She watched carefully when he exchanged pleasantries with PhoebeSwinnamer. Beth could not hear the words, but his attitude was friendlyand brotherly. In as far as she was capable of it. Miss Swinnamer lookedcross, and Beth took unkind satisfaction from that. It was unfortunate buthuman to dislike a young woman who was so set up in her own opinion andwho clearly regarded Beth as something lower than an earthworm.
The next day brought the vicar and his wife in the company of SirGeorge Matlock, the local squire, and Lady Matlock. They, too, Beththought, looked at her with a trace of puzzlement, but accepted matters,doubtless due to the marquess’s excellent acting. They were also, however,inclined to gush. Beth found it strange to be looked up to as a member ofthe ducal family when she still felt like Beth Armitage theschoolmistress.
She feared it would be much more of the same at the upcoming ball. Bethhelped the duchess and Mrs. Sysonby to address the hundredinvitations.
“I confess,” she remarked as she dipped her pen into the standishagain, “this seems a great many invitations for a country ball.”
“Oh, but this is a small affair,” said the duchess. “As there will beother events in London we are only asking the local people and at leasthalf will have to decline, my dear.” She tidied one stack with deftfingers. “Men are still in the Shires hunting. Women are visiting family.Some have already gone up to Town to prepare for the Season. But, even so,they would be affronted if we failed to send an invitation.”
This was no relief to Beth. She could still apparently expect overthirty families to come and gawk. She wished she was being sent aninvitation, for then she presumably could refuse.
She supposed the marquess, too, wished he could escape the event. He atleast escaped to London to execute the duchess’s commissions. Before heleft he sought out Beth in the library.
“I felt for form’s sake I should take a tender farewell of you,” hesaid dryly.
“Consider it taken,” she responded in the same manner. She would nevershow weakness before him again.
That didn’t prevent a tremor of nervousness when he walked toward herwindow seat. He brought to mind a big cat stalking its prey and she wastrapped in the deep embrasure. She began to fear he might break hispromise and assault her, but he merely removed her book from her laxfingers and glanced at the title.
“Sallust?” he noted in surprise. “You read Latin?”
How typical that he should think it remarkable. “Yes,” she said coldly,“I read Latin. It isn’t always easy, but it is good exercise for the mind. . .” Her voice trailed off because he had sat beside her and taken herhand. Quite gently. There was no anger on his face, only bemusement.
“I find you impossible to understand, Elizabeth,” he said thoughtfully.“You read Latin and refuse a fortune in jewels. And yet you claim to be?”
“I explained that,” Beth interrupted angrily, dragging her fingers fromhis hold.
He shook his head and put the book, open, in her hands again. “Read mea passage and translate it.”
With a grunt of anger Beth slammed the book closed. “Putting me to thetest again?” she exclaimed. She waved the tome in his face. “Really, mylord. Do you think knowledge of Latin a proof of virtue? What then of thewhole of the male aristocracy?”
Disarmingly, he laughed. “Ah, but it’s the Greek that does us in.”
He gently rescued the book and let it fall open again. He smiled as heread, “ ‘Ita in maxima fortuna minima licentia est.’I seem to remember atHarrow I didn’t believe that high station limited freedom. Perhaps oldGaius Salustius had something after all.” He closed the book and placed iton the seat. “Can we possibly, do you think, cry quarter? This is allgoing to drive me mad. If you are willing to behave like a lady, the leastI can do is act the gentleman. I promise never to refer to our unfortunateconversations again.”
Beth rose to her feet, partly in a simple need to move away from him.There was something disturbing in his mere proximity, especially when hewas in a mellow mood. “That would be an improvement,” she responded. “Butcan you forget them?”
“I can try,” he replied. “At least until you give me further reason todoubt you.”
An angry retort rose to her lips, but Beth suppressed it. She, too,found it unbearable to live in a state of war. She studied him and decidedhe was completely honest. “Truce then,” she said, holding out herhand.
He took it and kissed her fingers formally.“Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit.Truce, Elizabeth.”
With that he turned and quietly left. Beth had to work out atranslation of his words. Something like, “Someday it may be pleasant toremember this.” Why was she disconcerted to discover him well-educated? Hehad doubtless spent most of his youth declining Latin and translatingCicero. But was she not even to be able to retain a sense of superiorityas defense?
With one hand covering the spot on the other where he had placed thatsoft kiss, Beth dealt with conflicting feelings. For the first time theyhad met in honesty and reached an agreement. Perhaps there was some hopeof building a relationship of respect.
On the other hand she was aware of a dangerous response within herselfto his kindness and intelligence. Her anger and disdain had formed abulwark. Without it she feared the marquess could steal her heart aseasily as plucking a flower from a stem, and probably asmeaninglessly.
It might perhaps have been safer to continue the war.
More than ever she needed an adviser. She suddenly remembered she had afather.
The duke was the originator of all her troubles. Why then should he notbear the burden of them?
But how was it to be accomplished? They met at dinner and for part ofthe evening but rarely otherwise. Send one of the footmen? With a note ora verbal message? She was tempted to give up, but the project assumed thenature of a challenge., an opportunity to prove to herself that she couldcope in the structured world of Belcraven. A little nervously she rang thebell. A footman quickly came in. “Miss Armitage?”
“I wish to speak to the duke, Thomas,” said Beth.
