“What?”He stared at her blankly.
“You did hear correctly,” she said. “It is all I have to say. Come, Nelson.”
“Wait.” Colin held up one hand. “My betrothal? But there is no such thing. I have not even offered for Miss Dunmore. I am not even…What…Did Mother send you? Does she known you are here?”
“Of course she does not,” she said. “Nelson?”
His brother-in-law approached across the room, nodded to Colin as he passed, and opened the door for his wife. Blanche left without another word and Colin found himself staring at the closed door.
What the devil?
Until a few days ago he had not exchanged a single word with Blanche for eight years. They had never been close. The twelve-year gap in their ages had been virtually insurmountable while they were growing up. She had never seemed to like him, and he could not pretend ever to have felt particularly fond of her. For reasons of her own she had chosen to stay loyal to their mother and to be her virtual shadow even after her marriage to Nelson. She had no children and no sense of humor—strange that those two things seemed to go together in his mind. Yet now, right out of the blue, she had chosen to come here, where the presence of ladies was much frowned upon, to warn him that his mother was up to one of her manipulative tricks—though a particularly outrageous one even for her. She was about to have his betrothal announced and make it next to impossible for him to withdraw.
Good God!
Did Lady Dunmore know about it? But it seemed unlikely that his mother would have gone to these lengths without the lady having at least some inkling of what was in the wind. Did Miss Dunmore know? And approve? But Colin had the feeling that that young lady was not often consulted on her own future.
What the devil was he going to do?
And why had Blanche broken the silence of years and the indifference of a lifetime to come here to warn him? He assumed itwasa warning. Had their mother finally done something to outrage even her? Did she not want the competition of a younger, very lovely sister-in-law to take attention from herself? Yet strangely he had never sensed any real vanity in Blanche.
Did it matter what her motive had been?
The notice was to be in tomorrow’s papers? Was it too late to stop it? Surely not. But…
He had been pacing the living room floor. He halted in the middle of it now, his hands clasped at his back, his eyes closed. Suddenly he felt overwhelmed. Everything had slipped from his grasp. His resolutions of a few months ago were in tatters, his dreams transformed into nightmares. He had decided to step out into his own life and take charge of it, to make something meaningful of it, forge his adult identity, become the man he could be proud of being. He had hoped for a little happiness along the way. Perhaps a lot of happiness.
He might have known it would not be possible. He might have known that his mother, given the smallest chance, would shape his life as she wanted it to be—something that would reflect favorably upon her, something she could control and bring into her own orbit.
Except that…His arms dropped to his sides and he clenched his fists. His eyes were still closed.
Except that he did not have to let it happen.
As far as he knew, no one had ever fought against his mother and won. Was there any reason to suppose that he could be the one exception?
Was there any reason to suppose he could not?
At the same moment he knew very well what had been happening with Elizabeth—or rather with her reputation. Perhaps he had suspected it from the start and had known it almost for sure as soon as he had learned from Alexander that Sir Geoffrey Codaire had left town the very day of their confrontation at White’s. Now he knew it for certain.
Was he going to go down to defeat without even a fight?
Was he going to allow Elizabeth to suffer the sort of vicious character assassination that was almost impossible to fight against because it was being orchestrated by an expert who never lost?
No, he was not. By God he was not!
•••
Elizabeth went out during the morning when Wren invited her to go with her to see the new display of her Heyden glassware at a shop that regularly sold it.
Elizabeth was glad of the outing. Despite her resolutions of the day before yesterday and yesterday morning, she was unnerved by the ferocity of the stories that were being told about her. She was bewildered too. Why was it happening? Who could hate her so much.Geoffrey?But despite his unexpected jealousy and the spite with which he had spoken to her in Avery’s library, she could not believe he would so relentlessly set out to blacken her name and make it impossible for her to remain in London.
She had not been out since yesterday morning, when she and Anna had each bought a bonnet and Jessica had bought two. They went and looked and admired and were made much of by the shop owner—at least, Wren was. He assured her that her pieces were more sought after by his customers than any others. They met absolutely no one Elizabeth recognized. They arrived home late for luncheon and almost late for Nathan’s feed.
“He is just beginning to think about being cross,” Alexander said, bouncing the baby, who was cradled in the crook of one arm. He kissed Wren on the nose as she gathered Nathan in her arms and took him up to the nursery. Alexander turned to Elizabeth, frowning.
“What?” she asked. “There is more, I suppose.”
“I do not know where whoever it is it finds his material,” he said, tight-lipped. “All sorts of stories from the years of your marriage to Overfield. Stories from last year and this year and even Christmastime. Some of them are even partially recognizable. Someone is finding these stories and twisting them quite maliciously.”
