The Lady Confesses

chapter Five

‘So, now that you have had the chance to observe them, what is your considered opinion of the charms of Miss Rutledge and the two Miss Millers?’

Elizabeth gave a guilty start as Lord Thorne joined her as she stood at the back of Mrs Wilson’s drawing room on Saturday evening, observing those three young ladies. Three rather silly young ladies, in her ‘considered opinion’, as they stood across the room giggling together like a gaggle of geese. Something that even she, who had no real experience of such things, knew no marriage-minded young lady should ever do; any gentleman remotely interested in a single one of them would be utterly daunted by the presence of the other two.

Elizabeth schooled her features into mild uninterest as she gave every appearance of ignoring the man standing beside her in the crowded and noisy room where the guests had gathered before they were called into dinner.

Elizabeth had unfortunately been drawn in to make up the numbers, the invitation to Sir Rufus having apparently made those numbers uneven, something that Mrs Wilson would not tolerate at her dinner table. Elizabeth’s suggestion that Letitia would be much more suited to the task had been rendered null and void when Mrs Wilson revealed that Letitia already also made up one of the number, and that to remove her would only result in their being two more gentlemen than ladies, instead of one. Something else Mrs Wilson would not tolerate, apparently.

So it was, after two very busy days spent helping Mrs Wilson to organise her dinner party in order to ensure its success—two days when Elizabeth had also managed to avoid any further private conversations with her employer’s nephew—she now found herself attending Mrs Wilson’s dinner party, after all, having first removed all the lace from her blue silk gown in order to render it less fashionable. She was feeling distinctly uncomfortable amongst the local Devonshire gentry, all of whom were extremely well dressed and appeared well acquainted with each other already.

But even that was preferable to the company of the irritating earl! ‘I am sure that any one of them would make you an admirable countess,’ she answered noncommittally.

He eyed her mockingly. ‘Did I detect a slight emphasis on the word you there?’

Elizabeth raised dark brows. ‘I do not believe so, no.’

He gave an appreciative grin. ‘Liar!’

She drew in a sharp breath. ‘You are altogether too fond of levelling that accusation at me, my lord.’

Nathaniel sobered, his lids narrowing as he continued to look down at the young lady standing so coolly composed beside him. To all intents and purposes she should not have been noticeable at all in this room full of richly dressed and jewel-adorned women, and yet somehow it was the very simplicity of her appearance that had drawn more than one pair of admiring male eyes—including his own.

She wore only a thin ribbon the same blue as her gown threaded through the darkness of her curls, and that gown was simplicity itself: high-waisted, with a scooped neckline that revealed the soft swell of her breasts, an inch or two of the soft ivory of her arms visible between the tiny puff sleeves and the above-elbow length of her white lace gloves.

She was, Nathaniel acknowledged with a frown, a perfect diamond set amongst much gaudier jewels. His mouth thinned. ‘You must be disappointed that Sir Rufus is so late arriving?’

Having received a bouquet of white roses from that gentleman only yesterday—the first flowers she’d ever received from a gentleman—along with a note that simply read ‘Tennant’, she was not in the least disappointed by the man’s late arrival this evening. In fact, she felt relieved at this delay in seeing him again, having absolutely no idea what the roses, or the brevity of the signature on the card that had accompanied them, was meant to convey. Red roses she could have understood as being a sign of admiration, or perhaps even yellow roses, but what did white roses signify? As for the terseness of the man’s signature on the card…!

She had written Sir Rufus a short and polite note thanking him for the flowers, of course, along with the news that she would be present at Mrs Wilson’s dinner party, after all, in case he thought she had deliberately lied to him, all the time aware she did not know if she even liked him, or understood this apparently uncharacteristic interest in her.

Her uncertainty was not helped by the fact that she, and apparently every other woman in the room, had been rendered breathless by Nathaniel Thorne’s godlike appearance this evening.

Elizabeth might have succeeded in ignoring the earl for the main part this past two days, but it was impossible to ignore such resplendent maleness that he displayed this evening, in his perfectly tailored black evening clothes and snowy-white linen. The many candles that illuminated the room turned his hair a deep, burnished gold, his eyes appeared a deep and glowing amber, and cast the handsomeness of his features into a sculpture of masculine beauty.

Certainly Sir Rufus Tennant—when he deigned to arrive—or indeed any of the other men present this evening, could not possibly hope to compete with such a vision of male elegance and smouldering sensuality!

‘Very disappointed,’ Elizabeth answered him stiltedly, her awareness of him so profound that the shortness of her fingernails dug painfully into the palms of her hands as she clenched them at her sides. ‘And which of those three young ladies do you most find attractive?’

Nathaniel was not in the least surprised that Elizabeth had so neatly turned the conversation from herself and on to him; he had realised these past two days that she could be extremely evasive when she chose to be. Not that he had deliberately sought out her company during that time—he had decided it was becoming too much of a habit to kiss her whenever they happened to find themselves alone together. But still, it was impossible not to notice that she avoided his company as if he were possessed of the plague.

He gave every appearance now of considering the three young ladies who stood together across the room, although inwardly he found the style of their gowns over-fussy, and the constant giggling and surreptitious glances levelled in his direction extremely irritating. ‘Perhaps Miss Rutledge is the most sensible of the three,’ he finally allowed drily.

Elizabeth looked faintly surprised. ‘And is sensibility a quality you require in a wife?’

Nathaniel knew he had been the one to introduce the subject this evening, but even so he found it strangely distasteful to discuss the merits, or otherwise, of any future wife he might choose with a young woman he had kissed with passion on more than one occasion.


Luckily he was saved discussing that subject further as his gaze narrowed on the man now striding purposefully across the room. ‘I see Tennant has arrived at last and is even now making his way determinedly to your side,’ he drawled derisively, the older man’s progress not as straightforward as he would have wished, as neighbours who had not seen him at a social occasion of this type for years insisted on engaging him in conversation.

Elizabeth, having also noted Sir Rufus’s arrival, had been madly occupied in thinking of ways in which she might avoid him. But with Lord Thorne’s mockery so evident she had a complete reversal of feelings and instead bestowed the warmest of smiles upon the other man as he finally reached her side—not looking anywhere near as resplendent at the earl, of course, but tolerably attractive, none the less, in his black tailored evening clothes and snowy-white, if less fashionable, shirt and necktie.

‘How lovely to see you again, Sir Rufus.’ She gave an elegant curtsy as he turned to her after bowing abruptly to Lord Thorne. ‘And I must thank you once again for the beautiful roses you sent me yesterday.’ Elizabeth did not need to actually look at the earl to be aware of his start of surprise. Obviously the arrival of yesterday’s roses had escaped his attention. ‘I have them up in my room in the hopes they will last all the longer,’ she added with deliberate sweetness.

‘I grew them myself in my hothouse at Gifford House,’ Sir Rufus informed her huskily, obviously pleased at her comments.

Nathaniel did not care if the man had given birth to the blooms himself—sending roses to a young woman he had only known a matter of days was surely unacceptable? Unless, of course, Tennant’s intentions towards Elizabeth really were serious…

‘Such perfect white buds,’ Elizabeth continued.

White roses? Tennant had sent Elizabeth white roses? As a sign of the purity with which he regarded her, perhaps? Good God, whoever would have guessed that Tennant was a romantic?

Nathaniel could not even remember the last time he had sent a woman flowers. Or, indeed, if he ever had; women tended to take things like that completely out of context, to read emotions into such gestures that simply did not exist.

That Elizabeth had taken those blooms up to the privacy of her bedchamber would seem to indicate that she was not immune to such a gesture, either, even if that gesture had been made by an old stick-in-the-mud like Tennant.

‘I believe your aunt is signalling that it is time for you to escort her in to dinner, Osbourne,’ that stick-in-the-mud informed him loftily at the same time as he offered Elizabeth his own arm.

Leaving Nathaniel with no other choice but to respond to his aunt’s tacit request that he do the same for her. But not quite yet… ‘My aunt tells me there is to be dancing after dinner. I trust you will save the first set of dances for me, Miss Thompson?’

Elizabeth frowned up at Lord Thorne, knowing from the challenging glitter in those amber-brown eyes that he was being deliberately irritating. Something he seemed to take delight in being whenever he happened to be in her company! ‘I am sure that Miss Rutledge would appreciate that honour far more than I, sir.’

The earl gave a wolfish grin at the same time as those gorgeous eyes laughed down at her. ‘The honour will be all mine, I do assure you, Miss Thompson.’

‘But are you sure that your ribs will be able to stand the exercise, my lord?’ she came back with that same saccharine sweetness with which she had thanked Sir Rufus for his flowers.

‘I will ensure that they are.’ That warm gaze continued to laugh at Elizabeth.

‘Then I will claim the second set,’ Sir Rufus put in impatiently.

‘If Miss Thompson is not too fatigued from our own…dancing,’ Nathaniel taunted.

‘I am sure I will not be, Sir Rufus.’ She glared her displeasure at the earl as she answered the other man, a look Nathaniel returned with mocking amusement.

‘Until later, then, Miss Thompson.’ Nathaniel bent his head over her hand, then bowed tersely to Sir Rufus before he joined his increasingly impatient aunt and offered her his arm.

Elizabeth gazed after him in frustration, that irritation deepening as she saw that every other woman in the room was also watching the tall and rakishly handsome nephew of their hostess, some from behind the discretion of their fans, others openly admiring of the dashing figure he cut in the perfectly tailored evening clothes that emphasised the muscled strength of his shoulders.

Elizabeth gave a winsome sigh, knowing that as a mere companion to Mrs Wilson—worse, to Mrs Wilson’s dog—she took altogether far too much interest in the arrogant Earl of Osbourne.

‘Miss Thompson?’

And obviously not enough interest in the impatient man standing beside her with his arm still extended to escort her into dinner!

‘Thank you.’ She placed her hand upon Sir Rufus’s arm, her face slightly flushed from the disapproval she read in the austereness of his features as they joined the line of guests moving slowly through to the dining room.

As might be expected from her lowly position in this household, Elizabeth was seated far down the middle of the table, well away from the host and hostess. Mrs Wilson, aware of the roses that had arrived for Elizabeth yesterday, had placed Sir Rufus on Elizabeth’s left side, with the slightly deaf and ancient Mr Amory, the local vicar, on her right.

The only consolation she could see to this arrangement was that as the host Nathaniel Thorne was seated at the head of the table, with the ‘sensible’ Miss Rutledge on his left, and the elder of the ‘silly’ Miss Millers to his right!



‘I truly believed, after two hours spent in Tennant’s company, that you were about to fall asleep in the sorbet!’ Nathaniel grinned at Elizabeth as they later danced the first set together in the small candlelit ballroom at Hepworth Manor, the music provided by four musicians placed up in the gallery.

She looked at him with innocently wide eyes. ‘You are mistaken, my lord; I very much enjoyed Sir Rufus’s conversation. He was explaining to me the best way to grow roses.’

Those blasted roses again!

Amusement twinkled in those clear blue eyes as she continued, ‘It would appear that it involves rather a lot of horse…manure.’

Nathaniel’s shout of laughter was completely spontaneous, and drew several interested glances their way, glances that Nathaniel chose to ignore as he looked down at Elizabeth. ‘He really is the most boorish of men,’ Nathaniel said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Elizabeth shot Sir Rufus a slightly guilty glance as he glowered in their direction from the edge of the dance floor. ‘We are being unkind…’

‘In my opinion, one cannot be unkind enough about a man who spends two hours in the company of a beautiful young woman and can only think to discuss horse manure,’ Nathaniel drawled.

The flush that warmed her cheeks was not entirely due to the exertion of the dance. The Earl of Osbourne, a man every woman in the room eyed so covetously, had just called her beautiful…

And what if he had? Admittedly she had so far received few compliments in her young life, but no doubt the earl had spoken just so to dozens…hundreds of other young women before her! ‘I am sure that Miss Miller and Miss Rutledge did not suffer the same fate in your own company,’ she retorted waspishly, having been aware, as she listened politely to the drone of Sir Rufus’s voice—he had proved to be a man who did so love the sound of his own voice—of the giggles and simpering of those two young ladies at dinner.

‘Let us hope not,’ Nathaniel teased as they came together again in the dance. ‘I do have something of a reputation to uphold, you know.’

Of course he did, Elizabeth reminded herself firmly. A disreputable and womanising reputation that he had no doubt enjoyed earning. The fact that she had become totally aware of the wretched man throughout the course of the dance, of the warmth of his hand through her glove whenever it clasped hers, the heated masculinity of his body when they came together, along with the slumbering sensuality in that dark brown gaze as he looked down at her, was of absolutely no import when she also considered how long and in whose company he had been nurturing that rakish reputation.

She lowered her dark lashes as she rose from her curtsy at the end of the set. ‘No doubt you are intending to ask Letitia to dance the next set, my lord?’

It had not so much as occurred to Nathaniel to dance with his aunt’s cousin, a woman aged in her mid-fifties, and whom he knew did not enjoy having attention drawn to her, which it surely would be if he were to invite her to dance. ‘And why would I wish to do that?’

Elizabeth gave him a pained frown. ‘Possibly because Mrs Wilson looked rather displeased when we stood up together for the first set of the evening.’

‘Ah.’ Nathaniel glanced across to where his aunt sat with several other older ladies, knowing by the fixed smile upon Aunt Gertrude’s face that she was not listening to their conversation, her steely gaze fixed upon himself and Elizabeth as they stepped from the dance floor. ‘I believe it might be more…politic to ask my aunt herself rather than Letitia.’


Elizabeth gave a gracious nod of her head. ‘I am sure she will be most gratified.’

He bowed. ‘As no doubt you will enjoy dancing the next set with Tennant. Perhaps he might even offer advice on how to grow tulips or daffodils next.’

‘Oh, very droll, my lord.’ She sniffed, her frown turning to a gracious smile as Sir Rufus arrived to claim the next set.

‘Osbourne,’ he clipped abruptly.

Nathaniel raised haughty brows at the obvious dismissal, looking every inch the superior Earl of Osbourne as his stern gaze raked mercilessly over the older man. ‘Have a care, Tennant,’ he growled softly.

Sir Rufus gave a start. ‘I beg your pardon?’

The earl eased the tension from his shoulders as he affected a charming smile. ‘I was advising you to have a care for Miss Thompson’s feet; I am afraid I may have inadvertently stepped upon one of them during the latter part of the set.’ The two men continued to look at each other, eyes of pale and glittering blue and hard unblinking brown, neither man, it seemed, willing to yield in that silent battle of wills.

‘I am feeling a little thirsty, Sir Rufus—perhaps we might find some refreshment before we dance?’ Elizabeth’s calm request broke into that tension. ‘And I believe you were about to ask your aunt to dance the next set, my lord?’ she added firmly.

What Nathaniel had been about to do, and what he now wished to do, were two entirely different things—especially as the one involved planting a firm right hook on the pompous chin of one of his aunt’s guests!

Instead he turned and took one of Elizabeth’s gloved hands in his. ‘I will seek you out again later in the evening,’ he promised as he raised that gloved hand to place the warmth of his lips against it.

Elizabeth snatched her hand out of the earl’s grasp as soon as she was able to do so without being overly obvious and watched him beneath lowered lashes as he left them to stroll across the room to talk to his aunt. Her palm burned beneath the lace of her glove from the touch of his fingers, the back of her hand aflame from the feel of those lips so close to her skin.

She knew that the intimacy had occurred only as a direct result of an irritating need on the earl’s part to annoy Sir Rufus, but that did not make her own response any more acceptable as she sternly reminded herself that Nathaniel Thorne was a practised rake and a bounder, and his flirtatiousness in regard to herself—for whatever reason—was not to be tolerated.

She turned to smile at the glowering Sir Rufus. ‘What a tedious young man the earl is, to be sure!’

That glower instantly faded as he returned her smile. ‘I am relieved to hear you share my own opinion in that regard.’ They strolled out to where refreshments were being served in the spacious hallway.

Elizabeth accepted the glass of punch he handed her, taking a sip to cool the guilty blush from her cheeks before answering him. ‘Tell me again how you managed to produce that beautiful white bloom you have named Purity.’

‘Ah.’ He brightened considerably. ‘Well, there…’

Elizabeth once again gave thanks for her sister Caroline’s advice as Sir Rufus launched into a repeated explanation of how his obsession with growing roses had encouraged him to produce a hitherto-unknown bloom, and in doing so allowing Elizabeth to smile and nod on occasion without any real need to listen for a second time this evening.



The dance with Sir Rufus was not to be completely avoided, however, and they joined in the third dance of the set, Sir Rufus proving to be an adept dancer, if not a particularly graceful one. That the dance involved her twirling from partner to partner, with the elegantly graceful Lord Thorne as one of those, did not help the other man’s cause.

Consequently Elizabeth was relieved when the set came to an end and she was claimed for the next by Mr Amory, followed by Viscount Rutledge, the latter an exceedingly charming widower of perhaps fifty or so years, his conversation, on the local area and his role as magistrate, proving to be of far more interest than Sir Rufus’s roses. An interest for which Elizabeth was grateful when she saw Nathaniel Thorne take to the dance floor with Miss Rutledge on his arm and Sir Rufus with Mrs Wilson, fortunately in a dance in which the partners remained together rather than not—Elizabeth had suffered quite enough of the earl’s and Sir Rufus’s company for one evening!

Indeed, Elizabeth was so taken with the viscount’s undemanding company that once the set came to an end she readily accepted his invitation, and his arm, to step out into the hallway for further refreshment.

‘It would seem that you have captured the admiration of yet another middle-aged suitor.’

Elizabeth stood to one side of the hallway awaiting Viscount Rutledge’s return with the glasses of punch, closing her eyes now as the annoying Earl of Osbourne spoke softly behind her.

Very close behind her if the way the warmth of his breath stirred the curls at her nape was any indication…