Chapter Fifteen – A Lovers’ Retreat
Shivers ran down her back as his gaze held hers, and Beth could barely hide her answering tremble, afraid that he would not allow her to leave if he knew how much she wanted to stay. What was it about this man that made her feel so…liberated of all societal restrictions?
Although she had never been timid or shy, Beth tended to choose her words carefully, aware of the consequences a wrong word could bring forth. And yet, she had never been afraid to say what needed to be said if justice or propriety had demanded it of her. Always had she walked a fine line between holding her tongue and speaking her mind.
But this man…he…
Beth shook her head. For some reason, she felt safe with him, and for a moment, she was seriously tempted to tell him the truth. The whole truth. About herself. About her mother. About the Earl of Radcliffe.
However, before she could even open her mouth, the door flew open and thumped against the wall with a loud bang.
Caught off guard, Beth flinched as did her partner in crime before he spun around on his heels, facing the rather flustered-looking Earl of Radcliffe as he shot through the door. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his narrowed eyes shifting from Beth to her male companion and back again. Pulling off his mask, the earl squinted his eyes. “Elton, is that you?”
Sighing, the man beside Beth turned around to look at her, a touch of apprehension in his eyes, and then removed his mask. Taking a deep breath, he slightly inclined his head to her, a twinkle in his eyes. “Tristan Turner, Viscount Elton. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The ghost of a smile came to Beth’s face before fear slowly crawled up her spine. Would she now need to reveal her own identity?
“Where is my daughter?” the earl snapped, advancing on Lord Elton, who turned away from her to face the older man, a puzzled frown on his face. “I left her in the care of Lord Arlton,” the earl hissed, his accusing gaze drilling into the young lord. “However, now she seems to have vanished. What have you done with her?”
“Nothing,” Lord Elton replied, squaring his shoulders as he stood his ground, and Beth felt an unexpected surge of pride at the sight of his unyielding determination. “Last I saw her she was sitting in the library, a book in her hands.”
“The library?” the earl hissed before his face grew slightly pale. “Did you compromise her?”
“What?” Lord Elton gasped, shaking his head. “Of course not. I was looking for…” He turned around to gesture toward Beth, but then stopped, holding his tongue as he realised what he was about to say.
“What?” the earl demanded, his gaze shifting toward Beth. “Who are you?”
Taking a deep breath, Beth lifted her chin, unwilling to be intimidated by her own father. Then she took off her mask, and while a pleased smile came to Lord Elton’s lips, the earl looked momentarily taken aback. Staring at her, he swallowed, and his eyes narrowed even further as his gaze swept over her face. Did he recognise her? Beth wondered, feeling her knees grow weak with trepidation. While she was not the spitting image of her mother, they had shared certain facial features.
“Who are you?” the earl enquired once more; however, his voice sounded rather feeble as he spoke. “What is going on here?”
“I should think that is fairly obvious,” came the dowager countess’s voice from the doorway.
Upon seeing her grandmother, Beth sighed with relief, instantly feeling stronger now that she stood no longer by herself.
“It is?” the earl asked, glancing at his mother.
Stepping into the room, the dowager countess met Beth’s eyes and almost imperceptibly shook her head. Then she turned to her son, a touch of annoyance in her eyes. “Are you daft, Reginald? This is a lovers’ retreat. What else could it be?”
Shocked by her grandmother’s words, Beth stared at her, suddenly rooted to the spot as the earl stood back, then crossed his arms before his chest, his gaze shifting to Lord Elton, who seemed equally shaken. “Well, well, Elton, you’ve certainly made a mess of things,” he snapped, shaking his head. And yet, Beth thought to detect a hint of relief that he hadn’t found his own daughter in the company of the young lord. “Following in your father’s footsteps, I see.”
Although shock had marked his face before, at the earl’s comment, Lord Elton’s features hardened with anger. His jaw clenched, and his shoulders tensed as he stood unmoving, glaring back at Lord Radcliffe. And yet, he did not utter a single word in his defence.
Unaware of the gentlemen’s past, Beth could only guess at what had just happened. However, from their reaction she knew that her father had just insulted Lord Elton, insulted him severely judging from the pained look on the young lord’s face.
“What will you do now?” the earl continued, a triumphant smile curling up his lips. “Considering that your reputation is far from respectable, I do not believe that such a scandal would leave it unaffected. Therefore, if you wish to be received by those of impeccable standing in the future, I suggest you propose to this young lady at once.”
While Lord Elton’s face remained immobile, Beth’s eyes grew round as she glanced over at her grandmother, a silent plea in them.
The dowager countess, however, merely shook her head before addressing her son. “I agree, Reginald. That seems to be the most suitable course of action.”
As her heart hammered in her chest and her palms grew sweaty, Beth stopped when her heart suddenly skipped a beat and a soft smile curled up her lips. Did she truly wish to marry Lord Elton? A stranger?
How had this happened?
***
As contradicting emotions tore at his insides, Tristan gritted his teeth so hard that the muscles in his jaw began to ache from the pressure. Oh, if only he could wipe that smug smile off the earl’s face! Like his uncle, he seemed to enjoy putting others down, and he had done so effectively for no other reference but that to his own father pained Tristan more.
His father had always been the black sheep of the family, and Tristan had never been able to stand on his own. At his every turn, people were waiting for him to disappoint them, to prove that he was his father’s son.
And he had done so time and time again. Would it ever end?
And yet, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her.
Although slightly pale and wide-eyed, she stood tall, her chin raised in defiance of the earl’s overbearing attitude, and in that moment, Tristan wanted nothing more but to take her hand in his and lead her out of the room and toward a shared future. Was she truly the one? Was this fate’s way of guiding his feet?
If his life had been a curse before, was she the blessing that he had always been waiting for?
Taking a deep breath, Tristan looked at her, and from one moment to the next, all his doubts and questions evaporated, and all that was left was her.
Swallowing, he turned away from the earl and the dowager countess and slowly reached out for her hand. “I apologise for how this came to be,” he whispered quietly, holding her gaze as she smiled at him, the same sense of peace in her eyes that Tristan suddenly felt in his own heart. “Maybe it was foolish of me to follow you, but I cannot undo this now, and if I’m being perfectly honest, nor do I want to.”
Her smile widened, and he felt a slight tremble run through her hand as it rested in his. “Neither do I.”
In answer, his hand closed more tightly around hers. “I’m glad to hear it.” He took a deep breath. This was it! “In all humility, I ask for your hand in marriage.”
A low chuckle came from the earl at his back, but Tristan ignored it, his gaze focused on the woman before him. Smiling at him, her eyes locked with his, she merely nodded her head, and from one second to the next, nothing else mattered. Pulling her into his arms, Tristan hugged her close, feeling her warmth envelop him. Despite the circumstances, he could not remember ever having felt so at peace, so hopeful and whole-heartedly content with his lot.
“My lord, is something wrong?” an unfamiliar voice spoke from the doorway. “Is there anything that you require?”
Reluctantly stepping back, Tristan glanced at the stern-looking older woman, whom he presumed to be the earl’s housekeeper. He was about to dismiss her and turn back to his bride-to-be when the woman caught sight of her, her eyes instantly narrowing. “Beth, there you are,” she said, her voice harsh. “Where have you been all night?”
Instantly, the room fell silent, all eyes suddenly turning to the woman in his arms, and although he wished he did not, Tristan felt her tense at the woman’s address.
“Mrs. Hill, do you know this woman?” the earl asked, his gaze once again scrutinising as he looked back and forth between his housekeeper and Tristan’s bride-to-be.
“Certainly, my lord,” Mrs. Hill replied, her eyes travelling from Beth’s face down over her ball gown, and a puzzled frown came to the woman’s forehead. “I hired her as a maid a few weeks back.”
“A maid?” the earl gasped, then spun around to face Beth. “What is the meaning of this? She’s a maid. This is unbelievable.”
As the earl continued his tirade, Tristan turned to look at the woman by his side, the woman who had only a moment ago been the blessing of a lifetime. Searching her face, he swallowed. “Is this true?” he asked, already seeing her answer in the guilt resting in her eyes.
“I’m afraid it is,” she whispered, taking a deep breath. “I never meant to deceive you. I can explain how this all came to be. I simply−”
Releasing her hand, Tristan stepped back, staring at her in shock. How often had he heard the stories? Stories of how young women in want of a husband−preferably a titled husband−had lured an honourable gentleman into a most indecent situation, only to force him into marriage? Was this what had happened here tonight? Had it only been a game? And he a gullible target? Had nothing been real and true and honest? How could she have fooled him so easily?
“She is not a maid. She’s my companion,” the dowager countess interrupted his thoughts as she stepped toward him. “I assure you, Lord Elton, that she is of infallible character. I insisted she accompany me to the ball because I cherish her company beyond all others. Her charming wit and kind manners would endear her to anyone as I can see they have endeared her to you.” The dowager’s eyes held his. “Do not discount her merely by her lack of standing within society, for a title alone does not make a good person and neither does the lack, thereof, deem one unbefitting.”
Taking a deep breath, Tristan closed his eyes for the barest of moments. He was trapped, and he knew it. The dowager clearly understood how his father’s fate influenced him, and she knew that he could not go back on his word. He had proposed after all, and she had accepted. If he were to take back his word, what kind of a man would he be? Maybe society would forgive him after all considering that she was only a maid or a companion. Maybe they would even congratulate him for having discovered her identity before tying himself to her in marriage?
However, what mattered more was that he would not see it that way.
Always walking in the shadow of his father’s mistakes, Tristan knew that by breaking his word−as justified as it might be considered by others−it would still prove that he was of the same low stock as his father. That he was a man who could not be trusted. A man who abandoned others. A man who thought only of himself.
Swallowing, Tristan knew that he could not be that man. No matter what it would cost him, he could not bear the thought of being the man his uncle thought him to be. He could not break his word…even if it meant he would have to give up his dream.
For good.
Others lived without love.
Why couldn’t he?