Kate Pearce - Educating Elizabeth

It took her only two minutes to find out from the helpful butler that the duke's mother was currently residing in Brighton and had not decided to honor her only son with a visit. She lifted her chin and, head held high, went in search of the duke. She found him in the gold drawing room, sleek head bent over a diminutive lady of indeterminate age who clutched determinedly at his sleeve.

Elizabeth smiled as she curtsied and let the duke see the retribution in her eyes. He inclined his head an indolent half an inch, a suggestion of smug satisfaction in his expression that made Elizabeth long to hit him.

"Ah, Mrs. Waterstone, there you are."

She winced as the duke raised his voice and shouted into the shell like ear of the elderly lady beside him. "Aunt Agnes, this is my guest, Mrs. Waterstone. I was telling you about her earlier."

"Mrs. Waterstone, this is my great aunt, Lady Cottlesmore. She lives in the dower house on the estate with her three unmarried daughters."

Elizabeth glanced over the duke's shoulder at the three drably dressed ladies clustered by the window. She nodded politely and they twittered to each other behind their hands as though she had said something daring.

The duke smiled winningly at Elizabeth and transferred his aunt's hand to her gloved fingers. The duke's aunt looked up at her, avid interest in her shrewd brown eyes.

"Mrs. Waterstone, the duke has told me that you are related to the Diable Delamere family." Her old and quavery voice sounded worse than a badly played violin. "Was your mother one of Matilda's girls?"

Elizabeth lightly fluttered her fan and glared at the duke over the top of it before striving for an airy laugh. "I married into the family, ma'am and cannot consider myself well acquainted with all the branches."

The duke bowed and stepped back. "I shall leave you two ladies to reminisce. I'm sure you will have a lot to talk about."

Elizabeth resigned herself to an uncomfortable half an hour as she led Lady Cottlesmore to the nearest couch and sat down with her, an attentive smile fixed on her face. While the old lady debated family history, mainly to herself, Elizabeth observed the duke as he circled the room, making himself pleasant to his guests.

He seemed more at ease here than he ever did in London. She wished she had a similar refuge and suppressed the unbidden yearning that her refuge could also be his.

With gentle patience, Elizabeth allowed Lady Cottlesmore to talk herself into accepting Elizabeth's relationship with the family before she gracefully made her escape. The duke stood alone by the door after having showed two of his guests outside.

Elizabeth stormed up to him and gave her best curtsey.

"Thank you, Your Grace, for a most stimulating half an hour. I feel as though I'm indeed part of your family now."

"You are quite welcome, my dear. I knew you would enjoy flexing your admirable wits."

Before Elizabeth could answer, a footman appeared and opened the series of connecting doorways that led through to the picture gallery. Several of the guests wandered past them and the duke glanced down at her. "Shall we finish our tour?"

She allowed him to lead her into the picture gallery and stopped dead when her eyes focused on the end table where the duke had abandoned the extra candelabrum. His quiet laughter stirred the soft curls at the nape of her neck and other unmentionable areas.

"It is all right, ma belle . No one would guess you had been made love to in front of that very mirror not an hour ago. You look perfectly respectable, not even a ruffled feather on my little brown bird."

"Your behavior was inexcusable, sir. How dare you pretend I was about to meet your mother?"

The duke spun her away from him and dropped a light kiss on the back of her gloved hand. "I've told you before, Elizabeth, it is one of my ambitions in life to silence you. I can only congratulate myself that my strategy worked so well."

Unable to contain her agitation, Elizabeth moved sharply away from the duke and almost collided with the butler. Her abrupt movements brought her up against the family portraits that she hadn't seen on her previous visit. She stilled as she stared at a wistful young Gervase clutching a puppy, his father's protective hand on Gervase's shoulder.

Elizabeth almost missed the next portrait, which was half hidden in the shadows. In it she recognized the duke and his wife, Imelda. Between them stood a little boy of maybe two or three. Drawn by a strange compulsion, Elizabeth moved closer to study the family grouping. Gervase's son was dark-haired and his eyes slanted up at the corners.

Elizabeth jumped when the duke's hand touched her shoulder. "That is my son, David. I'm told he bore some likeness to me."

She glanced back at the duke but his expression was as devoid of emotion as his voice. "He was a beautiful boy, Your Grace. A credit to his name and his father."

Something flickered in the depths of the duke's silver eyes and his grip on her shoulder tightened for the merest instant. "Thank you, Elizabeth. He was my soul."

"Your Grace?"

The butler stepped up to the duke and Elizabeth turned away to gather her shattered defenses. She had a strange yearning to draw the duke into her arms and comfort him. Instead, she kept out of his way and circled the portrait gallery, stopping to exchange opinions on a family likeness to an old portrait or listen to stories about the duke's parents.

By the time the duke came to find her, she had regained her composure and was able to lay her hand on his arm with calm assurance. He led her back to the dining room where a buffet awaited the guests. He helped her fill her plate and brought her a glass of wine. As she looked around for a place to sit, he gestured toward the opened windows.

"Would you care to sit out on the terrace? It is quite mild."

With a bow, the duke allowed her passage onto the marble-floored terrace. There was no mist this evening and scarcely a breeze to ruffle the leaves on the trees or the skirts of the ladies.

Elizabeth sat and the duke took the chair opposite her. She studied his face in the half-light as he toasted her with his glass.

"You like it here, don't you?" she asked as she sampled one of the delicate lobster patties the duke had heaped on her plate. At his reluctant halfnod, she continued. "Then why do you come here so rarely?"

"Because if I stay here, I begin to regret the man I have to be in London. I begin to doubt that I can continue the masquerade."

"And when does the masquerade stop? When can you simply be yourself?"

His face grew shuttered and he sat back in his chair. "It is not something that needs to concern you, my dear. You are, after all, only here on a temporary basis."

Elizabeth rose and put her wine glass down onto the table with a sharp click. "I hate it when you do this, Gervase. I hate it when you shut me out."

The duke shrugged one elegant shoulder and tilted his head back to look up at her. "My dear Miss Waterstone, hate is such a strong word to use for the emotions than run between us."

"Is it, Your Grace? Then let me bid you goodnight." Elizabeth bobbed him a curtsey and turned to leave. He made no effort to follow her. She walked inside and bade a distracted good night to the remaining guests before retreating up the stairs to her own bedchamber.

The tranquility of the room reached out and embraced her as she closed and locked the door. She kicked off her slippers, walked across to the diamond paned window, and closed the curtains against the darkness of the night. Deep in thought, she drifted her fingers through the dried flower petals in the shallow bowl on her dressing table and breathed in the scent of a long-dead summer.

After a long while, as she listened to the murmur and bustle of the departing guests below her, she undressed. The duke's cutting words reverberated in her head as she tried to consider how to deal with them. She had already glimpsed the man beneath the smooth, harsh façade he presented to the world. She knew that he always regretted her seeing his vulnerabilities and struck back hard to remove all traces of her interest and concern.