“Fear not, she won’t hurt the maid. Her anger is well directed,” he said wryly. “I will talk to her.” He slowly mounted the stairs, his steps measured and apprehensive. From her room he heard sharp murmurings, rending of fabric, thumps, and small crashes. He winced, then tentatively raised his hand to knock on the door.
“Go away, I do not want anything,” came her voice sternly through the closed door.
“Bess, I have to talk to you.” He inclined his head toward the door listening for her response.
“You! What happened, did I cause you to lose a bet, or are you upset I failed to know my lines?”
“Listen to me. It’s true, at first I was enacting Petruchio’s role and thought to treat you like Katharine. I studied the play carefully and even went so far as to make notes.”
“You have done a masterful work. I’m sure someone will commend you for it,” she ground out.
“My family had been importuning me for the past year to marry and fulfill my obligations, yet all they would recommend for wives were meek little paragons while I desired a woman of personality. If I wanted a meek wife to mouth words of duty toher husband and would call him lord and master, I would have married one of the women my family put forth.”
“There would be no sport in that and no monetary gain, save for a dowry,” she snapped back.
He sighed and ran a distracted hand through his hair. “I would have done it without the bets. Please let me in so I can explain and won’t have to stand here baring my soul to the entire household.”
“It will do you good, perhaps even give you a mite of character—if you’re lucky.”
“Bess!”
“No!” Her voice turned low and harsh. “I have played the fool and thought to grab a chance at love. Love, ha! A cat’s satisfaction at catching its prey. This prey is prey no longer, and I’ll see you the fool ’ere I play jester for your cronies’ entertainment again.”
“Bess, I love you too. That’s the damnable thing about this entire mess. I love you to distraction and was hoping to show you this night the proof of my affections.”
“That you have done full well, thank you. I don’t need your kind of affection.”
“Bess, please!”
Inside the bedroom Elizabeth cringed at his call. He was such a good actor. He should have trod the boards. She had waited so long to hear him say he loved her that even now, even with the knowledge of his deceit, his manipulation, and falseness of his feelings, she was still moved by his words. The silken thread of her control snapped, allowing the tears she’d bottled inside her to flow. With a strangled sob she threw herself on her bed to muffle the sound as copious tears fell.
St. Ryne strained to hear her answer, wondering if that was a sob he heard. He banged on the door impatiently and shook the lock, yet the door remained closed to him. In disgust, he flunghimself away and stumbled back down the stairs to his library and a brandy bottle.
Ivy, Elizabeth’s little country maid, clucked her tongue and shook her head at the carryings on of gentry. She crossed to the bed to sit beside her mistress and stroke her head in comfort, for when all was said and done, whatever be a person’s class, true suffering was the same.
CHAPTER 14
Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself;
Tis thought your deer does hold you at bay.
Act V, Scene 1
Elizabeth woke well before the first rays of dawn touched London rooftops. The dull throbbing in her head from the night before had grown into searing pain, her eyes and chest uncomfortable from prolonged weeping. She rolled over listlessly in bed and looked about the dark room, her eyes dimly discerning the shadows of her rage. Fuzzily she ran her hand across her brow as if to pull her thoughts together.
She lurched sideways out of bed. She had made plans last evening, plans for this dark morning. She pressed the heels of her hands against her agonizing temples and sat down again on the edge of the bed.
A soft scratching at her door roused her.
“Mistress?” called a quiet voice, “be you awake?”
Elizabeth rose and hurried to the door. “Shush, yes I’m awake.” She unlocked the door to let her maid slip in with a tray of hot chocolate. “Well?” she asked.
“I doubt anyone be rising early today with all the hue and cry of last night. His lordship drunk himself into a stupor, he did, and had to be carried to bed. I saw the butler remove an empty spirits bottle and confide to Mr. Cranston it were brandy. Like as not he’ll have an awful head.”
“It couldn’t be any worse than mine,” Elizabeth said dully, as she sat down on a small sofa by the fireplace. “Can I fetch you some lavender water, my lady?”
“No, I doubt it would help.”
