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  “I think it best. We shall say nothing to anyone until after the Season, not even to my sister or Earlywine. At the end of the Season we will simply inform my sister and your family that we have decided we do not suit.”

  Upon her return to the town house Elisabeth ran immediately up to her bedchamber where she asked Molly to draw the curtains and leave her alone to rest because she had a headache. After a doubtful and concerned look at her mistress the maid did as she was ordered and Elisabeth buried her face in the pillows and let the bitter tears fall. What was she to do? Who could she turn to for advice? She could not confide in Lady Parker or Miss Earlywine. They would not understand and she was too ashamed to admit to them that Lord Sherbourne had ended their betrothal. There was only Jane. She must write Jane and ask for her advice after binding her to secrecy. But even to Jane Elisabeth could not tell all the truth, for Elisabeth dared not confess to the vicar’s wife what had passed with the poet on the sloop.

  Chapter Ten

  After Lord Sherbourne left Elisabeth at his sister’s town house on Half Moon Street he directed his tilbury toward Hampstead. In truth he did not particularly wish to speak with the argumentative Hunt but he did desire time alone in which to think over his recent actions and the drive would give him that opportunity.

  Had he done right to end his betrothal to Miss Ashwood? Even though the betrothal had not been made public, was it truly the action of a gentleman? Had he acted in haste? He had not missed Miss Ashwood’s initial stricken look at his announcement. Although she had quickly gained control of her countenance, Miss Ashwood had clearly been deeply shaken by his words. Had he misjudged? Had Miss Ashwood come to desire the betrothal and even to care for him, or was her reaction caused by concern over her family’s future if the promised marriage settlement was not paid?

  Lord Sherbourne’s self-interrogation continued until he found himself driving past Hunt’s door. Thinking he might as well speak to Hunt since he was there, the viscount tied his horse and rapped upon the door with his stick.

  “Sherbourne,” Hunt said in surprise, opening the door himself, for Hunt’s precarious finances did not allow for many servants. “Marianne is preparing a luncheon. You must stay, of course, although I am afraid we must dine alone. Keats is still attending lectures in medicine despite my advice to the contrary, Hazlitt is otherwise occupied and the Shelleys are at Marlowe now, of course.”

  “I am in no state of mind to be cheerful for company,” Sherbourne admitted as he followed Hunt into their cluttered drawing room. And I must confess I would as lief dine in quiet.”

  “What is amiss? An affair of the heart? It must be—nothing else can cause a man to look so down at the mouth,” Hunt said as he moved a pile of papers off a chair and sat down, motioning for Sherbourne to do the same. “I cannot see why though, your brown wren is quite enchanting. Reminds me of Marianne when she was young. Best type of woman for a wife.”

  “So I had thought,” Sherbourne replied. “But I may have been mistaken.”

  “What makes you think that?” Hunt asked interestedly, leaning forward in his chair, ever fascinated with the workings of people’s minds and emotions.

  “Her response to Shelley,” the viscount answered straightforwardly.

  “Shelley? Shelley is madly in love with Mary. Has been ever since he met her. That is what has caused all his societal woes, given he was married at the time. You must understand—Shelley is a poet. He must give in to his attractions and inspirations but it is meaningless, at least insofar as any lasting passions.”

  “Perhaps,” Sherbourne admitted, “but it does not follow that Miss Ashwood’s response to him is meaningless.”

  “Of course it does,” Hunt argued. “Miss Ashwood is a woman of character, anyone can see. A mild attraction to a charming poet, that is nothing! Have you never admired another woman since Miss Ashwood arrived in town?”

  “Admired but not kissed,” Sherbourne confessed as a picture of Miss Thibeau’s opulent charms entered his mind.

  “Ah, I see,” Hunt said knowingly. “Sherbourne, the truth is that Shelley would most likely bed any attractive woman who reciprocated the attraction if the opportunity presented itself. He is not parsimonious with his kisses or his embraces. But how could you expect a young woman of sheltered background such as Miss Ashwood to know how to handle such a situation with ease? She has not had the experience of life you and your sister have had, living on a remote station in a far land.

  “And what were you about, leaving her alone with a man like Shelley? For I cannot imagine that even Shelley would steal a kiss if you were present and watching. You are not free of culpability in this, I am thinking.”

  “Perhaps not,” Sherbourne admitted. “Miss Ashwood’s maid was present on deck but prostrate with seasickness. Perhaps I was remiss in going below. Yet—” Sherbourne went silent, remembering the terrible jealousy and the feeling of betrayal that had coursed through him at the sight of Shelley kissing Miss Ashwood. And his anger toward his betrothed for allowing it so soon after their talk on the Cobb. How could she have done it!

  “Do not give in to feelings of jealousy,” Hunt commented shrewdly as the emotions played across the viscount’s face. “It is a vile deceiver and leads one astray. Give yourself time and think things over when you are less perturbed. You cannot lose anything and have much to gain by allowing your passions to settle before making any decisions or speaking to Miss Ashwood.”

  “Perhaps,” Sherbourne conceded. “You have given me much to think of, in any event,” the viscount acknowledged, admitting to himself that perhaps he had acted too hastily and too judgmentally. He was not a man to brook infidelity but Hunt had a point that Miss Ashwood came from a sheltered background and would hardly have the experience of life to be able to deal with a man such as Shelley.

  “Good,” Hunt said, rising from his chair. “Then let us join Marianne at table. You owe me several meals, I am thinking, Sherbourne, and I intend to collect. It does no good to a friendship to allow things to get out of balance,” he proclaimed as they walked down the hall to the dining room.

  The morning following Lord Sherbourne’s ending of their betrothal Elisabeth rose late, delaying going downstairs until after she heard the sounds of Lady Parker leaving with the Duke of Norland for a carriage ride. Elisabeth then ate a meager breakfast of tea and toast, feeling unable to consume more. After leaving her letter to Jane with a pile of missives to be franked, she sat listlessly in the drawing room with her back to the hated portrait by Miss Thibeau.

  “A note has come for you, miss,” the butler said, entering the room and holding out a salver.

  “Thank you, Greaves,” Elisabeth said, taking the note and inspecting the inscription. Recognizing the script as that of Mary Shelley, Elisabeth tore open the note to find an invitation to meet Mr. and Mrs. Shelley in Upper St. James Park that morning, as the couple were in London for the day. Crumpling the note in her hand, Elisabeth wished with all her heart that she might go, for she desperately needed sympathetic company and knew instinctively that Mary Shelley would understand heartbreak. Dare she go to the park alone? Upper St. James was only a short distance away, across Piccadilly. Perhaps having Molly accompany her would be enough. Certainly she did not dare ask either Lord Sherbourne or Lady Parker to escort her, even if they returned in time.

  “Mr. Earlywine,” the butler announced from the drawing room doorway.

  “Good morning, Miss Ashwood,” Earlywine’s cheerful voice greeted Elisabeth. “Sherbourne was not at home and I thought I might find him here.”

  “No, neither he nor Lady Parker is here, Mr. Earlywine,” Elisabeth answered. “But you are welcome to wait. Lady Parker should return from her drive with the Duke of Norland shortly.” Inspiration struck.

  “Mr. Earlywine, would you be willing to aid me? I have had a note from Mrs. Shelley asking me to meet her and Mr. Shelley at Upper St. James Park in a half-hour but I cannot go without an escort. Would you be willing to a
ccompany me?”

  “It would be my pleasure, Miss Ashwood,” Earlywine agreed with his usual good humor.

  Elisabeth ran upstairs to change into a walking dress and a short time later she and Mr. Earlywine walked toward the Park where they were to meet the Shelleys. As always, the poet and his wife were not difficult to spot, for there was always something slightly different in their behavior that drew one’s attention. This morning they were conspicuous because Mary, despite her rapidly expanding figure, was running gaily from one group of spring blossoms to the next. Then she spotted Elisabeth and her escort and ran toward them.

  “We are in London for the day and I had to see you, Miss Ashwood,” Mary Shelley said, greeting Elisabeth with a kiss on the cheek in the continental fashion. “Claire is in town with us too but she wished to rest with Allegra. Is it not a fine day? I feel I must run from joy,” she finished. Noticing her friend was not responding with equal enthusiasm, Mrs. Shelley’s expression became thoughtful.

  “Mary, you brought paper, I hope?” Shelley called from where he was searching to no avail through a pile of belongings tossed in a casual heap upon the grass.

  “Percy, today Miss Ashwood and I have no desire to race paper boats,” Mary informed her husband. “I wish to walk with Miss Ashwood and have a good coze, and you and Mr. Earlywine may remain here and race boats or discuss Greek drama, the plight of the laborer or whatever you desire,” she added, taking Elisabeth’s arm and drawing her away.

  “I can see you are unhappy, Miss Ashwood,” Mary said in sympathetic tones when they were out of earshot of the gentlemen. “What is it? You may confide in me. I assure you I can be the soul of discretion.”

  “I fear Lord Sherbourne has developed a tendre for Miss Thibeau,” Elisabeth said forthrightly, at first hesitant to confide in a near stranger but unable to resist the temptation to share her burden.

  “Why do you think that, Miss Ashwood?” Mary asked in concern.

  “Lord Sherbourne chooses to dance with Miss Thibeau at every function she attends, has gone to her home for several sittings and…and he gazes at her as though he finds her very appealing,” Elisabeth ended, stopping before confessing to Mrs. Shelley that Lord Sherbourne had in fact ended their unofficial betrothal.

  Mary walked several steps in silence and then stopped, looking into Elisabeth’s face with her great expressive eyes. “Miss Ashwood, may I be completely frank with you?”

  “Yes, most certainly,” Elisabeth agreed.

  “Put Miss Thibeau out of your mind, Miss Ashwood. Do not dwell upon her but upon your own attachment to Lord Sherbourne.

  “I know whereof I speak, Miss Ashwood,” Mrs. Shelley continued, “for my situation is not unlike your own. I know my husband loves me and holds me in respect, and that is of the greatest importance in the marriage relationship. But I also know,” Mary added, “that Percy is one of those men who loves many women and that in some ways I must share him. For the reality of gentlemen’s natures is that few are content with one woman only.”

  Elisabeth, feeling guilty at the remembrance of Shelley’s kiss, felt her cheeks reddening and hoped the poet’s wife would ascribe the flush to the frank nature of their discussion and not the true cause.

  “Miss Ashwood,” Mary continued, taking Elisabeth’s hands and clasping them between hers in earnestness, “you must not allow Lord Sherbourne’s admiration of another woman to distress you if he loves you and has committed himself to you.”

  “But does not it make you unhappy?” Elisabeth dared to ask, “To know your husband admires other women?”

  “As I have been explaining to you, Miss Ashwood, all men admire other women. It is their nature, as it is a woman’s to notice a well-looking man. I may have occasional moments of unhappiness because I must share Percy’s physical love with others but I would have greater unhappiness to live without him. I advise you to accept a man’s nature for what it is and be thankful for Lord Sherbourne’s commitment to you.”

  “I would be happy to follow your counsel but Lord Sherbourne no longer wishes to become betrothed to me,” Elisabeth burst out, failing to notice that the emotion with which she had spoken had drawn the attention of several passersby.

  “Do you know this for certain, Miss Ashwood, or are you making an assumption based on his actions?” Mrs. Shelley asked matter-of-factly.

  “He told me in as many words,” Elisabeth confessed in a tearful voice.

  “I see,” Mary Shelley said with a frown. Once again taking Elisabeth’s arm, Mary slowly directed their way back toward Shelley and Earlywine. “The situation appears more serious than I had thought. I must think upon it. Do not give up hope, Miss Ashwood. I shall think of something, I assure you,” Mary finished with a return of her irrepressible high spirits.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Shelley,” Elisabeth said feelingly, hoping that somehow her unconventional friend might actually work a miracle.

  The two finished their walk in a companionable silence, the one woman’s mind rapidly sorting through one plan after another to help her friend and the other’s becoming more at ease with dawning hope. When they reached the gentlemen Elisabeth stood quietly by while Shelley and Mr. Earlywine took their leave of each other. Lost in her problems she did not notice Mary Shelley scribble hastily on a piece of paper and press the folded note into Earlywine’s hand.

  After returning Elisabeth safely to Lady Parker’s town house on Half Moon Street, James drew out the note Mary Shelley had pressed upon him.

  “Mr. Earlywine,” he read, “I wish to speak to you most urgently. Would you meet us directly for luncheon at the Rampant Lion? Please do not mention this to your friend Lord Sherbourne. Thank you for your discretion. Mary Shelley.”

  Sticking the note back into his pocket, Earlywine vaulted into his dennet and directed it toward the Rampant Lion. After leaving his horse and vehicle with an ostler, he entered the inn where he found the Shelleys and another young woman already at a table.

  “Mr. Earlywine, thank you for coming,” Mary Shelley said, and introduced Earlywine to Miss Clairmont.

  “Percy, you and Claire may order for us all. I wish to speak to Mr. Earlywine alone regarding an urgent matter,” Mary said, rising, and walked to the door of the inn, James following.

  Outside the inn Mary led James to a large tree that stood at a distance from the stables in the inn yard. “Mr. Earlywine, please forgive my impertinence and my directness,” she said, leaning her back against the trunk of a large plane tree, “but I wished to consult with you regarding Miss Ashwood. She tells me that Lord Sherbourne is no longer interested in entering into a betrothal with her.”

  “I had not heard this,” Earlywine replied, startled.

  “Yes, and Miss Ashwood also tells me she feels it is because he has developed a tendre for the artist Miss Thibeau. Do you believe this to be possible?” Mary asked bluntly, her large gray eyes inviting a frank response.

  Earlywine thought of the flirtatious artist. “It is possible,” he confessed, “but it would be most unlike Sherbourne.”

  “Love causes us to behave ways we might not otherwise,” Mary Shelley responded unanswerably. “You may perhaps feel that I am forward, that I involve myself in that which is none of my affair,” Mary continued. “It is true I do not know Miss Ashwood well but I do know that Miss Ashwood is the only member of ton who has befriended me here in London and I am loyal to my friends, Mr. Earlywine. I wish to help her but can think of nothing I might do. It would not be appropriate for me to betray Miss Ashwood’s confidence by approaching Lord Sherbourne directly. You are close to Lord Sherbourne, is there anything you could do?”

  “I was not aware of these circumstances but I shall think upon what you have said most seriously,” Earlywine said, his normally merry countenance showing the dismay he felt upon the news. He had become quite fond of Miss Ashwood and had come to believe the betrothal a good thing for both the young woman and his friend.

  “Then I am satisfied,” Mary replied a
nd they walked back into the inn to join the others in a ploughman’s luncheon.

  Unburdening herself to Mary Shelley helped Elisabeth to feel somewhat more cheerful for the better part of a day but when, several evenings later, the viscount failed for the second night to come for dinner at his sister’s, Elisabeth’s misery returned. An answer from Jane in response to her letter did not help.

  “My dear Elisabeth,” Jane had written, “I was distressed beyond measure by the news that Lord Sherbourne has broken his betrothal to you. I must confess I do not understand, for no gentleman would do such a thing. Are you certain you have told me all the circumstances? Is there some small happening you might have forgotten to mention that the viscount might have misconstrued?”

  The small happening of Mr. Shelley kissing her, and she allowing it, Elisabeth thought in misery. Yet even now she dared not tell Jane the truth—what a woman of low character she would appear if she did! She could not bear for Jane and the vicar to think ill of her. Oh, what an unfortunate muddle it all was, and how miserable she was! And how was she to pretend to Lady Parker that all was well—since the viscount had requested no one yet be told—if Lord Sherbourne so obviously avoided her company? Elisabeth threw herself on the sofa in the drawing room and buried her face in Revati’s fur.

  “Are you weary, Miss Ashwood?” Lady Parker asked, coming into the drawing room. “You need not sit up with me tonight. I shall retire early as well.

  “Oh dear, I almost forgot,” Lady Parker continued as Elisabeth slowly rose to a seated position. “My brother sent a note asking if we would wish to accompany him to the bookshop he told us about several days past. I cannot go tomorrow morning, for his grace has asked me to luncheon with him, but I took the liberty of accepting for you.”