Elizabeth murmured that she most certainly did know the difference, but no one attended.
Lord Ransley rested deep in his pillows, shading his eyes against the candlelight. “This is all very confusing. When the servants told me Valen had come with a young lady in tow, naturally I thought he’d found…” He glanced wistfully at Elizabeth. “A wife to bring a measure of joy into his life, our lives.”
Another cough shook his body, and then another followed. He sat up to manage the explosive surges from his lungs. The lace at his throat and on his wrists fluttered with each shuddering effort. He yanked a handkerchief from his sleeve and mopped his mouth, but a dribble of blood at the corner of his lips remained. “I had hoped…” Too tired to finish the thought, Lord Ransley closed his eyes and lay back.
As he rested, Elizabeth could not help but observe the weary lines in his face that had been carved by too much pain. Obviously Lord Ransley did not hide from his affliction by overusing opiates. To avoid suffering, he might well have drifted into a murky drug-induced land of nightmares and dreams that would cloud his pain, just as Elizabeth’s mother had done to escape her troubles. Lord Ransley had enough courage and enough concern for his son to stay in the land of the living despite his pain. She wondered if Valen realized his good fortune.
Lady Alameda flicked her nephew on the arm.
“I gave you my word. I will keep it.” Lord St. Evert reminded his father, bristling as he did so. “I should think that would suffice.”
Lady Alameda flicked him again.
Elizabeth stepped back. Valen appeared to be nearing the limit of what he would tolerate.
In carefully measured tones, he reiterated, “It is not something that can be achieved in a day. It may require some time.”
After all the flicking, his aunt surveyed her fingernails. When she found them unharmed, she glanced up at her nephew wearing a narrow vengeful expression. “Unfortunately, Valen is proving rather thickheaded on that score. Seems your son imagines he might find his happiness with a lisping dodo bird rather than preferring someone who can play a decent game of chess.”
“What?” Lord Ransley lifted his hand halfheartedly. “Can’t fathom that. Lad needs a challenge.” He turned to Valen. The gray circles ringing his eyes wrung compassion out of all near him. They all leaned closer to hear what he might say. “Didn’t you tell me this young lady plays chess?”
Honore grinned wickedly. “How very astute, William. I believe you are right.”
“You are tired, my lord.” Valen pulled Elizabeth back from the bed. “We will leave you to rest.”
“You two run along.” The countess’s voice had a cheerful, singsong quality as she shooed them out. “My brother and I have a great deal to catch up on.”
Valen hesitated. If he could bodily pick up his aunt and haul her from the room without it upsetting his father, Elizabeth was fairly certain he would do exactly that.
“He is tired, Aunt Honore. You must leave him.” He issued it as an order, one that any soldier would have jumped to and obeyed.
“Nonsense. I’ve only just arrived.”
16
Ribbons and Garlic Balls, Tied Up With Lace
Elizabeth awoke early the next morning, as was her habit, and glanced around the room, unable to remember where she was. In the faint light, she failed to recognize the tapestries on the wall or the massive carved bedposts. Was she waking or still dreaming? She sat up, clutching the coverlet. Then she remembered. This was his home, Valen’s home.
Slipping out of bed, she went to the window and tugged back the velvet curtain. Morning. The sun had not yet risen above the crimson horizon. Misty pink light melted over the land as it curved and undulated in delightful grassy pastures dotted with sheep and patches of yellowing grain, each patch bounded by meandering rock walls and winding brooks. Perhaps she had fallen asleep and awakened in a previous century, for surely the land had looked exactly thus a hundred years ago, a land completely unaffected by the rigors and expectations of society. Elizabeth took a deep breath and tried not to envy Valen for that.
On a nearby hill, she spied the ruins of the old keep and decided that a bracing morning walk might clear her head from the effects of the opiates. But before she left, she dug a small rosewood recorder out of her trunk, a treasure from her childhood she always kept with her.
Elizabeth slipped quietly out of the manor house and into the welcoming morning air. Along the way, she stopped to pick some red clover flowers in the pastures, dropping them into the pocket of her serviceable old muslin walking dress, wondering if a tea made from the blossoms might not be used to strengthen Lord Ransley’s lungs. Wandering in the direction of the old keep, she hoped to climb the hill and have a look at the crumbling stone walls, but the ruins proved to be further away than she’d anticipated.
A brook the width of a country lane obstructed her path. Standing at the edge, she watched the ribbon of clear water ripple over stones and wash over moss as it hurried on its way. Here and there, minnows swam against the current and then allowed themselves to be carried along only to playfully battle their way back up the stream.
There was not one soul in sight. What harm would there be if she waded across and, perhaps, scooped up a handful of water to quench her thirst? Ladies must not be seen without stockings and shoes.
“I’m alone. No one will see me.” Elizabeth willfully ignored the ladylike admonition of her former governess, removed her shoes, and tiptoed onto a stone. She balanced on the rock as a thin stream of cold water ran around her bare foot. She held up her skirts and laughed softly.
