Until her bare foot had landed soundly on a bee, and she had been stung.
The dowager’s refusal to relent was akin to that sting, only it was lodged deeper. And she knew that she didn’t have her mother waiting to soothe her and remove the stinger. This time, she was alone. But not unlike that day, she had gone heedlessly rushing into something she never should have.
She could see that now.
The dowager wasn’t ready. Perhaps she never would be. Her hurt was too great, and in her mind, Elizabeth was partially responsible for dealing the last of the painful blows.
“I am sure Lady Althorp’s daughter would have made Torrie a lovely bride as well,” she agreed, pleased with herself at the steadiness of her voice. “I am certain her bloodlines are faultless and she is the loveliest of debutantes. I have no doubt I cannot match her beauty or grace. However, I am the woman your son has married. And one day, I hope that you will be able to see beyond the pain to which you cling. When you do, I’ll be waiting, and so shall he.” She dipped into a curtsy—the finest one she had ever performed. “I bid you a good day, my lady, and I do hope you enjoy your call on Lady Althorp.”
With that, she turned away again before the other woman could spy the sheen of tears in her own eyes. Defeat sat heavily on her heart as she made her way back to the breakfast room.
CHAPTER12
Elizabeth was in the music room, playing the pianoforte, a skill which she hadn’t had the opportunity to practice for her own pleasure in years. Lady Andromeda had been forced to sell her pianoforte some time ago, and then Elizabeth had spent her time in service, as a governess. Her every occasion to play had been teaching her charges.
Now, here, at last, was yet another small freedom she’d been denied. Gradually, one by one, they had amassed. And she hadn’t realized how much she had missed these tiny parts of her former self until one day, they had simply all been gone. She had packed her meager belongings, bid Lady Andromeda farewell, and she had gone on to her post.
Warming to her cause, she played on. Song after song, until her fingers grew tired from the effort, and at last she finished with a lively tune that had always been one of her favorites. At the last note, she sighed happily, feeling that same sense of deep contentment that washed over her when she was in Torrie’s arms.
It felt right, being here.
Being his wife.
Tooright.
Everything in her life that had been good had always been stolen from her too soon—her parents, her childhood, her freedom, her happiness, the only true home she had ever known. Heavens, even the funds left in trust to her by her parents had been depleted without her knowledge. It stood to reason that it would be no different with Torrie, and that she would lose him and this fledgling happiness as well. Perhaps he would grow tired of her. He would take a mistress. He would regain his memory and recall her as the plump, plain partridge he had once derided.
The thought of it made guilt slice through her. For she knew that he suffered, living a life he couldn’t remember, even if he had told his mother that he preferred the man he was now to the man he had been.
Surely, the weight of not remembering was a mantle he wore heavily, for the way it affected his relationships with his friends and family. She had no doubt that if he could recall his past, a burden would be lifted from his shoulders. And she wanted that for him. Wanted the conflict which had been brewing between himself and the dowager to fade.
And in the same respect, she hated herself for being so greedy and selfish, for also wanting him as he was instead of as he had been. For fearing he would no longer want her if his past were suddenly restored to him.
“That was a heavy sigh following such a spirited reel.”
At Torrie’s deep voice behind her, she gave a jolt, spinning to find him crossing the room to her, the door closed behind him. She hadn’t heard him enter, nor had she heard the door snap shut.
Elizabeth rose from the bench, feeling more vulnerable and awkward than she did when they were naked and alone together, her feelings so raw and close to the surface. “How long were you standing there, listening to me play?”
“Since several songs ago now.” He gave her the slow, intimate smile that never failed to make everything inside her melt. “You are exceptionally talented, Bess. I hope you don’t mind. I intended to make my presence known, but then I also hated interrupting. Listening to you play soothes me.”
His words filled her with warmth. His gaze burned into hers.
“I missed you,” she blurted.
Stupidly.
Had she not promised herself that she would control her emotions where he was concerned? That she would not open herself to hurt any more than was utterly necessary?
But Torrie’s sensual mouth quirked into an instant smile, and he closed the last of the distance separating them, taking her into his arms as if it were the most natural of actions.
And to Elizabeth, it felt as if it were. In his arms was her favorite place to be. It occurred to her suddenly, with potent power, that Torrie felt more like a home to her than any of the roofs she had ever had above her head.
“I missed you too, love.” He kissed the tip of her nose—the pointed tip she despised—in a tender gesture that made her heart skip a beat. “It’s been years since I left your bed this morning, and I couldn’t bear another second from your side.”
A giggle slipped from her at his extravagant declaration, meant in jest, for that was another side of her husband she was coming to know—he could be lighthearted as well as charming when he chose. And heaven help her, she liked every new side of him she met. Liked them all far, far too much.
“It has only been hours, not years,” she corrected gently, twining her arms around his neck.
