Page 69 of Twice Shy
The door closed, and they were left facing each other. Elizabeth was white-faced; he thought she looked haunted. She indicated a chair and invited him to sit, coldly, politely, as if they were mere acquaintances.
‘No, I thank you. I … How is your hand?’ He sounded calm, though his heart was racing.
Elizabeth remained standing also, as if to be seated put her at a disadvantage. ‘Healing, thank you.’
There was an awkward pause.
‘You read my letter.’ It was a fatuous statement, since if she had not read it he would not be standing before her now. ‘Did you, do you, believe what I wrote in it?’
She averted her eyes. ‘I do not see that it is very important, whether I do so or not, Sir Lucius.’ Her voice was flat.
He took two strides towards her, and she stiffened as he held out his hand. He let it fall.
‘It is, of all things, the most important to me. Whatever you feel, you must know the truth, know that whatever338hurt I did you was not intended. I regretted it even as I said it, made efforts to disguise it, retract it. I was stupid, thoughtless, chagrined, call it what you will, but …’
‘It is best forgotten, sir, so we will not mention it again. Indeed, there should be no reason for us to meet, since I do not intend to visit London in the future. You have confirmed to yourself that I have accepted your apology, though travelling all this way seems rather a waste of your time—’ She heard her own voice as if it were another’s.
‘You know that was not the main reason.’
‘—and effort.’ She ignored his interjection. ‘Let us shake hands, and part without bad feeling between us.’
She held out her hand and he took it, not to shake it, but rather to turn it, palm uppermost, so he could see the short, still livid scar. Before she could close her fingers or snatch the hand away, he bent and kissed it, very softly, and then straightened to look her in the eyes.
‘Elizabeth. At Lady Jersey’s … it was the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong words, even. I took you by surprise. That your anger, your revulsion even, led to you being hurt … I blame myself, and it weighs heavily upon me. You know why I had to come and see you today. What I said that night I meant, though it came out so badly. Before I was traduced to you, I thought perhaps you were not without some feeling towards me, that my offer might not be, despite your demeanour to almost every man in London, unwelcome to you. I do not make it upon a whim, or out of guilt, but because I love you. I love you and cannot imagine ever being happy again without you.’ His grip tightened; his voice dropped.
339‘I am not a man who has simply decided it was time I settled down and set up my nursery, and picked the likeliest filly up to my weight, among those trotted out for inspection. Yes, you may look shocked, but that it how it has always seemed to me. Every Season the matchmaking mamas bring out their young stock, and parade them as if it were Tattersall’s ring. Well, I am happy to pick horseflesh that way, but not a wife. I knew there would have to be more, but had never found it, until you, until I saw you out riding. When we were introduced, when we danced together, you were just a beautiful woman with some unexplained dislike of my sex, but in the fresh air, especially upon a horse worthy of you, you were a different person. You were open and vibrant, unafraid, admirable, and that admiration became adoration, became love. You built a wall about you, to protect yourself, and if I cannot break it down, then I am willing to scale its heights and live within it with you. I would be your protection. I am asking you to marry me, Elizabeth, because you mean more to me than anything in this world.’
She stared him, not angry this time, not revolted, but confused. She tried to pull her hand away, but half-heartedly, and he did not free it.
‘No, please, it isn’t fair.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper, and there was a catch in it. ‘You don’t mean it. They never do.’
‘They?’ he queried, but she ignored him, talking half to herself.
‘You let down your guard, you trust, you offer your heart, and ultimately a man will drop it into the dust and340walk away, sooner or later. Please, not again.’ She blinked at him, her eyes misting, and frowned as if she had forgotten he was there for a moment. ‘I could not bear it again.’
‘I will not let you down. I love you.’
‘Ah, no. That is the lie. I shall not be deceived, must not let myself be deceived, a third time.’
‘A third time, Elizabeth?’ If she was recalling Freshford, he understood, but he had no knowledge of any suitor since.
‘With Henry, I thought it was different. It seemed so natural, so easy. He said he cared. He said the same old lies, but they sounded so sincere, right up to the point when he abandoned me. When … when my father died, he came to me, all consolation, and I felt so safe. Yet after that day I did not see him again, nor did he even write to explain. He just dropped me like a stone into a pool, to sink. One word from his family and I was not even worth an explanation.’ She spoke without anger, but with immense disappointment.
‘Freshford was a weak fool. A man who loved youwould not have abandoned you.’
‘But my father did.’
It was such a simple statement, and explained so much. He had wondered why the disappointment at eighteen had been so profound, and had come to the conclusion that it was as much to do with embarrassment at the humiliation as any broken heart, for adolescence saw hearts break and mend easily enough. Now, he saw that Freshford had been the final confirmation of perfidy, just when a vulnerable girl had thought, hoped, that the giddy spiral of ‘falling in love’ meant that it would prove stronger than the bond of paternal affection.
341‘We were happy, a happy family, a loving family. I loved Papa, as I loved Mama, and Charles, my little brother. I had a perfect existence, until I was ten. And then suddenly, they were gone, Mama and Charles, and there was just the two of us, and Papa turned his back on me, avoided me. He rarely spoke to me, hid himself away, and when my aunt offered to take me to Marden when I was thirteen, he was glad to be rid of me. What love was there then? None.’
Sir Lucius paused, and then said gently, ‘Forgive me, but your uncle is fair, and I dimly recall that it was so with all the Ashling brothers. I take it you are more like your mother.’
‘Very like, according to my aunt. I sometimes catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and it reminds me, but perhaps that is just fanciful, and because of us both being dark.’
‘Then is it not entirely possible that your father, bereft of an adored wife, could not bear to see the daughter so like her, and yet not her? Grief takes people in different ways.’
‘But I too grieved. I was so alone. I needed him, needed to be loved still.’ It was a cry, the cry of a lonely and confused child.
