A Chance Encounter

Chapter 11

The family dined together that evening. Both John and Louise had been persuaded to leave Jeremy for an hour with his nurse and to eat in the dining room. Hetherington and Elizabeth were also there. Three at least of the gathering found the mealtime a strain. Hetherington was at his charming best, Elizabeth noted with annoyance. He had obviously set himself to win over Louise, who had been horribly embarrassed to learn of his presence in the house. Good manners dictated that she treat him with courtesy, but loyalty to her sister-in-law made her want to snub him.

His charm had obviously had an effect, though. Louise went with Elizabeth to the drawing room after dinner, though she did not stay long.

"The marquess seems such a pleasant man, Elizabeth," she said hesitantly. "It is hard to believe that he could have treated you so cruelly."

"That was a long time ago," Elizabeth replied. "Since we seem to be stuck with him here for a few days at least, perhaps it would be as well if you forgot about the past and treated him as a new acquaintance."

"But how can I?" Louise protested. "John has told me how he abandoned you so callously after your marriage. It is difficult to like or trust a man when one knows that of him."

Both ladies had retired to the nursery before the men left the dining room. The strain returned to Louise's face as she watched her son toss feverishly in his crib. Elizabeth soon persuaded her to go to bed and try to have a night's sleep. She and John sat up all night watching for the crisis that did not come. Neither could persuade the other to give up the watch.

The doctor came the next day, but beyond shaking his head and advising Louise to force as much liquid inside the child as she could, he was unable to tell them whether to continue hoping or to despair.

Elizabeth slept for much of the day. She had tried to persuade John to do likewise, but feared that he was using his time away from the nursery to accomplish estate business. She looked idly through her window when she awoke in the afternoon and saw that Louise and Hetherington were strolling arm in arm in the flower garden. She had meant it the night before when she had told Louise to forget about the past. But it still annoyed her to see that Hetherington could so easily charm a stranger, even one who knew of his past.

She could not understand why he had decided to stay. He had made no attempt to see her since dinner the evening before, and it must be plain to him that neither she nor John wanted his presence. It merely added to the strain of an already difficult situation. She decided that she would ask for a tray in her room that evening. She wanted to reserve all her energy for the night ahead. John and Louise were almost at breaking point, she felt, and it seemed to her that it was impossible for the baby to continue as he was for much longer. Surely the crisis must be close. She dared not think of what might happen when it did come.

Later that night Elizabeth had accomplished her aim. Louise had gone off to bed at John's bidding. He was a little more difficult to persuade, but Elizabeth, looking at his bloodshot eyes and sunken cheeks, had known that he could not sit up another night without collapsing.

"What good will you be to anyone if you become ill?" she had reasoned with him. "I came here in order to help, John. Please allow me to do so. I know what to do to care for Jeremy, and you must believe that I will send for you at the least sign of change."

Finally he had given in and retired to his own room. An hour or more had passed since. Elizabeth had just finished sponging the child's burning flesh with a cool, damp cloth and forcing some drops of water between his lips. She sat now quietly watching him and thinking of the man she had seen only briefly today through the window.

Perhaps it had all been partly her fault. At least she might have made it more difficult for him to abandon her if she had obeyed his final request and stayed in Devon.

The hours following his departure had been torture, the night a torment. Lady Both well had not returned that day. And during the following morning Elizabeth's father himself had arrived. He had been very angry, threatening to tear Denning apart limb by limb. When his daughter had told him that she was alone, he had turned the full force of his fury against her. His anger was caused not so much by the fact of the elopement, it seemed, as by the poverty of her husband. Had she no sense? Had she no love for the father who had spent years of his life raising her? What did she hope to gain for herself or her family by marrying a penniless pup?

Elizabeth had let his fury blow itself out around her head before telling him about the deaths of Robert's father and brother.

"So you are a marchioness?" he had sneered, and strangely enough, it was the first time Elizabeth had realized the fact. "A fat lot of good such a grand title will do you, my girl, when the father had not a feather to fly with, either."

"We do not care for money," Elizabeth had replied primly.

"You will, my girl, when you find yourself with a position to maintain, and creditors knocking on your door," he had said harshly. "I suppose there is no chance of an annulment?"

"An annulment?" she had asked blankly.

"Has he bedded you, girl?" he had asked impatiently.

Elizabeth had blushed painfully, but had not answered.

"Well," he had said, "we shall have to do the best we can. You will come home with me, Lizzie, until the young puppy has finished all his business in London. Perhaps there will be more money than I think."

"I must not leave here, Papa," she had protested. "I have promised Robert that I shall stay, and Lady Bothwell should be here today."

"Nonsense!" he had said. "The old lady may not come at all. Who better to take care of you than your father? And Norfolk is a great deal closer to London than Devon is. He will be thankful not to have to travel so far."

Elizabeth had argued. Even when she gave in, she did so reluctantly. But she had been very young. Obedience to her father had been the habit of a lifetime. She had not yet learned obedience to a husband. Lady Bothwell had not been there to advise her. What her father had said about the remoteness of Devon from London made sense. So she had gone, pausing only to pack her bag and to write a note to Lady Bothwell explaining that her father had come for her and that she was returning with him to Norfolk.

And so she had made it easy for Hetherington. He no longer had her embarrassing presence in his grandmother's home to deal with.

Elizabeth turned as she heard the door of the nursery opening quietly. She opened her mouth to scold John and send him back to bed. But it was her husband who stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind him.

He came across to the crib and stared down at the child for a while. Elizabeth watched him, tight-lipped. He was dressed only in his breeches and a shirt open at the neck.

"Poor little devil!" he said. "Is there no change?"

"None," she answered shortly.

He drew up a chair and sat down beside her. "Can I persuade you to rest awhile?" he asked. "I do not wish you to become overtired."

"I slept during the day," she replied. "I do not need rest now, thank you."

He regarded her in silence for a while. "Why do you hate me, Elizabeth?" he asked.

She turned to him incredulously. "You ask me that?" she hissed.

He raised his eyebrows. "Yes, I believe I did," he said.

"I shall not answer," she replied in a loud whisper. "If you do not know the reason, you must be totally lacking in conscience and I was the more deceived in you."

"I see that you have convinced yourself that you were the wronged party," he continued. "I believe that such is often the case with guilty persons."

"You should know," she shot back.

He leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head. He smiled. "You were very young and naive, were you not?" he said. "I suppose it did not take you very long to realize that you had settled for very little. And you have blamed me ever since. Poor Elizabeth!"

She stared at him stonily. "I settled for very little indeed, my lord," she said. "I wish you would go to bed now. Indeed, I do not need your company, and I believe the room should be kept quiet."

"I shall sit here with you, nevertheless," he replied. He glanced at the baby, who was becoming restless again. "Will he live, do you think? Poor little mite! He could be ours, do you realize that, Elizabeth?"

She made a strangled sound, but clamped her lips tightly together. And so they sat, side by side, in silence, watching Jeremy as he clung stubbornly to life.

It was Hetherington who first noticed the change. He sprang to his feet, startling Elizabeth, who had been deep in thought.

"There are beads of perspiration on his brow," he said. "The fever is breaking, love. Stay here. I shall go for your brother."

He ran from the room and was back in seconds, it seemed, with both John and Louise. The four of them stood and watched tensely as the child broke out in a bath of perspiration, which Louise tried to sponge away with a cool cloth. Eventually the baby lay very still.

"Is he dead?" Louise asked in a voice that sounded shockingly normal.

No one answered for a moment.

"I believe he is sleeping," Hetherington said, and he reached out one slim hand and took the baby's tiny wrist between gentle fingers.

"If he is dead," he said, smiling at Louise, "he has a very steady pulse to take with him to heaven."

"Ohhh!" Louise wailed and collapsed, sobbing, into her husband's arms.

Elizabeth's eyes locked with Hetherington's. He cocked an eyebrow at her as he closed the distance between them.

"I thought you were the stiff-upper-lip type," he said quietly, grinning at her swimming eyes. "But if you must cry, it had better be on my shoulder, ma'am."

She was horrified at her own inability to resist such inappropriate levity. How dare he push his way into such an intimate family scene and proceed to laugh at everyone! She fumed inwardly as she sobbed on his shoulder and leaned into the warm strength of his body. She felt deep resentment against the arms that encircled her and stroked comfortingly over her back. But her anger was all on the surface when she felt him kiss the top of her head. She jerked her head back and glared at him.

Before she could say a word, he had laid a finger to his lips. His eyes were still brimming with laughter. "This is not the time or the place," he said softly.

And she watched him have the great impertinence to turn back to John and Louise and proceed to take charge of the situation. Before any of them could have the presence of mind to realize that he had no right to give orders in that house, Louise had been packed off to bed, John had been sent to rouse the nurse in the next room, the housekeeper had been woken to prepare warm milk to send to her mistress's room and chocolate to send to everyone else's, and John and Elizabeth were also retiring meekly to their rooms.

"You are going to bed too, Hetherington?" John asked in a feeble attempt to have the last word.

"Oh, most certainly," his guest replied. "If I do not have my sleep, I am quite hagged the next day, you know."

Elizabeth hoped that her displeasure showed in her stiff bearing as she walked to her own room. The amusement in Hetherington's eyes as he bade her good night suggested to her that it did.

For the following two days the baby bounced back to health with all the resiliency of childhood. By the afternoon of the second day the nurse was expending all her energy on confining the child to the nursery. Louise and John, too, seemed to recover quickly from the strain of the few days and nights when their son had hovered on the brink of death.

Louise seemed convinced that Hetherington was somehow responsible for the miracle of Jeremy's recovery. She told Elizabeth so as the two of them sat on the terrace on the second morning, soaking up the morning sunshine.

"I really do not know how we should have managed without his cheerfulness and his strength to keep us sane," she said, "and without your devotion during the nights, Elizabeth. John and I were very close to the breaking point when you arrived."

Elizabeth was outraged. "I consider his behavior to have been most inappropriate in the nursery," she said primly. "He was laughing, Louise!"

"Yes, of course, dear, and the rest of us were crying," Louise answered cheerfully. "Neither reaction was suitable to the occasion. But both tears and laughter are ways of letting out emotion when it becomes too powerful to bear."

Elizabeth tutted. "You are very wise," she said, "but I cannot think the Marquess of Hetherington capable of deep emotion."

"Oh, there you are quite out," her sister-in-law assured her. "Your marquess cares very much, Elizabeth. He stayed here in this house of gloom, did he not, when he could have gone riding back to his friends? And he was sitting up with Jeremy when his fever broke. And he spent an hour with him yesterday. Nurse said he allowed Jeremy to play with his quizzing glass and to pull his hair, and to leave a wet patch on his breeches. No, dear, I do not know exactly what passed between the two of you when you wed, but I must believe that there is some explanation for his behavior."

"How can there possibly be an explanation?" Elizabeth cried. "He would not see me, Louise, would not answer my letters. And then he divorced me."

"But he did not, dear," Louise reminded her. "And if you have been mistaken about the one thing, perhaps you have been mistaken about the whole. Why do you not confront him now that you have the opportunity? Ask him what happened. The worst that can come of it is that you will find that you have been right all along."

"I would not condescend to show him that it matters to me," Elizabeth replied.

Her sister-in-law gave her a despairing glance.

John too was concerned about the relationship between his sister and her husband. He saw her walking past his office later the same morning, called her inside, and closed the door.

"I cannot but feel the awkwardness of your situation," he said. "It goes very much against the grain with me to offer hospitality to the fellow when I have always despised myself for not calling him out all those years ago for the suffering he made you endure. Shall I send him packing, Elizabeth?"

"I am not sure he would go," she said wryly. "He seems to be quite thick-skinned when it comes to insults."

"It is so deuced awkward," he said, exasperated. "The fellow has been a model guest. He has treated Louise with great courtesy. Jeremy really took to him, I understand. And he has been of great assistance to me, riding for the doctor early yesterday morning and back again to the apothecary later. I would find it hard now to summon the nerve to tell him that he is no longer welcome in this house."

"Then say nothing," Elizabeth said, smiling. "I am sure that he will leave of his own accord within the next day or two. I cannot think that life here has enough of excitement for him."

"And he is your husband still," John added, troubled. "I am not sure that I have the legal right to order him away from you."

---

In the following two days there was no sign that Elizabeth was right. Hetherington showed no symptoms of boredom or restlessness. It seemed that he was planning to stay. Elizabeth avoided him as much as she could by staying close to Louise. She spent time in the nursery with her sister-in-law and went visiting and shopping with her.

The two of them spent time in Elizabeth's room trying to find clothes suitable for her to wear. She had brought with her only the gray cotton dress that she had been wearing. There were numerous dresses in her wardrobe, but all of them were from six or seven years before, all to a lesser or greater degree out of fashion and some of them quite unsuitable to a woman of six and twenty, Elizabeth believed.

Louise convinced her, however, that several of the dresses would be quite unexceptionable with a few minor alterations. That particular evening saw Elizabeth descending to dinner in a pale-green silk gown whose puffy sleeves had been narrowed, and whose plunging neckline had been disguised with a delicate lace inset. She was self-conscious. As a consequence, her hair had been swept back into its bun with extra severity.

Hetherington and Louise were in the drawing room when she entered. "Oh, you look so lovely, Elizabeth!" Louise exclaimed. "I wish I might throw away that dreadful gray. Perhaps I should instruct one of the maids to burn a hole in it with the iron. An unfortunate accident, of course."

"I have a better idea," Hetherington added, grinning. "Elizabeth should wear it into the nursery when Jeremy is eating bread and jam. It would be ruined beyond repair."

Elizabeth glared.

Louise became flustered. "I am so sorry about your neckcloth, Robert," she said. "But I am sure they will be able to wash the jam out of it belowstairs."

He laughed. "If I had children of my own," he said, "I should probably have learned long since not to snatch an infant into the air when he is in the process of eating his tea. It was my fault entirely, Louise."

If he had children of his own! Elizabeth's fingers itched to slap him. She could recall now the stinging satisfaction she had had from doing so on a previous occasion. And since when had he and her sister-in-law been on first-name terms?

When the butler finally announced dinner a few minutes after John arrived in the drawing room, Hetherington offered Elizabeth his arm with exaggerated politeness.

"I liked it better without the lace," he said quietly to her, his eyes hovering at the level of her breasts.

She shot him a startled look.

"Almack's," he said. "You wore it there one evening. I seethed with indignation while you waltzed with old Ponsonby, because his eyes were definitely not on your face, nor his mind on his dancing, I believe."

"Oh!" Elizabeth said, lost for words.

"Of course," he added, eyeing her hairdo with distaste, "on that occasion you had some curls to cover some of the bare flesh."

"You are insufferable, my lord," she seethed.

He grinned as he held back her chair while she seated herself. "Yes, my lady, I know," he said.

It was the following day that Elizabeth decided that she must confront Hetherington and ask what intentions he had for staying on at her brother's home. She had reached the end of her tether.

Louise had decided on that day that it was time for Jeremy to have an outing. John decided that he would join them and invited Elizabeth. They would not go far. There was a small lake just half a mile distant through the trees. It was shady there and the baby had always enjoyed playing on the grass beside the water. They would take a ball with them to amuse the child, and a picnic tea.

Elizabeth looked forward to the outing. She was enjoying the holiday with her family and felt that she could have relaxed entirely were it not for the disturbing presence of Hetherington. Soon she would have to make plans to return to her position. She had had a letter from Mrs. Rowe just that morning, in fact, telling her that she was missed and that she was very welcome to return if that was the life she had chosen for herself. But she would have one afternoon just to spend with John and his family. Hetherington had ridden off somewhere immediately after luncheon; she had chosen not to ask anyone where.

Elizabeth, dressed in a sprigged muslin dress from which she and Louise had removed the ribbons and flounces, allowed a few loose curls to soften the severity of her hair knot, and tied the ribbons of a large-brimmed straw bonnet beneath her chin. She went along to the nursery, where Louise was struggling to dress her son, who was bursting with energy and mischief.

"Oh, may I carry him for you?" Elizabeth asked, and Louise shot her a grateful smile.

"Indeed, he is getting heavy," she admitted, "and the doctor and John have both forbidden me to carry any loads."

They went downstairs to find John. He was in the hallway, a small picnic basket at his feet, talking to Hetherington.

"Robert, I am so glad you arrived back in time," Louise called cheerfully from behind Elizabeth. "Our party would not be complete without you."

He bowed his head and smiled in her direction. "I would not have missed your picnic for worlds," he said.

All the sunshine went out of the afternoon for Elizabeth. Now she would have to be prim and self-conscious again. Louise had clearly invited him. She was being quite excessively courteous. And why had he accepted? Of what possible interest could a family outing with a baby be to him?

Hetherington picked up the picnic basket and retained his hold on it even when John protested. "Your wife will have need of your arm, Rossiter," he said. "Mine does not. She already has her hands full."

They set out across the lawn and through the trees. Jeremy was contented for a few minutes, then decided that his new uncle would be a more exciting person with whom to travel. He gurgled, chattered in unintelligible baby talk, and held out his arms to Hetherington so that Elizabeth had to fight to keep her hold of him.

"Put him up on my shoulders," Hetherington said. "He can hold on to my hair."

Elizabeth ignored him until she could no longer control the child's struggles. She glared as Hetherington stepped in front of her and stooped down so that she could seat Jeremy astride his shoulders.

"Let me take the basket," she said.

He turned a laughing face toward her. "Why do you not just relax, Elizabeth?" he advised. "This is a pleasure outing."

"How can it be a pleasure when I can never get away from you?" she cried, and watched the smile fade from his face.

He turned away without another word to her. "Come on, Jeremy," he said. "Let's make this old horse gallop." And he trotted away, the child chuckling and then shrieking with delight as he held to his perch with firm fistfuls of fair hair.

It was at that point that Elizabeth decided that she would have to have a confrontation with Hetherington. They stayed carefully apart from each other for the rest of the afternoon, but she watched bitterly as even John seemed to warm to Hetherington's high spirits and obvious success with the baby. Tomorrow she would talk to him.

As it turned out, Elizabeth did not have to put her resolve into effect. Hetherington joined her and Louise at the breakfast table the following morning. He helped himself to food at the sideboard, sat down, and smiled at Louise.

"I have just been in conversation with your husband, Louise," he said. "I have been taking my leave of him. I leave for London today."

Louise's cup clattered back into the saucer. Elizabeth felt her heart begin to hammer uncomfortably. She laid down her fork as quickly as possible before her hand could begin to shake. She did not look up from her plate.

"You are leaving?" Louise said. "Oh, Robert, I had no idea."

"I have already been here longer than I ought," he replied. "I had planned to stay only while I felt that Elizabeth needed my support. With Jeremy in such bouncing health, I cannot pretend that there is still a crisis in the house."

"But you do not have to have a reason to be here," Louise protested, glancing uneasily at Elizabeth. She seemed about to say more but changed her mind.

"I really have quite pressing business in town," he said gently. "But I do thank you for your hospitality. I have been very happy to make your acquaintance at last, ma'am."

Louise was speechless for a while. "Jeremy will miss you," she said at last.

He smiled. "And I shall miss him," he replied. He held her eyes and raised his eyebrows, casting a quick glance at Elizabeth's lowered head.

Louise jumped to her feet. "And speaking of Jeremy," she said brightly, "I must see if he had a peaceful night after his outing yesterday. Shall I see you before you leave, Robert?"

"I shall come to the nursery soon," he said.

Left alone, Elizabeth and Hetherington sat in silence for a while. She had not touched any food or drink since he had spoken his first words.

"You finally have your wish, Elizabeth," he said quietly at last.

"Yes."

"You will be free to relax with your family when I am gone."

"Yes."

There was another tense silence.

"What will you do now?" he asked. "Will you stay here? I believe you are needed. And you are certainly loved."

"I shall go back to my position," she replied. "This is merely a holiday."

"You do not belong there," he protested.

She looked up at him for the first time since he had come into the room. "It is not for you to say where I belong," she said firmly. "I shall do with my life as I please, my lord."

He got impatiently to his feet and strode to the French windows that faced out onto the terrace. He stood there with his back to her. "You do not like being dependent on your brother, is that it?" he asked. "You need not be, you know. You are still my wife. I am able and willing to support you in any manner you choose. If you wish to set up your own establishment, Elizabeth, you may send the bills to me. Or I shall make you an allowance so that you do not have constantly to apply to me. Would you prefer that?"

Elizabeth's chair scraped back and she was across the room at his side almost before he had finished speaking, her cheeks flaming, her eyes blazing.

"How dare you insult me so!" she hissed at him. "Have I not suffered enough humiliation at your hands, without this? I would not take a farthing from you, Robert Denning, if I were destitute on the streets and you my only hope of avoiding starvation."

His face had paled and he had flinched when she began to speak as if she had struck him a physical blow. The sneer had returned by the time she finished.

"You have changed, my dear," he said. "There was a time when money meant more to you than all else. Or perhaps you are no different now. William Mainwaring will be in residence alone when you return to your employment. He is clearly besotted with you. And I am sure you are clever enough to spin him a yarn that will overcome his disappointment in finding you a married woman. I would wish you good fortune, ma'am, if I did not feel that the man deserves better of life."

Elizabeth's hands were clenched at her sides. "Do not let me delay you, my lord," she said sweetly. "I am sure you wish to reach London before night falls."

He stared at her blankly, then held out his hand. "I am glad that events turned out well for your family here," he said.

She placed her own hand hesitantly in his. "I thank you for bringing me home," she said. "It was kind of you to cut short your visit to Ferndale."

He looked into her eyes, a half-smile on his lips. "Good-bye, Elizabeth," he said. "I wish things might have been different for you and me."

She willed herself to show no emotion. She steeled herself for the kiss on the hand that she half expected. She came near to crumbling when he kissed her instead, very gently, on the lips. Had he not gone immediately, in fact, without even stopping to look into her face again, he would have seen the tears spring to her eyes; he would have heard the sobs that felt as if they would tear her ribs apart.

But he had gone.