Mercy's Embrace_Elizabeth Elliot's Story [Book 2] Read online

  “No, I cannot agree,” said Estella. “She is much fonder of that other fellow, the one she danced three sets with.”

  “Three?” There was wondering rebuke in Anne’s voice. Elizabeth set her teeth. She had done no such thing! If only Estella would stop talking!

  “That cannot be right,” said Anne. “Elizabeth’s public manners are flawless.”

  Elizabeth could not miss the implication. Anne would do well to keep her opinions to herself!

  “Only think of it, Anne,” cried Mary. “Mr. Elliot has returned to Bath. Do you suppose he’ll call?” There was a pause. “I know! That officer’s dinner that Captain Wentworth is putting together. Why not invite Mr. Elliot to come?”

  Anne did not reply right away. “Our cousin is not an officer, Mary,” she said at last. “I really do not think—”

  “Rubbish! Neither is Charles, and he is certainly coming.”

  “So Estella,” said Anne, “you say that Elizabeth is fond of Mr. Rushworth? She danced often with him?”

  “Good gracious, no. Where did you get that idea? The man your sister admires is Mr. Gill.”

  Elizabeth’s heart began to hammer. This was dreadful. Had she been so obvious? Had Estella guessed her secret?

  “He is rather dashing,” Estella went on, “for he rescued us when we were drifting in that boat.”

  “Boat?” demanded Mary. “What boat?”

  “The one at Sydney Gardens, of course. After poor Mr. Elliot fell into the canal, Mr. Gill came out of nowhere and rescued us.”

  “What?” cried Mary.

  “Not that Mr. Gill isn’t a charming man,” continued Estella. “He is. And he is rather nice looking too, in an athletic, animal way. Still, I find it delicious that your so-fine sister, who is obviously a stickler, has fallen for someone like him.” Estella gave her trilling laugh.

  Elizabeth’s fingers curled into fists.

  “What I think,” said Anne, “is that you have been reading too many novels, Cousin Estella. That is not what you were invited here to do.”

  “But—what else was there? I could hardly accompany your sister to her love-trysts.”

  “Her what?” cried Anne.

  Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. How dare Estella say such a thing?

  Mary’s ringing laughter was even worse. “Love-trysts?” she crowed. “Elizabeth? I don’t believe it for a moment. Anne, she is jesting—she must be! What man in his right mind would have Elizabeth?”

  “Think what you will, but it’s true,” said Estella primly. “Every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon she disappears. And I am never invited to accompany her. It’s Tuesday today—and where is she?”

  “A fine companion you’ve been!” cried Mary. “Even Mrs. Clay did better than that!”

  “I expect Elizabeth was calling on Father at those times.” Anne’s tone was sharp, which did not bode well for Estella. “Shall we go into the drawing room?”

  “But the coffee—?”

  “Yee will know where to find us,” said Anne. “He is quite resourceful in that way.” There came the sound of chairs being pushed back.

  Elizabeth wheeled and retraced her steps to the bottom of the staircase. She placed her hand on the bannister rail, turned round, and waited. One by one the ladies emerged.

  “Why, good afternoon,” she said, stepping down.

  The stricken look on her sisters’ faces was delightful to behold.

  2 Well You Deserve

  Estella Stevenson-Bragg did not remain in the drawing room for long. This suited Mary Musgrove perfectly. “Well!” she said, after the door closed. “She is prettier than I expected, although I daresay that golden hair is not genuine. And to dress in such a showy manner! Bless me, what a vibrant shade of green!”

  Elizabeth, who was standing before the mantelpiece, turned. “You have not yet seen her tangerine get-up,” she remarked.

  It was all Mary could do not to gape. Since when did Elizabeth use slang expressions? The look on Anne’s face spoke volumes. Elizabeth must have noticed this, for she pursed up her lips and moved over to the windows.

  It was left for Mary to continue the conversation. “A married woman,” she said, “ought to dress more modestly and in better taste.” Here Mary paused to adjust her cap. When one had attractive curls, it was important not to cover them.

  “But then,” she went on, “perhaps having a showy companion is not frowned upon in Bath. I recall that Mrs. Clay had several daring dresses.”

  Anne gave her a look but said nothing.

  Mary’s chin came up. If Anne was guarding her tongue, Elizabeth would do the same—and their afternoon together would be dull as ditchwater! And then Mary had to flinch, for here was one of her husband’s cant expressions. Really, the man was impossible. No matter that he was the future squire, he must insist on talking like a stable hand. Charles was poisoning her speech!

  As her sisters remained silent, Mary went on talking. “Surely you recall Mrs. Clay’s grey evening gown, Anne. Scandalous, I thought it. Such a neckline! She might as well have carried her,”—Mary paused to giggle—“feminine charms on a platter! And did you not tell me, Anne, that Father was the one who purchased that gown? What was he thinking?”

  “Might we speak of something else, please?” said Elizabeth. “Such as the weather? Or perhaps the state of the roads?”

  Mary gave an unhappy huff. Elizabeth must always be domineering. But the look on her face promised trouble, so Mary complied. “Our journey was quite pleasant, thanks to Captain Wentworth. He hired a comfortable coach, and we changed horses often. We covered the fifty-odd miles in good time. The boys fared surprisingly well.”

  “The boys?” Elizabeth sounded shocked. “Never tell me you have brought your sons to Bath!”

  Mary fired up. “And why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because, dear Mary, Cousin Estella has done the same, so the nursery is already full. Her son and daughter are quite wild. To have them here has been a trial for everyone.”

  “Oh dear,” said Anne. “I don’t suppose Frederick said anything about her children in his letter. So of course she felt at liberty to bring—” The drawing room door opened, and Anne left off speaking.

  Anne’s butler addressed Elizabeth. “Mr. James Rushworth has returned, Miss Elliot. Are you at home?”

  A look passed between Elizabeth and Anne. Mary straightened up. “Of course we are at home,” she hurried to say. “Well we are, Anne. As no one is going to say anything interesting, we might as well see Mr. Rushworth.”

  Anne just looked at her—as always, Anne must think everything out, which was such a nuisance! —and then she nodded to the butler. Moments later Mary heard laboured footsteps climbing the stairs to the drawing room.

  “… seed cake?” she heard Elizabeth whisper. “He is so fond of it.”

  Mary understood this all too well. The gentleman would get his cake whereas she, who would very much like a second piece, would not be offered any. But why was she surprised? It was always so among her family. No one thought to enquire after her preferences.

  And so James Rushworth came into Anne’s drawing room. Although he had been pointed out to her—for he was the subject of much gossip—Mary had never been introduced. Today he was looking painfully shy, and it seemed to Mary that he was fatter than before. He hadn’t much conversation, but it was obvious where his interest lay. As Estella had noted, he had eyes only for Elizabeth. He lowered himself onto the chair Anne indicated and sat there without saying anything, nervously rubbing his knees.

  Elizabeth was surprisingly kind. “And what have you brought, Mr. Rushworth?” she said, indicating the parcel beside him. “I understand from Yee that it is a matter of some importance.”

  Mr. Rushworth flushed and produced a folded newspaper. “It’s … the article I told you about. The trial for crim. con. was printed up all over again in The Times. It’s required for the petition for the … divorce.”

  Mr. Rushworth removed his gloves
—a slow process—to better turn the pages. His hands trembled a little as he did this. He spread the newspaper on a low table so that Elizabeth could see. “It’s coming up in a bill before Parliament,” he explained.

  Anne looked shocked, but Mary edged nearer. To speak about such a trial was not in the best of taste, but it was so intriguing! Why, the criminal conversation article looked like an advertisement for the theatre! There was a drawing of a man and a woman embracing, with Mr. Henry Crawford’s name featured prominently. Mr. Rushworth’s wife was identified as his Mistress. Printed in very large letters were the words TRIAL and ADULTERY. Then came the amount that Mr. Rushworth was asking in damages: five thousand pounds.

  Mary’s mouth came open. Why, one could become rich through lawsuits!

  “My solicitor says it won’t be long now,” she heard Mr. Rushworth tell Elizabeth, “and so I must be off to London. I thought you might … show this to your father. As proof of my … situation.”

  “Do you think that is wise?” This was from Anne, and she did not look pleased. “Forgive my interference, Mr. Rushworth, but perhaps you ought to show this to our father yourself.”

  Mr. Rushworth gaped at Anne, his mouth opening and closing like a fish’s. A scarlet flush spread over his neck. “D-Do you think so?”

  “I do.” Anne was about to say more when the door came open again. Lady Russell was announced.

  Mr. Rushworth jumped to his feet. “I-I’ll go now,” he stammered. He attempted to fold the newspaper, but it was large and he made sorry work of it. He bowed to each lady and to Lady Russell.

  “Good gracious,” said Lady Russell, after he had scuttled away. “I hope I’m not as fearsome as that. Poor Mr. Rushworth!”

  And then Lady Russell had to hear all about their trip from Uppercross, which was a great bore. It was all Mary could do not to yawn! It seemed that she had come to invite Elizabeth to join her for her afternoon calls, ending with a visit to Sir Walter. When she learned that Elizabeth had already been, she decided that Mary must come in her place. This was the last thing Mary wished to do, but she knew better than to argue with her godmother.

  Together they descended to the entrance hall. “How are you feeling today, Mary?” said Lady Russell. “Did you have a pleasant journey?”

  Mary shrugged. “What can one expect, being shut up in a stuffy coach with so many others? We departed Uppercross at a frightful hour—before the sun was even up! Captain Wentworth would change horses as often as possible; it was so provoking! Just when I had the boys asleep, we’d arrive at another coaching inn. The driver would blow his wretched horn, and up they’d jump. I am worn to the bone, truly.”

  Mary paused, and then added, “I ought to be taking a nap.” She searched her godmother’s face for traces of sympathy.

  “Well then,” said Lady Russell crisply. “The sooner we depart, the sooner you’ll return.”

  Mary gave a great sigh. As usual, she had wasted her breath. Lady Russell was as unfeeling as a stone!

  ~ ~ ~

  “What a curious young man,” Anne said, as soon as Mary and Lady Russell went out. “I am sorry for him, of course, and yet—” She paused, her brows perplexed in thought. “Elizabeth,” she said at last, “do you think it is proper for Mr. Rushworth to be courting you so soon? For that is obviously what he is doing.”

  Elizabeth squirmed in her chair, uncomfortable under her sister’s frank gaze. It was one thing to encourage Mr. Rushworth at Lady Eleanora’s house party, but in the presence of her family it was more difficult. “La, what notions you have,” she said lightly. “I think his admiration is sweet—like that of a devoted spaniel. I doubt he means anything by it.”

  “He certainly means something if he’s wishing to speak with Father,” said Anne. Again she furrowed her brows. “I feel for him, truly, for Father will not hear his suit kindly. If only Father were not so particular about personal appearance.”

  Elizabeth felt the sting of this. Anne had no such qualms; their father had once said that Captain Wentworth would look well in their drawing room, and he was right. He would never say the same about James Rushworth.

  “How fortunate for you that Captain Wentworth is thought to be handsome,” she said. “And his new-made fortune has certainly smoothed your path!”

  “As Mr. Rushworth’s fortune and estate will likewise smooth yours,” flashed Anne. Her tone softened. “Elizabeth, what are you about? How can you give this young man so much encouragement? I cannot believe you like him.”

  Elizabeth rose to her feet. “Mr. Rushworth’s charm lies in his good nature,” she said sharply, “which must make him acceptable to any woman. I do not need you to throw his deficiencies in my face, Anne. I have Lady Russell for that.” Elizabeth strode to the door and opened it.

  “Elizabeth, it was not my intention to—”

  Elizabeth banged the door shut. As always her sister must be prosing and moralizing—it was the height of impertinence! She descended to the entrance hall and rummaged in the cloakroom for her broad-brimmed hat. Now that the house was filled with people she despised, it was the perfect time for a stroll through the park.

  But visiting the grounds of the Belsom estate was an awkward business, for Elizabeth was hardly an invited guest. Shortly after she came to live here she discovered the gate—Mr. Norman’s gate, Yee called it—and as Yee did not issue a reprimand, she assumed that the neighbours were welcome to trespass. But she was never entirely comfortable there, for Belsom Park was owned by the loathsome Admiral McGillvary. The less she had to do with him, the better!

  As Elizabeth trod the pathway behind the mews, Anne’s words continued to plague her. Anne was right. James Rushworth was everything she had once scorned in a suitor, but he was a suitor. That, at least, was something.

  The lure was Sotherton, the Rushworth estate, as well as the fine London residence he’d taken on Grosvenor Square. Elizabeth turned her mind toward happier thoughts, such as imagining what the Sotherton mansion might be like. Mr. Rushworth had described it in great detail. Images inspired by her beloved Kellynch Hall rose in her mind: a grand and lofty house, shining floors, solid mahogany, rich damask, gilding and carving—and James Rushworth’s eager face as he demanded that kiss.

  Elizabeth gasped, aghast. That wretched masquerade ball! That horrible kiss! Why must she continually remember it?

  She stalked to the gate, determined to put James Rushworth out of her mind. But another set of memories came boiling up. He had opened this very gate. He had helped her evade Mr. Elliot, and then they had fled through the park together. Not Mr. Rushworth, but Patrick Gill.

  Elizabeth sighed heavily. The very last person she wished to think about—besides James Rushworth—was Patrick Gill.

  But it was no use. Again she was in the Assembly Rooms, dancing with him. Their time together had been so brief, and yet she could recall every precious moment: the feel of her hand in his, the words he had spoken, the way he had smiled, the tender light in his eyes …

  Tender?

  Elizabeth brought a hand to her cheek. This was ridiculous. Patrick Gill was not a suitor—he was not even a gentleman. He had a profession, which meant he was a person, a man similar to her father’s solicitor, Mr. Shepherd. He was not admissible in company.

  But this line of reasoning did not hold, for she had allowed herself to be seen with him at the assembly. Not only that, she had consented to dance with him.

  “No, I did not consent,” she said aloud. “He forced me to dance with him, and then—”

  And then he had said good-bye.

  He’d rattled off some rigmarole about a bench in the park, when she knew very well there was no such thing. Elizabeth felt her throat grow tight. She wrenched open the gate and went through; it shut behind her with a clash. A sloped lawn was before her and she strode to the top. Below, flanked by willows, was a small lake—a pond, he’d called it. There was no bench. Patrick Gill had been hoaxing.

  “Hoaxing.” Elizabeth grumbled th
e word as she descended. Was she surprised? “Fine!” she flung at the sky. “Lovely! And now he has gone away, just like all the other men I’ve ever—”

  Elizabeth’s words died on her lips. For there, on the western side of the lake, were people. A woman and two children whom Elizabeth recognized as the Braggs. They were feeding birds. And the woman with them was sitting on a bench.

  ~ ~ ~

  Mary complained all the way back to St. Peter Square. “To hear Father talk, that Citadel is the most delightful place on the face of the earth.” She gave an unhappy huff. “Not once did he enquire about me—his own daughter! —or about Little Charles or Walter. What do I care if there are musical concerts in the salon? What do I want with his new set of friends?”

  “I must admit, I had my doubts about his physician,” said Lady Russell, “but under his care your father has made remarkable progress. It is gratifying to see his happy spirits.”

  Presently Lady Russell’s carriage pulled up before Anne’s house. Mary gathered her things together. “Will you be coming in?” she asked politely, hoping Lady Russell wouldn’t.

  “I believe I shall,” was the answer. “It is such a pleasure to have Anne among us again. And you too, of course.”

  “If that horrid Estella were not here, it would be a pleasure.” Mary continued to scowl as she clambered out of the carriage. Lady Russell gave her a look. “Well it would be,” Mary insisted. “The woman is a perfect goose. She cares for nothing but herself.”

  “Do you think so?” Smiling, Lady Russell stepped up to the door and lifted the knocker.

  “And her taste in clothing is beyond anything!”

  The door came open, and Mary marched into the house ahead of her godmother. “Hello, Yee. Has anyone called? Has my husband arrived?”

  She made at once for the staircase. “At Uppercross,” she said over her shoulder to Lady Russell, “Charles spent all his time with Captain Wentworth and Captain Benwick. It was so provoking. After he arrives, it will be more of the same.”

  Lady Russell followed. “So I would expect when a house is filled with women. Be reasonable, dear. What else is there for him to do?”