Stolen Love (7 page)

They were fast friends by the time Jane gave in to her mother's prodding and asked Elizabeth to come to the Smithwayne Foundation for Abandoned Children one afternoon to help sort donated clothing. Elizabeth agreed only because of Jane. She did not relish the thought of being scrutinized by Mrs. Smithwayne. She arrived at the foundation feeling certain Jane's mother would lecture her about her many deficiencies. To her relief, Mrs. Smithwayne only frowned at her before leaving her and Jane settled in a room to themselves where they were to sort clothing.

"If this is a foundation for children, why is there so much clothing for adults?" she asked Jane not long after Mrs. Smithwayne had left them.

"Children are helped when their parents are helped. If we give clothing to parents, it's one less expense for them. It's the mother and father who must be convinced to send their children to school and to church."

"Do you think you do any good?"

"Sometimes. And many times not. For example, right now we are helping a man whose wife's death left him with two children to provide for, one twelve and the other but seven. He lost his job when he attended his wife's funeral. Now he's turned to crime in order to feed the two."

"But that's awful!"

"I know. Poor Mr. Howard—that's the man's name, Mr. George Howard. I'm not sure if we can do him any good. He makes more money housebreaking than he did working as a clerk. Apparently he's gotten better at it; he hasn't been arrested for weeks. He'll be transported if he's caught again, so perhaps he's more careful now."

"It would be nice if something could be done to help him," Elizabeth said.

"Yes, it would. Some of these clothes will probably go to him."

They were quiet for a time, until Jane put down the breeches she was examining to see what repairs would be necessary. "Your cousin is very brilliant," she said. "She always has a crowd of gentlemen about her."

Elizabeth had nothing to say in response. It was perfectly true, after all.

"Do you suppose she is in love with any of her admirers?" Jane asked.

"One might as well ask whether any of her admirers are in love with my cousin." Elizabeth laughed. "Amelia is always in love with this gentleman or that one. It seems to change from one day to the next."

That seemed to give Jane pause. "Do you suppose any one of them is in love with her?"

Elizabeth shrugged. She did not much care to discuss the subject. Jane's question made her think, very unwillingly, about how much attention Nicholas paid to Amelia.

"She will likely marry soon, I expect," Jane continued. "But with so many admirers, how is she to choose?"

"Well…" Elizabeth pursed her lips, not noticing how closely Jane was watching her. "At the present, I should say there are two or three gentlemen to whom she pays particular attention."

"Yes?"

"Nicholas Villines and Mr. Rutherford are two." She provided the names, though she was somewhat puzzled by Jane's curiosity.

"And the third?"

"The third is Mr. Beaufort Latchley."

"Oh. Does she show a preference between them?"

"I cannot say, Jane. But Nicholas is the finest of them, and I suppose Amelia will marry him." What it cost her to say that was incalculable, and she steeled herself against the pain it caused. She must get used to the idea. It would be no great surprise if they did marry; they made a handsome couple.

"Do you not think Mr. Latchley is a fine man?" Jane arched her nearly white eyebrows.

"Mr. Latchley takes himself, and life, far too seriously to suit me."

"It seems to me that Mr. Villines is dreadfully serious."

"Oh, but Jane, if you knew him, you would not say so. He isn't serious all the time. Nicholas is the kindest, most thoughtful man I know."

"Perhaps if you knew Mr. Latchley better, you would find he has admirable qualities that would improve your opinion of him."

"No doubt I would, but I have no desire to know him better."

"If he is to be your relative, perhaps you had better," said Jane.

"Amelia will surely marry Nicholas. I think both families want it."

"Perhaps she will."

Elizabeth returned her attention to the pile of clothing in front of her. Jane seemed unaccountably relieved, she thought, and after a moment she smiled. Perhaps she shouldn't have spoken so harshly of Mr. Latchley.

"If you were in love," Jane asked, breaking their silence at last, "what kind of man do you think he would be?"

Elizabeth considered the question. "Naturally, he must be handsome," she said. "And I like dark eyes extremely."

"I agree that brown eyes are very fine."

"And if he is not fantastically rich, then, there is no hope for it. I should have to break his heart and turn him down."

"Should he not be a poet as well?" Jane laughed.

"Of course. But if he is not, then he must be something equally dashing."

"A sailor, perhaps?"

The image that came to mind was of a tall, mysterious man who could disappear into shadows without a trace. "A pirate captain." she said at last. She could hardly tell Jane she thought the Mayfair Thief was her idea of a dashing gentleman.

"A pirate!"

"Yes. Then we could sail away and leave the world behind. I think," she continued, "that if I am ever to be in love, he must have a sense of humor. Otherwise we should be very unhappily married, for he would not be able to appreciate me, with all my faults. If I am to tolerate his faults, he must tolerate mine."

"Elizabeth!" Jane exclaimed. "I can only say what a good thing it is that you're so quiet when you are out. I'm sure the many gentlemen who do admire you would be shocked to hear you speaking so."

"Well, I don't know why," she protested.

"Don't you agree that most gentlemen want a wife who has no faults?"

"If that is the case, Jane, I don't see how anyone ever manages to marry, and those who do must soon find themselves very unhappy."

"Haven't you two finished yet?"

Elizabeth jumped at the unexpected appearance of Mrs. Smithwayne. "Oh, my, is it late?" she asked when she saw the scowl on her face. "Do you happen to know what the time is, Mrs. Smithwayne?"

Jane looked at the watch hanging around her neck. "Half-past three," she said, snapping the cover shut.

"Half-past? I'm afraid I must go. Aunt Mary expects me home for tea." She stood up, hastily arranging her shawl around her shoulders. "Will you come?" she asked Jane, feeling guilty because she was not really expected home for another hour.

"Thank you, no," Jane said. "Mother and I will finish here."

When Elizabeth arrived at Tavistock Square she had the house to herself. Havoc was gone for the day, and Amelia and Mrs. Willard would not be home for nearly an hour. She went upstairs to change into an old blue dress before going outside to work in the garden.

Mrs. Willard smiled broadly when Nicholas came into the sitting room after Mr. Poyne. "Mr. Villines!" she cried when the butler was gone. "What a pleasure to see you here."

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Willard." He bowed and then greeted Amelia warmly. She was wearing a dress of pink satin, a color he found to be particularly flattering on her. "Where's Elizabeth?" he asked when he saw she was not in the room.

"We are waiting for her to come home," said Mrs. Willard. "She's been helping Miss Jane Smithwayne, though she ought to have been home long ago. I can't imagine where she's got to. She's usually unfailingly punctual."

Amelia dimpled and laughed at her mother. "I should suppose, Mother," she said, "that Mr. Villines knows my cousin is apt to lose track of the time. She's quite…" She paused as she searched for a word to describe her. "Intense," she finally provided. It was clear from her tone she did not think it a good thing for Elizabeth to be. "More than once she's been late for tea because she was reading a book so interesting she quite forgot to look at the time and did not even hear the bell. Can you imagine that!"

Nicholas could but said nothing. Amelia's self-assured ignorance was, in an odd way, fascinating. She almost made him think a beautiful woman ought to be ignorant, a blank slate for her husband to write on as he wished—so long as he did not also want a wife he would be able to talk to.

"Beth is quite fond of reading," Mrs. Willard broke in. "It is a worrisome habit in a girl, and indeed Amelia is forbidden too much reading." Being a product of her times, Mrs. Willard thought cleverness a particular drawback in a woman, and she had taken great care to see her own daughter did not cultivate such a handicap. As for Elizabeth, well, she might have to support herself one day, and cleverness might come in handy in such an eventuality. Elizabeth was, as she often said, a poor relation, and poor relations, everyone knew, did not make good marriages—if they managed to get themselves married at all.

"I enjoy novel reading myself, Mr. Villines," said Amelia, "so I hope my mother does not think it too horrible a habit."

"Surely you do not, Mrs. Willard?"

"Not entirely." Mrs. Willard was unable to completely disapprove of the habit, though she might have if Nicholas had seemed to. Still, she felt it best to add, "A young lady would better spend her time improving her soul than her mind."

"Surely book reading cannot imperil the soul, Mrs. Willard."

"The right kind of books do not. You may rest assured I permit Amelia to read only the right kind of books." Evidently she considered the topic closed, for with hardly a pause to draw breath, she went on, "Amelia, it is such a lovely afternoon, perhaps Mr. Villines would enjoy a walk in the garden while we wait for Elizabeth?"

"That would be most agreeable, Mrs. Willard." Nicholas stood and extended a hand to her.

"I believe I shall stay inside to wait for Beth, Mr. Villines. But I'm certain Amelia would be glad to give you a tour." Mrs. Willard beamed at him from her chair.

"I should be simply too happy to show you the garden, Mr. Villines."

The garden at the back of the house was good-sized, with a recently trimmed lawn curving around both sides of the house and stretching out some fifty or sixty yards to the rear. The paths leading around either side of the house were bordered with blossom-laden flowers, carefully laid out and pruned back with exactness. Each plant almost perfectly matched its neighbor, and there was not a dead leaf or a wilting flower to be seen. Nicholas resolved to find out who their gardener was and to do his best to hire the man away.

"Beth is out here constantly," Amelia was saying, "sitting in the sun and digging about in the dirt. It's simply a wonder she isn't brown as toast."

Nicholas was admiring the rosebushes when Amelia came to a halt just as they were rounding a corner. He glanced at her, wondering why she had stopped and why she suddenly looked amused. He followed her gaze and saw someone sitting on the ground in the middle of the path, pinching dead leaves from the pansies lining the walk next to the house. Most of her face was shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat, but he caught a glimpse of her features when she sat up for an instant to push back the hair that was falling out of what had once been a rather severe chignon. She brushed impatiently at the wisps of hair and then pushed more pins into place. The gesture made him think of a woman he had known in Paris. She had arched her neck in just that same way. They had got along famously. He thought it odd that the Willards had hired a woman to work in the garden. Not that it made any difference, if the result was this garden.

She was leaning forward to reach the backs of the plants, and as she did, the skirt of her faded dress tightened over her legs, bent underneath her so that she was sitting mostly on one flank. When she sat back again the material settled into folds of blue wool.

"Oh, dear." Amelia sighed when the girl shaded her eyes against the waning afternoon sun and waved at them with a gloved hand. Nicholas was shocked to see it was Elizabeth. "I'm sure she thinks you're Father," Amelia said. She shrugged and walked toward her. "I was just telling Mr. Villines how wonderfully you keep the flowers, Beth," she said when the two reached her. "He is here for tea," she added, to give her cousin a chance to stand up. "We decided to walk in the garden while we waited for you."

"Good afternoon," Elizabeth said while she brushed away the dirt that clung to her skirt. She extended her hand and blushed crimson when she realized she had not taken off her work gloves. She snatched them off and thrust them into a pocket of her skirt.

"And good afternoon to you, Elizabeth." He smiled at her. This time it was easier to make her back into his little girl. The tightening quiver of arousal was gone almost immediately.

"Well," Amelia said, taking Nicholas's arm again. "Perhaps we should go in for tea, now that we've found Beth?"

When Elizabeth came into the drawing room where tea was being served, she had changed from her faded blue wool into a watered silk and had combed her hair into a simple twist. Her dress was dark green and high-collared, and she wore a cameo pinned at her neck. For an instant Nicholas thought about how she had reminded him of that woman in Paris. The first thing he'd done after finally convincing the woman to leave with him was take down her hair and kiss her throat. It was strange that Elizabeth, of all people, should remind him of her.

"Elizabeth," he said, sitting down again when she took a place next to her aunt, "are you really responsible for the remarkable condition of the flowers here?"

"I suppose so."

"If you will forgive me for saying so, it's rather a pity. I'd promised myself I was going to attempt to hire away your gardener." The dark green of her dress made the familiar gray of her eyes even more piercing. She smiled. It had a disconcerting effect on him.

"You still might, I suppose. Mr. Hawley's quite good."

"Would you pour, Beth?" Amelia signaled the servant to move the tea things in front of Elizabeth.

"Where did you find the pattern for the laying out of the flower beds?" Nicholas persisted.

"It's my own. I had Mr. Hawley replant them when we arrived here, and I—" She glanced at her aunt and stopped. "Anyway, the pattern is mine."