Now that her little niece was born, her heart expanded more than she thought possible. She, who used to feel so alone in the world, had a niece! One who would grow up knowing her, the true Lizzie, for who she was instead of for what her thoughtless parents did.
The thought was heady and a welcome distraction from the little stabs of pain she felt whenever she thought of her stays at Ashbury lately. She suspected she was only invited when no one else was there with them. She wasn't invited to the dinners hosted for Nicholas' friend Ian or Sophie's younger sister. Rationally, she understood why this was. Emotionally, she was that little girl at the Park again.
Nicholas briefly called on her that morning when he arrived in town. He had some urgent business to attend to and was then going back to his family in a few days.
Lizzie had tried broaching the subject of her restlessness and boredom as well as she could, utilizing all her newly acquired polite ways to phrase things in a way that would hide any trace of her true feelings from them, but he just smiled at her like a well-meaning uncle and said, “Oh Lizzie, I know all of this is so new for you. How are you finding your etiquette lessons?”
“I - , they are very useful. Thank you for arranging them.”
“You're most welcome. Lady Burnham is pleased with your progress. Whenever she feels you're ready, we'll add more dance lessons to your schedule. How's your French progressing?”
It's not, Lizzie wanted to say.
Instead, she made herself say, “Cousin Andrew feels it unlikely that I shall ever truly take to it. But he is confident that I can master the basics.”
“Well, we'll do our best, won't we?”
Elizabeth loved her brother. He was doing so much for her, working tirelessly to elevate her from the dregs of her upbringing into respectable society. And she desperately wanted him in her life, so she smiled brightly and reassured him that, of course, she'd be doing her best in all matters of education and etiquette and contorting herself into the perfect lady.
After he left, Lizzie felt so drained and unaccomplished that she felt like crying. She missed the feeling of understanding the world around her the way she did in her old neighbourhood. She missed being the sharpest, the wittiest, the one who had all the answers whenever her little students had asked their little questions.
And why couldn't she feel that way again? She'd just get Mister Ed to drive her to the old neighbourhood, and she'd spend the day teaching the children, for free this time. She had a feeling she'd be getting plenty in return anyway.
Lizzie ran up to her room to fill her reticule with several sheets of foolscap, two quill pens and her ink jar, then yelled out to whoever was listening that she'd be back later in the afternoon. She grabbed her fur-lined pelisse to ward against the coldFebruary winds, stepped outside, crossed the narrow gravel-lined path leading to the gate, opened it to walk onto the street, where she knew her carriage (hercarriage!) would be idling.
Her eyes needed a moment to adjust to the change in light, which she used to pull on her gloves (remembering to grab them was a momentous occasion for her).
“So this is where Nicholas spends his time now? Tired of his boring little wife already?” a voice asked, apparently addressing her.
She squinted at the man blocking her path. He was tall and broad-shouldered. His hair was black. He was dressed even better than her brother. The shine of his boots alone made her eyes hurt again, so she looked up into his eyes. All she could make out was that they were light, but she was uncertain whether they were blue or green.
She tried following Lady Burnham's lessons.
“I beg your pardon, Sir?”
The man said nothing at first, just looked her over rather rudely.
“He moved you right into his old mistress' house,” he finally scoffed. “And he lecturesmeon a man's loyalty to his family, the duplicitous scoundrel!”
“I'm not sure I understand what you are talking about. I don't know you, I shouldn't be talking to you,” Lizzie darted her eyes along the street in search of her carriage.
“No need to play coy, pet. Where did Hawkins even find you?” the man said in a different tone, stepping closer to her, crowding her.
She was confused, since it was clear that the man knew her brother by name. But the rest of the conversation eluded her.The man was a whole head taller than her, and when he stepped towards her, she stepped back. She now felt the wrought iron of the gate on her back.
He smells so good,she realised with a start and was embarrassed by her own thoughts. Still, she took another deep breath.
“Please, Sir, I wish to leave,” she said and tried side-stepping him, but he anticipated her move and took his own step to the side, which caused his leg to become lodged firmly between her skirts. Elizabeth felt trapped, and the old reflexes honed during months of walking home from work in the evenings took over, so she lifted her knee and aimed for the man’s baubles.
As he gasped and cursed, she turned around, opened the gate, and ran back into her house. She closed the door and locked it, then slid down to the floor as her knees gave out.
She couldn’t catch her breath. She was terrified.God, please don’t let him follow me into the house,she prayed fervently. She kept her ear to the door but heard nothing. When she regained some of her strength, she went up to her room and hid under the covers. She kept reliving the encounter with the man. Her heart was beating in her throat, but it was not all fear. She kept remembering how close to her he stood and how good he smelled.
Soon, she was able to piece together some of what had happened. The man, who had clearly seen her brother leaving her house that morning, had assumed she was Nicholas’s mistress. And he claimed that her house was her brother's old mistress's house. She didn't want to believe that was true.
Nicholas seemed so taken with Sophie, so devoted to his young family. Was he like their father, after all? Would Emma be holding his hand in the Park one day while another little girl called out for him in vain?
Lizzie pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes to contain the oncoming headache. She felt the old sting of accusation acutely. Was there something on her brow that betrayed the impurity of her origins? Would another woman be so easily accosted and maligned?
