“Lady Elizabeth, might I again say just how lovely you appear this afternoon.”

Elizabeth smiled and nodded, accepting the compliment, but finding no rush of heat or any kind of indication that she felt anything for the man calling on her again. It had been some weeks since his first visit, and whilst their acquaintance had continued, she felt nothing for him. Her mother, of course, had been quick to point out that it would be good to continue her association with Lord Parke in order to find out what she could about Lord Mallon, but she had warned Elizabeth to be careful of the man. She had not needed to say that to Elizabeth, who was already more than careful of her reputation.

“Thank you, Lord Parke,” she murmured with a quick smile. “I did have a very enjoyable afternoon.”

They had walked together, along with Elizabeth’s maid, to the bookshop that Lord Parke insisted they visit. Elizabeth had found it dusty and full of old, decrepit books, but that had not prevented her from enjoying the visit. They had also enjoyed a rather intense discussion on the merits of both prose and poetry—and had not yet managed to come to a satisfactory conclusion. Although Elizabeth had found most of what he had said to be very interesting and concise.

Lord Parke was a clever man, well-educated and with an amicability about him that made it very easy for Elizabeth to think of him as a friend. However, the only thing that unsettled her was his continuing compliments, as though he hoped for something more between them when she was still engaged to Lord Mallon. He continued to tell her how wonderful she was, how beautiful she was, and she struggled to find any kind of reply other than to thank him for his compliments.

She did not return them—for fear that he would believe there was an affection for him in her heart when the truth was that there was nothing there of that kind. She was growing appreciative of his company and conversation, but the more she thought of it, the more she wished he would stop admiring her in such an attentive way. Perhaps it had been a mistake to allow him to call on her, for he had done so on three separate occasions before taking her to the bookshop. Never once had he mentioned his cousin. Lord Mallon appeared not to have written to him even a short note during his absence, so Elizabeth still had very little idea of where he had gone.

It was hard not to think nothing but ill thoughts about him, her anger and sadness fighting against one another as to who might get to fill her completely. She often thought about her betrothed in the dark watches of the night, when her tears had dried but her eyes refused to close. It pained her so much it was almost a physical wound, open and seeping as she struggled to comprehend why he had turned his back upon her.

“Lord Mallon has not been in correspondence with you?” she asked, interrupting Lord Parke’s flow of compliments. “Where might he be? Do you have any idea?”

Lord Parke’s smile faded, and a somewhat ugly expression crossed his face. “My dear lady, you must forget Lord Mallon.”

“How can you say such a thing?” Elizabeth asked, as they walked back towards her townhouse. “He is my betrothed and your cousin. Are you not in the least bit concerned over his whereabouts?”

He shrugged. “No, indeed I am not. He is his own man, and a rather foolish one at that, I must say. Turning his back on such a wonderful lady like you, simply to take his own pleasures elsewhere?” Lord Parke snorted, his expression growing disdainful. “I cannot help but be surprised at your loyalty, my lady.”

“I am loyal because it is expected of me,” Elizabeth replied in a soft voice, finding his words a little barbed. “You cannot expect me just to turn my back on the man, especially when there is no explanation as to where he has gone. Perhaps he has been called away on some urgent business and did not have time to explain.”

Elizabeth was aware she was grasping for a good and reasonable explanation for Lord Mallon’s absence, but she found that there was something in her that wanted to defend him, wanted to force herself to believe that he was not simply running away from her and from all they had promised to one another.

In other words, she was being quite ridiculous, her sadness and grief welling up within her all over again.

“My dear Lady Elizabeth, you are much too gracious and generous towards that man,” Lord Parke replied with a slight sniff. “I tell you now that he is not doing anything urgent, but he is doing what he pleases wherever he pleases.”

Elizabeth shook her head, her throat aching. What kind of man was she engaged to? Was this the kind of husband he would be? “My mother has never given me the impression that he was anything but genteel,” she said hoarsely. “I cannot understand why—”

“He has done his very best to hide his nature in such a way from all who might concern themselves with him,” Lord Parke replied coldly. “Give up your thoughts of him and his imminent return, Lady Elizabeth. Perhaps, think of another who might be worth your time and devotion.”

They stopped outside Elizabeth’s home. Confusion reigned in her mind, struggling to even think about breaking her engagement, and yet hating the idea that such a man would be her husband.

“Think about what I have to say, Lady Elizabeth,” he continued with a quick smile, as he bowed over her hand. “I shall call upon you again, in a few days’ time.”

He did not give her the opportunity to either agree or refuse this idea, simply turning away from her side at once and walking back down the street he had come from. Elizabeth, still confused and conflicted, sighed heavily and made her own way inside.

“Ah, Lady Elizabeth,” the butler said at once, as she came in the room. “You have a letter.”

She looked up at him expectantly, her heart suddenly filled with a great hope. “A letter? From whom?”

The butler gave a slight smile. “That would be beyond my powers of deduction, Lady Elizabeth. I shall bring it to you in the drawing room, shall I?”

Elizabeth nodded, quickly untying her bonnet. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

She hurried up to her bedchamber to change, aware that her mother would not stand to see Elizabeth’s dirty hem in the drawing room. Her heart began to thunder wildly, her stomach tightening as her maid helped her to change, feeling as though she was somewhere between hope and despair.

Once changed and aware that her face was flushed, Elizabeth made her way down to the drawing room, and with a quick nod and smile to her mother, she sat down on the couch and waited expectantly.

The butler appeared almost momentarily, holding out the silver tray whereupon sat the letter. Elizabeth took it with a shaking hand, turning it over and, at once, recognizing the seal.

Lord Mallon.

Was he writing to her so as to break off their engagement? Was this the end of it all? She could not bear to open it, feeling as if she would burst into tears at any moment.

“Elizabeth?”

Her mother’s voice was gentle, and in a moment, Elizabeth felt a presence sit by her as she closed her eyes and fought tears.

“Lord Mallon, I presume?”

Elizabeth nodded, her throat closing.

“Well, it will do you no good to hold it in your hand,” her mother said briskly. “You have been waiting weeks to hear from him, as have I, I might add. Now is your chance to see whether there is truly any heartache to be had.”

Her mother, whilst a stalwart presence these last few weeks, had always been more practical than Elizabeth needed. She wanted her mother to understand her feelings, her aches and hopelessness, but her mother had been entirely fixed on keeping things just as they were, reminding Elizabeth that her betrothal had never become public.

Her father had been much too busy with business to care much about what was going on with his daughter, and he presumed that all was well, much to Elizabeth’s dismay. She had not told him the truth of her worries, nor of Lord Mallon’s absence. At times, she had found his cheerful disposition rather trying. Her mother had promised to speak to him should Lord Mallon remain absent until the end of the Season, which had been some comfort at least.

“I do not think I can open it, Mama,” Elizabeth whispered, reaching for her mother’s hand and squeezing it, hard. “He is to end it all, I know it.”

There was a short pause. “I did not think you so affected by him after such a short acquaintance,” her mother said softly. “Come now, my dear. Open it and read what is within. All will be well, I am sure of it.”

Tears trickled down her cheeks, as Elizabeth opened the letter, almost unwilling to read what was within. She was forced to wipe her eyes as the words blurred, sniffing indelicately as her mother quickly handed her a lace handkerchief before moving a little away so as not to read over Elizabeth’s shoulder.

Elizabeth could not trust her voice, and so she read the letter quickly and silently.

‘My dear Elizabeth,’ it read. ‘I am surprised that I have not heard from you all these weeks. I had thought there was the beginnings of a wonderful intimacy between us and so I am disheartened that you have not thought of me when I was called away to nurse my father as I said in my letter. I must hope that there is some reason for your silence, for my mind and my heart simply cannot comprehend it. My father is now out of danger, I am glad to say, and I hope to return to London very soon. If you have any consideration for me, I beg you to reply. A short note from you and my heart will rest easy.’

Elizabeth stared down at the letter, reading it three more times before handing it to her mother. She had no idea what Lord Mallon was talking about, confused beyond all measure over his question about why she had not responded to his letter. Her stomach filled with a heavy weight, pushing her down into her chair until she covered her face with her hands and wept, the letter falling to the floor. She was vastly confused, her mind overcome with tumultuous thoughts, a guilt assuaging her although she knew not from where it came.

Her mother rubbed her back gently and plucked the letter from Elizabeth’s fingers, reading it over once before sighing heavily.

“Oh, my dear,” she said quietly. “Whatever has been going on? What is this letter of which he speaks? Did you know his father was ill?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No,” she replied hoarsely. “I had no idea. I do not understand, Mama. He seems so angry with me.”

“I would be too, if I were him,” her mother said gently. “There is clearly a mix-up of some kind. You must write back to him at once and explain that you have very little idea of what he is writing about. I am sure he will understand. When he comes back to London, you shall both have a talk, and everything will sort itself out. I am quite sure.”

Feeling lost and confused, Elizabeth tried to draw comfort from what her mother was saying. “I hope so, Mama,” she said softly, wiping her eyes. “I hope it is not all too late.”