’d excuse himself for estate business.

She had spontaneously decided to join him in town. She’d hoped the surprise might ignite a flame. Instead, he’d awkwardly greeted their arrival and turned his attention to the children. She had been hard-pressed to get a commitment from him to join her here this evening, and only the threat of gossip had secured an agreement. At least the pressure of societal judgment held some sway, because apparently she held none.

They stepped toward one another and, hands held high, pressed palm to palm before turning and walking through the row of people. The assembly might believe he looked at her, but she knew the truth. He looked through her, his eyes a painted still life. Elizabeth’s heart plummeted to her stomach. Did he care so little for her now that he could not bear the sight of her? They separated at the end of the line and took their places opposite each other.

The music, lively and cheerful, helped her maintain a smile, though her cheeks hurt with the effort. Laughter surrounded her. Hopeful young women in playful conversation with potential suitors. Matrons deep in dreaming about how they could manipulate the marriage mart in favor of their children, strategizing for the season to come. Their husbands, no doubt, sharing some ribald story and keeping an eye on their pocket watches, calculating when they could safely sneak out to their gambling. The noise enveloped her, smothering her, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She stumbled out of line, desperately looking around for an empty spot on the benches.

“Elizabeth,” Richard said quietly in her ear, grabbing her elbow and steadying her. “Are you unwell?”

She looked at him. Her Richard was back. His eyes no longer vacant, she saw genuine concern in them. She could breathe again. She inhaled deeply, and slowly exhaled, before daring to answer. “I believe I was overwhelmed by the heat.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed solicitously, and he led her to a darkened corner under the far balcony where, blessedly, the bench was empty. “Sit,” he commanded.

She did as told, grateful to get off her feet again. She’d not registered how much her toes hurt until this minute. She bent over, slid out of her slippers, and gasped. Her lovely stockings were ruined.

“Elizabeth,” Richard said and fell to one knee. He grabbed her right foot. “Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath.

Bloodywas the correct word, for her stocking was red with it. “Richard,” she squeaked as he reached under her skirt and untied her garter.

“Hush,” he said, so softly and tenderly she was momentarily disoriented. She glanced around. They were partially tucked in the corner, and no one seemed interested in them. He gently unrolled the stocking, and she winced as he pulled it off. Her large toenail was torn at a haphazard angle, the missing piece nowhere to be seen. In all likelihood, it remained in the stocking, not that she wished to check and verify that.

Richard grimaced and repeated the procedure with the other leg, although the revelations there were much less dramatic, only broken blisters mingling with fresh ones. He looked at her and frowned. “Dear God, Elizabeth, your feet must sting like the devil. Why would you wear these? Why would you bear it?” He dangled the offending slippers.

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip, fighting tears. How could she tell him it was because they were her favorite? She’d worn them when they’d first danced. She’d worn them when he had proposed to her, on one knee much like now, charmingly explaining how life with him was her only choice for, he’d declared, he would die without her. And how could she tell him they no longer fit because carrying their children had flattened her feet into ducks’ feet? She shrugged a shoulder and said nothing.

Richard shook his head and stood. “Wait here.”

She watched him disappear into the throng of people before glancing at her feet. They were a proper mess. But Richard’s touch lingered, and she could not regret that. Nor the caring in his eyes. This was not the way she meant to entice him back to her, but she’d take whatever she could get.

“Oh my,” Catherine said as she came around the corner and spied Elizabeth’s feet. “They must hurt terribly.” She took a seat and put her hand on Elizabeth’s. “Whyever didn’t you say something?”

Elizabeth didn’t answer the question for Catherine either. Only Sophia knew about the detachment between her and Richard, and it was Elizabeth’s desire to keep it that way. “Where is Richard?” she asked.

“He’s sent Nicholas to get the carriage, and he and Bentley are checking to see if there is a more discreet exit to use. Although”—Catherine looked pointedly around at the matrons who were now taking notice—“I suspect you will be in tomorrow’sMorning Chronicle, regardless of how discreet Richard is.” She grinned. “And I can say I saw it all. We don’t have this kind of excitement in our corner of the country.”

Elizabeth smiled back, genuinely this time. “Nor in mine,” she said, picturing Richard’s fingers as they’d gently unrolled her stockings.

“The carriage will be at the side door. You can take the back stairway,” Nicholas said to Richard as they arrived from opposite directions.

“Thank you, Walford.”

“I’ll come with you,” Catherine announced, jumping lithely to her feet, her condition not yet encumbering her movements. “You’ll need someone to administer to those,” she said, pointing at Elizabeth’s feet.

Elizabeth fought disappointment, but how could she turn Lady Walford away when she was being all that was kind?

“No need,” Richard said. “Enjoy the remainder of the evening.” He bent over and slid an arm under Elizabeth’s legs. “Put your arm around my neck.”

Her heart pounded as Richard picked her up. She caught the knowing smiles on the Walfords’ faces, and the smirks on those standing by, as Richard elbowed his way through the crowd, toward the stairwell at the back of the building. Let them smile. Let them smirk. Let them write all about it in the broadsheets. Tonight, she was exactly where she wanted to be. In Richard’s arms.

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